“No, no,” he said. “You’re coming in here with me.”
Cleo handed the egg off to Frank with a weary smile. Clearly, she was destined to spend most of her wedding in the bathroom.
“I’ll entertain the rabble,” said Frank. “Go.”
Quentin pulled her after him and closed the door. He removed his own stash and took out his keys.
“I would have married you, you know.” He held a key up to his nostril and sniffed hard. “If you needed me to.”
“I do love him.” Her voice was sharper than she’d intended. “It’s not just the visa.”
“I know, I know,” Quentin said. “It’s just so weird that you’re actually married.”
Cleo was peering into the mirror, teasing her hair into a braid, mostly to give her hands something to do. She touched the back of her skull gingerly. There was the tender spot where her head had collided with the glass. Quentin offered her the key, but she shook her head. He shrugged and inhaled it himself.
“There are worse reasons to marry someone,” said Cleo.
“There are better ones,” said Quentin, rubbing his gums with his finger.
“And how would you know?” Cleo snapped.
“Hey.” Quentin came and stood behind her. He wrapped his arms around her waist and perched his chin on her shoulder. “Calm down. No one thinks you did anything wrong. I know you love each other. I’ll just always love you best, that’s all.”
“I know,” said Cleo. “Wipe your nose.”
Quentin grabbed some toilet paper and blew into it, inspecting the contents before throwing it in the wastebasket.
“I definitely love you more than Johnny loves me,” he said. His voice was hard and bright. “I think he’s stealing from me. Well, I think he’s stealing my vitamins. I’m not kidding! Hundreds of dollars’ worth of them. But when I asked him about it, he went crazy and claimed I must have taken them all and forgotten. Who the fuck takes that many vitamins and forgets about it? He didn’t even leave me my magnesium, which you know I need to stay regular.”
“That’s terrible,” said Cleo, suppressing a smile. “Magnesium is … Well it’s crucial, really. Essential.”
“At least you know Frank will never steal your shit,” said Quentin. He darted his eyes up and down her. “Not that you have much to steal.”
“You know, I wish he’d put that in his vows,” said Cleo, deflecting the insult before it could sink in. “‘I promise to love you, protect you, and never steal your worthless shit.’”
“Or hold your hand to a burning stove,” said Quentin. “Like my dad did to my mom.”
Quentin had a knack for tipping a conversation from light to dark, like snapping off a light.
“He really did that?” asked Cleo.
He was looking down. His long eyelashes cast feathery shadows over his cheeks.
“Poland.” Quentin shrugged by way of explanation.
“I didn’t know,” said Cleo.
“Why would you?” He looked up, his face suddenly alive with possibility. “Now will you do a line with me?”
Cleo rolled her eyes and relented with the slightest nod of her head.
“You do look beautiful,” he said as she knelt beside him over the toilet seat. “Like a child bride.”
Outside the bathroom, a group was gathering around the front door, scuffling to find their shoes and refill their glasses. The bowls of cream and dulce de leche were scarred with cigarettes stubs. Zoe lay passed out on the sofa with Frank’s tuxedo jacket over her.
“There you are.” Frank came up behind her. He was rubbing his eye with his knuckle, back and forth, like a sleepy child. “We’re going up to the roof to do fireworks. Wedding fireworks.”
“What’s the difference?” Cleo asked, but Frank was already disappearing up the stairwell.
Up on the roof the winking skyline of Manhattan sprawled before them against a velvet black sky.
“I had some fireworks left over from the long weekend,” Santiago said, unstacking the neon packages. “But I got a few new ones for the occasion.”
Memorial Day. It felt like a long time ago now, but in fact it was only a few weeks. Cleo’s student visa was up at the end of the month, and the company she’d been freelancing for as a textile designer couldn’t afford to sponsor her. As a last hurrah, she’d presumed, Frank had taken her to his rarely used cabin upstate. Since neither of them could drive or were particularly domestic, it was three days of unmade beds, cereal for dinner, and pure, private bliss.
Frank moved to the far side of the roof and attempted to arrange a firework, propping it between two wine bottles. He lurched forward, sending the bottles scattering around his feet.
“Hey, man,” Santiago said, coming up behind to steady him. “Why don’t you let me do this. You go watch with Cleo.”
“Who has a lighter?” Frank yelled, ignoring him. He slapped the pockets of his trousers. Someone tossed him one, but it went wide, sailing over the side of the roof into the darkness beyond. Anders appeared through the doorway and, exchanging a long look with Santiago, managed to guide Frank back to where a crowd of guests had gathered to watch. Cleo took his hand.
It was on the train home from Hudson that he’d asked her. She was drifting in and out of sleep on his shoulder, his cheek pressed against the crown of her head. Cleo, my Cleo. A black ribbon of river rushed beside them, barely distinguishable from the dark fields and trees beyond. What would you think? She could see the chalky reflection of Frank’s face glowing in the window. He looked like a saint. What would you think of us getting married?
Santiago yelled for everyone to stand back as he and Anders lit the first fireworks. Bright flumes of light shot up behind them, suspended momentarily in the shape of stars. The sky crackled with light. Suddenly Frank shook his hand free of hers and darted forward across the roof, bent at the waist. He lunged for a rocket and lit it straight from his hand, sending it off at an angle that narrowly missed Anders’s shoulder.
“What the fuck?” she could hear Anders yelling as Frank ran back.
He took her hand again and squeezed it hard. Sparks showered down on them. The fireworks gained momentum, illuminating the faces of the crowd on the roof in flashes. Cleo watched Frank’s profile in the light. Boom, boom, boom. He was staring up ahead, jaw set, eyes wet and reflective.
She had not told Quentin what Frank’s actual vow was. He’d surprised her by requesting to say something at the end of the ceremony, after the usual script had been read. He was noticeably nervous, his usual gregariousness gone. When he finally did speak, it was a single sentence. When the darkest part of you meets the darkest part of me, it creates light.
CHAPTER THREE
July