First Flight, Final Fall by C.W. Farnsworth

Chapter Nineteen

This is only the second wedding I’ve ever been to. The few friends I have who are in relationships are still light-years away from what’s meant to be a lifetime commitment.

My mother is an only child, and the few hazy memories I have of her side of the family turned to wisps of smoke around the same time she disappeared. They didn’t keep in touch, much less invite us to celebratory events. Or non-celebratory, for that matter.

And rather than relying on his family after becoming a single father, my dad retreated from his. Maybe we do share some DNA after all.

I’m surprised to realize that rift seems to have been restored when I enter the old white church where my father is getting married today.

There are still a couple hours left before the start of the ceremony, but Hallie was resistant to my suggestion we show up a half hour early like normal wedding guests. Since she’s my mode of transportation here, I didn’t really have a choice.

Now that we’re inside the church’s lobby, which is bustling with extended family I haven’t seen in years, I get that it might have been a bit awkward for us to show up an hour and a half from now. But not as uncomfortable as having to interact with virtual strangers who share my last name.

“Hallie!” A stout, plump woman sweeps my sister up in a hug, crushing the bag containing Hallie’s bridesmaid dress between them. I watch Hallie surreptitiously shake it as soon as she’s released. “Where’s Matthew? Both of them!”

“They’re at the park with Matt’s family. They’ll all be here soon. Saylor and I wanted to arrive early so we could help out.” Big of her to include me in that offer. And Hallie’s also drawn our grandmother’s attention to me.

“Saylor!” She moves forward slightly, then shifts back, and the uncertain motion is worse than a bone-jarring hug. My own grandmother is apprehensive about showing me affection. Maybe I really am a cold-hearted bitch.

“Hi, Grandma. I like your dress,” I lie. It’s a horrid shade of periwinkle, accented with what I think is meant to be a fascinator but looks more like a bird nested in her hair that left a few feathers behind. Even so, I doubt critiquing her outfit is going to dissipate any of the tension hovering in the air.

“Why, thank you, dear. I got it on sale!” Her thick southern accent emphasizes each syllable.

“Really?” There’s a hint of sarcasm in the word that my grandmother doesn’t catch. Hallie does.

“I hear you’re quite the soccer star, Saylor,” my grandmother says. “If I had your looks, I would just sit around and wait for some handsome fella to sweep me off my feet.”

“How progressive of you,” I reply sweetly.

“We should really go check on… things.” Hallie smiles. “We’ll see you later, Grandma.” She grips my bicep and pulls me away. “Really, Saylor?”

“I’m not going to apologize for being a feminist.” I sniff.

“Grandma went to debutante balls, and maybe our father’s wedding isn’t the best time to lecture on feminism—even if it’s the only time you’re home to talk about anything.”

“Am I supposed to apologize for going to college? For pursuing a professional soccer career?” I snap.

“Plenty of people seem to manage that and also keep in touch with their family.”

“Less than you’d think,” I mutter. It’s true. Giving your all—absolutely everything—requires just that: everything. Not worrying about others’ feelings. Not coming home for holidays. Sequestering every ounce of energy and bit of brainpower. “And I’m not interested in being ‘plenty of people.’ I want to be the best.”

Hallie doesn’t say anything. No matter our shared experiences—growing up motherless, our father’s virtual abandonment, and a small town that loves to gossip—we’ve got a lot less in common than what distinguishes us from each other. I’m willing to look past it all in my quest for something else.

Soccer is my escape.

Hallie wants to fix it all, make peace with our past. She married the perfect guy to be a father. She’s the perfect mother. She showed our hometown a Scott woman can be reliable and genuine. She talks to our father and extended family.

I fled as far and fast as I could.

We enter the aisle of the church, and it’s majestic. Ethereal. I didn’t grow up devout. I could count on one hand the number of times I’ve been in a building with any sort of religious connotation, but the varnished wood, stained glass, and symmetrical pews conjure a presence even the most agnostic can’t ignore.

The scents of incense and fresh flowers mingle in the air, swirling around our strides toward the altar. Garlands of daisies, peonies, and ranunculus hang along the end of each pew we pass.

“Looks like we missed the decorating,” I state. “Bummer.”

“I’m sure there’s still work to be done,” Hallie informs me. “Let’s go hang up our dresses.”

I heave out a sigh but follow her out of the aisle toward the back of the church. We run into our father on the trip down the hallway.

“Oh, good. I wasn’t sure what time you girls were going to arrive.” He gives me a nervous glance that seems to be my only greeting.

“I told you we’d be here by one, Dad,” Hallie replies.

“Well, something always seems to go wrong at weddings, and nothing has yet.” My father frets, glancing around like he’s expecting the roof to cave in at any moment.

“That’s a good thing,” she says soothingly.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” my father admits. “There was a time I swore to myself I never would again.”

“It’s good that you’re doing it,” Hallie assures him. “No one wants to be alone forever.” I know she doesn’t mean them to be, but it feels like the words are a jab at me. “And Sandra is wonderful.”

“Plus, she seems like a low flight risk,” I add.

Hallie glares at me for that comment, but my father chuckles. Actually makes a sound of amusement. I can’t recall the last time that happened. Probably because we barely speak.

“I know I put you girls through hell back then. If I could go back and do things differently, I would, but I hope this can be a new chapter. A fresh start for our family.” He pauses, and when he speaks again, his voice is thicker. “You two mean the world to me.”

The words are meant more for me, but Hallie is the one who responds. “Oh, Dad.” She hugs him, and I watch them share a moment I’m meant to be included in.

She forgave our father a long time ago. All three of us know that. I’m the one entrenched in the past.

Holding grudges.

Forcing friction.

Because I believe people should be held accountable for their actions. Because actions have consequences. Because I’ve prioritized scoring goals over being daughter or sister or granddaughter or aunt of the year, and this trip has thrown that into glaring clarity.

My father releases Hallie and then takes a hesitant step toward me. Then another. And another. He wraps his arms around me and gives me a small squeeze. I lift my own arms to touch his back, but don’t contract them. Still, it’s the most physical contact we’ve had in years.

It’s barely a hug, but it’s something.

I recall his words. My family doesn’t mean more to me than anything in the world. I love Hallie. I know I love my father, even if it’s wrapped in layers of abandonment and awkwardness any family therapist would have a field day with, but I shifted my world to encompass nothing but soccer a long time ago.

It was something I could completely control.

My mess of a father and missing mother weren’t.

“Marcus! There you are!” A harried-looking woman wearing a pantsuit appears at the end of the hallway. I’m assuming she’s the wedding planner, and it’s confirmed by her next words. “We need to go over some reception logistics.”

“Go handle that, Dad. We’ve got to get ready for photos,” Hallie instructs. Then she starts striding down the hallway.

“See you later, Dad,” I say, and then I literally have to sprint after Hallie since I have no idea where exactly we’re headed.

“Sheesh! Are you training for a speed-walking competition?”

Hallie snorts. “Says the girl who runs five miles a day.”

“I thought we got here ridiculously early to avoid having to rush. What’s the sudden hurry?”

“Well, we have to make sure Sandra’s not gassing up a getaway car.”

I sigh. “Hallie, it was a joke! I’m not allowed to have a sense of humor?”

“We’re in a church, not a comedy club.”

I fake gasp. “Is that why there are crosses every two feet?”

Hallie slants me an I’m-not-amused glance as she stops outside a boring brown door. “I hope you got the sarcasm out of your system. Sandra will take anything you say seriously, and I’m sure she still feels badly about last night.”

“Fine,” I mutter as we head inside a room that finally makes me feel like we’re in the current century. The walls are comprised of the same dark wood paneling as the hallway and pews, but there’s a sectional couch in the corner upholstered with blue cotton. Sunshine streams in through the windows, beaming directly onto the folding table that’s been set up in the center of the space. Only brief glimpses of the scratched plastic surface are visible. Most of it’s covered with bobby pins, hair ties, tissues, water bottles, Band-Aids, and a variety of other miscellaneous items. A couple room dividers are set up, screening off parts of the space from immediate view.

“You’re here!” My attention is drawn from taking in the mess to the figure in a pink robe barreling toward us. Sandra stops just a couple of feet away. “Thank goodness.”

“Didn’t I say one?” Hallie asks, looking a bit bemused.

“Yes, you did,” Sandra confirms. “Everyone’s been asking when Hallie and Saylor would arrive, though!” She lets out a nervous laugh. “I guess we know who the real stars of the show are!”

I’m not surprised Hallie’s absence was missed. I am surprised mine was, but I’m guessing there’s a fair amount of intrigue about my presence. I haven’t been back home since graduating high school, except for Hallie’s wedding.

“This is the famous Saylor?” Another woman appears at Sandra’s side, one who looks enough like her, I’m certain they are related. “My goodness, you’re gorgeous dear.”

“Uh, thank you,” I respond. I’m sporting oversized sweats and a bun so messy it seems an insult to the hairstyle to even call it one. I figured I’d have plenty of time to get ready on Hallie’s early bird timetable.

“I’m Sandra’s sister, Sally,” the woman explains.

“Nice to meet you,” I reply with a polite smile.

“It feels like we’ve already met. I’ve heard so much about you from Marcus.”

That’s a surprise to me, but I keep my face neutral. Luckily, an interruption saves me from having to respond. The door reopens, and a middle-aged woman sticks her head in the room. “Photos in half an hour,” she announces, holding up the camera strapped around her chest.

Sally jumps into action. “Come on, Sandra! I’ve got to finish your hair!” Sally heads back to the corner of the room, where I can see they’ve set up a temporary vanity covered with an array of beauty products. Sandra settles into a director-style folding chair, and Sally continues winding Sandra’s shoulder-length brown hair around the barrel of the curling iron.

Hallie moves into motion as well.

“Wait, are we supposed to be in the photos?” I whisper to Hallie as she hangs her dress bag up on a curtain rod and unzips it.

“Yes.” She shoots me a Duh look.

“Why didn’t you say that earlier when I was complaining about leaving so soon?”

“I did,” Hallie replies as she pulls her black bridesmaid dress out of the bag. It’s a sensible A-line style that’s knee-length. “Good to know you weren’t listening.”

I scoff as I copy her. Once we’ve both changed, I head over to the full-length mirror to apply some mascara and lip gloss. I brush my hair and survey my appearance. I still love the dress I chose from Beck’s kitchen counter. I opted for a one-shoulder design with a tight bodice. It’s floor-length, but the flowy chiffon is asymmetrical, showing off flashes of my tan legs every time I move.

“Don’t you look lovely!” Sandra says, coming up behind me. She’s changed into her wedding dress, which is a simple white slip with a lace overlay.

“Thank you,” I respond. “You do, too.”

She beams. “Thank you. And, Saylor, about last night…”

“It’s fine,” I interrupt. I hate apologies. Receiving and giving them. “Don’t worry about it.”

Maybe Sandra feels the same because she looks massively relieved when I cut her off.

“Everyone ready?” Sally calls from the vanity. She’s changed as well, into a cap-sleeved dress that falls to mid-calf.

“Ready!” Hallie replies.

We file out of the room and back into the hallway. There’s only one door farther down the hallway on the opposite side, and Sally heads through it first, revealing that it leads out into the gardens behind the church. There’s a stone courtyard in the center, surrounded by an explosion of lush greenery with scattered dots of color provided by the few remaining blooms. My father is already standing in the courtyard, along with my Uncle Jerry and two older men I vaguely recognize as his work partners.

“Isn’t it bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding?” I whisper to Hallie.

She gives me a dubious glance. “You’re superstitious?”

“I’m an athlete.” Still a blank stare. I sigh. “Never mind.”

The photographer’s instructions stop any further conversation. I’m handed a bouquet of roses and instructed to smile. We take individual photos, group photos, candid shots, posed shots. I lose track. I just keep smiling, and no one seems to notice the expected expression pasted on my face is mostly fake.

I think I’m exaggerating how long the photos are taking, but when the wedding planner instructs us to head inside and take our places for the ceremony, I realize it’s actually the opposite. The hallowed building echoes with audible chatter as we walk down the hallway toward the front of the church. My father and his groomsmen split off to enter the front of the altar.

There’s a man who looks close to eighty waiting in the church vestibule. The front doors to the chapel have been closed, and the oak ones marking the entrance of the nave are shut as well.

Strains of organ music penetrate the ancient wood, halting the chatter that was previously echoing. The older man introduces himself to me and Hallie as Sandra’s father, and the two of them take their place at the back of the line. The music swells and transitions to a melody even I, who have only been to a grand total of two weddings, recognize.

The doors in front of me open, and Hallie starts walking. I count to ten and then follow her down the aisle. I saw the church earlier, but it’s animated now. Lively.

A hush fell as soon as Wagner began to play, but there’s a low hum of voices filled with excited energy as we walk forward. I reach the end of the aisle and take my place beside Hallie at the foot of the altar. Sally takes the next spot, and then I watch the whole congregation rise as the music reaches its crescendo, perfectly coordinated with Sandra’s arrival.

She’s beaming as she floats down the aisle on her father’s arm. She doesn’t look like someone who’s done this twice before. Her smile is giddy when she reaches my dad’s side.

I zone out for most of the ceremony. Sandra must have had some sort of religious upbringing, because I can’t imagine my father selecting the numerous lengthy readings the priest declaims. He seems content to listen to them, though, nodding along and smiling. He looks happy, and it makes standing in heels that are slowly cutting off all circulation in my feet worth it. Regardless of our relationship, I want him to be content. And he seems to be.

The vows come last. Is it impossible to attend a wedding and not imagine saying those words yourself? Hallie’s crying, but I don’t feel emotional.

I feel detached.

Incredulous.

My father’s words from earlier reverberate around in my skull. There was a time I swore to myself I never would again.

So why is he?

* * *

The country club where the reception is being held is only one block away, but Hallie insists on driving. I don’t protest; mostly because my shoes are killing me. I stare out the window as Matt and Hallie chat about how smoothly the ceremony went.

The church lawns meld into the sidewalk that traverses the length of the small downtown area. We pass the library, post office, general store, and high school before arriving at the country club. It’s not nearly as posh as it sounds. It’s simply an oversized building set behind an ornate gate and before the golf course.

The front lobby is minimalistic, filled with clean lines and muted colors. The ballroom is just past a double set of doors. It overlooks a stone patio surrounded by the lush grass comprising the golf course, and the entire room is decorated in creams and golds that make me feel like I’m inside a giant wedding cake. Round tables dot the hardwood floor, already decorated with dishes and floral arrangements I recognize from the ends of the pews. Guests are milling about, claiming seats with wraps and clutches. I head toward the first empty one I see.

“Where are you going?” Hallie asks.

“To get a table,” I reply.

“We’re sitting up there.” She nods to a long rectangular table set up just past the dance floor.

I sigh but follow her over to it. My grandparents and Sandra’s parents are already seated, and I take the chair at the farthest end, next to the highchair that’s been set up for Matthew Jr.

“When is dinner?” I ask Hallie.

She rolls her eyes. “It’s drinks and appetizers first. Then the first dance. Then dinner. Then cake…”

“Okay, okay,” I reply. “No dinner yet. Got it.”

There’s a round of applause, and I turn to see my dad and Sandra are entering the room. They’re quickly swallowed into the crowd. On cue, I watch black-clad servers start to infiltrate the room. Twinkly lights turn on out on the patio just as dusk begins to fall.

“I’m headed to get sustenance,” I inform Hallie.

“Liquid or solid?”

“Both.” I stand but only get a dozen feet before I run into Great Aunt Eloise.

“Saylor! So wonderful to see you, sugar. How is school?”

I learned my lesson on this question last night. “It’s great.”

“And you’re still playing soccer?”

“Yes.”

Despite my brief answers, Eloise draws out our conversation for a good ten minutes. As soon as I extricate myself, I run into another distant relative. Then another. And another. By the time I make it out onto the patio, half the hors d’oeuvres are gone.

I snag a few mini bruschetta and strike up a conversation with Ashley Martin. Her father works with mine, and we were friendly in high school. We’ve barely started chatting when Hallie appears.

“Here you are! Come on, we need you at the table.”

I groan. “Nice to see you, Ashley. Bridesmaid duty calls.”

I follow Hallie as she weaves through the tables back to ours. My dad and Sandra are just rising from their seats and making their way out onto the dance floor. I plop down on my chair to watch them waltz, realizing I never even grabbed a drink.

I remember my father having no sense of rhythm, but apparently it’s something he rediscovered along with some paternal instincts. They sway in time to some song that sounds familiar but I can’t name.

The music ends, and Sandra walks over to her father. He rises, and they head back out onto the dance floor. I expect my father to walk over to his mother’s chair, but instead he strides in the opposite direction.

Toward my end of the table.

Toward me.

“Dance with your old man, Saylor?”

My gaze leaps to Hallie, but she doesn’t look the least bit surprised. She knew. She knew he was going to do this.

“Sure,” I manage, standing. What else can I say? We’re in front of a couple hundred people. On his wedding day. No wonder Hallie dragged me off the patio earlier.

We head out onto the dance floor, and my father’s lost his Fred Astaire impression. We sway awkwardly.

“I’m happy for you, Dad,” I finally say, when the silence is so thick it’s choking me.

“That means a lot,” he replies, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

Silence falls between us again.

“Maybe we’ll be doing this again one day. At your wedding.”

I tense. “I doubt it.”

“There’s no… special guy?” my father asks, and if I wasn’t immensely uncomfortable, I would laugh. My father checked out back when I thought boys had cooties. We’ve never had a conversation about a guy. I doubt his newfound parenting skills would be thrilled to know about the ways I took advantage of his absence during my high school years.

“Nope.” I almost leave it at that, but then I add “Not a big fan of relying on people.”

“You don’t have to do everything alone, Saylor.”

“Well, I didn’t really have a choice.”

He sighs. “I know. But I hoped you’d learn from my mistakes.”

“I have.”

“Relying on people is not a mistake. Relying entirely on someone who doesn’t rely on you is. That’s what happened with your mother and me. I relied on her for everything, and she didn’t rely on me at all. You’re strong, Saylor. So, so strong. You don’t need someone to hold you up, but it’s nice to have someone to lean on.” He looks over at Sandra, who’s laughing at something her father is saying. “It’s really nice.”

I don’t say anything.

Wisely, my father opts to change the subject. “I was thinking maybe Sandra and I could come up to Lancaster for a weekend this fall. Maybe catch a soccer game?”

“You want to come to one of my games?” I don’t bother to hide the shock in my voice. He nods once. “Why?” I can’t help but ask.

“Well, I’ve never seen you play, and—”

“Exactly! You’ve never seen me play. Why now?”

My father manages to shift uncomfortably while dancing. “I’m trying to do better. If you don’t want us to come, just say that.”

“No, it’s fine. You can come.” We keep dancing. “Just let me know what game you want the tickets for.”

“We can buy our own tickets. I want to support your team.”

I snort. “The entire season is sold out. You won’t be able to get into the game unless I request them.”

“Oh. I didn’t realize…”

“That other people care about seeing me play?” I let a little bitterness seep into my voice.

“No,” he insists, although I’m certain I’m right. “I just—you always said women’s sports don’t get enough attention.”

“They don’t. I’m trying to change that.”

My dad looks at me, and it’s not with the uncertainty or discomfort I’m used to seeing. There’s pride etched in the lines of his face, and it feels good.

Despite our difficult relationship—if you could even call it that—it feels really good for him to look at me like that.

The song ends before either of us can say anything else. We return to our seats to see dinner has already been served. Hallie stares at me from across the table, and I can tell she’s burning to ask what we were talking about, but she restrains herself. I’m guessing the glare I give her has something to do with it, and the fact that she looks sheepish tells me she played a part in the dancefloor ambush.

After dinner, I make a beeline for the bar. I’ve just ordered a gin and tonic when I hear a familiar voice.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Saylor Scott.”

I turn to see Andy Jacobson has appeared to my left. “Have we met before?” I ask.

The lopsided grin high school girls fangirled over appears. “Good to see you haven’t changed. Still breaking hearts, Scott?”

“Are you volunteering yours, Jacobson?”

His dimples deepen. “Nah. I learned my lesson in high school.”

“That why you’re stalking me at my dad’s wedding?”

Andy clutches his chest in mock outrage. “Stalking? That’s harsh. I’m here to catch up with old friends.”

“Oh yeah? Who would that be?”

“Who wouldn’t it be? The whole town is here.”

“Yeah.” I let out a long exhale as the bartender hands me my drink. “I noticed.”

“Rare to have a celebrity in our midst.” I scoff. “I’m serious,” Andy insists. “You’re huge. My buddy’s cousin goes to Lancaster and said it’s nuts. You’re ranked first in the country!”

“Yeah, I know,” I say as I take a long sip of my drink. His words aren’t terrible for my ego, though, especially after the past day of conversations with my family.

“Hooking up with you in high school earned me some major cool points, by the way.”

“Still a gentleman, I see.”

Andy grins. “So, what’s it like—”

“Saylor! Finally! We need you for the cake.” Hallie appears.

I let out another long breath, trying to summon some patience. “Why? Do I have to cut it up?”

Andy snorts. Hallie glares.

I down the rest of my cocktail like a shot. “See you, Jacobson.”

“I’ll save you a dance, Scott,” he calls out as Hallie hauls me off.

“Maybe there could be one part of the wedding I don’t have to be front and center for?” I suggest.

“It’s not particularly fun having to track you down for every event.”

“Then don’t,” I reply, a bit sharper than I mean to. “And don’t think I don’t know you had something to do with the dance.”

“If I don’t, then Dad will be upset. Now Sandra too. And if I’d told you about the dance, you probably would have hid in the bathroom or something.”

“Yeah. Obviously.”

We reach the dance floor, which has been cleared for the cake. It’s a massive concoction that matches the room décor perfectly, all white with flowers that have been dyed gold. Or are made of gold-colored frosting. Cressida could probably tell.

Champagne is passed around, and Sandra’s father makes a toast. Rather than the customary sip, I drain the entire glass as my father and Sandra make an impractical dual attempt at slicing through the three-tier cake.

I snag another glass of champagne as everyone oohs and aahs over the slow process.

“How many of those have you had?” Hallie looks over and eyes the glass flute in my hand.

“Not enough.” I take a sip of fizzy liquid.

“Don’t be stupid, Saylor.”

It’s amazing how, after twenty-one years, Hallie still doesn’t know people pushing me only makes me push back. Harder.

I grab another glass from the display, double-fisting champagne. Classy and contrarian, that’s me.

“Me? Act stupid? Never.” I take a sip and send her a shit-eating grin.

Hallie backs down and looks away, just like I knew she would. I also know it’s not because she doesn’t care. She just can’t force herself to engage in confrontation any more than I can walk away from one.

Plates of cake finally start to disseminate amongst the crowd. I grab one and, with my full glass of champagne, disappear outside. The patio is empty now, no longer crammed with wedding guests. I’m guessing it’s the lack of appetizers combined with the slight chill in the air. Coming from Connecticut, the brisker air still feels tropical to me. I settle on one of the concrete benches and stare out at the golf course. It’s pristine. Perfectly manicured.

The flawless grass reminds me of a soccer field.

Reminds me of Kluvberg’s field.

Reminds me of lying on it with Beck.

I blame the recollection for what happens next. I gulp down the rest of the bubbly alcohol and spin so my feet rest on the opposite end of the concrete bench. My stilettos fall to the stone floor as I stretch my toes, luxuriating in the freedom the lack of a pointed prison allows for.

I pull my phone out of the clutch, and it turns out there is something I would do drunk I wouldn’t sober. And that’s call the number I swore to myself I never would again.

Even if I were stranded in the desert and no one else was answering. Well, maybe then.

It rings once, and I take a bite of cake. A choice I regret when he picks up on the second ring.

“Saylor?” His voice is sleepy. Shit. Yeah, it’s… I actually have no idea what time it is here, much less in Germany. But I obviously woke Beck up. I don’t say anything.

Partly because I don’t know what to say.

Partly because I’m listening to hear if he leaves his bed, or if there’s a female voice in the background.

Partly because there’s a lump of flour and sugar blocking my windpipe.

Mostly because I’m contemplating hanging up and pretending it was a butt dial.

“Saylor?” he says again, tone more alert and softer. “Is everything okay?”

I swallow several times. “Yeah, everything is fine.” I pause. “I’m at my dad’s wedding.”

“How is it?” Beck asks. His voice is still quiet, no more than an accented murmur. No background noise.

“Weird. Good. Okay. I don’t know.” I let out a small laugh. “I danced with my dad, fought with my sister, and overindulged in champagne.”

“They didn’t have any gin?”

I hate how my chest warms with the realization that he remembered that tiny detail about me. “No, they did. I had some. And then I decided to try something new, I guess.”

“New can be good.”

I don’t respond. There’s no sound besides the whisper of his exhales being transported across the ocean by technology.

Eventually, “You called me.”

For once, the obvious deserves a response. “Yeah, I did,” I confirm. “I—I don’t know. I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“You could have watched an interview.” I thought his words in person were inscrutable. Those six might have as well have been read by a robot.

I huff out a laugh anyway, too buzzed to dwell on nuances. “Yeah, I guess I could have.” If I’d wanted to hear the soccer star Beck instead of the guy who knows I ordinarily drink nothing besides gin.

I’m surprised to realize I can detect a difference. The softer tone. The emotion underneath.

I’m not sure what I might have said next, what he might have, because Hallie chooses this exact moment to burst out onto the patio. “We need you for another round of photos.”

If I wasn’t suddenly desperate for an exit ramp, I would cover the speaker and point out how we’ve already taken what seemed like hundreds of photos.

Instead, I veer off the road of regret I’m rapidly speeding along. “I have to go. Sorry for waking you up.” I tap the end button before Beck can say anything, shoving my feet back into the stilettos and wincing as my feet protest the uncomfortable footwear.

“Who were you talking to?” Hallie asks as I approach her.

“No one.”

Despite the literal impossibility of my answer, Hallie doesn’t press. Instead, she apologizes. “I’m sorry about before. I know today is tough for you.”

“It’s fine,” I mutter as we head back inside the country club. I probably owe her an apology too, but right now my emotions are all over the place.

It’s strange, being in my hometown surrounded by family mere seconds after talking to Adler Beck on the phone.

It’s a collision of two worlds: the Saylor Scott who grew up in a tiny town with a broken family and the one who took control of her identity and turned down the man who melts panties with a single smirk.

The girl who grew up convinced love was a legend and the woman worried she might have found and flung it.

We take more photos, there’s another round of dancing, and then my dad and Sandra disappear in a shower of grains of rice and a deluge of well wishes.

The drive back to Hallie’s from the reception is silent. Either she’s still annoyed with me or simply too tired to talk. I’d guess it’s a combination of the two.

The porch light is on when we arrive back at the bungalow, and I know it’s because Matt left it on when he brought Matthew Jr. home. For some reason it makes me wonder if Beck would do the same. Especially when my phone keeps buzzing with incoming calls I can’t bring myself to answer. Every time it vibrates, it sounds a little louder.

“Night,” Hallie tells me when we walk through the front door. She heads straight upstairs.

I was exhausted earlier, but suddenly I’m not. I head to the couch and grab sweatpants and a sweatshirt from the suitcase resting against it. I quickly change and then walk into the kitchen, swinging the fridge door open and hauling myself up on the edge of the marble countertop to survey the contents.

Wasteful? Yes.

Convenient? Also yes.

I’m not hungry. I’m scavenging for liquid contents. I’ve had enough alcohol to know more is a bad idea, but also enough where I’m not exactly thinking logically. I compromise by grabbing a bottle of beer and a can of seltzer. I stroll out the door off the kitchen, onto the deck, and down into the grass.

The lawn feels like home. I’ve spent more hours on turf than I could ever count, but mostly with the barrier of cleats. Crushing blades of grass is much more satisfying when it’s with your bare skin.

There’s a hammock strung up between two broad beech trees, and I flop down atop it, beverages in hand. I can’t see anything through the canopy of leaves, and I prefer it that way. Stars have a way of suggesting too much. The vastness of the universe makes me feel too small, too inconsequential. Like maybe the decisions I have to make aren’t quite as massive as I’ve made them out to be.

In the grand scheme of the world, they’re definitely not.

In the context of my life, they’re trajectory. They’ll send me careening down one path with no chance of ever returning to another. There will be other choices farther down the trail, but no chance to return to where I am right now. That’s what has me paralyzed in place. Because I decided a long time ago that I wouldn’t let anything detract from my soccer goals.

Adler Beck has already made his mark in the sport.

I’ve barely scratched the surface.

I toss the drinks on the ground, belatedly realizing they’ll probably explode whenever they’re opened. Too tired to care, I push off from the ground so the fabric I’m lying on starts rocking back and forth.

I’m asleep before it stills.

* * *

“If only I had a camera on me.”

I squint upward and find Hallie’s smirking face. “Why have a hammock if you’re not going to use it?”

“We use it plenty. We just don’t sleep in it.”

I stretch, relieved to discover a bird didn’t decide to crap on me overnight. My muscles are stiff, but I’ve definitely woken up feeling worse. “You should. Switch things up a bit.”

Hallie rolls her eyes, and I know she’s taken my words as a personal affront, an assertion that she plays it safe while I dance with danger.

Might as well rip off the Band-Aid. “Look, Hallie. I’m sor—” I don’t even get the full apology out.

“It’s fine, Saylor. We’re good.” Hallie loves to sweep anything uncomfortable under the rug. It’s why she’s on a joking basis with our father whereas I can barely exchange a dance’s worth of words with him. Ignorance versus grudges. I’m not sure either approach is healthy, but I know Hallie’s means me pressing things won’t end well. “Do you want breakfast?”

“No, I’ll get something at the airport.”

“Okay. Your flight’s at eleven, right?”

“Yeah.”

Hallie heads back inside, and I flop back down on the hammock to review the past couple of days. So far, my trip home has consisted of: tense conversation with my father, pushing Hallie further away, and a drunken phone call with the guy I’m supposed to be forgetting exists. Throw in too much champagne and excessive flirting, and I’ve got a promising sitcom plot.

Too bad it’s my actual life.

I pick up the beer and seltzer I never opened and walk up the steps and inside. The kitchen is chaos. Matthew Jr. is screaming. Hallie and Matt are rushing around, trying to placate him. Matt’s family is eating breakfast. No one but Jackson acknowledges my arrival on the scene, and I definitely don’t acknowledge his. I stick the drinks back in the fridge and help myself to a banana. I contemplate changing my outfit as I peel the fruit and then decide against it.

“You ready, Saylor?” Hallie asks, handing Matt a bowl of the cereal that seems to have halted the shrieking.

“Yeah,” I respond, heading to the couch to zip up my suitcase. I haul the bag vertical and offer Matt and his family a small wave. “Nice to see you all.”

They each reply with the same pleasantry, and then Hallie and I are off, zipping out of the cul-de-sac her house sits on.

“Shit,” I realize. “Can you stop at the farmer’s market thing?”

“What? Why?” Hallie inquires.

“I never picked up my painting,” I reply. After last night’s drunken dial, it’s probably an idiotic idea, but the thought of never retrieving it bothers me.

Hallie doesn’t reply, but she pulls over at the warehouse when we reach it. The parking lot is empty this time, but every booth I pass by has an occupant. Finally, I reach the one that caught my attention last time.

The same old woman is there, perched on a rickety stool as she sketches something on a notepad. She looks up when I enter the small stall and smiles. A hand spotted with age reaches behind the desk and procures the painting with the additions I requested.

It’s eerie how much it resembles the scene seared into my brain. It’s perfect. Mesmerizing.

“Thank you,” I tell the woman.

“You’re welcome, dear. Have a good day.” She passes me a paper sleeve I slide the painting into.

“You, too.”

I retrace my steps through the warehouse and back outside, climbing back into the passenger seat. Hallie studies the package in my hands with unveiled interest but says nothing as she pulls out of the parking lot.

“Can we stop at the post office?” I request.

“Sure,” Hallie replies casually, but I don’t miss the extra glance she gives the paper-covered painting on my lap.

The tiny post office is just as quiet and empty as one would expect. I don’t realize until I’m outside the doors it’s because it’s closed.

It’s Sunday.

I’m not shipping life-saving medication. There’s no real urgency. But I am worried I won’t send it if I don’t do it now, before I’ve really thought it through.

There’s a jangling sound to my left, and I glance over to see a man unlocking the side door tucked around the corner. I’d guess he’s in his late twenties, and he does a double take when he glances up and sees my face.

“Hi! Could you do me a massive favor?” I ask.

He doesn’t answer right away, looking a bit stunned. I don’t recognize him, so I don’t think he recognizes me. I put absolutely no effort into my appearance this morning, so I suppose it should flatter me he’s at a loss for words. But I just feel impatient.

“Well?”

“Uh—um, I’m not supposed to—I mean—sure.”

Euphoria overtakes any annoyance with his stuttering. I follow him inside through the door he was unlocking.

I still have Beck’s apartment address memorized, and I pay the exorbitant fee required to ship the package to Germany after relaying it to the postal worker.

“Thank you,” I tell him, flashing him a genuine smile after he’s completed the shipping slip.

I leave the post office with a skip in my step. For the first time since Beck strode away from me in Canada, I feel a little lighter. The painting is not a response to his admission, and it’s not an apology.

It’s an acknowledgment that the moments we spent together meant something to me.

That he means something to me.

If my departure from Germany damaged us, we’re in tatters post-Canada. But the dysfunction doesn’t diminish what we shared.

Maybe that’s what my mother meant about broken beauty.

Or maybe she was referring to herself.

If she hadn’t left, I’d probably ask her.