I blink, and finally notice the open back of the dress, the way the zipper is caught in a tangle of thread halfway up.
I stand next to her and help, cutting through the threads with a claw that pushes out of my skin all too easily. I try not to move at all when my knuckles graze her back, making her shiver.
“I’m just now realizing what a sin it is that we never went to any nice places together,” I murmur, my other hand finding hers and immediately tugging her into a little twirl before me.
She glances at me, still wearing one of the suit jackets from the other side of the store over a worn T-shirt.
“You don’t clean up so bad yourself”—she laughs, finally looking less tense—“but when you elope in Atlantic City, the dress code is flipflops and tie-die shirts.”
“I’m serious. Clear your calendar, we’re crashing galas and black-tie events for the next...” I trail off and clear my throat, stop spinning her around.
I’m struck by the thought of what could have been. That in a more perfect set of circumstances, we could have stayed together, driven up here for the wedding together, my hand on her knee the entire trip, been welcomed at the house together. We could have had entirely different lives and found ourselves back here, if only I’d made it work. I could have brought her home, tried harder to make my mother listen. We could have done things right.
Elise comes to a standstill, facing me.
I stare at her, willing myself to not fall in love with her again. Even as I think it, I know it’s too late. Ten years too late.
“Did it ever upset you that we never had a big fancy to-do...?”
Elise’s eyes widen just the tiniest bit, and I hear her heartbeat quicken, I feel it as if it’s my own. I watch for a too-long moment as she fidgets a handful of the fabric of her skirt.
“No, never. I was happy with...what we had,” she finishes a little lamely.
Her answer doesn’t sit well with me, but I can’t tell if I don’t believe her because it doesn’t sound like she believes it herself, or because I don’t want to believe it.
“I wish we’d done things differently.”
“It is what it is, Shawn.”
“No, I should have tried harder to make it work. I knew my mom would love you if she just got to know you. I knew it. And look at you, you fit in better here than I ever did.”
“Shawn, no. I’m happy we divorced. It was the right decision.”
“What?”
Elise turns away from me, stopping in front of the mirror, moving as if she’s testing out the dress, but her eyes are unfocused as she speaks, not really watching her reflection.
“We were too young. I didn’t know how to calm myself down when we started fighting. All I wanted to do was hurt you the way I was hurting. I needed time to grow, to learn how to bebetter. I don’t think I could have learned that if we had stayed together.”
She stays quiet a long moment, letting the truth of that statement sting and reverberate throughout the air.
My gaze falls from her to my shoes. Eventually she moves back to the dressing room, and I hear her start to unzip the dress. I take that as my cue to leave her alone, but she starts talking again. It’s quiet, almost a mumble. I’m not entirely sure she’s speaking to me, but I halt and listen.
“Sometimes people get divorced. Sometimes it’s a clean break, and they can just move forward with their lives and forget about that little blip. They can go on to find new partners, make new families. I think that’s really the best-case scenario for everyone involved.”
I find myself standing right outside the dressing room door, my palms pressed against it. If only it was just a flimsy plywood door that stood between us, and not miles of an emotional gorge I carved myself.
“How is that the best-case scenario?”
The tips of her shoes in the gap between the door and the tile appear, nearly toe to toe with mine. I feel her head knock slightly against the door, and can feel her presence so close to mine, depending on the door to hold us apart.
I know too well what Elise crying looks like. Sometimes it slips into my dreams, the way her face crumples a little, her lower lip wobbling as tears start to creep out over her eyelashes.
I can hear it all in her voice as she speaks.
“Because the other option is that it isn’t a clean break. Sometimes there’s a little girl who was supposed to have a family, and she gets left behind for the new families. And, god, I can only imagine what it’s like to have someone choose you over everything else, to think you’re worth it.”
I don’t ask her what idiot would ever think she wasn’t worth it, I already know.
