That was nothing. We’re just friends.
Bullshit. If they’re not together, it’s because Sofia Leigh decided she couldn’t deal with someone who had to be in bed by ten.
I already told Kelsey I wasn’t bringing anyone. Thanks anyway.
I’m sure they can add me back in. When’s the rehearsal dinner? I’ll see if I can land early enough to make all the events.
He’s so certain I want him there and that I’ll take him back. It’s laughable how fucking certain he is, and of course it’s alsonotlaughable because Idoplan to take him back, but I don’t want him at the wedding anymore.
If he’d come on this trip, I’d have missed last night, and snorkeling at Garden Key, and watching Elijah nearly get his hand eaten off by Tarpons. I’d have missed tannins hitting saltwater, and Elijah getting an erection while I glued together his cut.
What else will I miss if I let him come to New Orleans?
We aren’t together. Why would I want you at the wedding?
THOMAS
Look, I know we need to talk, and we will. We’ll figure all that out. But Kelsey’s thing is a big deal, and I don’t want to screw you over.
Though he sure didn’t mind screwing me over when Sofia Leigh was a possibility.
God. How badly did I want to swan around that wedding with my famous boyfriend and that big-ass diamond on my finger? An embarrassing amount. It was going to be my triumphant final scene:Take that, Elijah; take that, everyone who thought nothing of me as a kid. That’s how much I wanted to show all the people from my past, though mostly Elijah, that I’d surpassed them. Except allowing Thomas to show up as an act of charity doesn’t prove anything except that I still feel I’ve got something to prove.
But that’s not the reason I’m telling him not to come. I just want these days with Elijah, even if I should not.
I don’t want you there.
I turn the phone off and go down to the living room.
“You look nice,” Elijah says.
I smile. “That’s a big difference from your attitude when I wore this a few nights ago.”
His gaze brushes over me, palpable as the palm of a hand on my skin. “There’s something different now. I can’t put my finger on it, but you just look like yourself again.”
Ifeellike myself again, weirdly, and I’m not sure why. And how did I live for so longnotfeeling like myself without even noticing it? Maybe I just needed a vacation more than I’d realized.
We drive over to Paul’s house to pick up Mrs. Cabot and Betty. Mrs. Cabot’s eyes narrow when she sees me—shocker.
“You’regoing to church?” she asks as she climbs into the car.
“I think it’s just a rumor about witches catching on fire if they enter,” I reply, “but we’ll find out for sure, eh?”
“She does realize that we’re going to Campbell and Duncan’s graves after this, yes?” she snaps at Elijah.
“Yes,” I reply. “Shedoes.”
“Okay, you two,” Elijah says mildly, “it’s a Sunday and we’re on our way to church. Let’s pretend for an hour that we’re all adults.”
Mrs. Cabot’s mouth opens to respond then closes. Mine does the same.
If I were slightly less annoyed by her, I’d probably laugh at just how similar the two of us seem sometimes.
We park across the street from the church and walk toward it, two by two.
It’s tall and narrow, with its shiplap exterior painted the purest white. Inside, there’s an exposed beam ceiling, with fans overhead to move the breeze and sun flowing through the endless windows on every side.
I grew up attending dark, gloomy churches that reeked of age and incense, and they never once made me feel grateful to something or someone greater than myself.
