What If: The Anthology Read online

  “Call your dad, Blake. Tell him you choose me. Choose me.” I trembled under the weight of my phone. “Fuck it. I’ll call him myself. You want me to fight for you? That’s what you want?” Her eyes over flowed again, her lip quivered before she steadied it with her teeth. “Because I’m two fucking seconds away from picking you up and carrying you out of here. Fuck everyone else. I want you. I love you.”

  She pulled back, stepping on the train of her dress and almost stumbling before catching herself. “Don’t. Don’t.” She was the one pointing at me now. “Don’t you say that. Not now! How could you? How could you love me? I’m marrying Grant.” Her body was covered in lace and her face wore regret.

  “You’re not marrying him. Not today,” I stated.

  “Yes, I am.” She straightened, her stubborn will rebounding. “Why now do you want me so badly? You didn’t care before. Now that I’m getting married, all of the sudden you love me?!” Her voice escalated. “You’re making me crazy!”

  “I always wanted you. I’ve loved you the whole time. It’s you! Why don’t you love me? Huh?” My shoulders hunched forward, I wasn’t cut out for fighting like that, and I liked it more when we were fighting about sleeping in the same room and not answering messages. I didn’t like this. It felt different.

  It felt final.

  My voice lowered as I tried to calm myself, but my fist shook, in front of me, in her direction.

  “What is it that you get from him that you won’t let me give you?”

  She fell back down on the chair she was sitting on, her hands held together on her lap. She looked up at me and said, “Forever, Casey. He’ll give me his forever.”

  “I’ll give you more than that.”

  “You say that, but we did . . . we met in a bar. I’m just a game. You only want the chase. You’d leave me.”

  “I wouldn’t.” Thinking back over our history, I realized, she had every right to think that. And I fucking hated it.

  “Grant won’t leave me. I can’t picture a life with you where you won’t get sick of this, of me. You’ll get bored.” She sighed like she had let something out that she’d been struggling to hold on to.

  I looked at my feet. I’d worn nice clothes, in the event that I was watching a wedding I wished never happened. I looked at those fucking black dress shoes.

  I said, “You’re so wrong. I love you so much that I hate you. You’re so fucking blind. You’re a fool.” I wrung my hands.

  “Yeah, well fuck you.” And she meant it. She’d never said that to me. She was either doing her best to make me leave, or she was testing my fight. “See? This is how it is, Casey. This is how it ends. Just like I always knew it would.”

  In a rush I lifted her by her arms and I kissed her. If that was it, I was getting one last taste.

  When I’d poured everything I had into that one kiss, I felt her tremble and melt into it. Then she went rigid and shut me out.

  “Oh, this isn’t the end, you liar. You can kick me out of this house. You can try to avoid me all you want. But I’m in here.” I touched her head and stepped back, still holding tight to one arm. “And I’m in here,” I place my hand over her heart.

  “Casey.”

  There it was, my final argument. I didn’t hold back, terrified it still wouldn’t be enough.

  “The scared part of you might marry him today. But the brave fighter in here—she’s mine. She always will be. Love doesn’t give a fuck about a piece of paper. When are you going to realize that this isn’t just love? There isn’t even a word for this.” My hand moved from her heart to mine, and I pressed my palm into myself. “Blake, I know you better than you give me credit for. So straighten up your white gown, fix your makeup and hair and put on a happy, phony forever face. I hope that you have to pretend it’s me to walk down the aisle. I hope every time you blink tears away today you see me.”

  She turns her head and coughed another sob. “Casey.”

  “Look at me.” When she hesitated. I repeated, “Look at me, Blake. Remember this face.” It was then I felt the hot sting of tears and the cool dampness on my cheek and I swiped at the wetness with a shaky hand and said, “Remember what this looks like. This is what you’ve done today. You go. Marry him. Make everyone happy except you, but don’t think you’re going to cry on my shoulder about it later.

  “You feared rejection, Blake? Well get a good look. This is what it looks like, honeybee.” I felt my chest ache and tear under my clothes. My blood ran cold. And she still didn’t say anything.

  “I could beg you not to do this all day, but it won’t matter. You set this date.” It happened to be the same day as the expiration of my heart.

  I let her go. When my fingertips left her skin I felt disconnected, from her and myself.

  She didn’t say anything, her eyes looked glassy again like when I came in. “I hope you’re fucking miserable, too,” I said.

  I walked to the door, then turned back, “Congratu-fucking-lations. You were waiting for me to leave you? To hurt you? You just beat me to it.”

  She flinched.

  Her voice was ragged and breathy. “I wish I’d never met you.”

  I laughed at that. “Well at least we can agree on something, honeybee.”

  FOUR

  Blake

  Saturday, May 23, 2009

  “Blake and Grant, have you come here on your own free will and without reservation to give yourselves to each other in marriage?”

  Without reservation.

  I was not without reservation. I had many. I had reservations.

  “We have,” Grant said for the both of us and the priest touched our clasped hands.

  “And you, my dear?” he asked quietly and stared into my eyes as I thought.

  I was frozen.

  What was I doing? Why was I there?

  I had to make it stop.

  “Blake?” Grant asked and leaned in to talk to me. “Just tell him yes so we can move on. This suit is hot. It’s like ninety degrees out here.” He ran a finger from his free hand around his collar, then looked into the crowd and smiled. I followed his eyes out to look at the guests. I felt a rush of heat too.

  My mind was cloudy.

  Apparently, that many Xanax weren’t the best option to take before your wedding. Especially, if you didn’t really want to get married.

  I had just enough don’t-give-a-shit running through my blood to make it all stop.

  Then I saw him, head down, sitting on my side of the aisle in the back. I knew that hair anywhere. He was there. What a fool I’d been to think he’d leave. I should have known he’d come, just to see if I could go through with it. I stood there thinking maybe I couldn’t.

  Seconds stretched there at the altar as I looked at Casey in the crowd. Finally, his head came up. He was wearing sunglasses, but when he caught me looking his way he raised them to the top of his head, pushing his curls off of his forehead.

  He mouthed, “I love you. Please, don’t do this.”

  My heart raced. I didn’t know how to get away. I felt like I was cornered. And at the same time I felt like I was on the edge of a very high cliff about to jump.

  No net.

  No parachute.

  No clue whether I would made it or not.

  I spared a look at my parents. My father smiled a knowing smile and my mother looked concerned. I turned back to face Grant, hoping I’d get the answer I was looking for.

  If it weren’t for that look in Casey’s eyes. If it weren’t for the comment Grant just made because I was taking too long. If. If. If.

  He was stone-faced, clearly annoyed that I wasn’t going fast enough. There was no sound other than the air that rushed in and out of my lungs.

  “I can’t do this,” I whispered.

  “I know it’s hot. Let’s just get through this part and then we can have fun,” Grant coerced.

  The priest leaned in to us, asking, “Sweetheart, do you need a minute?” At least someone knew what I’d meant.
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  I tried to let go of Grant’s hand, but he held tight.

  “She doesn’t need a minute. It’s just hot. Keep going.”

  It was now or maybe never. I chanced look at Casey over my shoulder. He was still there. Still looking at me. Still begging me with his eyes not to do it.

  I began to panic. To scramble.

  I looked for signs. Prayed for them. Anything to confirm I was making the right or wrong decision.

  Then I saw it land on Grant’s suit jacket as we stood, hands clasped, in front of the priest. A tiny, buzzing, yellow and black sign.

  I couldn’t marry him. I already belonged to someone else. And I was his honeybee.

  “No. I can’t do this,” I said to the priest.

  “You what?” Grant asked under his breath. “What are you talking about you can’t do this? We’re getting married.”

  “I can’t marry you. I’m in love with someone else.”

  The world lifted off my shoulders and the freedom from saying it out loud spurred me on.

  “Are you sure, dear?” asked the priest. “Are you positive?” His face was soft and kind as he spoke to me. I wasn’t a religious person. I was a lousy Catholic. It had been well past a decade since my last visit to mass. Looking in his brown eyes, I found solace and strength. It was easy to see how people went to men like him for comfort.

  I tugged at my hand again, but Grant still didn’t let me go.

  Our eyes met and instead of someone saddened or hurt, I saw fury and anger.

  “I’m sorry, Grant. I’m so sorry, but I can’t so this. It’s not right,” I confessed.

  “In love with someone else? Who? What are you talking about? We’re here. We’re doing this,” he demanded.

  “Son, hearing what she’s said, I don’t think I can continue,” said the holy man. I was so grateful. “She’s spoke her will.”

  He forcefully dropped my hand and gave me a look filled with venom.

  People began to whisper and it sounded like buzzing. Like a hive.

  The priest looked at the musician to the side of where we stood and waved his hand for her to start a song. On command, the violin played.

  Grant spun around to the crowd and it was like slow motion. All eyes were on him.

  “Well, sorry to inform you all,” he announced, “we won’t be getting married. Turns out, my bride is in love with someone else.” He was loud and the voice that I’d thought I known for so long suddenly sounded so unfamiliar.

  I felt my eyes begin to sting, as he shamed me in front of the guests.

  He turned to me, and rather closely to my face, sneered, “Who is it?”

  But I didn’t have to say anything, over my shoulder his eyes landed on something and I followed his gaze behind me. Casey was, not only standing, but he’d ventured closer to the altar. Hands balled at his sides.

  The violinist played. The beautiful music was dreadful.

  “Is it him?” he hissed.

  There was no point in hiding the truth, it was in plain sight. For him to see. For all to see. Casey was the truth.

  “Yes,” I said.

  My mother’s hand covered her mouth and my dad was standing with one hand on her shoulder. The whole thing was so embarrassing. How had I let this get so out of hand?

  Instead of looking disappointed or angry at me, my dad’s eyes were on Grant. There was warning

  “I can’t believe this,” Grant said. “You’ve been cheating on me? You’re in love with him? What about me?”

  “I’m sorry,” I repeated. I said it over and over. Around me, things began moving. People were staring, everything began to spin.

  I had to get out of there.

  “Sorry? You’re sorry? This is our wedding day. How could you do this?” he fired.

  “That’s enough,” I heard my dad say. Then he stepped forward, taking a position on the altar and began making an announcement.

  I felt Micah’s hand on my back.

  “It’ll be okay,” I heard her supportively say. “You should go.”

  I should go? Where?

  Like a slap to the face, it all hit at once. There I stood in my wedding gown at a wedding that wasn’t going to happen. I’d told Grant I was in love with someone else. That I couldn’t marry him. All that time, it was what I needed to do, but what a time I’d picked to do it.

  Not knowing what would happen, or how to make it all okay filled me with dread. Who was going to clean up my mess?

  Everything seemed surreal and I stood there. Hands at my side. Head down.

  Those violins were killing me and their sound overpowered everything else. Overpowered what my father was saying to the crowd, which was now standing and beginning to file out. Overpowered what the priest was saying to Grant as he pulled him over one side.

  I stepped down and went to my mother. As my feet took shaky steps toward her, I was comforted to see her arms open to me. She embraced me and I wept.

  Tears of relief.

  Tears full of apology.

  Tears of regret.

  After all of the tears I‘d cried that morning, thinking Casey was gone forever and I’d sacrificed my happiness for the sake of what I was supposed to do, I could hardly believe how easy it was for them to flow.

  She cried, too.

  “It’ll be okay, sweetheart. It’s okay,” she said into my hair. We held onto each other for minutes upon minutes. I didn’t want to look up. I wasn’t sure what was happening or where everyone would go. I‘d never been to a wedding that so utterly and completely fell apart in front of its audience.

  Was it even a wedding if no one got married?

  As I held tight to my mother I wished I could turn back time. Back to a time when I could have simply broke up with Grant in private, sparing his feelings and the shame of it all. If I would have told him no when he’d asked, put a stop to it then.

  Casey or no, I shouldn’t have been with Grant.

  I cared about him, but not the way a wife cares for her husband. It was more like the way a friend cared for a friend. We wouldn’t be friends now. I’d made a fool out of him. Out of myself. Out of our families.

  But when I looked over my mother’s tear soaked shoulder, I saw him.

  Almost everyone had left before I came for air, but he had not. Casey sat in a chair not far behind were we stood. He looked off into space. His blue-green eyes glassy.

  “Mom,” I said, pulling away. “I need to talk to him.” As we broke apart, she nodded.

  My feet were unsteady and they went one in front of the other. He’d said we were over. He’d said he’d wished he never met me. Then again, I’d said it first.

  I suspected we were both liars.

  I sat down in a chair sideways on the empty row in front of him.

  “Casey, I’m sorry I said all of those things.”

  Finally, he looked up at me.

  “You didn’t marry him.”

  “I couldn’t do it.”

  “What about how he’ll never leave you? What about how I only like the chase?” His voice was soft and didn’t harbor any resentment. It sounded more curious than anything.

  “It doesn’t matter if he’ll never leave me. I don’t really want him,” I admitted. The one I wanted was sitting in a chair, at a wedding I’d just ruined. Hopefully, waiting on me. He ran his hands over his face, like he was waking up from a dream.

  “Did that just happen?” he asked.

  “No. It didn’t happen.”

  “Why?”

  My heart galloped in the tight bodice. If it wasn’t for the compression, I’m sure it would have hammered right through my skin. I’d left Grant at the altar. I’d called off the wedding during the damn ceremony. Two horrific things that I didn’t know I was capable of doing.

  They didn’t even compare to how frightened I was that it was still too late for me and Casey.

  Hadn’t he told me not to?

  Had I imagined him begging me to stop the wedding?

  Was
it a mirage, a reflection of my conscience?

  Was it too late anyway?

  “I couldn’t marry him because I’m in love with you,” I confessed, praying that I hadn’t killed what he felt for me.

  It was the truth though. How would I have ever lived with myself if I’d allowed it to happen? How would I live knowing that I’d passed up on the most genuine things I’d ever felt?

  “You love me?” he asked.

  “I’ve loved you since the moment we met, I think.”

  He was fast. Like lightening, he was out of his chair, hoisting me up in his arms. After having thought I’d never feel his skin on mine again, thinking I’d never have the sensation of his body next to mine, I realized in that moment I never wouldn’t have survived without it. I wouldn’t have survived my own heartache.

  I would have never made it.

  FIVE

  Casey

  Saturday, May 23, 2009

  Watching her walk down the aisle to him almost killed me. I didn’t think I was going to survive. It was a terrible move to go to the wedding. A stupid move. A move some might call masochistic. It was the best fucking move of my life.

  She stood in front of all of those people and backed out. Denying him her hand in marriage. Fuck. It felt like a dream. It didn’t seem real.

  The things I’d said to her. The things she said to me. Half of what I’d said, before I left her family’s house, were lies. I prayed she was a liar like me.

  I held her in my arms and begged God that it was real. Pleaded with a higher power not to take it away. Not to make it disappear.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said softly against my neck. “I saw you. There was a bee. I couldn’t marry him. It was a sign.”

  A bee? A fucking bee saved my life from certain misery?

  What would have happened if I called her sunshine? Would the cloudless sky have been her sign? And had I called her sugar, would she have called it off over her coffee that morning?

  None of it mattered. The why and the how were irrelevant.

  She chose me.

  “It’s okay. I’m sorry, too.” I was sorry for a lot of things. “I’m sorry it took thinking about you marrying him to make me tell you I loved you. I should have told you a long time ago. I should have told you every day.”