These Are the Moments (16 page)

Chapter 40

Then

There was so much Wendy wanted to know.

She was single again. Peter had been nice, but needy; and in the end, he got discarded like an old magazine. She’d told him that she wanted to be single and experience college, and it was all a little too serious for her.

The open email template on her computer said differently.

“Dear Simon,” she’d written against the otherwise blank canvas.

Simon was single again, too. Whatever had happened between him and Sarah seemed to be sticking, as his “single” relationship status had remained intact for weeks. Not that she’d been checking.

It was January, and her second semester of college had begun. The professor in front of her read through the syllabus point by point, and no one paid a speck of attention. College had been good for Wendy so far. She’d gotten a 4.0 her first semester, figured out all the good bars, and started drinking.

College Wendy was more experienced now. She wasn’t the sheltered girl who spent her Friday nights at youth group anymore. She took tequila shots and danced onstage and kissed boys she’d just met. She didn’t worry if she missed church and she hung around guys who smoked pot occasionally. Things were changing, but when it came to Simon, they were very much the same.

“Dear Simon,” she read, and then typed.

She typed every thought in her head.

“For the first time in forever, we could make this work.”

“I love you, and I know you love me, too. This isn’t the end of us.”

“I know you can’t just say yes, so please, take some time to think about it. You know where to find me.”

She’d tried so hard to get over him. There were glimpses of hope, and then she’d see him or hear from him, and it all went sour. Her mouse hovered over the ‘send’ button. Was this a mistake? If she put her whole heart out for him to crush, what would happen? In her head, she knew it was a long shot. In her soul, she knew she had to do it.

After Simon showed up at the art show, she didn’t reciprocate. She knew that to him, that was a rejection. It didn’t matter that they were both seeing other people. He’d made a move. And she’d turned him down.

Maybe he’d just never answer her. She could live with that.

Send.

For Wendy, life was piecing itself together. She wasn’t reaching out to Simon because she was lonely or bored. With Vivian back, she had a complete set of friends. She liked her classes, and she liked living with Reese. She wasn’t desperate; she was sure.

Simon was not evaporating. He was a constant fixture in her mind, something that waned in and out of her consciousness. She thought about him whenever she drove back to Covington. She wondered how he was doing when she spotted the woods across from her house. He wasn’t going away, but he also wasn’t an intrusion. Being without him had stopped hurting, but it didn’t mean that she was over it.

The email had been Mom’s idea.

“Do you still miss him?” Mom had asked her a few weekends ago.

“Yes,” she admitted, “Not actively. Not all the time. But when it hits me, it’s pretty hard.”

“You know,” Mom said, pouring Wendy a cup of tea, “Simon may not be perfect, and I may not even like him all the time, but if you still want him, then tell him. Now is the time. Just tell him how you feel.”

It had opened up a whole world of possibility for her. Just a few simple words from Mom had sparked a shift in Wendy’s perspective. She could be with Simon. She could tell him. It didn’t have to be so complicated, after all.

So when Wendy sent the email, she was hopeful. Expectant, even.

After class, she made her way back to her apartment. They shared a small two-bedroom on the north side of campus, right across from the grocery store. She tossed her backpack down by the couch, and reached for her laptop.

One new email.

Her heart bottomed out. She knew. This was going to hurt.

“Wow. Wasn’t expecting this. Look, Wendy, I know it’s not easy to hear, but I have to be clear and honest: it’s over. And not ‘over’ like when we were younger. Really over. I’ve just had enough of it all. Haven’t you? I know that I don’t want to try this again. I don’t feel like I’ve always felt and I know that feeling isn’t coming back. Please don’t take my brevity for uncertainty or lack of resolve. We had a long run, but it’s over.”

Wendy slammed the laptop shut.

She looked up at the crucifix on the wall.

Curled herself into a ball on the couch.

And thought,
what good have you ever done?

Chapter 41

Now

“
How many paintings do you have?” he asked her.

“That’s classified information.”

“Oh come on,” he said. “Humor me.”

“I’ve got about ten in this series so far.”

“So it’s a series?”

“It could be. One day.”

She’d given up any hope of making a painting happen tonight. She reached into her drawer and withdrew the crumpled sheets of paper from her mother. One by one, she opened them.

Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see
, Hebrews 11:1.

“So you’ve been working on this for a while?”

“Relatively. I just kind of had a thought one day. And started painting my way through those thoughts.”

“Is it therapeutic for you? You know, working your way through those big places and events?”

She’d never really thought of it that way before. Painting wasn’t a self-help ordeal. It was a compulsion, if anything. If she didn’t paint, her hands would get shaky and she’d get nervous energy in her body. She had to paint. It was a necessity.

“I guess so,” she said, pulling the covers over her body, still clothed. “It’s more just a way of being. I paint the things that don’t make sense to me. So one day, maybe I’ll look back at them and understand.”

“I wish I had something like that. I’d be much better off.”

She didn’t want to answer that. So instead, she took a leap and said, “You’re back home?”

“Yeah . . .”

“That’s good.”

“Not really good, exactly. It just makes sense for me. I travel too much to validate a rent. So, yeah. I’m home.”

“Good, so far?”

“Well, it’s free and there are home-cooked meals. So, yes, I’d say it’s working out well.”

Six verses in, Wendy realized a theme:
love
and
faith
and
hope
. Mom was trying to tell her something.

“So,” he said, “You’re going to be in a gallery. And you’re talking to me.”

“Well,” she said, “if we want to get technical, we’re talking to each other.”

“Does it feel weird?”

No, it feels like every other time. And that’s what scares me.

“No, not really,” she said. “I’m curious, though. What do you mean by
we can talk
?”

“Glad you asked,” he answered. “I think that it’s stupid for us not to talk to each other. We’ve got the wedding coming up. We’re both going to be in each other’s lives for the time being. So why don’t we, you know, be in each other’s lives?”

She felt her stomach churn.

“For a little while, at least. Within reason,” he added.

“So, what? We’re friends now?”

Simon and Wendy would never
just
be friends. That was understood.

“No, not friends,” he said. “More like correspondents, I guess. Temporarily.”

Temporarily. As usual.

“All right,” she said, “I’m intrigued.”

Which was always her downfall.

She could almost hear him laugh. “Don’t go getting any ideas, though.”

Which was always
his
downfall.

“Trust me,” she said, “I won’t.”

“Good, then. So. You’re going to be a painter.”

“I’m going to be a painter.”

“What else is new?”

“You tell me.”

Wendy opened the last verse:
Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers a multitude of sins
, 1 Peter 4:8.

She fell asleep that night in the throes of Simon. He seemed to be all around her again. His presence sucking up the air around her. The wedding. The paintings. The past and the future. For a little while, maybe it would be okay. For a little while, she’d let herself be happy to talk to him.

But it would go bad, eventually.

It always did.

Chapter 42

Then

They always wound up here.

Reese and Wendy claimed a booth in the library, close to the coffee shop. Wendy studied her accounting notes, her midterms fast approaching. Sophomore year was proving to be harder than expected. Not for Reese. She was online shopping.

“Gray sweater or white sweater?” she asked, turning the computer screen to Wendy.

Wendy glanced up. “White.”

“You didn’t even look.”

“I’m
accounting
for your skin color. Get it?”

Reese raised one eyebrow at her. “You’re lame.”

“The lamest.”

“True,” Reese said, and took a sip of her iced mocha.

Wendy highlighted. And highlighted more. But that didn’t mean she understood a single thing the book was saying. She’d decided to add a business degree because it was practical. But now, it was practically killing every brain cell she had left.

Reese closed her computer screen. “Okay. Can I tell you something you probably
don’t
want to hear?”

“Hmm, let me think,” Wendy said, scribbling something in pen. “Nope. Think I’ll pass.”

“But what if you do want to hear it?”

“That’s just a risk I’m willing to take.”

Reese folded her arms and fiddled with her nose ring. “Whatever, I’m telling you anyway.”

“But—”

“Simon texted me.”

Wendy smeared highlighter across the book and onto the table. “I’m sorry, what?”

After the email, Wendy had written Simon out of her life. She’d moved on, actually and truly this time, and his cold words had done the trick. She tried not to think about it. She couldn’t face those words again.

“Simon. He texted me.”

“Yeah, got that part,” Wendy said. She closed her book.

“It’s weird, right?”

Wendy stared at her, refusing to blink. “What did he say?”

“He started off real casual, you know. Just hey, how’s school, that type of thing. Strange. He knows I hate him, but I figured I’d follow the thread.”

“And?” Wendy picked at her fingernail polish, chips of bright pink littering the table.

“He asked me if I thought you’d want to see him.”

Wendy held onto the air in her lungs, uncompromising, like if she could freeze it inside of her, it would somehow make the world freeze too.
He wanted to see her? For what?
What logical explanation could he have for this?

He was twisted.
God, he was so messed up.
You couldn’t say those words to a person, and then go about your life. You couldn’t hurt someone the way he’d hurt her, and then waltz back like it was nothing.

“What . . . did you say?”

Reese shrugged. “I told him I’d ask you.”

Wendy shook her head. “Unbelievable.”

“I know. I didn’t want to say anything, but I didn’t want to choose for you, you know?”

Wendy flipped the spine of her textbook back open. “Absolutely not. You can tell him no. Hell no.”

Wendy went back to highlighting, but she could feel Reese’s eyes still lingering over her.

“You sure?” Reese asked.

Wendy tilted her head upward. “Of course I’m sure.”

She was sure she hated him. She was sure he wasn’t good anymore. She knew, without a doubt, that she didn’t want to see him. As she spread the yellow streak across the black text, she knew that this could change, and that, it probably already had.

Chapter 43

Now

She had to tell them eventually. But she wasn’t going to tell them now. That’s what Wendy decided two minutes into brunch with Vivian and Reese, who sipped on their mimosas and deliberated between the omelets and the pancakes.

Vivian decided on one scrambled egg and one fruit cup.

“This is a wedding thing, isn’t it?” Reese asked. She’d decided on the pancakes. Most likely trying to prove a point.

Vivian tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “No, I’m just not really hungry.”

It was definitely a wedding thing.

“Y’all went and got fitted for your dresses, right? I’m just asking because Katherine went and I want to make sure you’ve got that in mind,” Vivian said hastily. She didn’t like to ask people for things, so she’d never been very good at it.

“I’m all set,” Wendy said.

Reese frowned. “We’re supposed to get fitted?”

Vivian rubbed her eyebrows. “You didn’t check the emails?”

“Oh, I never check emails. Maybe if you’d call a girl once in a while.”

Vivian also wasn’t the best communicator. It was sort of an out of sight, out of mind situation. She could send you formal invitations and emails, and every now and then text you a
hey, how are you?
But you’d never get an answer. Sometimes Wendy would call her, but she’d always get voicemail. And if Vivian ever were to call, you better pick up, because God knows she’d never call you back.

She didn’t mean to be like that. She was just Vivian, Wendy figured.

“Well,” Vivian said, tucking her napkin in her lap, “if you could do that within the next couple of weeks.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll read the emails.”

Vivian smiled. “That would be great, thank you.”

“So, what’s new?” Reese asked Wendy.

Wendy shrugged and looked at Vivian. “The invitations were beautiful.”

“Were they?” Vivian asked. “I felt like the gold was a little too orange.”

“I didn’t notice,” Wendy said.

Reese was studying Wendy, one eyebrow perched. “You’re being quiet. It’s weird.”

“Me?”

“Yeah,” Reese answered. “Something’s up. What is it?”

Wendy had the worst poker face of all time. She’d never been a good liar, hadn’t even been a good concealer for that matter. And Reese? She never missed anything. That’s why she always knew everything.

“You know . . . just all this Claudia stuff.”

“That’s so sad,” Vivian chimed in. “I always loved them together.”

“I don’t think that’s it,” Reese said, trying to meet Wendy’s dodging eyes. “Is it work? The gallery?”

“Oh, how is that going?” Vivian interjected.

“Simon?” Reese asked.

Wendy sighed. “
Fine.
”

Reese curled her mouth into a grin. “I knew it. What’s the Simon thing?”

Vivian exhaled, loudly and pointedly.

“It’s not a big deal,” Wendy said. “We just agreed to be friends. For now.”

“For now? As in there’s more to come? Or as in he gets to revoke that clause when he feels like it?”

Vivian slurped on her water. She tapped her heel loudly beneath the table.

“It’s more of a
we’ll see
type of thing. I mean, we’re both in this wedding. We’re gonna see each other.”

“Yeah, but you don’t have to be friends. Or even friendly.”

Good point
. They didn’t have to be anything. So what were they doing? More importantly, what was
she
doing?

Wendy was figuring out what to say when Vivian knocked over her water glass. Accidentally on purpose. “Can we just not talk about Simon?”

Now Wendy really didn’t know what to say. Vivian and Wendy never really talked about Simon. She hadn’t cried to her when they’d broken up. She’d never really filled her in on what Vivian had missed.
So why was she acting like this?

“Sure,” Reese said, crossing one arm over the other. “If we can just not talk about your wedding.”

Reese, the defender.

“It’s okay,” Wendy said. “Let’s just talk about something else.”

Vivian ignored Reese. And Wendy, too. “I just think . . . the subject is a little tired. Don’t you?”

First of all, Wendy agreed. Second of all, Wendy hadn’t chosen to bring him up. She’d had every intention of shutting up about it. But that was Vivian for you. She only had time for what she had time for. Only had patience for what she thought was worth hearing.

“As is your wedding,” Reese said under her breadth. Except for that it wasn’t.

“Reese,” Wendy hissed.

Vivian turned on Reese. It looked like she was ready to say something, eyes like points, forehead trembling. And then, she didn’t.

“I have to go,” Vivian said, slipping her purse over her shoulder and laying down her money. “Don’t forget the fitting.”

Wendy wasn’t sure what had just happened. Somewhere down the line, Vivian had decided she didn’t want to listen to Wendy anymore, without bothering to say anything about it.

Why would she act like that?

And was she right?

“You didn’t have to pick at her like that,” Wendy said to Reese.

Reese swung her hair over her shoulder. “Yeah, and neither did she. Don’t forget. She’s part enemy now.”

“She didn’t mean—”

“That’s your problem, Wendy,” Reese said. “You never think anyone does things just to hurt you. And guess what. People do shitty things every day. Even Vivian.”

Wendy didn’t know if Reese was right, in any way, shape or form. But she liked to believe that she wasn’t.

And in that way, she proved Reese’s point.