“Me too.”
Look at that, one thing settled for our wedding. Now, if we could pick a date and get the invites sent out, it would be a miracle. Still, I don’t pester her about it. She has a vision of what her perfect day will look like, and unfortunately, my job and her potential job, are clouding that for her. I wish I could help her, ease her mind on these trivial things, but I can’t. She’s right. The industry of professionals we surround ourselves with will not understand why she’s getting married in the winter. Wives and girlfriends know better, according to the old-timers. Some still believe that weddings and babies only happen in the offseason. I don’t necessarily disagree, except my girl wants to be married at Christmas, even if she won’t come out and say it.
“Do you know who you’re picking as your best man?”
I shake my head. “It’s either my dad or Quinn.”
“Not Nick?” she asks.
Again, I tell her no silently. As close as I am with Nick, asking him would hurt my dad’s feelings, and that’s not something I am comfortable doing. My dad would tell me that he understands, but deep down I know he won’t. He’s still, to this day, trying to make up for those ten years we lost.
“I think both would be honored.”
“What about you, have you asked Elle?”
Peyton smiles softly. “Not yet, she’s so busy with her job and trying to build a band that I haven’t wanted to broach the subject with her. What if she says no?”
I lean forward and cup her cheek. My thumb moves back and forth against her soft skin. “Sometimes I wonder what goes on in your head. This is your sister we’re talking about. Not just any sister, but your twin. You know better than anyone that she’s expecting you to ask her and you also know she’ll drop everything to be by your side.”
“But is it fair, to ask h
er I mean? She’s trying to build a career.”
What a loaded question. As far as I’m concerned, we’re all trying to build our careers. My showing as a quarterback hasn’t been stellar by any means. Peyton, with offers from major networks, must decide on what she plans to do. Elle is a budding music manager. And Quinn, I think he’s the only one who’s content doing his own thing.
“And so are you, but this is your wedding, your sister will be by your side. I think you know this, but are trying to find excuses as to why we shouldn’t get married this year.”
Her mouth drops open. A good boyfriend, fiancé, and partner would backtrack his comment. While I am good, I’m not taking back what I said. I’ve gotten the feeling from her for a while that the timing is off, and maybe it is, but she needs to know that we don’t have to get married this year or even next. I’m not going anywhere.
I pick up her left hand and kiss the ring I placed on her finger. “I love you, Peyton, with everything that I am, but I get the feeling you’re not ready to get married.”
“I am, Noah.”
“But?”
She takes her hand away and covers her face. The shudder of her shoulders has me pulling her into my arms as much as I can. I’m an idiot for bringing this up on the plane, of all places, where people could hear what we’re saying. “I’m sorry,” I whisper into her ear.
“Don’t be. You’re right to question me. Lately, I’ve felt… off. I can’t explain it.”
“We can wait, Peyton.”
She pulls away and shakes her head as she wipes a few tears from her cheeks. “I don’t want to wait, I want things to make sense.”
“What’s not making sense?”
“Me. Life. Us. I shouldn’t be here, Noah. I should’ve died in that car accident and yet, I’m alive and well, and I feel like something is missing or I’m supposed to do something astonishing as some kind of payback for surviving.”
I can’t compete with her inner demons. She’s been battling them for some time now, and no amount of therapy or group support has helped. None of us understand what she’s going through or what she’s been through for that matter, no matter how hard we try. We may have sat by her bedside, praying, hoping, and wishing she’d wake-up, all the while she was having an out of body experience, and more and more of those memories are haunting her.
The flight attendant announces that we’ll be landing soon. I help Peyton gather her magazines and slip them back into the bag. We hold hands, but she stares out the window for the remainder of our flight, all while panic bubbles deep within me. I can’t lose her. That happened once, and I wanted to give up. But if I can’t save her, I don’t know what I’m going to do.
Being back home in Portland means fans recognize you. Peyton is a saint, standing there while I take pictures and sign autographs. The best part though, is that the fans congratulate us, even though our engagement is old news. They’re eager to see pictures of her dress, the flowers, and asks if we’re selling our photos to People magazine.
Honestly, neither of us have given much thought to their offer. Nor has Peyton decided whether she will go on Say Yes To The Dress. Elle wants her to, but Peyton and her sister are vastly different from each other. Where one is flashy and in your face, the other is reserved and prefers to stand back in the crowd.
By the time we reach the luggage carousel, the driver with the car service I hired already has our bags. Our boxes and furniture will arrive in about two weeks, most of it will go to storage until we decide what we’re going to do, either buy a house or a condominium. Everything in my apartment is staying there, which is good. I have a tough time separating the fact that Dessie used to be in the apartment and now Peyton is. She’s never said anything, but sometimes I can sense a bit of uneasiness from her.
The drive downtown is done in silence. Peyton stares out of the window and I’ve found a new fascination with the threading on my jeans. The tension in the car is thick, and it troubles me. I reach for her hand, and it comes freely. She links her fingers with mine and squeezes. It’s her way of telling me that everything is okay.