How to Ruin a Wedding(90)

“Taina . . .” My voice breaks, and she tightens her grip on my hands. The pain of it finally pushes the tears out.

“Do I think Mathew is an evil, vile man who deserves to die?” she says. “No, I don’t. But could I love a man who casts aside the person who made me who I am—the person who’s the reason I even met him—without resentment? No. Lucy, I love you more than anyone. Ever. Period.”

“That’s not fair to you,” I start.

“You don’t get a say in what’s fair to me—or anyone,” Taina says. “It might pain you to remember this, but I am an adult. You helped me grow, but now I am my own person. I make my own decisions. I decide what’s important to me. I decide what’s fair. I decide what I can tolerate. You always want to fix things before they break, so you don’t know this—but sometimes, breaking isn’t the end. Breaking lets people learn they can pick up the pieces, no matter how jagged, and put them back together in any way they want. Let people break, Lucy.” She places her hands on my cheeks. “Let yourself break.”

A small cry escapes me before my not-so-little-anymore sister wraps her arms around me. She rubs my back, hushing me as I cry—until the sun fully sinks into the lake and the moon takes its shift in the sky.

I’m not sure if I can put my jagged pieces back together—at least not in a beautiful, bright way like Taina can. There are so many pieces, shattered and reflecting back at me, looking like nothing more than failures.

But if I move them around, will it be less painful?

Where do I even begin?

When my breathing finally evens out, Taina sits me down and takes the seat beside me. It’s a little embarrassing, crying like this in front of her. But now that I’ve done it, my shoulders feel a little lighter.

The silence embraces us until Taina says, “So . . .” She stretches the word. “What’s your next move? Are you going to talk to Anders? Are you going to tell Joshua you’re buying his share of Save a Paw? Are you going to go AWOL and send me postcards from around the world while I search for you?”

“What’s your next move?” I counter. “Mathew’s probably trying to find you. Did you turn your location off? Otherwise he would’ve shown up by now, wouldn’t he?”

“I know exactly what my next move is, and he’s lucky it isn’t murder,” she says. “But I’m asking you, Lucy. What’s next? You can’t hide forever.”

I blow out a breath. “I didn’t ruin the wedding. I’m not getting paid. And I’m not sure Anders—after everything—should give me a dime.”

Taina purses her lips. “He already did. He paid you everything he said he would.”

I freeze. “Excuse me?”

“I turned on your phone.” She shrugs. “We weren’t talking, and the Wi-Fi sucks here. I was bored. And nosy. He’s been trying to reach you, but I haven’t answered his calls or anything.”

“Just looked through all his messages?”

She smiles, unashamed. “He’s upset about a lot, but he thinks you still deserve the money. The chance for your dream to come true. Even mad, he still sees good in you. I’m not sure that’s a man you should ignore, Lucy.”

“I—” The words catch in my throat as another wave of tears comes.

“That’s okay,” Taina says, patting my back. “Get them all out.”

Anders thinks I still deserve a good life. But I’m not sure if I deserve kindness. Did I do enough to earn it? Was what we had enough to sustain some kind of fondness between us?

For me, of course. Absolutely. But for Anders?

This gift is both heavy and painful—but I’m so grateful.

And it hurts too. It’s only been a couple of days, but I miss Anders—his easy way, the comfort he brings, the way he makes me feel confident and funny and adored and loved.

Love? Is that why this hurts so much?

Knowing I messed things up in such a humiliating way that it will never look the same again?

And now that everything’s blown up, is Anders seeing me in a different light? In shades of color he hadn’t seen before?

Does he like what he sees with all of them together?

I’m not sure I’m ready to find out.

“I think,” I say between tears. “I think I need some time to myself.”

“Then take it. As much as you need.”

“But not from you,” I say, leaning on my sister—without guilt, without shame. “If that’s okay with you.”

“Oh, big sis.” Taina pinches my cheek. “You’d have to kill me to get rid of me.”

I laugh—and some of the pain eases at the sound. At the reminder that I am more than one color, more than just broken pieces.





29.


Two weeks later, I sit on one side of a tiny green table at a coffee shop in Charleston. My iced latte remains filled to the brim, condensation pooling in the morning sun. The chai across from me is half empty, held by manicured hands digging into its sides—tiny half-moons denting the plastic.

Though Valerie agreed to meet me when I called two days ago, she didn’t technically agree to speak, which might be why she hasn’t even offered a greeting. She just sat down, took her drink, and glared at me while I worked up the courage to say what we both know I’m here for.