The Wedding (13 page)

Jane leaned back in her chair, her mouth settling into a straight line. “And?” she asked.

“And what?”

“And what exactly does that mean? That you don’t want to see me anymore?” “No,” I protested, “of course not. But the fact is that you’ll be here, and I’m going to be there. You know how hard long-distance relationships can be.” She crossed her arms. “So?”

“Well, it’s just that they can ruin the best of intentions, and to be honest, I don’t want either of us to get hurt.”

“Get hurt?”

“That’s what happened to Harold and Gail,” I explained. “They didn’t see each other much because he was so busy, and they broke up because of it.” She hesitated. “And you think the same thing’s going to happen to us,” she said carefully.

“You have to admit the odds aren’t in our favor.”

“The odds?” She blinked. “You’re trying to put what we have into numbers?”

“I’m just trying to be honest. . . .”

“About what? Odds? What does that have to do with us? And what does Harold have to do with anything?”

“Jane, I . . .”

She turned away, unable to look at me. “If you don’t want to see me anymore, just say it. Don’t use a busy schedule as an excuse. Just tell me the truth. I’m an adult. I can take it.”

“I am telling you the truth,” I said quickly. “I do want to see you. I didn’t mean for it to come out the way it did.” I swallowed. “I mean . . . well . . .
 
you’re a very special person, and you mean a great deal to me.” She said nothing. In the silence that followed, I watched in surprise as a single tear spilled down her cheek. She swiped at it before crossing her arms.
 
Her gaze was focused on the trees near the river.

“Why do you always have to do that?” Her voice was raw.

“Do what?”

“This . . . what you’re doing now. Talking about odds, using statistics to explain things . . . to explain us. The world doesn’t always work that way. And neither do people. We’re not Harold and Gail.”

“I know that. . . .”

She faced me, and for the first time, I saw the anger and pain I’d caused her.
 
“Then why did you say it?” she demanded. “I know it’s not going to be easy, but so what? My mom and dad didn’t see each other for fourteen years, and they still got married. And you’re talking about nine months? When you’re only a couple of hours away? We can call, we can write. . . .” She shook her head.
 
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I guess I’m just scared about losing you. I didn’t mean to upset you. . . .”

“Why?” she asked. “Because I’m a special person? Because I mean a great deal to you?”

I nodded. “Yes, of course you do. And you are special.”

She took a deep breath. “Well, I’m glad to know you, too.” With that, understanding finally dawned on me. While I meant my own words as a compliment, Jane had interpreted them differently, and the thought that I had hurt her made my throat suddenly go dry.

“I’m sorry,” I said again, “I didn’t mean for it to come out the way it sounded.

You are very special to me, but . . . you see, the thing is . . .” My tongue felt as if it were twisted, and my stammering finally elicited a sigh from Jane. Knowing I was running out of time, I cleared my throat and tried to tell her what was in my heart.

“What I meant to say was that I think I love you,” I whispered.
 
She was quiet, but I knew she’d heard me when her mouth finally began to curl into a slight smile.

“Well,” she said, “do you or don’t you?”

I swallowed. “I do,” I said. Then, wanting to be perfectly clear, I added, “Love you, I mean.”

For the first time in our conversation, she laughed, amused by how hard I’d made it. Then, raising her eyebrows, she finally smiled. “Why, Wilson,” she said, drawing out the words in exaggerated southern fashion, “I think that’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Surprising me, she suddenly got up from her chair and sat in my lap. She slipped an arm around me and kissed me gently. Beyond her, the rest of the world was out of focus, and in the waning light, as if disembodied, I heard my own words coming back to me.

“I do, too,” she said. “Love you, I mean.”

I was remembering this story when Jane’s voice broke in.

“Why are you smiling?” she asked.

She stared at me from across the table. Dinner was casual tonight; we had filled our plates in the kitchen, and I hadn’t bothered to light a candle.
 
“Do you ever think about the night you came to visit me at Duke?” I asked. “When we finally got to go to Harper’s?”

“That was after you got the job in New Bern, right? And you said you wanted to celebrate?”

I nodded. “You wore a strapless black dress. . . .”

“You remember that?”

“Like it was yesterday,” I said. “We hadn’t seen each other in about a month, and I remember watching from my window as you got out of the car.” Jane looked faintly pleased. I went on. “I can even remember what I was thinking when I saw you.”

“You can?”

“I was thinking that the year we’d been dating was the happiest year I’d ever had.”

Her gaze dropped to her plate, then met mine again, almost shyly. Buoyed by the memory, I plunged on.

“Do you remember what I got you? For Christmas?” It was a moment before she answered. “Earrings,” she said, her hands traveling absently to her earlobes. “You bought me diamond earrings. I knew they were expensive, and I remember being shocked that you’d splurged that way.” “How do you know they were expensive?”

“You told me.”

“I did?” This I didn’t remember.

“Once or twice,” she said, smirking. For a moment we ate in silence. Between mouthfuls, I studied the curve of her jawline and the way the late evening sunlight played across her face.

“It doesn’t seem like thirty years have passed, does it?” I said.

A shadow of that old familiar sadness flitted across her face.
 
“No,” she said, “I can’t believe Anna’s actually old enough to get married. I don’t know where the time goes.”

“What would you have changed?” I asked. “If you could?” “In my life, you mean?” She looked away. “I don’t know. I guess I would have tried to enjoy it more while it was happening.”

“I feel the same way.”

“Do you really?” Jane looked genuinely surprised.

I nodded. “Of course.”

Jane seemed to recover. “It’s just—please don’t take this the wrong way, Wilson, but you usually don’t wallow in the past. I mean, you’re so practical about things. You have so few regrets. . . .” She trailed off.
 
“And you do?” I asked softly.

She studied her hands for a moment. “No, not really.” I almost reached for her hand then, but she changed the subject, saying brightly, “We went to see Noah today. After we left the house.” “Oh?”

“He mentioned that you’d stopped by earlier.”

“I did. I wanted to make sure it was okay if we used the house.” “That’s what he said.” She moved some vegetables around with her fork. “He and Anna looked so cute together. She held his hand the whole time she was telling him about the wedding. I wish you could have seen it. It reminded me of the way he and Mom used to sit together.” For a moment, she seemed lost in thought. Then she looked up. “I wish Mom were still around,” she said. “She always loved weddings.”

“I think it runs in the family,” I murmured.

She smiled wistfully. “You’re probably right. You can’t imagine how much fun this is, even on such short notice. I can’t wait until Leslie gets married and we have time to really concentrate on it.”

“She doesn’t even have a serious boyfriend, let alone someone who wants to propose to her.”

“Details, details,” she said, tossing her head. “It doesn’t mean we can’t start planning it, does it?”

Who was I to argue? “Well, when it does happen,” I commented, “I hope that whoever proposes gets my permission in advance.” “Did Keith do that?”

“No, but this wedding’s such a rush, I wouldn’t have expected him to. Still, it’s one of those character-building experiences I think every young man should go through.”

“Like when you asked Daddy?”

“Oh, I built a lot of character that day.”

“Oh?” She gazed at me curiously.

“I think I could have handled it a little better.”

“Daddy never told me that.”

“That’s probably because he took pity on me. It wasn’t exactly the most opportune of moments.”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“Because I never wanted you to know.”

“Well, now you have to tell me.”

I reached for my glass of wine, trying not to make a big deal out of it. “All right,” I said, “here’s the story. I’d come by right after work, but I was supposed to meet with the partners again later that same night, so I didn’t have much time. I found Noah working in his shop. This was right before we all went to stay at the beach. Anyway, he was building a birdhouse for some cardinals that had nested on the porch, and he was right in the middle of tacking the roof on. He was pretty intent on finishing the work before the weekend, and I kept trying to figure out a way to work the subject of you and me into the conversation, but the opportunity wasn’t there. Finally, I just blurted it out.
 
He asked me if I’d get him another nail, and when I handed it to him, I said, ‘Here you go. And oh, by the way, that reminds me—would you mind if I married Jane?’ ” She giggled. “You always were a smooth one,” she remarked. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, given the way you proposed. It was so . . .” “Memorable?”

“Malcolm and Linda never get tired of that story,” she said, referring to a couple we’d been friends with for years. “Especially Linda. Every time we’re with other people, she begs me to tell the story.”

“And of course, you’re willing to oblige.”

She raised her hands innocently. “If my friends enjoy my stories, who am I to withhold them?”

As the easy banter continued through dinner, I was conscious of everything about her. I watched as she cut the chicken into small bites before eating it, and the way her hair caught the light; I smelled the faintest trace of the jasmine gel she’d used earlier. There was no explanation for this longer-lasting newfound ease between us, and I didn’t try to understand it. I wondered if Jane even noticed. If so, she gave no indication, but then neither did I, and we lingered over dinner until the remains grew cold on the table.
 
The story of my proposal is indeed memorable, and it never fails to provoke gales of laughter among those who hear it.

This sharing of history is fairly common in our social circle, and when we socialize, my wife and I cease to be individuals. We are a couple, a team, and I’ve often enjoyed this interplay. We can each hop into the middle of a story that the other has begun and continue the other’s train of thought without hesitation. She might begin the story in which Leslie was leading a cheer at a football game when one of the running backs slipped near the sideline and began careening toward her. If Jane pauses, I know it is my signal to inform them that Jane was the first to leap out of her seat to make sure she was okay, because I was paralyzed with fear. But once I finally summoned the will to move, I bounded through the crowd, pushing and shoving and knocking people off balance, much like the running back a moment before. Then, in the moment I take a breath to pause, Jane easily picks up where I left off. I am amazed that neither of us seems to find this out of the ordinary, or even difficult. This give-and-take has become natural for us, and I often wonder what it is like for those who don’t know their partners quite so well. Leslie, I might add, was not injured that day. By the time we reached her, she was already reaching for her pom-poms.
 
But I never join in the story of my proposal. Instead I sit in silence, knowing that Jane finds it much more humorous than I. After all, I didn’t intend for it to be a humorous event. I was sure it would be a day she would always remember and hoped that she would find it romantic.

Somehow, Jane and I had made it through the year with our love intact. By late spring we were talking about getting engaged, and the only surprise was when we would make it official. I knew she wanted something special—her parents’ romance had set a high bar. When Noah and Allie were together, it seemed as if everything turned out perfectly. If it rained while they were out together—a miserable experience, most would admit—Allie and Noah would use it as an excuse to build a fire and lie beside each other, falling ever more deeply in love. If Allie was in the mood for poetry, Noah could recite a series of verses from memory. If Noah was the example, I knew I must follow his lead, and for this reason, I planned to propose to her on the beach at Ocracoke, where her family was vacationing in July.

My plan, I thought, was inspired. Quite simply, after picking out an engagement ring, I planned to hide it in the conch I had picked up the year before, with the intention that she would find it later, when we were out scouring the beach for sand dollars. When she did, I planned to drop to one knee, take her hand, and tell her that she would make me the happiest man in the world if she would consent to be my wife.

Unfortunately, things didn’t go exactly as planned. A storm was in full swing that weekend, with heavy rain and winds strong enough to make the trees bend almost horizontal. All day Saturday, I waited for the storm to abate, but nature seemed to have other ideas, and it wasn’t until midmorning Sunday that the sky began to clear.

I was more nervous than I’d imagined I would be, and I found myself mentally rehearsing exactly what I wanted to say. This sort of rote preparation had always served me well in law school, but I didn’t realize that my preparation would keep me from speaking to Jane as we made our way along the beach. I don’t know how long we continued to walk in silence, but it was long enough for the sound of Jane’s voice to startle me when she finally spoke up.
 
“The tide’s really coming in, isn’t it?”