“And what did you make of that statement?” Reece asked.
“Nothing at the time. Now I imagine Dad was trying to tell me that life would be tough—that I might stumble more than others because of my mental condition. That I might have to try a little harder from time to time.”
Reece leaned over and kissed my cheek.
“But he was hopeful, too,” I added.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. He said, ‘You can’t win ‘em all, but you’ve gotta try.’”
“Are you trying, Mrs. Powell?”
“Every day of my life.”
“I can tell.”
“Are you happy about that?”
“More than you know.”
I blushed and hung my head.
“So, you think you can let me do you in the airplane bathroom tomorrow on our way to Barbados? I’d really like to get in the club.”
I laughed. Leave it to Reece to lighten what could have turned into a somber mood—one of the many things I loved about him.
“Well?” he prodded.
I thought of the perfect answer.
“I can try.”
“Your tan line is showing,” Matt joked, pulling on his wife’s bikini bottom. She swatted his hand.
“Stop it!” she cried, blue eyes glued to the ceremony taking place down the beach.
“Taylor, you could have gone, you know,” Matt pointed out, plopping down beside her on his stomach. “Does this make me look like a chick?”
She glanced at him. He was propped up on his elbows, shoulder blades contracted and glistening a deep brown in the summer sun.
“What are you talking about?” she asked.
“Lying on my stomach like this. Is it girly?”
She smirked. “Maybe a little. And I know I could have gone. Would’ve been weird, though. I don’t really know Bailey at all. I just hung out with her that one night.”
“So what? She invited you.” Matt rolled over onto his back and slipped on his sunglasses.
“She just wanted a gift,” Taylor said.
Matt snorted. “You’re such a pessimist. God, I love that about you.”
Taylor’s blond hair whipped about in the breeze, and she smashed her sunhat on her head to keep the errant strands out of her eyes. She continued gazing down the beach. She couldn’t make out what part of the ceremony was taking place—she was simply too far away—but she gathered the vows had been said and rings exchanged when she saw Bailey’s arms shoot up and around Reece’s neck.
“He’s gonna twirl her,” Taylor said softly. “I just know it. Go on, Reece. Just do it already.”
Her words floated along the ocean breeze like an incantation, summoning Reece’s compliance. He picked up his new bride and twirled her in circles as the guests clapped and whistled.
Taylor sighed.
“Honey?”
“Hmm?”
“Why are you sighing?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
Matt poked her upper arm. “You want a wedding like that?”
“No,” Taylor lied.
“Because I can make it happen. We can have a wedding like that if you want.” He changed his poking to a gentle rub.
“And who would we invite, huh?” Taylor asked.
“Lots of people. We have friends, Taylor.”
She snorted disdainfully. They were quiet for a moment as Taylor watched Reece carry Bailey up the bank and disappear behind a tall screen of beach grass.
“We have friends,” Matt repeated.
“I know,” she whispered.
She looked down at the plain gold band encircling her finger. She took it off when she went to work. She tried to convince herself that it was because she didn’t want any of the chemicals from the tanning solution to tarnish the metal, but it really had to do with her boss, Erica. She wanted to keep her marriage private from her employer. She wasn’t ready for Erica’s fifty questions about Matt. She barely endured the fifty questions about her school life and home life. And she certainly wasn’t ready for the judgment she’d face once her elopement came to light. She wasn’t a liar. It was easier to avoid questions than to concoct cheap fabrications.
“What are you thinking?” Matt asked after a time.
“I’m thinking that I would have loved a beach wedding,” Taylor replied.
“Baby . . .”
“It’s fine,” Taylor said. “It is what it is. Not like I have the right to feel sorry for myself.”
She played with the corner of the beach blanket, pushing it under the sand then pulling it up.
“We fell in love,” Matt said after a moment. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”
Taylor nodded. She watched as a few wedding attendants gathered the folding chairs and hauled them away. She thought about Bailey’s new life as a new bride—the excitement of belonging to another person. Legally. Wholly. Unabashedly. She thought of her own new marriage and belonging to Matt wholly. But not unabashedly.
There was her sister. Always her sister.
“We’re gonna do it,” Matt said finally. “We’re gonna have the wedding we never did.”
“Matt, it would be too weird,” Taylor argued.
“No, it wouldn’t.” He sat up and slipped his arm around her waist. “I can’t have you pouting every time you see a wedding taking place.”
She grinned. He squeezed her tighter.
“So what do you think?” he asked. “Beach backdrop. You in a beautiful white dress. Music. Champagne. The whole nine yards.”
Taylor kissed his cheek. “I think it’s a beautiful fantasy.”
She hopped up and grabbed her bikini cover-up from the bag.
“Taylor . . .”
“Come on. We’ve gotta get going if we wanna make it to dinner in time,” she said.
“We’re revisiting this topic, just so you know,” Matt said, hoisting himself up and helping Taylor fold the beach blanket.
She ignored him. There was nothing to revisit. She married her sister’s fiancé. That meant no big wedding. No big to-do. No celebratory champagne. No white dress. Who was she to wear white anyway?