He pushes the patio doors open and I follow him outside.
We walk away from the French windows so the people inside won’t be able to spot us, and, as soon as we turn the corner, Archie crowds my personal space. “Explain to me how in this scenario you get to be mad at me.”
“You didn’t text me back,” I reply, irrationally mad.
“I didn’t text—” He scoffs, shakes his head. “You left me in a restaurant mid-meal, making me look like a complete ass.”
Is that what he cares about?
“Sorry if I embarrassed you. Don’t go back to that restaurant and you’ll be fine.”
“I don’t give a damn about the restaurant people. You walked out on me,” he accuses.
True, I did, but… I say the next part aloud. “Sorry, but I couldn’t sit there and listen to you tell me how this is never going to work. How we’re never going to happen. I just couldn’t.”
“Yeah? And what would a text have solved?”
“Nothing, you’re right. This situation is unsolvable. But don’t worry, come Sunday, you’ll be free to go back to banging an endless stream of women. Hell, you can start tonight for all I care.”
I make to walk away, but Archie gently grabs me by the elbow. “Don’t walk away again.” The phrase comes out as half a plea and half an order.
I yank my arm free. “Why? You’ve made it clear where you stand.”
“Really? Because I’ve no idea myself. Why don’t you explain it to me?”
I turn back to him, the irrational rage of a few seconds ago gone. It’s sheer pain that makes my breath shallow as I speak next. “I want commitment, and you want the opposite of that. We’re like a square peg and a round hole. No matter how hard we try, we’ll never fit together.”
Archie stares at me, at a loss for words. I want him to deny it. To say I’m wrong. That we can be together. But his mouth stays inexorably shut while his eyes search mine in a panic. Whether it’s fear of losing me or of being tied down to me forever, I can’t say. And I’ve had to deal with too many shitty situations in my life to follow another unicorn.
So, I walk away.
This time, he lets me.
***
Throughout the entire rehearsal dinner, I push the food around on my plate without trying more than a few bites. My wine glass, on the other hand, empties and gets refilled much quicker so that by the time the dessert arrives, I’m very tipsy. In my alcohol-induced semi-euphoria, I stop seeing why being with Archie would be wrong. Suddenly, the prospect of having sex with him tonight becomes much more attractive. So, when everybody begins to mingle and walk around the room, I get up as well, bringing my unfinished glass of wine with me. I wait for Archie to be alone by the pastry station—there’s a mini-desserts and fruit buffet—to saunter up to him.
“My room or your room?” I ask.
His eyes widen. “What?”
“I want to have sex. Should we do it in your room or mine?”
Archie frowns at the glass in my hands. “How much did you have to drink?”
I shrug. “A few glasses.”
“You’re drunk.”
“Am not. I want sex.”
“You’re in no position to make that decision tonight.”
“Want to discuss positions? Okay, I’m game. Up for something we haven’t tried yet?”
“I’m taking you to bed.”
I roll my eyes. “Finally.”
Archie tries to take the glass from me, but I snatch my hand away before he can grab it. The red liquid inside sloshes dangerously close to the rim, but stays in—mostly. I watch, mesmerized, as a few droplets fly out and land on the carpet, disappearing into the intricate pattern.
“What’s happening here?”
I look up from the floor to find my sister standing next to us, a fake, let’s-keep-up-appearances smile plastered on her lips.
“She’s drunk,” Archie says, just as I say, “We were about to go have sex.”
All pretend politeness washes out of my sister’s face as she glares at Archie. “You wouldn’t—”
He stops her before she can continue. “No, exactly, I wouldn’t. I’m bringing your sister to her room to sleep. And that’s it. You know me better than that.”
Winter gives him another hard, this-is-all-your-fault stare, but nods.
While I’m distracted, Archie successfully removes the glass from my hands and steers me toward the exit door.
I turn my head over my shoulder and wave at my sister. “Nighty, nighty.”
In my room, Archie undresses me until I’m stripped down to my underwear. I try to kiss him, but he fends off my attacks, his superior height proving determinant.
Then he picks me up as easily as if I were a child and deposits me in bed, tucking me under the covers. I tap the space next to me in what I hope is a seductive move.
Archie obliges me and sits on the bed, but dressed and above the sheets, I note.
Still, this position allows me to hug him.
“Come on,” I say, wrapping my arms around his torso. “What are you waiting for? I want sex.”
“You’re tired,” he murmurs in a soft voice, stroking my hair.
“I’m not,” I reply, even as a treacherous yawn escapes my lips.
Archie’s chest is moving in a rhythmic, soothing motion underneath me, and his hand is working magic on my scalp. Gradually, my eyelids begin to droop, and I close them just for a second… I only need to rest for a moment, and then we… I never finish that thought as sleep takes me over.
Nineteen
Summer
The next morning I wake up with the shrill sound of the room telephone piercing my eardrums. I roll over and scramble to grab the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Good morning, Miss Knowles,” a polite female voice says. “This is your wakeup call.”
“I didn’t set up a wakeup call.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Miss Knowles. Let me check our records.” After a brief pause, the woman talks again. “It shows here your sister requested the call.”
“Okay, thank you.”
“She’s also asked us to remind you that you’re expected in the bridal suite in an hour for hair and makeup.”
“Thank you.” I slam the receiver down and collapse back on the pillow.
Damn. A headache is splitting my head in two. My eyeballs feel heavy as lead in their sockets. And queasiness infests my stomach. The famous oath every hungover person over thirty swears pops into mind: I’m never going to drink again.
Of all the days I could get myself into this situation I chose today, the day of the ceremony. When I can’t sneak away and hide in a hole. No, I have to stand up at the altar, carry out all my bridesmaid duties, and do it all with a smile on my face.
But for Winter, I can do it. If the months since The Mistake have taught me anything, it’s how to function like a normal, semi-happy human being while dying on the inside. So, let’s move into hangover survival mode.