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Melissa's second wedding isn't as glamorous as the first—her dress far simpler and sans veil, the decorations just a few flower arrangements, the catering subpar. It makes sense, Tandy supposes. Roxxon money gave her abusive scumbag of a father the better lawyer, which left Melissa scrambling to prove she was a victim in the first place. And whatever meager alimony she'd gleaned, she's just kissed it goodbye for her new husband. Still, Tandy shouldn't to snub her mother's happy moment, however humble its setting.
She keeps her face pleasant, taps her heel along to the music. Billy Johnson sits at the piano, surrounded by a merry crowd—the hotel's reception area so small as to feel stuffed despite the short guest list. Tandy recognises several of the women showering the night's musician with praise from her mother's therapy group. She winces and knocks back her flute. Cheap champagne, yikes.
"Tandy, you look lovely," one of them blocks her escape path to the balcony with a cloyingly sweet smile. Her hand goes to Tandy's updo, a hairstyle of myriad pins Melissa had squealed over.
"So do you," Tandy mirrors her smile, cheeks tight from the effort not to flinch at the unwanted touch.
Mikayla, whose name Tandy recalls from the many, many times the support circle had echoed it so that she may finally leave her abusive scumbag of a boyfriend—spoiler, she still hasn't, though Tandy doesn't spot him in the crowd, progress—tries to keep a polite stream of conversation while Tandy tries not to glance at the balcony door too often.
She knows Mikayla means well. She knows she should be by her mother's side now instead of the other side of the room, congratulating her and the boring, just-as-freshly-divorced lawyer guy she'd decided to make the same mistake with instead of planning her escape. It's what a good daughter should do.
Tandy hasn't known what it is like to be a good daughter, a good friend, hell, a good person for a long time now.
Mikayla's thankfully asked to dance soon enough, Billy's playing easing into a slow, romantic song that's sure to keep the newlyweds and most of the crowd busy. Before any of the groom's obnoxious nephews can notice her and drag her to the dancefloor, Tandy slips to the balcony.
It's cooler here, the music muffled by the glass behind her, the night sky dark—it's the light pollution, Tyrone might say. Nerd.
"Hiding from the party? What happened to the Tandy I know?" A warm, deep voice startles her out of the train of thought. Thinking of the devil.
"Must have forgotten her in New York," Tandy smirks at her childhood friend.
Tyrone joins her with a smile that turns the night into day, leaning over the rails so that his elbow bumps hers. Tandy breathes in the cloud of his special-occasion cologne that she'd helped him pick back in middle school, the nostalgia not helping her find something to say.
It's been months since the last time they'd seen each other. Months between the Bowen car crash of a divorce finalizing and his highschool basketball failure and her baby ballerina steps in the big apple—when will you stop running away, Tandy—and his career dilemma. Months of sporadic phone calls and him complaining over the absurd amount of gifs and stickers she'd been spamming him with to avoid real conversation. Months that changed them, perhaps beyond recognition.
"Along with your fashion sense?" Tyrone hides the teasing twitch of his mouth against the rim of his champagne glass.
Tandy glares daggers at him, smoothing down the edges of her cream dress. The hem is swathed with thick lace, the sleeves so frilly her fingers itch to tear them off: a babyish version of the wedding dress, which would be cute if the bridesmaid/flower girl was an actual baby. "You know I didn't pick this," she pouts.
"Bridesmaid duties," he concedes with a small sip. So he still isn't one for alcohol. He probably picked the glass up to be polite. Tandy's absurdly glad for that little confirmation.
"You clean up nice," she changes the subject.
Tyrone's eyes widen for a moment. Shit, did that come out too earnest? He does look handsome in his crisp suit, with a new silver glint by his ear, with his dark eyes and bright smile. It's simple facts: the sky is blue, Tandy runs whenever things go too well or too badly, and Ty is the most handsome guy she'll ever lay eyes on.
But there's no reason for him to know that. Enough of her life has gone to shit—she can't ruin their friendship, too. She won't.
She's losing her mother today. She can't lose him, too.
"Thanks," he says awkwardly. He doesn't move away, though. If anything, their forearms touch along their whole length now with how he's shifted.
"So where's your date?" Tandy asks with a grin as bright and artificial as the reception hall's lights behind them. Girlfriend options frantically run through her head—there was a cheerleader back at his highschool that she obstinately refused to hear anything about, but didn't she go to a different state for college? Maybe someone from his college, or church even—
Tyrone raises a brow. "I'm single."
"Oh." Tandy tries to keep her face blank, gulping down the last of her cheap champagne to hide anything that might be amiss.
"Surprised?" She doesn't dare check Ty's face at that, but she's hyper aware of his presence, his closeness, his body heat seeping into her side.
"Duh," Tandy smirks with more bravado than she feels. "What happened to the baller lady killer I left behind?"
She regrets the last words as soon as they leave her mouth. Something sharp flashes in Tyrone's eyes, her worse than an accusation. There had been moments in the past where this—thing between them could be—more. It was Tandy who ran, Tandy who didn't name nor acknowledged anything.
Tandy left him behind. Truth hurts, as she'd yelled at her mother back when the mess started surfacing from where Melissa had been sweeping it under the rug, year after year. Truth hurts, even when she's the one to say it.
The lightness of their talk, the atmosphere that Tandy was trying to maintain as she always does fades, leaving them in a tense silence. Tandy feels its pressure, a shadow engulfing them both. Her eyes dart from his closed face to his hand tightening around the glass to the door behind her—
When will you stop running away, Tandy?
Through the balcony door, Tandy sees a long white dress part the crowd like a dagger, coming closer. Her mother, she realizes, panic dialing up. She's coming to talk, there's no more hiding nor running away—
"Tandy? What's wrong?" Ty's palms are warm on her forearms, grounding, but what truly warms her is the concern in his beautiful eyes. Her best friend, still looking out for her.
Her best friend. And the man she loves.
Tandy can't even blame the champagne for what happens next. Like a deer caught in the headlights—but no, that would mean she doesn't do anything. And she does. Oh boy, she does.
Tyrone's eyes widen a fraction as her hands grasp his shirt collar and pull him down enough to press their mouths together. It's an awkward kiss, unlikely to convince anyone, and Tandy screws her eyes shut from embarrassment and the fear of rejection that she's normally so good at avoiding by leaving first.
But before she can balk out of her own impulsive disaster, he kisses her back. His soft lips part against hers, his hands trailing down her forearms to the small of her back.
Tandy shivers and presses herself closer. Her hands grow daring, touching the angles of his face as she swipes her tongue over his bottom lip, lost in the kiss, forgetting everything but him.
When he pulls back, the look in his eyes is impossibly soft. Tandy's fingertips ghost over his cheeks, braced for his smile, for the last drop of happiness that will make her heart overflow.
A flash interrupts them.
Tandy turns, immediately glaring at the camera and the giggling girl holding it. Another moping victim from the therapy pity circle, she and her friends scatter upon getting caught. Behind them, Tandy spots her mother, raising her glass of champagne with a conspiratorial wink before turning away too.
Tyrone steps back. The smile never comes—his jaw rolls as he glances between her and the balcony door, whose curtain has been pulled by one of the retreating gossip mongers.
"Was this enough show for your mom?" he asks harshly. Tandy notices his hands trembling at his sides.
Oh no.
He thinks she'd staged this. Kissed him for show, just to get her mom off her back. Used him as a diversion.
Tandy breathes shallow, balanced on the edge of a cliff. Her next words—it's a point of make or break.
She's not above using people, and she might even have come up with such a scheme if she weren't so stupidly in love with him. But if she tells him—maybe she should take the excuse, the exit presenting itself—
"I get it," Tyrone says gruffly, straightening up and making to get away.
Tandy's arm darts out without thinking. There's an odd tingle when her fingers touch his, something like a flash of light, like a shadow, that makes him pause too. But she's on a mission now, no time for it.
"No."
Tyrone doesn't open the door back to the party, but his face is inscrutable as she steps closer, only raising a brow when she leans up to kiss him.
He jerks back before their lips can touch, looking annoyed. Her heart plummets. "What is it now, Tandy? Figured I'm a good kisser?"
"I love you," she blurts out.
Ty blinks, something painfully close to hope shadowing over his features before his face shutters again. "Tandy, if you lie like this—"
"I'm not." It's gotten darker, the night starless and the reception's headlights dimmed by the curtain. Tandy hopes the shadows hides her enough as she brings her truth to light.
"I have lied to you, I guess. When," I wished for you to get a girlfriend, she almost says, "I called you my friend. You are," Tandy adds quickly, panic rising to her throat again. God, this is why she runs. Her legs are shaking. "My best friend. I've fucked up so much. I didn't want to fuck this—us—up."
Keep your shit together, Tandy scolds herself, blinking the tears away rapidly. She has to do this right, and that means no ruining her make up.
"But I'm not lying now." She works up the nerve meet his eyes. "If there's one truth I know, it's that I'm in love with you, Tyrone Johnson."
Ty's breath hitches. In the stillness of his surprise, she fights the urge to run, her heart in her throat. Good going, Tandy. You fucked up the last good thing—
It's her turn to be surprised by his kiss, though it's far less clumsy than hers. His hands come up to cradle her face, thumbs stroking along her cheekbones as his beautiful mouth steals her breath away.
"I love you, Tandy Bowen," Ty murmurs when he pulls back.
They must look like fools, standing there grinning at each other, but Tandy could not care less. Elation and disbelief bubble in her chest as she clings to him, as his arms wrap tightly around her, as they kiss for an eternity or a split-second.
His forehead rests against hers when they part for breath. "Guess you have a date now," Tandy jokes and kisses his amused huff off.
"Guess you still wanna get out of here?" Ty pulls back just enough to glance down her bare arms, the light dress suited for the dancefloor but not the night's chill.
Tandy nods and follows him out of the balcony, hiding first behind the curtain and then amidst the crowd, until they pass the side door. Ty tugs her by the wrist, climbing the stairs two at a time.
She giggles as they cross the quiet hallway to pause at a door with the wrong number. In an effort to avoid heart-to-hearts with her mom, she'd taken over every organization detail of the wedding, including the rooming arrangements for the guests. And the room who Ty's currently unlocking is—
"Hey, this is Billy's room," Tandy whisper-protests as Ty fumbles with the key a moment longer before he hurries inside.
"This is mine and Billy's room," he shuts the door and she follows inside, residue giddiness rushing blood to her cheeks. "You really thought I was going to room with my parents? I'm not seven."
He sure isn't, Tandy smirks to herself as he takes off his suit jacket, folds it carefully—a habit Mrs. Johnson would approve of—and awkwardly toes off his shoes.
"So you're sexiling your brother?" Tandy tuts and steps out of her heels with a sigh. Ballerinas' feet should never undergo such hardships.
Ty, shy, sweet Ty, stands like a deer caught in headlights at the suggestion, for so long that Tandy nearly takes it back—it's not like she wouldn't spend a night simply making out with him, or talking with him, or watching paint dry with him. But then he unzips the duffel bag by the chair, picks something from it and quickly strides to the door.
A sock on the door handle? Before Tandy can find out or tease him, he's walked back and pulled her in for a kiss again. Tandy gladly loops her arms around his shoulders and walks them back until her calves hit the bed, toppling over and bringing Ty down with her.
The damned dress is as difficult to take off as it was to endure wearing, there's awkwardness about the condom Tandy always carries in her purse despite not finding anyone to use it with in New York, and their hands are as clumsy as they're hungry for each other. But it works—somehow it works. Tandy runs her hands over his define torso, pushing the shirt she'd haphazardly unbuttoned off his shoulders—Ty laces their fingers together, swallowing her moans—there's slow rocking and whispered silly, soft things, there's sweat and an explosion of light building, a sweet cooldown like a shadow after. They kiss and laugh and hold onto each other. It's easily the best night of her life.
Tandy wakes from it with drool-stuck strands to her mouth, an asleep arm from having kept it under Ty's waist and an intense need to pee. It's neither her bladder nor the sunlight streaming through the curtains that disturbed her sleep though. Ty's already awake, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles and yawning silently. The knock to the hotel room door repeats itself, louder this time.
They glance at each other with dawning panic. Oh, their families will never let them live this down if they find out.
"We need a diversion," Tandy sits up, frantically pulling the sheets around her torso and reaching for her phone. Their clothes are scattered on the floor, if they can get dressed fast enough they can get away before—
A warm hand on her shoulder stills her panic.
"I've got you," Ty smiles and pulls her in for a kiss.