“Ok,” he says, pushing me away. “Let’s not make this too weird. I have a reputation to uphold.”
“I’m really happy for you, Matthew,” I tell him. “I mean it. I’m sure it wasn’t easy.”
“It wasn’t,” Matthew agrees. “But somebody told me once that the easy thing and the right thing aren’t necessarily the same.”
I grin, remembering the last thing I said to him on the ship.
“I’m pretty sure it was Taylor Swift,” he follows up. I emit an extremely ladylike snort of laughter before punching him in the arm.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t tell them sooner,” he says. “For what it’s worth, I couldn’t stop thinking about it for weeks after we left. But I needed to tell them on my terms.”
“If it makes you feel better,” I shrug, “I don’t think it would have made any difference.”
If there’s anything I’ve had in spades since I left the Vela Bianca, it’s time. Time to overthink while wrapping up my favorite mugs in newspaper. Time to analyze while googling Uhaul prices and listing furniture on Facebook marketplace. What happened with Caleb nearly broke my heart, and there’s not an hour that goes by I don’t think about how I could have changed it. But I don’t care what he said—being together wasn’t a mistake. It was the first time in over five years that I’ve actually feltfree.
But it certainly hasn’t been the last.
“Have you spoken to him?” Matthew asks.
I shake my head.
“He made it pretty clear he wanted nothing to do with me after everything that happened. Honestly, I can’t say I blame him.”
“Stella, I?—“
“Kiddos,” Steven interrupts him, appearing at the edge of the lawn. “You’re wanted in the garden. Time to take some awkward family photos where everyone is looking slightly to the left!”
I smile at him.
“Don’t look so satisfied, Steven. As your future sister-in-law-in-law, it’s my right to rope you into these too.”
“Woah, woah, woah,” Matthew puts out a hand. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I have a?—“
“Reputation to uphold,” Steven and I both drone at the same time. I can’t help but smile. The Matthew I knew on the boat was guarded to the point of incivility. But this Matthew seems lighter. Softer, somehow.
He offers me his arm before we walk out to the garden, and even though we still have a long way to go, I take it. It may betoo late to make any difference for Caleb, but Matthew deserves to be able to be himself around his family. He deserves to know that, whatever path he chooses, he still belongs.
27
Being near Patricia and Arthur after everything Matthew just told me is awkward, to say the least. But between commands from the photographer and interruptions from the wedding coordinator, I manage to avoid any direct eye-contact. Still, I can’t stop thinking that if Patricia knows, that means Jules does, too. Why didn’t she say anything? We’re going to have to have another long talk next month when she’s back from her honeymoon in St. wherever-she’s-going.
When all the photos are taken and angles sufficiently exhausted, we head out to the grassy lawn to join the rest of the guests.
If fairy tale weddings really existed, this would be one of them. A dozen tables decorated with massive vases of glitter-lined water lotuses surround a tree-lined courtyard. The seven-piece swing band announces Jules and Harry with an instrumental version of Abba’sI Do, I Do, I Dobeneath the fairy-lit oak trees. She looks radiant. But more than that, she lookshappy.And beside her, Harry looks like he’s just won an Oscar. He twirls her around once before pulling her chair back for her,his eyes never leaving hers. It’s the same way Marianne looks at Will: like they’ve finally found someone they’ll never let go of. My heart swells at the thought of someone loving my sister the way she deserves: like she’s the most magical creature to have ever incarnated on this planet.
I take my seat next to Will and Marianne as Harry clanks his crystal champagne flute to welcome us all to the event. I’m so high on wedding magic that I manage to get through a full hour of dinner without thinking about Caleb, but by the time Harry’s college roommate delivers his half-drunken speech on the power of second chances, I’m toast. I look down to my left wrist. There’s no hair-tie there, today, nothing to snap me out of my thought spiral. Just Marianne’s hand. I grab ahold of it and squeeze as former frat boy starts to get teary about Harry being “the best man he’s ever known”.
“Ow!” Marianne yelps. “Are you trying to take my fingers off?”
“Sorry,” I say, letting up on my grip.
“You’re thinking about him again,” she accuses me, “aren’t you?”
“Who, the Captain?” Will asks loudly.
“Shhh!” Marianne and I both hiss at the same time.
“Sorry, right.”
