Once, when Aubrey walked down the aisle, smiling and clasping a bouquet of lilies, her white train trailing past like a gulf Nadia would never be able to cross. She’d dabbed her eyes a second time during Luke’s vows. He’d written them himself and his hands shook as he read them aloud. She’d watched his trembling hands, wanting to calm them with her own. Her eyes watered a third time at the reception during the first dance, while Luke and Aubrey swayed to a Brian McKnight song. He was probably singing in her ear, his voice scratchy and out of tune. At the table beside her, her father watched the two spin, Luke’s dancing a little jerky because of his leg. Was her father thinking about her mother, their own wedding day? She’d heard the story, how they’d married with only two hundred dollars between them. Her mother’s friend had sewn the dress, another baked the cake, and they’d served fried chicken and sandwiches for their guests. A cheap wedding for sure, her mother had said, laughing, but people told them for years it had been the most fun wedding they’d attended. She’d never imagined her parents as fun people, but maybe they had been then. Or was her father thinking about her own wedding someday? She glanced at Shadi, who smiled and squeezed her hand. She dabbed her eyes again, aware of a new way she would disappoint her father.
There was no alcohol at the reception. She hadn’t expected the Sheppards to fund an open bar but she’d hoped for at least champagne. After an hour, she excused herself to the bathroom and stepped outside the reception hall for a breath of air. She slipped out the back door, surprised to see Luke outside, leaning against a planter, the silver tie around his neck already loosened.
“What’re you doing out here?” she said.
“I needed a break,” he said.
“From your own wedding?”
He shrugged. She hated when he did that, shrugged instead of actually responding. At least Shadi wanted to talk about things.
“Want a drink?” Luke said. He pulled a flask out of his pocket.
She laughed. “Here? Are you crazy?”
He grinned, shrugging again as he unscrewed the flask and tipped it to her. She felt like they were kids, sneaking out to meet up in the park while their parents were sleeping. She took a small sip and then another, the whiskey burning her throat.
“I met your dude,” Luke said. “He’s nice.”
“I like nice boys now,” she said.
He smirked. “He don’t seem like your type.”
“I don’t have a type.”
“Bullshit. Everyone does.”
“And Aubrey’s your type?”
It came out meaner than she’d meant. She just didn’t understand the attraction, and maybe she never would understand all the things that had changed since she’d been gone. He took the flask from her, tilting it back.
“No,” he said. “But that’s why I love her.”
She had hoped for a release. She would go to this wedding and when she watched the two of them kiss at the altar, the part of her that was still hooked into Luke would finally give. A click, then the latch would open and she would finally be free. Instead, she felt him burrowing deeper into her. She felt the dull burn of an old hunger, all the times she had wanted him, the times she had hoped he might hold her hand in public, the nights she had dreamed about when he might finally tell her he loved her. He’d made her feel like love was something she had to claw her way into, but look at how easily he loved Aubrey. Well, of course he did. Aubrey was easy to love.
He passed the flask back to her. Behind the reception hall, near pipes and silver towers, away from the romance and lights, the crowds of well-wishers snapping photographs and dancing to oldies, they drank together, growing tipsy and warm, passing the flask until it lightened and emptied. Luke tucked the flask back into his pocket, and silently, as if following some unspoken cue, they both headed back into the hall. In the lobby, Mrs. Sheppard was standing in the doorway, her hands on her hips. She wore a pink skirt suit with a floral brooch that made her look like she’d been plucked off a rosebush, thorns and all.
“There you are!” she said. “Everyone’s looking for you.”
“Sorry,” he said. “I just needed a minute.”
“Well, come on. You can’t just go running off.”
She grabbed his arm, tugging him back into the hall. Nadia began to follow but Mrs. Sheppard blocked the doorway.
“This,” she said in a low voice, “needs to stop.”
Nadia felt twelve again, caught kissing and shamed behind the church building, and in her surprise, she said what she wished she would have said then.
“I didn’t do anything wrong,” she said.
“Girl, who you think you’re fooling? You know how many girls like you I’ve seen? Always hungry for what’s not yours. Well, I’m telling you now this needs to stop. You already caused enough trouble.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know what I mean,” Mrs. Sheppard said. “Who you think gave you that money? You think Luke just had six hundred dollars laying around? I helped you do that vile thing and now you need to leave my son alone.”
Mrs. Sheppard shook her head a little, daring Nadia to say something, and when she didn’t, the first lady straightened her brooch and returned inside the reception hall. Nadia stood alone in the lobby so long that Shadi came looking for her, and she nodded when he asked if she was okay. But later she would wonder how she hadn’t questioned where Luke had found the money so quickly. She’d been so desperate, she’d imagined him capable of anything. Now she knew that he was.
—
IN THE MORNING, the newlyweds would be on a plane to France, two days in Nice, two in Paris. Luke’s parents had paid for their honeymoon as a wedding gift with help from the congregation. One of their biggest collections ever, his father had told him, and Luke felt honored by the well-wishers, the members who could not even pronounce Nice and still donated to send them there. He would’ve been happy with a more local honeymoon. A Mexican cruise, a trip to Hawaii—he imagined spotting Cherry at the Aloha Café and ordering the Strawberry Sunrise—but Aubrey had her heart set on France. And even though he knew she only wanted to go there because Nadia Turner had been, he’d agreed.
But that was tomorrow. Tonight, in their hotel room, he eased up behind her, tugging the zipper on her dress, amazed, as always, by how delicately women’s clothes were made, the tiny hooks, the slender buttons. The first time he unhooked a girl’s bra, he’d fumbled around the clasps and he felt a similar nervousness now, giddiness even. He was scared he’d be disappointed and even more, he worried that he’d somehow disappoint her. But maybe it was the soft hotel lighting or the champagne room service had brought or the romance of the wedding, the silk flowers, the music, the decorations his mother had obsessed over. He’d always separated sex and love but now the two were intertwining and he felt as blustery as he had when he was fourteen. He slowly pulled down Aubrey’s zipper until he saw skin and more skin. But she reached back and stopped his hand.
“I know about you and Nadia,” she said. “I know you slept with her.”
He couldn’t see her face. She was still bent away, one hand holding her hair out of the zipper’s track. He froze, unsure whether to deny it or apologize.
“It’s okay,” she said. “I just want you to know that I know.”
How did she know? What had Nadia told her? Or maybe Aubrey had sensed it on her own, like spotting paint clinging to their fingertips that neither had been careful enough to wash off. Only hours into their marriage and he’d already hurt her. But he would be smarter now. He ran his hands along the smooth cups of Aubrey’s shoulders and kissed the back of her neck. She was better than him but that would make him better. He would be good to her.
—
ON THE FLIGHT back to Detroit, Nadia dreamed about Baby. Baby, no longer a baby, now a toddler, reaching and grabbing. Pulling at her earrings until she unhooks his chubby fingers. Baby hungry always for her face. Baby growing into a child, learning words, rhyming -at words from a car seat on the way to school, writing his name in green crayon in the front of all his picture books. Baby running with friends at the park, pushing girls he likes on the swing. Baby digging for Indian clay in the sandbox and coming home smelling like pressed grass. Baby flying planes in the backyard with Grandpa. Baby searching for hidden photos of Grandma. Baby learning how to fight. Baby learning how to kiss. Baby, now a man, stepping on an airplane and slinging his bag into the overhead bin. He helps an older woman with hers. When he lands, wherever he’s headed, he gets his shoes shined and stares into the black mirror, sees his face, sees his father’s, sees hers.
TEN