Ash
July 23rd
My mother looked surprisingly good in her polka-dotted white chiffon dress. Carson had deigned to help tailor it, and the fabric magically seemed to make curves of her nonexistent hips. When she said “I do,” Anya's face broke open like a raincloud, and I felt for an instant that maybe—just maybe—all this marriage hullabaloo was for real.
The Pastor, in his rented tux, didn't look half so trucker-y as usual. His greying hair was slicked back from his face, and without the shadow of his baseball cap covering his eyes, I was more than a little shocked to learn that his cheekbones were strong and his jawline pronounced. I couldn't quite understand what she saw in him, but when I saw his eyes also go liquid at the sound of the tinny wedding march sounding from the out-of-tune piano, I felt relief. Perhaps things wouldn't go to shit after all.
Mr. Dempsey—or Nate, as he'd told me in the truck—seemed more emotionally affected than the whole congregation slapped together. He fidgeted beside me, and I snuck a peek of a fat tear hovering on the lip of his eyelid as the newlyweds sashayed down the aisle. I smiled to myself. He was definitely cute, in a hipster kind of way. He was older, and sort of a teacher, sure—but he was kind. And I figured I deserved to have someone who was kind to me.
Carson shot me a strange look from further down our little bridesmaids’ aisle (for the “church” was too small for us to stand up next to our mother, like proper attendants). At one point, I caught her trying to mouth a question in my direction. She had a right. I had basically brought a stranger along to my family's most intimate moment to date. But my sister's curiosity was nothing compared to the unrelenting gaze of Landon, who hadn't stopped staring at me since I climbed out of Denny's truck in my bridesmaid gear. I was aware of his eyes on the side of my face throughout the whole ceremony, despite him being clear on the opposite side of the church, flanking his Dad. Beside him, his haughty, beautiful girlfriend kept her mouth in a rigid line—but he didn't even glance her way. I didn't know what the intention of his gaze could be, but I felt the whole, concentrated force of his wet brown eyes on my body as I bent to pick up a hymnal, as I slid a tendril of hair behind my ear, as I walked down the aisle to receive communion.
In turn, I tried not to look at him. It was kinda creepy. There was something almost violent in his intensity—and an irrational part of me wondered if he would come gunning for me like a charging rhino, were we to make eyes. I supposed he was cross because I'd brought along a stranger to his Pop's wedding, but Nate Dempsey had been nothing so far but perfectly polite. Even though he'd arrived at the church in his band shirt and corduroys, something in his bearing made him appear more formal than plenty of the other podunk congregants, who murmured and swayed along to the presiding priest even when it seemed inappropriate to do so. Nate said 'Amen' when he was supposed to, he knelt when it was required. At one point, he reached over and took my sweaty palm in his cool, dry one, and brought my knuckles up through space to his mouth. He kissed the back of my hand, lightly and without looking at me. I felt a pleasing little shock twist down my spine at his touch. It felt so familiar, and so easy. We might have been dating for years.
Landon sighed noisily at some point after the hand-kiss, and I watched a few people in his row swivel to shoot him angry glances. The priest was in the middle of a lengthy speech before the vows, and Zora looked none too pleased to see her date interrupting the preacher man. Her lips, so pretty and full, were puckered like she'd eaten something sour.
“What's the deal with your step-brother?” Nate murmured into my hair, just as the Pastor was sliding the wedding band onto Anya's skinny finger.
“He's just kind of a sourpuss,” I said, rolling my eyes. I held my chin high and my chest out, just in case the man in question was still sizing me up from across the room. Let him hear me, I figured. He'd been nothing but a jerk so far.
“He's into you,” my ex-fake-teacher finished, looking a little pleased with himself as he spoke. “Guys can always tell. He wants to get weird with you. He wants to have your bizarre cousin-sister-babies.”
I shot Nate a look, and he quickly crinkled his eyes up so I could tell he was joking. But I still felt the nape of my neck flush red. When I closed my eyes tight enough, I could still perfectly recall the feeling of Landon’s hands, roving my back. Cupping my thighs. Holding my breasts. It was hard to imagine Nate Dempsey moving across my body with so much strength and intention. But then again, didn't I like Mr. Dempsey exactly because he wasn't like Landon? Neither fickle nor bad-tempered, neither cruel nor dismissive? I smiled tightly, shaking my head to banish the sexy images. And Landon's eyes were still on me, all the way across the room.
I let my own attention slide back to my mother, who looked as thrilled as I'd ever seen her. The Pastor was a nut, but when I watched the tears stream down her face—tears of joy, for once in her life—I felt resolve stiffen in the pit of my stomach. Even in a perfect world, a world in which the Longhorn was nice to me, how could we ever be? How could we ever do such a thing to our parents?
At the end, Mr. Dempsey took a cue and wandered towards the parking lot, where a tiny crew had gathered to flick rice on Anya and her newest hubby. The humid little storefront was fast emptying around us, so only the first few rows of the congregation remained. Carson led the exit charge in some daring, billowy pantsuit that hugged her waist and seemed to sail around her gams. She gave me a look I couldn't read as she slid a pair of giant Jackie O. sunglasses over her face.
Zora was tugging on Landon's arm, but halfheartedly. She appeared to have given up on her date in some respects. Her gaze was now fixed on Denny, the thuggish boy with the big head who'd been tittering throughout the service. Yet another reason we were star-crossed, step brother and I: his choice in friends spoke very little of his ability to judge character.
“Listen, Z—you go on ahead,” I heard him murmur to her tanned, smooth back. She released his hand without so much as a backward glance. I felt the corners of my mouth turning upward. And suddenly—strangely—we were alone in the church. Him and me.
“Some ceremony, huh?” Landon said. His penetrating eyes had loosened their grip on my face, I noticed. Now, he spoke to the floor.
“I can't believe it,” I said, breezily.
“She sure looked happy.”
“Him, too.”
Landon shuffled from foot to foot. He was so muscular and balanced, however, that it looked from where I stood like he was a swaying tree. Something graceful. Something strong. Even in doubt.
“So I heard you're starting at UT in the fall,” Landon said, pausing mid-sentence to clear his throat. “Maybe I'll seeya around campus?”
“If you could stand to,” I said neatly. In this bad-ass dress, I could almost imagine that I was some fast-talking heartbreaker. A modern Mae West. He didn't stand a chance. No man did.
“Oh, come on. You're the one who's...”
I put my hands on my hips, daring Landon to finish the sentence. But at that point, his whole face shifted. His brow un-furrowed, and his mouth widened. It was just like watching my mother's face break open, except this time I went weak in the knees. Landon was smiling. He was smiling that slightly crooked, dopey, baby-faced smile he'd smiled at me on the roof of a mysterious apartment, one hot summer night.
I told my knees to stay strong. I set my chin.
“I'm sorry,” Landon continued, this time allowing his eyes to drift back up my frame. They took their time, those eyes. And I tried to stay graceful and strong like a tree, as I let him slide up my thighs, linger on my hips, drink in my tapered stomach, widen at my ample chest. I felt great in this dress as it was, but being looked at that way in this dress—well, I felt for a second that I could've given Karlie Kloss a run for her money. Every girl should be looked at like this, I told myself. I would store this gaze for later. That smile would be something I could pull out of a drawer and spread out like an old photograph someday when I was crinkly and old and alone.