She was thinking all of this jumbled together in a disorganized flood of sensations when he suddenly flicked his eyes over and they saw each other for the first time as adults. It seemed to drag on forever, the wondering whether he would hate her, or worse, whether he barely remembered her and would, at the reception, clap her on the back and say something lightly heart-ripping like “Good to see ya!” It was always possible that he thought of their history the way she felt like she should think of it, with casual warmth that didn’t get in the way of anything, warmth like she felt when she thought about going to high school football games or watching Ever After with June at the Seaside Twin, back in the age of the cheap theater with only two screens, before they tore it down and put in a multiplex.
Maybe she had imagined all of it, maybe it was just dating in high school and college, maybe he never thought about her, maybe he didn’t recognize her, maybe he was going to pretend he didn’t recognize her, or maybe he was going to ask her to dance later because he and his wife felt sorry for her because she was at the wedding alone.
And then he tipped his head almost imperceptibly to the side, and he smiled. Or rather, his formal wedding-watching face softened, and his eyes were still just so brilliantly green, and the corners of his lips ticked upward. Laurie felt her face turn hot, or hotter than it already was under the laboring ceiling fan, accompanied by the regular rhythm of sweat beads rolling down her back. Looking at him, she felt like she was eighteen and like she was forty, it was then, it was now, and it was later, and they were kids on the same fourth-grade trip to an art museum in Portland, and they were at the prom, and they were having sex in her room while her parents were playing bridge, and they were breaking up while the Old 97’s played from a cheap portable speaker.
She smiled back.
Later at the reception, she was at the bar trying to figure out how to carry a little plate of mini crab cakes and a napkin while also picking up her glass of champagne when she heard him say, “Need help?”
It was like a breeze blew and a train went by and the shot of whiskey she maybe should have ordered instead went sliding down her throat. “Well, hi,” she said. “I think I’m okay, I’m just trying to make it over to one of those tall tables over there.” She gestured with her chin.
He held up his glass of red. “I just got this; I’ll go with you.”
Over at the high-top table, she set down her snack and her drink, and she took a deep breath. “I’m really lucky these shoes are comfortable—that’s June for you.”
“Well, you look great,” he said.
“So do you.” The band was pretty good, especially with pop and ballads; less so when they tried to play jazz or rather disastrously wandered into reggae. “So, how have you been?”
“Been good,” he said. “I’m still in town, I still work at the library. My wife, Becca, is around here somewhere, I’ll introduce you. How are you?”
“Good too,” she said. “I’m out in Seattle now. I’m working at The Outdoors. It’s a real job with health insurance and everything. My parents are thrilled. How are your folks?”
“They’re good. They’re just starting to think about when they might retire. I think Mom’s going to get very deeply into her ceramics and Dad’s going to get very into driving Mom out of her head. How about yours?”
“They’re in Florida now. It seems to agree with them, for the most part. My dad has back problems, but they’re good. The boys are good, Ryan’s starting to get a little bit of work, Patrick’s taking out appendixes—appendices, whatever—Scott’s doing well, and Joey met a very nice girl who raises orchids.”
“Well, that’s good.” He leaned over and eyed her plate. “Can I have a crab cake?”
She nodded. “I have lots.”
He chewed it slowly, offering up a series of exaggerated ponderous faces until he finally swallowed and nodded. “Very good, very good, I like it.”
Laurie laughed from what felt like an unfamiliar place. “It’s really good to see you, Cooper,” she said.
“It’s really good to see you too,” he said. “I’ve thought a million times about messaging you on Facebook or asking June for your email, I just never got around to it.”
“Yeah,” she said. “I’ve thought the same thing. Time is really…slippery. It’s embarrassing. I just keep waking up and being older.”