“You’re not in limbo,” I say. It seems to me like maybe Tara’s rushing because the wedding is triggering old abandonment wounds. I nearly point this out to her, but I just swallow the seeds of critique and say, “Look, if that’s what you want, then go for it.” It feels pretty amazing to realize I’m not in charge of other people’s choices or outcomes. My only job is to love her and be there for her no matter what. “And I guess there are some tax benefits to an accelerated timeline, too, since you and Niles can file jointly.”
“You’re like Hal with all that business jargon,” Tara teases me.
“And you’re like me with all those eye rolls,” I reply.
We crack up at that, how we’ve all sprinkled bits of each other into our splintered parts. And even when we’re not physically together, the changes stick, the new traits stay. Like alchemy, except it’s actually real. No fraudsters here.
Tara’s not doing bridesmaids, thank goodness, but she gives me a plus-one. I just RSVP for myself, though, no plus-one. I’mhappy being the only single Redstocking left standing. Being the odd one out actually affirms my strength more than if the rest of my friends were single too. I’m not just going along with the pack.
But as Tara’s wedding gets closer, something doesn’t feel totally right. I go for a swim in my spirit to find the epicenter of the weirdness. Turns out that even though I’d have a grand ole time solo, I want to take Chris to the wedding as my date. I want to toss him a dramatic eye roll when Tara and Niles start crying during their vows, and I want to steal his sweet potato fries from the plant-based burger place that’s catering. I want to spin him around the dance floor and loosen up those accountant hips of his and rest my head on his shoulder at the end of the night after I’ve wowed the crowd.
I’m not exactly pleased that this is what I want. It feels like it’s following a script that someone much less talented than me wrote. But then the divine woman chimes in, warns me not to trap myself back in that little box of what I expected liberation to look like.Didn’t you watch your own play?
I know, I know, I spray back, a mixture of snark and salt.
I call Chris right then. It feels accidental yet also more intentional than anything I’ve ever done. He picks up in the sliver of space between the second and the third ring. “Emily Jane,” he says, and the way he says it feels more like an answer than a question.
“Hey,” I blurt. “So you know how Tara and Niles are getting married this weekend? I was wondering if maybe you’d want to come to it. I know this is super last-minute, so no worries if not. Just thought I’d check.”
I try to keep my voice casual, but then I remind myself it’s okay not to be casual. It’s okay not to be chill because being chill is basically the same thing as muting your feelings, pretending your emotions don’t exist. And who wants that? Not me, not anymore.
Chris takes a while to answer. It’s probably only one and a half seconds but it feels like forever, and in that forever I’m confronted with the terrifying truth of how badly I want him to say yes. I don’t need him to, but I want him to and there’s this raw vulnerability and raw power in that. Those two things aren’t opposites like I used to think. They’re actually quite connected. The more vulnerable you are, the more powerful you are, really.
“Would I be going as your date or as your friend?” Chris asks.
“Take your pick,” I say, but then I make myself jump from the airplane and pray that the parachute comes out. “I was hoping for the first option.”
“You want me to come as your date?” Chris clarifies.
He’s really taking a while to catch on, but I guess I can’t blame him considering how I rebuffed his kiss and karate-chopped him in the nuts. “That’s correct,” I say and then keep going because I’m past the point of no return. I’ve been past it for a while now. “I’d like you to be my date to the wedding, Chris. Or if you can’t come to the wedding, I was hoping we could still go on a date sometime. I like you as a friend but also in other ways; that’s what I’m trying to say here. There it is. Do what you want with that information.”
I’m cringing with each word, wishing I could take it back but glad I can’t. Chris’s voice swings up after that. He says in that case, he’d love to come to the wedding; he’ll just have to find someone to watch Arnold, but that’s no problem. He’ll ask his new neighbor; they have an Australian shepherd too who gets along great with Arnold.
I know how Chris likes to plan things out, how curveballs can make him anxious. But he’s prioritizing this, he’s prioritizing me, and I’m bouncing on my toes now. Everything is bubbling up, molten again.
“But just so we’re on the same page,” he says. “I shouldn’t try to kiss you?” He’s trying to keep the tone light, make a little joke ofthe whole debacle last time, but I know it’s a real question and that he feels as exposed as I do right now.
“Kissing at your own risk.” I hope he can hear the invitation in my voice.
“Understood.” His smile is audible.
Arnie is barking in the background like he’s giving his approval, and that just widens the grin on my own face. It’s one of those oversized smiles that I used to find obnoxious on other people because I was bitter about their bliss, but now that I’ve got some for myself, I swear I’m never going back to my curmudgeonly ways. I’ll be annoying people with my goofy grin long after I’m dead.
“I went to visit Luke’s grave last week,” Chris says, and the tone shifts but doesn’t fall; we’re both still airborne. “First time since the funeral,” he adds. “I’ve been scared to face it before, I guess.”
This is a big deal, but I act like it’s not so he won’t shut down. “Oh, how was that?” I say, like he told me he spent the morning at Whole Foods, diligently squeezing avocados to find the optimal ripeness.
“Tough,” he says. “But good.” He tells me that he sat at the tombstone for a while and talked to Luke as if he was still here. He couldn’t hear anything back, but by the end he still felt a little closer to him.
“I mentioned you in the conversation,” Chris says. “Told him the story of how you kicked me in the balls when I tried to kiss you, figured he’d get a good laugh out of that. But also I think he’d be proud of me for taking that chance. For stepping out of his shadow and figuring out my own path, or at least starting to.”
“You’re carrying him forward without staying stuck in the past,” I tell him. “That’s not easy.”
“‘Give me a free life, not an easy life,’” Chris says.
It’s one of the lines from my play, and it’s quite a thrill, hearing my own quote repeated back. “What cultural icon said that?” I deadpan.
I tell him, too, that I think there’s a pretty decent possibility that Luke is still out there somewhere, or in here somewhere. “It’s hard to explain, but that night on the hiking trip I just saw how time was an illusion,” I say. “How we’re already dead and also haven’t been born yet and also are here, living right now.”
