Page 35 of Fragile Lives
Everyone is shedding tears at the ceremony. Well, my mom is a waterfall, and the rest of us all have misty eyes. For different reasons though. Every single soul here has a different reason to cry. Some are happy tears, and some are not so much. Mostly happy, though.
I’m for once happy for my brother. When he went full hermit in that cabin deep in the woods, I tried visiting him, but he never let me inside, so eventually, I stopped trying. Not because I gave up on him, but because I believed he needed to come home on his own terms. I didn’t see it happening without a woman pushing him. It’s sad but true. I didn’t think he’d find a reason to on his own until he wanted to do it for someone else.
Enter Freya, a force of nature that shifted this town with her sudden appearance. The first time they came to dinner together at our parents’ house, I knew she would stay, and he would be different. Some people just click together; it’s like they are lost pieces of the same puzzle that come together once they’re on the same board. I saw those pieces and got a little jealous.
I knew it wasn’t in the cards for me—Ken is right; I’m wired differently. I’ve never connected to a man or a woman. Some might say I’m just young and all that is in the future for me. But it’s not. I see too much. More than I care to, and the moment my partner’s attention shifts somewhere else, I’ll know. Even in a moment of weakness, I’ll know, and I won’t be able to live with that, so I’ll leave. Damn my observance Ken praises so much.
My father had this moment of weakness and strayed from my mom, and that’s how Alex came to our family. His mom was my father’s lover, and when she died when Alex was just a teenager, he came to live with us. I love my father, but I can’t forgive himfor doing that to mom. I’m very grateful to have Alex from that affair, and I can’t imagine our lives without him, but he didthatto mom. I’m very sensitive about the matter. So yeah, daddy issues here, just of a different kind.
I don’t know if someone made specifically for me exists out there. What I need is a little toxic. I want my partner to be one hundred percent devoted to me. To breathe for me. To breathe with me. And I’m ready to do the same for him. Who would agree to that? It’s pretty much like losing a part of yourself. I know it’s what I want, and this is what I can offer, but people don’t like restraints. It’s natural and normal, which is why I know it’s a bit toxic. And that’s okay too.
And that’s also why eventually, I’ll get myself a dozen cats to surround myself with unconditional love. Wait a minute, cats won’t work here. They don’t do devotions. I’ll get dogs; they know a thing or two about loyalty. Yes, dogs. The plan is now set in motion.
Vows are made, and kisses are shared. Now it’s time for dancing and drinking. I don’t drink much because I personally don’t like the taste of alcohol, but I take a glass of champagne in spirit.
“Hey.”
I turn toward the male voice to my right—a handsome guy in his late twenties with a flirty smile and super white teeth shoots me a shy wave.
“Hey,” I reply with a polite smile.
“Are you on the bride’s or groom’s side?”
“Both.” Then I ask, just to be polite, “You?”
“Bride’s.” Then he rakes his hair with his hand and adds, “I guess.”
“You guess?”
“I just checked into her PTSD center, so I’m not sure.” He chuckles nervously and looks around. “Shit, I’m out of practice.Probably not the best way to start a conversation?” He rubs the back of his head, looking completely lost.
“Yeah,” I let out a surprised laugh. “Probably not the best.”
“Do you want, I dunno,” he shrugs his broad shoulders, “to ask me something?”
“About what?” I quirk a brow.
“About PTSD and all that. I mean to ask why I’m there and all that.” His eyes dart around the room.
“Do you want to tell me?”
“Not particularly, no,” he cackles.
“Then don’t. Freya is good with people. You’re in the right place.” Then I shift my attention to the dance floor. But not before I notice the surprised look on his face.
“Do you wanna dance?” he asks shyly after a few minutes of silence. It takes me a minute to gather the courage, and I don’t want to discourage this small step.
“Sure,” I say.
I accept his outstretched hand, and he leads me to the dance floor. There, he places his hand on my waist—very gentlemanly—and leads me in the dance. And he does it very well, may I say. His movements are sure, his feet are left and right (I have two left feet, so I’m happy he knows what to do), and his hands are never leery.
“I haven’t done it in ages,” he laughs nervously.
“Could have fooled me,” I say and stumble over my own feet, and he catches me, lifting my body a little off the floor. The situation brings us closer, I’m practically squashed into him, and he quickly places me back on the floor.
“Thank you,” I mumble, my cheeks flaming.
“Don’t worry,” he chuckles. “I’m just so irresistible that you can’t take your eyes off me.”
