Page 28 of The One Before

Twenty

Madison

I haven’t felt this giddy about the wedding since I bought my dress. My meeting with Anne serves as a reminder that my future with Coop is happening, regardless of any unsightly roadblocks I might encounter along the way. I pull up Anne’s website and click through images. Most of the photographs aren’t weddings; it seems in recent years she’s focused more on community fundraisers. She probably thought that would hurt her chances of getting the job.

On the contrary, I find Anne’s detachment from bridal trends refreshing. She didn’t enter our appointment with preconceived notions of what my wedding should be, unlike the previous planners I met with. Instead, Anne was willing to hear my suggestions, my vision. I’m at ease with her, and I haven’t felt that way often since moving to Whisper Falls.

For years, I’ve defined myself through my job and personal achievements. With that gone, my confidence has plummeted. I think that’s why I’ve felt more insecure about Celia, and the idea people think Coop is to blame amplifies those emotions. From the time he told me about his teenage girlfriend who drowned in the lake, it’s bothered me. I resent the hold she seems to have over both our lives, although Coop has always provided reassurance about his feelings for me.

One memory remains fresh in my mind. It was the night we got together to celebrate Beth and Matt’s engagement. We used to be inseparable: Beth and Matt, Coop and me. Before Coop, we were more of a trio, seeing as Beth and Matt had been together since college. Coop and I had only been together six months at that point, but we’d already cemented our status as a foursome. To celebrate, we got hammered in my apartment after a fancy dinner. Two bottles in, Matt suggested we play drinking games.

“It’d be like college all over again,” he said, his bald head gleaming underneath the overhead light.

“Come on,” Beth said, swatting his arm. “Aren’t we too old for that sort of thing? We’re supposed to be sophisticated.” She did a wobbly shoulder shrug soaked in sarcasm.

“It’ll be fun,” Coop said, squeezing my waist.

We tried to recall popular games from our schooldays but couldn’t remember any of the rules and felt ancient when we pulled out our phones to google them. Instead, we sat on the floor answering questions; after each round, everyone took an obligatory swig of their drink. The categories were equal parts entertaining and intrusive. First kiss. Worst date. First time getting drunk. Coop recalled the time his date hurled in an alleyway beside his apartment building; Beth told a handful of stories relating to our exploits in college. The next category Matt suggested, First Love, made us all a little uneasy.

“Mine was the same as my first kiss,” Matt said, volunteering to go first. “Cynthia.”

“The sixth grader on the playground?” Beth asked.

“We had a very special connection,” he said.

“You’re full of it! No point in playing the game if you’re going to make jokes,” Beth said. “My high school boyfriend, Tanner. Thank goodness he broke my heart, otherwise I might not be here.”

“Good for us both,” Matt said, squeezing Beth tighter. “Madison?”

“Christian. We dated for a year in college,” I answered.

“That guy was such a douche,” Beth said, tossing a pillow at me for even mentioning the name. “I think my entire sophomore year was devoted to playing referee during your arguments.”

“He wasn’t the best guy,” I said, clenching my jaw.

I looked at Coop, waiting to hear his response. He hadn’t had many serious relationships: Celia, a few girls in college and me. Inside I worried—feared—he might say that Celia, the enigmatic girl with the tragic ending who had a way of poisoning my thoughts, was his first love. Another woman would be more bearable; at least he chose to separate from his other exes. Celia was taken from him without choice, which must leave him wondering, would he have left her? Had she not died, would he even be here for me to love? Most high school and college relationships fizzle. People change and mature and move on. Life sorts things out, not death.

“Laura,” he answered. “We met in college.”

I discreetly exhaled the breath I’d been holding. I was relieved his first love wasn’t Celia. I needed to believe their relationship was nothing more than a youthful infatuation. I didn’t want to play second fiddle to his deceased ex-girlfriend, for him to wonder how his life might have unfolded had she lived. The cycle of love and loss brought him to me. It brought us to each other.

“I change my answer,” Matt bellowed, interrupting my sentimental thoughts. “Truth is, Beth is my first love. I just didn’t want to say it and sound like a sap. She’s my one and only.”

Beth beamed, leaning in for a kiss. Beth and Matt had that spark about them. I always knew they’d end up together. We continued drinking and sharing stories until late in the night. Beth and Matt slept on my cratered futon. Coop slept in my bed; in fact, that was the first night he suggested we live together. I remember drifting to sleep in his arms, happy our connection was growing. I wince, looking back. I miss the naïve, uncomplicated elements of young love. Now, our lives seem so tense.

When Coop arrives, he brings Mexican takeout and margarita ingredients. It’s his attempt to erase this morning’s squabble. Celia and the mysteries of her death still linger in my mind, but I want to push them away and enjoy my time with Coop. Spending the afternoon discussing our wedding has left me elated.

“So, you’ve found our wedding planner?” he asks, placing a freshly mixed drink into my hand.

“I have.” I smile, thinking of Anne’s simple ways and how pleased she was to be selected. “She’s a nice woman. She has a clear understanding of what I want the day to be.”

“I don’t understand why having a planner is so important. I think most people could manage organizing one night on their own.”

“I could, but I think I’d also be second-guessing every decision I make. Then your mom would be triple-guessing.” I quickly sip my drink, hoping that dig wasn’t too forward. “In the end, I guess that’s why we’re paying her. To make me feel like I’m making the right decisions.”

“Do whatever you need. I want this day to be perfect for us.”

We lock eyes. “I’m sorry about this morning,” I say. “I want you to know that.”

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