Page 87 of The Love of My Next Life
“Okay,” I say quietly, squeezing my eyes shut against the sting. “Thank you.”
He reaches over and pats me twice on the shoulder, turns on the radio. He inches up the volume on a Goo Goo Dolls song and sings along under his breath as we drive back home. We don’t say anything else.
For the millionth time since I learned about my mom and Trent, my gut twists.
I want to see Trent as a father. Fuck knows he’s a billion times better than the man whose DNA runs through my body. I want him to look at me like a son he’s proud of and treat me like I’m worth something. Under any other circumstances, in any other life, I would welcome Trent as my dad. I wouldwantit.
But in this life, I can’t.
If he knew about my sketchpads, about where my mouth and hands have been, he would never look at me the same again. If he knew how I think of his daughter. How I crave her. My father’s looks of disgust and hatred invade my mind. I drop my head back on the headrest and close my eyes.
When we get back to the house, I tell Trent goodnight and climb the stairs to my room. I pull the vase I made Mom as a wedding present out of my closet and stick it in the frou-frou gift bag I bought, making sure to stuff a shit-ton of tissue paper inside of it. I sign the card, wishing Trent and Mom everlasting marital bliss or whatever, then I grab my joint and my sketchpad and climb out onto the roof.
I spark up and lie back, letting the cold December air prickle at my feet through my socks. Goosebumps cover the naked skin on my arms. I take a long drag, hold it in, then blow it out slowly into the night. I let the weed tame the itch for something stronger.
It’s only a matter of time before this all explodes in my face.
We grabcoffee from Starbucks before we get to the hotel, and Trent sends me to the room being used as the bridal suite with the coffees in a drink holder and a note he wrote for Mom.
I don’t walk into the room, don’t even glance inside, but I can feel Lennon anyway.
I wait in the hallway as Mom reads the note. She cries, then laughs as she curses Trent for almost ruining her makeup, even though she doesn’t have any on yet. Her hair is curled and swooped into this elaborate twisty thing and she’s wearing some sort of silk robe with flowers on it. Her makeup gets done soon, she tells me, and she won’t put on her dress until very last.
“You look beautiful, Mom,” I tell her honestly, and she smiles, wiping tears off her cheeks.
“Thank you, Macon,” she whispers. “I feel beautiful.”
I smile and pull her into a hug, being careful not to smoosh her hair. I tell her I’ll meet her downstairs in three hours, then I leave her to finish doing whatever it is brides do on their wedding day. If it’s anything like what the groom does, she’s pacing back and forth a lot and flipping between ESPN and Family Feud on the hotel television.
Trent’s a fucking wreck, and it’s kind of hilarious. I wonder briefly if he was this ridiculous when he married Lennon’s mom, but I don’t ask. I just laugh every time Joe cracks a joke about how Trent is an anxious ball of nerves, then laugh harder every time Trent threatens to murder Joe.
When it’s time, we make our way down to the banquet hall, where they’ll have the ceremony and the luncheon. Trent heads toward the officiant, and I walk to the alcove, where I know Mom will be waiting for me. I weave through the guests, most are just work friends of Mom and Trent, and deliberately ignore Josh and Eric. They’re here in suits because they’re Claire and Lennon’s dates. I grit my teeth and focus on my task.
With every step I take closer to the alcove, my heart kicks up faster.
I know Lennon is waiting with my mom and Claire. It’s been more than twenty-four hours since I’ve seen her, and it’s actually painful. I haven’t had to endure more than eight hours without a Lennon sighting since we moved into the new house, and I’ve gotten used to the constant fix. As I turn the corner, my body relaxes, and I inhale.
Roses.
Mom’s bouquet, yeah, but also Lennon.
I look at my mom first.
“You look so beautiful, Mom,” I tell her again, and she fans her face.
“Don’t say anything else,” she warns. “I cannot cry. I cannot.”
I laugh at the same time Claire and Lennon laugh, drawing my attention to where they’re standing. I dance right over Claire and focus on Lennon. She’s gorgeous, and my chest tightens.
Her hair is in one of those twisty deals just like my mom’s, but Lennon has sprigs of baby’s breath pinned into hers. She’s wearing a dress of emerald green, and I know the moment our eyes connect, I’ll be a goner.
I force myself to look away. Back to my mom. To Claire, even.
“You nervous?” My mom flares her eyes at me, then snorts. “Okay, forget I asked,” I joke. “But if it makes you feel any better, Trent is an excited mess. Twice I had to keep him from storming down here and starting the wedding early.”
Mom’s laughter is light and giddy. I notice the change in the ceremony music and check my watch. My mom is chewing on her lip when I look back at her.
“Ready to go get your man?” I say with a grin, crooking my arm out for her to grab. She loops hers through mine and nods.
