“One of my first college roommates,” Jess says. She nods to the couple walking in as the crowd breaks into thunderous applause. “Nikki.”
“She’s pretty,” I say, but I’m looking at Jess. “And you look amazing.”
“Thanks,” she says. “Nikki was always good at picking out things for me to wear.”
“I’ll have to send her a thank-you note. That dress,” I pause so she can see how much I like it on her. “It's probably the most beautiful bridesmaid’s dress I’ve ever seen.”
“I’ll tell her you said that.” Jess narrows her eyes at me, but she seems more curious than hostile. “Why are you really here? How did you even know about this wedding or that I was home?”
“I ran into Taryn and your current roommate yesterday. She told me you’d be here.”
“Angelica,” Jess rolls her eyes. “She can’t seem to stop analyzing me, telling me what’s good for me, getting into my business.”
“She seemed nice and genuinely concerned about you.” I’m not sure why I’m defending the little redhead, except she made it possible for me to see Jess.
“I think I’m her senior project,” Jess replies.
I look at her gently, afraid to upset the delicate balance we’ve started here. “Maybe it’s working. You look better.”
“I feel better. "She got me into yoga and meditation." She looks down. "And counseling."
I put my hand over hers. "There's nothing wrong with that. I've been going to counseling since I got home from Iraq."
"So, you'll come to yoga class with me? I'm getting certified to teach."
I imagine her balancing in an impossible pose, wearing yoga pants and some kind of cropped top. "Name the time and place."
She laughs. "Good to see you have an open mind about these things." She takes a long drink of ice water and then gets serious. “How are you doing?”
“Better now.” It’s the truth. I’m much better now that I’m sitting next to her.
She looks at me for a few seconds. “You look good. No dress uniform?”
“I didn’t want to stand out,” I answer.
She doesn’t respond to that. Other people join us at the table, and the buffet opens. We get food, and Jess chats with the people at our table. From what I can tell, she knows some of them from college. I talk too, but more than anything I watch her. She laughs more easily, but there’s still something reserved about her. She’s quieter and somehow more delicate.
We sit through the toasts and the couple’s first dance. Then the dance floor opens up to everyone. My chance to get Jess alone again. My chance to hold her in my arms.
I feel like I’m in middle school again, asking a girl to dance for the first time. My heart pounds so loud that I’m sure she can hear it, but somehow I get the words out, “Would you like to dance?”
She hesitates for a minute and then nods.
I don’t think we’ve ever danced before, but it feels natural to lead her onto the dance floor. I want to wrap my arms around her and pull her hard against my chest. Instead, I take her right hand. She puts her hand on my shoulder. There’s only one place to put my other hand. I touch the curve of her back, hesitant at first, expecting her to pull away. She steps closer, leaning in. My hand rests on her soft skin. I can feel the curve of her spine, the muscles in her back, the muscles at the side of her waist. She feels smaller, slimmer than I remember. I pull her closer, wanting to protect her.
She turns her head, and light dances from her ears. I recognize the earrings I gave her for Christmas when I was in Iraq.
“These are beautiful.” I tuck a piece of hair back behind her ear.
She blushes and touches the earrings. “I’m sorry. You can have them back. I always meant to return them.”
“Please don’t. I like them where they are.” I run my fingers down her arm and put that hand beside my other hand, on her bare back. She has nothing to do with the hand I was holding but set it on my other shoulder. Easier to get close. I take a chance and step in. She doesn’t pull away.
I lean my cheek against her head, close my eyes and drink in the scent of her hair and the smell of her skin. I can imagine that we’re back together. That I came home to a much warmer welcome. That I bought a diamond for her finger instead of for her ears. This could be our wedding. When this is over, I’ll take her away to some beautiful place. She’ll be mine.
“…North Carolina?” she says. For one horrible second, I think she can read my mind, or that I accidentally said something out loud.
I look down at her. “What did you say?” She’s looking up at me through her eyelashes. That used to, correction, still does, make me crazy.
