These Are the Moments (20 page)

Chapter 51

Now

She’d forgotten to lock the door.

The heat of the flashlight shone through her eyelids like a red haze.

“Hrumph.” Wendy threw out a fist.

Claudia said, “We have places to be.”

Wendy searched for her phone, one eye squinted open. She held down the home button. “3 a.m.? Go away!”

“Let’s go, cranky pants,” Claudia said, yanking the comforter off of Wendy’s immovable form.

Wendy shivered. “I’ll kill you.”

Wendy met Claudia at the front door, grumpy and lethargic. “Explain yourself.”

“I can’t sleep. I need a distraction. So, you’re showing me the pond.” She said this with unabashed authority, no hint of question in her command.

“You want to go into the woods at three in the morning? Tell me, have you watched
Criminal Minds
lately?
Law and Order
?
CSI
? Come on, Claud.”

Claudia clicked the flashlight on and off. “Quit being a baby. The worst thing we could run into is a raccoon or a coyote or something.”

“Yeah,” Wendy said, yawning. “Have fun with that.”

“What part of
I need a distraction
did you not understand?” Claudia pushed open the front door. “Let’s go.”

So this is a Casey thing,
Wendy realized. And she was being forced into an actual, literal guilt trip. Claudia hesitated at the top of the stairs, her eyebrows so high they nearly grazed her hairline. Wendy sighed and closed the front door behind her.

Outside, the ground squished with moisture beneath them. There had been a lot of rain lately, and now it pooled in random spots around them, so that they’d have to straddle their way over the mess of earth.

It was quiet. So quiet that they could hear the hum of the cicadas, which sounded more like a chorus of sirens out here. And Wendy’s stomach shifted back and forth inside of her.

“So, tell me the story again,” Claudia said.

Wendy pulled her jacket around her. “What story?”

“The Wendy and Simon story,” she said. “Geez, I was only eight when y’all met. I practically grew up with him in the house.”

“Yeah,” Wendy said, “I guess you kind of did. He was more like an absent dad who keeps showing up, though.”

“I don’t know. I guess I always knew he would come back.”

Well that makes one of us
, Wendy thought.

Wendy had hoped he would come back, but it was never a guarantee. It was more like wishful thinking.

“So, what do you want to know?” Wendy asked.

They were pretty deep in the woods now, and even though it had been years since she could face this place, she still knew the steps by heart. She’d memorized each leaning pine, each dip in the ground. There were some things she just couldn’t forget.

“The good parts. The pond. The beginning.”

“Okay,” Wendy started, “Well, we’d gotten in a fight, and he said he wanted to make it up to me.”

Once Wendy started talking, she couldn’t stop. She told Claudia about their first trip into the woods, how they’d happened upon the pond unexpectedly, and then she told the story of their three month anniversary, the way she felt when he handed her the first set of watercolors.

“Can I say something?” Claudia asked. She was walking a few steps ahead of Wendy, guided by her sister’s instructed
lefts
and
rights
. “I remember growing up, seeing y’all from the outside, and thinking,
That’s real love
. Granted, it was my only real example apart from Mom and Dad, but I don’t know. It just always seemed so very real to me.”

Wendy sighed. She remembered Mom telling her about this once, how Claudia looked up to her. It was different hearing it straight from Claudia. It made it more . . . important. “It was real. But real doesn’t make it permanent.”

“So you don’t love him anymore?”

Wendy exhaled, and she could see the fog of her own breath. “It’s complicated.”

There was the pond, in all its glory. As they exited the woods and broke through the clearing, Wendy experienced the strange sensation of being here and there in time, a limbo kind of state, where she couldn’t seem to fully remember
when
she was.

She could be ten years ago, a naive fourteen-year-old, seeing this for the first time. She could be eight years ago, a bolder sixteen, asking Simon to try again. She could be anywhere in the spectrum of her life, except here in the present, where everything was grown up. Where everything was changed.

Night looked different here. Instead of promising and possible, the pond looked gloomy and eerie, like something out of a horror story. It felt . . . wrong.

“You have to see it in daylight,” Wendy said, finding herself making excuses. “When it’s cool weather, and there aren’t any clouds. It’s really beautiful. Really.”

Claudia studied the bank, as if she were looking for something specific. “It’s not exactly what I expected, but who knows? Maybe it means something different for everyone.”

Wendy didn’t like that idea. If the pond was any sort of representation, this version was not good for anyone. Especially not her little sister.

“No,” Wendy insisted. “No, it’s just night. That’s all. It doesn’t mean anything.”

Claudia found the log first, taking a seat on the dewy bark. Wendy sat beside her, silently. The water was stark still, no breeze to agitate its surface. It looked, in a word, dead. Goosebumps formed on her skin. Her pond was deceased, and that hurt more than any other realization she’d had so far.

She found herself thinking about God again. She used to know exactly who he was: calming, loving and good. Now, she wasn’t so sure.

Was God really good? Did he really want good things for her? Yes, she thought. Yes, she told herself. But if God was so good, then what was all of this leading to? What did he want from her?

“Maybe it’s a sign,” Claudia said.

Looking over at Claudia and the outline of her face, Wendy thought she looked just like Mom. Sounded like her, too.

“A sign for what?” Wendy asked.

“To move on,” Claudia breathed. “Both of us.”

There were words she should say, Wendy knew. Hopeful, positive pieces of advice. But instead, Wendy just stared out at the still, dead water, wondering where to go from here.

Chapter 52

Then

From here, there were only positives.

It still fit just as it had before. The emerald green prom dress curved around her hips and flowed to her ankles, catching the spare light and shining. Formal felt a lot like prom. There were pictures, corsages, dancing and Simon. Simon with Lizzie, but Simon still the same.

Vivian walked in from the bathroom. “I can’t believe you’re really wearing that.”

Vivian didn’t know what to think of the message Wendy was trying to send, which was okay, because even Wendy didn’t know what she was trying to say. Last they’d spoken, Simon and Wendy were still in love.

“You make me so happy,” he’d said to her. “I’m still completely in love with you.”

And she’d said it back.

But now, they were in limbo. Not making decisions. Not taking steps. And here Wendy was, wearing her prom dress, while he was wearing Lizzie’s arm through his.

“Didn’t really feel like buying anything new,” Wendy said.

Vivian scooped her hair into a bun. “Uh huh. Sure.”

“I think it’s kick-ass,” Reese said, slipping into her too-high heels. She was already tall, but now she was giant.

“I just don’t want you to get hurt,” Vivian said. “That’s all.”

“Trust me. That damage is already done,” Wendy said.

At the venue, Wendy, Reese and Vivian took a million pictures. The freshmen gathered at the front in their white dresses, their families getting ready to leave for the night. Drinks were passed around. The band plugged in their amps, sound checking:
one two, one two
.

“My mouth hurts,” Reese said, massaging her cheeks.

“I need a drink,” Vivian said.

At the bar, they scoped out the crowd. The juniors and seniors were already plastered, taking over the dance floor before anyone else could claim it. Lizzie Morgan danced in the center of the circle, arms up, champagne in hand.

She looked pretty, Wendy admitted. Blonde hair in a styled bun. Chartreuse off-the-shoulder dress.

“They’re obnoxious,” Reese said.

“They’re just having a good time,” Vivian answered.

Simon was at a table alone, his hands sealed tightly around his water glass. He looked like the perfect combination of bored and awkward. He also looked good, but she chose to ignore that.

Soon, they were dancing, too. Wendy danced with her back to Lizzie. Only once did they make eye contact, and they half-smiled at each other, neither making much effort. This was how it was now. Awkward. Uncomfortable. Plain old
you dated my boyfriend and he might still love you a little bit
strange.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” Wendy said.

“Me too!” Vivian chimed in, mid-spin.

Reese waved them away. “Go on. Go break the seal, you amateurs.”

On the way to the bathroom, they ran, chest to chest, into one of the last people Wendy expected.

“Freckles!” Owen said.

“Owen!” she said, going in for a hug.

His face shone tomato-red, a clear sign that he was drunk. The swaying helped, too. “Where
you
been?”

“Where’ve you been?” she answered.

They hadn’t hung out since high school. Last she’d heard, Owen was majoring in biology. Not dating anyone. That about summed it up.

He looked at her, confused. “Uhh, here?”

When Owen noticed Vivian, it was as if the room stopped moving, existing and being a room all together. The crowd became mannequins, the music became a serenade and Wendy became
in the way.

“I’m Owen,” he said, starstruck.

And Vivian noticing Owen was nearly the same reaction. She looked at him like he personally kept the roof from caving. She blushed and said, “Vivian.”

Owen looked at Wendy. “Vivian?”

“Vivian,” Wendy agreed.

“I’ve been meaning to meet you, I think,” Owen said.

Vivian grinned, the force of the sun behind it. “Have you?”

“Of course. This is a long time coming, actually.”

And he asked her to dance at the perfect moment, just as the music spiraled into something slow and simple. Vivian said yes, and the two of them waltzed their way off together.

Wendy continued toward the bathroom alone. Simon had relocated, now sitting in a chair alone against the wall, holding Lizzie’s purse and the same glass of water.

When she passed by him, her hand grazed against his as she left him behind, the last thread of green trailing in her wake.

In the bathroom washing her hands, she thought about how stupid this whole thing was.
What am I waiting for? What is he waiting for?
She wasn’t just some girl to Simon, somebody that would wait for him to take some kind of chance on her. She was Wendy, decisive and strong.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. “I can’t do this. You need to make a decision.”

As she dried her hands, Lizzie walked through the door. “Oh, Wendy. Hi.”

“Hey Lizzie,” Wendy said, extra emphasis on the
Liz
. “Having a good night?”

She smiled cryptically. “Absolutely. You?”

“The best.”

When Lizzie closed the stall door, Wendy’s phone vibrated in her hands.

“I know,” Simon said. “I’ll tell her. Tonight.”

Chapter 53

Now

Twenty-Five Things to Do Before You Turn 25:

1. Have a one-night stand.

14. Get a job. A real one.

19. Travel to a country where you don’t speak the language.

21. Read a classic. You know. Those books you said you read in high school but never actually did?

25. Don’t get married. Not yet.

They found the list buried in Wendy’s closet, along with a stack of chemistry notes and a chart of boys they’d sleep with if they were
that kind of girls.

Reese was 25. And she loved birthdays. More than any kid Wendy knew.

“You’re a whole quarter of a century old!” Wendy had texted.

“Whatever,
it’s my birthday!
”

Wendy had five months left. Five months until the big 2-5. And she’d maybe done half the things on that list. Some of them she’d intentionally forgotten, and some of them she’d never planned to do in the first place. A one night stand? More like an invitation for venereal disease.

They decided to throw a party for Reese. And then they decided not to.

“I don’t want a party,” Reese said. “I want to go out. I want to dance. I want to throw up on my neighbor’s back porch.”

“You’ve grown so mature in your old age,” Vivian said.

So instead, they all met at Reese’s apartment, the one that smelled like cat litter and had paintings on the wall she’d snagged from dumpsters.

As Wendy drove up to Baton Rouge, Simon texted: “So . . . you going tonight?”

“Is that even a question?” Wendy asked.

“Cool,” he said. “Me too.”

That was all.

Wendy had a full hour to think over how this night would turn out. She’d deduced three possible scenarios:

1. Simon would completely ignore her.

2. He would make awkward small talk, then do something incredibly stupid.

3. He would act like she was just another person in the room.

None of these options seemed ideal.

Reese’s apartment was decorated from ceiling to floorboard, care of Vivian, with bright rainbow streamers. Balloons trailed through the house and a sign that read, “HAPPY QUARTER OF A CENTURY” draped on the wall above the couch.

The place was packed with people that Reese liked to address as
friends
to the aggravation of her actual friends. Reese could make friends with a piece of chalk or a sidewalk crack, anyone and everyone was invited, and unsurprisingly, they all showed up.

“
It’s my birthday, bitches,
” Reese sung from under her bubblegum pink wig.

“The happiest of birthdays to you, my senile friend.” Wendy shoved her gift into Reese’s chest.

“What is it? What is it?” Reese said, bouncing. She had a cheap plastic crown on her head and a sash that read, “OLD AS F***.”

Throwing the tissue wrapping on the ground, Reese removed the small frame from the bag. Wendy had painted it months ago: the portrait of the three best friends on the LSU parade grounds, the halo of oak trees over them.

Reese gasped. “It’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever painted.
I love it, I love it, I love it.
”

She tried to tack it onto the wall right then and there, but Wendy advised that she save that for later.

In the kitchen, Vivian wore a yellow ribbon tied around her head. Owen had his hand around a bottle, with Simon coaching at his side.

“Trust me,” Owen told Vivian. “You just need, like, a little bit of tonic. You won’t even taste the gin. Just, no, just watch.”

Simon laughed. He didn’t see Wendy yet, and she could see he was having a good time. It was weird. “Dude, you really have no clue how to make a drink. Here.”

Simon grabbed the cups, filtering one into the other, pouring a splash more of vodka and adding the lime. He handed it to Viv and said, “Try this.”

She sipped. “Yes.
Perfect.
”

“Hey,” Wendy said, breaking into the circle. “What’cha drinking?”

“Try this,” Vivian said, shoving the cup into Wendy’s hand.

She let the drink run over her tongue, and then she nodded her approval.

“Good,” Viv said. “You keep it.”

“No it’s fine.”

“Simon, make me another!” Vivian ordered.

It was a strange trio that Wendy had interrupted. Owen, Vivian and Simon, the new pack. And there was Wendy, the one who had brought them all together, on the sidelines.

Simon busied himself making another drink, as Owen walked off to find another friend.

“I’m gonna go find Reese,” Wendy said.

“No, I’ll do it!” Vivian said, and was gone before Wendy could flinch.

Vivian, I swear
, Wendy thought.

Simon turned around, and seeing only Wendy, said, “Where’d she go?”

Wendy felt exposed. “To find Reese, I think? So . . . you’re a bartender now?”

“You could say that,” he said, below a cough. “Excuse me.”

“Nice talking to you, too,” she mumbled as he walked away. Loud enough for him to hear.

Option 1.

Simon had had a lot to drink. She didn’t mean to pay attention, but it was obvious. Wendy paced herself, one drink here and there. They couldn’t both be drinking. Who knew how that would turn out.

Reese took them to a bar with a stage, just a block away from her place. It was more like a club: laser lights and ear-numbing music.

Vivian side-stepped her way into a conversation with Reese and Wendy. “So that guy over there? Cop. Not a bouncer. Apparently, there’s a difference.”

“Oh, it’s weird,” Wendy mumbled as Simon bought a shot for the female bartender. “Oh, it’s so weird.”

Being around Simon was harder than she’d thought. They could text, but not talk. Open up as long as it wasn’t in real life.

“Think of it this way: only a few more months and you’ll never have to see him again,” Reese said.

That didn’t help.

Wendy sighed. “I’m gonna get a drink.”

In line, she felt a tap on her shoulder.

Simon looked happy, at a glazed-over, drunken level. Confident enough to do something stupid. “Need something?”

She stepped back an inch. “I’m good. Just getting water. Thanks, though.”

“You good?”

She gave a deep bob of her head. “Uh huh.”

He fought for a place in her line of vision, weaving his head into view. “You’re mad.”

“Me, mad?” she asked, feigning shock. “What would make you say that?”

“Okay, so I may be a little drunk,” he said, a lot drunk. “But I just don’t know how to be around you.”

“Yeah, that much is obvious.”

“What would you have me do? Pretend we’re best friends?”

She hated when he did that, acting like he had no other choice. There was always another choice. “Of course not. Just act . . . I don’t know.”

“See, you don’t even know what you want,” he said, laughing with his whole face, the way he used to.

She laughed too, and it was nice. Too nice.

“Okay, well, I’ll see you back there,” he said.

When Wendy reached the bar, her head a flurry of bouncing marbled thoughts, she said, “Gin and tonic. Low on the tonic, please.”

Reese and Vivian were out of control. They’d been bouncing for the past hour, floating from group to group, buying and stealing shots, throwing bar napkins into the air. And Wendy was far too sober.

“Let’s go home,” she told them.

In unison, they yelled out an exuberant, “
No!
”

“I’ve got ‘em,” Owen told her. “Head back if you want.”

She did. She checked her purse to make sure she had Reese’s spare key, then told her friends goodbye.

“You leaving?” Simon asked, catching onto her arm.

His face was a range between confusion and sincerity. That threw her a bit. “Oh, umm, yes. I’m crashing with Reese, so I’m just getting a cab.”

She wasn’t sure why she’d given so much information.

“I’ll walk you out,” he offered.

Her body flared up in goosebumps. He was talking to her, out loud, in person. She hated herself for giving him any credit for it.
Oh, wow, you have average control of your voice box. Good job!

“That’s okay,” she said. “You don’t have to.”

His hand reached for the small of her back. “Come on.”

Outside, they waited alongside an assortment of random hookups, fighting couples and crying girls. Wendy wasn’t sure of how this was supposed to go. Half of her wanted him to just leave well enough alone. And then there was the other half . . . the half she thought she’d gotten over.

This part of her wanted him to keep touching her, to sneak into the cab behind her and tell her—

No.

Wendy was over him. And she had to keep staying that way.

“About earlier . . . sorry for not talking to you. You should know,” he said, “that I always want to talk to you. Even if it doesn’t look like it.”

She pushed her way further to the street. “Okay.”

“Do you believe me?” he asked.

She shrugged. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Hey,” he said, gently brushing his fingers over her shoulder. She turned to him. “I mean it. Even though it’s not going to help at all, and it’s probably just going to make things worse, and we may not like ourselves after, I still want to talk to you.”

Wendy froze.

She wanted to tell him,
you can’t just say that to me
. She wanted him to know,
you don’t get to do this.

But words failed.

People failed.

So instead, she slipped into the nearest cab, without so much as a glance behind her.