But Jean’s words came back to me, distant as the fox sparrow echo. “He’s been waiting a long time for you too, you know.”
I walked a little faster, wanting to erase this space between us. Wanting to level out my flips and spins so I was on the same trajectory as him. So we were flying across that mat, step-in-step, launching and landing at the same place at the same time.
“The wedding is important to me,” I said, and even as the words came out of my mouth, I knew that was the wrong thing, the wrong move.
He looked over my shoulder like the garage walls were the most interesting thing in the world.
“Okay,” he said.
“What I said, what you heard. Jean was poking and poking.”
“Okay.”
“Everyone has been asking,” I said. “And I’m all…I don’t even know what I am, but then it just feels like a lot and then there’s Jean: poke, poke, poke.”
“Okay.”
“I wanted her to drop it because this is ours, this is between us and we’re the only ones who get to decide what we are and what we want and…”
His hands stretched out, caught both my wrists and closed around them. The heat of his palms was a pressure, a brand, grounding me.
“Okay,” he said again. This time I nodded. “Breathe.”
I did that too, until I could hear the world around me again, the soft hum of traffic, the squawk of jays, the sweet distant sparrows.
“Little worked up, aren’t you?” he asked.
“I don’t think…” then, at his look, “I guess.”
“But I’m dealing with the event, right? All the details and decisions?”
“Right. But I should…”
“I don’t need you to. Whatever you’re thinking, I got it. All of it.”
He was smiling, yes. But the tightness at the corners of his eyes told another story.
“I hate this.” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. I watched as they hit, the slow-motion flicker of confusion, then realization, and then anger that spread across his face.
His whole body leaned back from me. “Okay.”
It was hard. Flat. A bad landing. The kind of landing that broke an ankle.
“I hate that it’s so…we aren’t doing this together. Aren’t on the same page.”
He took a couple steps backward, and did a fair job of patching the smile back on his face. “Well, when you decide what page you think we should be on, will you tell me, Delaney? Instead of going around to everyone else complaining about how much you hate that I’m going forward with our plans.Ourplans.”
“Don’t,” I said, my face hot, my heart pounding hard.
“Don’t what? Ask you to be honest and tell me what you really feel?”
“And what do you think I really feel?” My voice shook. With anger, yes. And with pain. “How can you know? You just tell me not to worry. To just…do nothing. But that’s not right.”
He wiped one hand over his mouth, then scratched at the back of his neck. “Look,” he said, his eyes coming to my face, then sliding sideways before flicking back again. “Look,” he repeated to the ground. “I know it’s…stressful. And right now…maybe we should…let’s just let it go for a while.”
“Okay,” I said, swallowing. “Thank you. We can push it out a bit. Maybe winter. Or next year. Do a summer wedding but give us enough time…”
The look on his face told me I’d blown it. Botched the landing. It wasn’t just a broken ankle, it was a snapped spine. A busted neck.
