Outside, it’s quiet except for the soft rush of traffic a few streets over and the chatter of birds nesting in the ruins of the train station a hundred yards away.
It’s a beautiful day and I’m alive to walk around in it. No matter how foul I feel, no matter how miserable I am over what happened with Lark, I’m alive when so many aren’t. It seems like a simple thing to be grateful for, but it isn’t simple, not really. There are so many people in the world who waste their aliveness, who hang back when they should reach out, who sit out when they should join in, who hang on when they should let go, and I don’t want to be one of them.
It took years of hard work on myself to feel like I’m living my life right, and I’m not going to give up on that because a dream has died.
Even if it is the brightest dream, the best dream, the one thing I most want in the world.
I’m not going to waste the gift of being alive. I’m going to get up, brush myself off, and move on.
Even if I have to do it with a broken heart.
Chapter 25
Lark
Two months later
There’s nothing more miserable than a blazing Georgia afternoon in late July.
All day it’s been as hot as Satan’s kitchen. The bugs waged war against the appetizers (and nearly won) and the humidity pressed in on the wedding party like a dog’s hot, damp breath.
The bride spent half the reception rushing to the bathroom to spray more hairspray on her up-do in a vain attempt to maintain control of her naturally curly hair, and the guests consumed twice as much water as wine to keep from passing out on the dance floor.
“Thank goodness that’s over.” Melody dumps a load of empty serving trays in the back of our new Ever After Catering van, the one we bought after booking four mega weddings in August, and two in September.
Business is good. Very good.
I can’t complain, even when grilling T-Bones in hundred-degree heat.
“Why any woman would plan an outdoor reception in July is beyond me,” Aria agrees, collapsing onto the grass by the truck and shrugging out of her tuxedo vest.
We were one server short tonight—Natalie called in sick—so Aria suited up to fill in. She finished the last minute touches on the wedding cake, then spent the rest of the night circling with drink and hors d’oeuvre trays. I offered to take over after the meal was served, but Melody insisted that Aria should stay on duty. She said something about Aria having a sunnier smile or something that I hadn’t paid much attention to.
I have a hard time paying attention to anything these days. It feels like I’m drifting through my life, going through the motions, but not plugging in the way I used to.
I don’t get a rush when I walk into the kitchen to start a job anymore. I don’t get nervous around fussy brides; I don’t even care when the old people complain about the gourmet salad dressing and ask for a bottle of Ranch, instead. The job just doesn’t seem to matter as much as it used to.
Nothing does.
“I’ll tell you what kind of bride,” Melody says in a conspiratorial whisper, glancing over her shoulder, though the bridal party left an hour ago and the last of the guests are drifting out to their cars in the front parking lot. “A bride with a bun in the oven.”
“No,” Aria says, wrinkling her nose. “No way.”
“Yes, way.” Melody plops down on the grass beside her. “I heard her mom talking after she’d had a few too many glasses of champagne. The bride was four months pregnant. They had to move the wedding up from the original date in November so she’d be able to fit into her dress.”
“God, but she was so tiny!” Aria shakes her head. “By the time I was four months, I looked like a snake that had swallowed an egg.”
“You totally did,” Melody agrees, giggling when Aria nudges her in the side with a sharp elbow. “Sorry, but you did. I would never have imagined your stomach could get as big as it was by the end.”
Aria lifts one shoulder. “At least I didn’t get stretch marks.”
“Good genes,” Melody says with a sigh. “I hope I got them too. Not that I would really care. Babies are worth a few stretch marks.”
“My friend, Hannah, calls them battle scars,” Aria says with a smile.
“Is there anything else left inside?” I ask, backing toward the outdoor kitchen at the edge of the botanical gardens.
I don’t want to talk about babies. It’s one of the many topics that remind me of a perfect night that I wish I could forget.
“No, I got everything. Sit and visit for a minute.” Melody pats the grass beside her and Aria.