Then I saw him. Sitting there on the curb, under a streetlight, knees pulled up to his chest. And for one second, it was like I could feel the timing clicking together, finally, pieces falling into place. Behind me, the best man was winding up his toast, his voice sounding tight, emotional. To the happy couple, he said, and everyone repeated it, their voices blending as one. To the happy couple.
And then I was walking toward Dexter, folding my fingers tight into my hands. I could hear the cheers as the bridal couple cut their cake. So I took the last few steps of this long journey fast, almost running, before plunking myself down and knocking into Dexter, just enough to tip his balance for a second. Because I knew, now, this was how it had to begin. The only way was to crash in.
I knocked him sideways, startling him. But once he got his equilibrium, and his wits, back, he just looked at me. Not even one word. Because we knew it had to come from me this time.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hey.”
I took in his dark curls, the smell of his skin, that cheap tuxedo with the loose threads on the cuff. He was just looking at me, not pulling back, but not moving closer either. And I felt a sudden whirl in my head, knowing this leap was now inevitable, that I wasn’t just on the cliff, toes poking over, but already in midair.
“Did you really believe, that first day, that we were meant to be together?” I asked him.
He looked at me and then said, “You’re here, aren’t you?”
There was only so much space between us, not even a real distance if measured in miles or feet or even inches, all the things that told you how far you’d come or had left to go. But this was a big space, if only for me. And as I moved forward to him, covering it, he waited there on the other side. It was only the last little bit I had to go, but in the end, I knew it would be all I would truly remember. So as I kissed him, bringing this summer and everything else full circle, I let myself fall, and was not scared of the ground I knew would rise up to meet me. Instead, I just pulled him closer, my hand sliding up around his neck to find that one place where I could feel his heartbeat pulsing. It was fast, like my own, and finding it, I pressed down hard, as if it was all that connected us, and kept my finger there.
November
Chapter Eighteen
Melanie knew she had a choice. There was a time when she would have run after Luc, and the security he’d provided. And in another, more distant past, Brock would have seemed like the answer to all the questions that still woke her in the night, heart racing, wondering how she’d gotten here. The choice was clear, and yet not clear at all. As Melanie boarded the train that would take her to the station in Paris, she picked a window compartment and sank into the seat, pressing one hand against the glass. The countryside would soon slip away, replaced by the beautiful skylines that were the backdrop for so much of her past. She had the entire trip to figure out what her next step should be. And as the train pulled away, gaining speed, she settled back into her seat, relishing only the forward motion, as it pulled her toward her destiny.
“Remy?” I looked up to see my roommate, Angela, standing in the open doorway of our room. “Yeah?”
“Mail call.” She came over and sat down beside me, dealing out envelopes into two piles. “School crap. Credit card offer. Something from the Jehovah’s Witnesses . . . that must be yours. . . .”
“Finally,” I said. “I’ve been waiting for that forever.” Angela was from L.A., taught aerobics part-time, and never made her bed. She wasn’t a perfect match for me, but we got along okay.
“Oh, and this big one’s yours,” she said, sliding a large manila envelope out from under the calculus textbook she was carrying. “How’s the book?”