Chapter 21

                                    

                                          
I was in France on your wedding day. Allie's family invited me, and even though my dad was angry and my mom incredulous, I jumped at the opportunity. On May 17, I was eating pastries in Paris and trying to pretend like I didn't know what day it was, but Allie had her eye on me, and that night, she held me while I cried myself to sleep. 
                          
At the end of the summer, my parents insisted on throwing me a "birthday/back to Yale" party, and even though I begged them not to, they invited everyone we knew. Including you.
                          
I stood in front of my mirror in a new peach colored bikini that I bought in Paris. I looked different. My skin was darker, my hair lighter, my eyes tired. Being in France and knowing that you were here, with her, was exhausting. I thought about the conversation I overheard that night. I thought about you getting closer to me in the pool. I thought about all the times over the last few years that I had imagined you kissing me, touching me, doing things to me that no one else has done.
                          
Maybe Marie was right. I grabbed the cover-up I bought in Paris. It was mostly sheer, with little white flowers, and I draped it over my bikini so it was a little less revealing. I looked ten years older immediately.
                          
The pool was full mostly with people I went to high school with that I didn't talk to anymore. My dad was standing by the grill but a friend of his from the hospital was the one actually making the food. My mom was lounging on a chair in her bikini, talking to a group of girls my age. I didn't recognize any of them.
                          
I was split in half. Part of me hoped you'd decided not to come for some reason, any reason, but the other part of me craved your presence because you were the only person I felt like I could be myself with. I just wanted to be near you again. I wanted to laugh, I wanted to be on fire, I wanted to feel like I didn't have to hide.
                          
"How was France?"
                          
I spun around, and it took everything in me not to jump on you, to wrap my arms around you. I felt pain in my stomach. Everything had changed, and I knew that if I hugged you, Marie would be somewhere watching, waiting to tell me I was a whore or something.
                          
"Beautiful," I said. "Sorry that I missed the wedding."
                          
Your eyebrows furrowed, and you looked at me like I'd just spoken in Russian.
                          
"Where is she, anyway?" I asked, trying to sound like I actually cared and not that I was hoping she was at home with food poisoning.
                          
"Who?" Your eyes flitted down to my mouth and then back up to my eyes.
                          
I could feel myself blushing. "Marie. Your wife."
                          
"My wife..." The confusion dropped away from your face, but you said it in a strange way that made me feel like I'd woken up in an episode of The Twilight Zone.
                          
"Yeah, you know, big white dress, church in New Haven, vows and all that jazz?"
                          
You stared at me, your lips parted slightly. "Marie isn't..." you started, but you didn't finish because your eyes went to something over my shoulder, and all the blood rushed from your face.
                          
When I turned to look, it was like looking at a ghost. Jason stood at the edge of the pool, all in white, watching me. He was talking to my dad, and when my dad noticed that I was looking his way, he waved me over.
                          
I stood still until I remembered you were beside me. You started to push past me, but I reached out to stop you. "John, no. Not here, okay? My dad still doesn't know."
                          
You spun around quick and pinned me with your serious eyes. "I can't believe he has the fucking nerve to be here."
                          
Without thinking, I laced my fingers with yours and stroked your arm. "John. It's okay. I'll handle it."