All Your Perfects
Page 38
Graham undoes his tie. “That sounds fun. I have some emails I need to send but I can be ready in an hour.”
I watch as he leaves the room. I fall back onto the bed and smile because it feels like he just might have come up with a solution to some of my issues in less than two minutes. But even though the solution sounds like a good one—just blame Graham for everything—my mother will never go for it. She’ll just point out that Graham isn’t paying for the wedding, so Graham doesn’t get a say.
But still. He tried to solve my issues. That’s what counts, right? He’s willing to take the blame for something just to keep the peace between my mother and me.
I can’t believe I get to marry that man in five months. I can’t believe I get to spend the rest of my life with him. Even if that life together will start in the Douglas Whimberly Plaza, surrounded by people I barely know and food that’s so expensive, it guarantees ample trays full of raw meat and ceviche that no one actually likes to eat, but pretends to because it’s fancy.
Oh, well. The wedding may not be ideal, but it will only be a few painful hours, followed by a lifetime of perfection.
I drag myself off the bed, committed to somehow remaining sane for the next five months. I spend the next half hour getting ready for our night out. Graham and I have a handful of friends we sometimes spend time with on the weekends, but we mostly spend our time with Ava and Reid. They got married just before I met Graham. Ava was smart. She married Reid on a whim in Vegas. My mother wasn’t able to order her invitations or book her venue or even choose which cake tasted best to her. I was the only one who knew they were jetting off to Vegas to get married and I’ve secretly been envious of their decision.
I’m buttoning my jeans when Graham walks into the bathroom. “Are you ready?”
“Almost. Let me grab some shoes.” I walk to my closet and Graham follows me in there. He leans against the doorway and watches me while I look for a pair of shoes. I have to dress up for work every day, so a lazy night at Ava and Reid’s is a nice respite from the heels and business attire I wear daily. I’m looking through all the shoes on my shelf, trying to find my favorite comfy pair. Graham is watching me the whole time. I glance at him a couple of times and I can’t help but think he’s up to something. There’s a smirk on his face. It’s barely there, but it’s there.
“What is it?”
He unfolds his arms and slides his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “What if I told you I just spent the last half hour reworking the plans for our wedding?”
I stand up straight. He definitely has all my attention now. “What do you mean?”
He inhales a breath, like he’s trying to calm his nerves. Knowing he’s nervous about whatever he’s about to say makes me nervous for what he’s about to say.
“I don’t care about the details of our wedding, Quinn. We can have whatever kind of wedding you want as long as the final result is that you’ll be my wife. But . . .” He walks into my closet and pauses a foot away from me. “If the only thing you want from this wedding is me, then why are we waiting? Let’s just go ahead and get married. This weekend.” Before I can speak, he grabs my hands and squeezes them. “I just booked the beach house through next Monday. I spoke to a minister who is willing to come marry us there. He’ll even bring a witness so we don’t have to tell anyone. It’ll just be you and me. We’ll get married by the ocean tomorrow afternoon and then tomorrow night we can sit by the fire where I proposed to you. We’ll spend the whole night eating s’mores and asking each other questions, and then we’ll make love and fall asleep and wake up married on Sunday.”
I’m almost as speechless as I was the moment he proposed to me. And just like three months ago when I was too excited and shocked to say yes, I nod. Profusely. And I laugh and I hug him and I kiss him.
“It’s perfect, it’s perfect, I love you, it’s perfect.”
We grab a suitcase out of my closet and start packing. We decide we aren’t telling anyone. Not even his mother.
“We can call them tomorrow, after we’re married,” Graham says.
I can’t stop smiling, even though I know my mother is going to completely lose it when I call her tomorrow night and tell her we’re already married. “My mother is going to kill us.”
“Yes, she probably will. But it’s a lot easier to ask for forgiveness than permission.”
Chapter Twenty-six
* * *
Now
Tomorrow will mark three weeks since I’ve been at Ava’s and I haven’t heard Graham’s voice since the day he dropped me off at the airport.
He called me once last week but I didn’t answer my phone. I texted him and told him I needed time to think. He responded and said Call me when you’re ready. He hasn’t texted me since then and I’m still not ready to call him.
As miserable as I feel inside, I really do like it here at Ava’s. I can’t determine if I like it because it’s new and different or if I like it because I feel further away from all of my problems. I haven’t done a lot of sightseeing because of the recovery. My body is still sore and weaker than what I’m used to. But Ava and Reid’s home is beautiful and relaxing, so I don’t mind spending most of my time here. It’s been so long since Ava and I had quality time together, I’ve actually been enjoying myself despite the circumstances of my marriage.
I do miss Graham, though. But I miss the Graham that was married to the happier version of myself. We fit together better in the beginning than we do now. I know that’s because my piece of the puzzle has changed shape more than his. But even though I feel more at fault over the downfall of our relationship, it still does nothing to change the trajectory.
This trip has been exactly what my soul was craving—a much-needed change of pace. I spoke openly to Ava about everything going on with Graham for the first time. The thing I love most about Ava is that she listens more than she gives advice. I don’t really want advice. Advice won’t change how I feel. Advice won’t change the fact that I can’t get pregnant. Advice won’t change the fact that Graham said he was devastated he hasn’t become a father yet. The only thing advice is good for is to pad the esteem of the person giving it. So instead of advice, she’s just given me distraction. Not only from Graham, but from our mother. From work. From infertility. Connecticut. My whole life.
“What about this color?” Ava holds up a swatch of yellow paint.
“Too . . . canary,” I say.
She looks down at the swatch and laughs. “That’s actually what it’s called. Canary.”
Reid walks to the stove and lifts a lid from a pot, taking a whiff of the sauce he’s been cooking. I’m sitting on the bar with Ava, looking through possible wall colors for their nursery. “If we’d just find out what we’re having, it would make this process a lot easier,” Reid says, putting the lid back on the pot. He turns off the burner.
“Nope,” Ava says, sliding off the bar. “We decided we aren’t finding out. We only have ten weeks left. Be patient.” She gathers three plates from the cabinet and walks them to the table. I take silverware and napkins to the table while Reid brings the pasta.
Neither of them have made me feel as if I’m overstaying my welcome, but I’m starting to worry that I might be. Three weeks is a long time to host someone. “I’ll probably fly home this week,” I say as I spoon pasta onto my plate.
“Don’t leave on our account,” Reid says. “I like having you here. Brings me a little peace of mind while I’m traveling.”
Reid spends two or three nights a week away from home and with Ava being pregnant, he worries about leaving her alone more than she wants him to. “I don’t know why my presence brings you peace of mind. Ava is braver than I am.”
“It’s true,” she says. “One time we went to a haunted house and Freddy Krueger jumped out at us. Quinn pushed me toward him and ran back to the entrance.”
“Did not,” I say. “I pushed you toward Jason Voorhees.”
“Either way, I almost died,” Ava says.
I watch as he leaves the room. I fall back onto the bed and smile because it feels like he just might have come up with a solution to some of my issues in less than two minutes. But even though the solution sounds like a good one—just blame Graham for everything—my mother will never go for it. She’ll just point out that Graham isn’t paying for the wedding, so Graham doesn’t get a say.
But still. He tried to solve my issues. That’s what counts, right? He’s willing to take the blame for something just to keep the peace between my mother and me.
I can’t believe I get to marry that man in five months. I can’t believe I get to spend the rest of my life with him. Even if that life together will start in the Douglas Whimberly Plaza, surrounded by people I barely know and food that’s so expensive, it guarantees ample trays full of raw meat and ceviche that no one actually likes to eat, but pretends to because it’s fancy.
Oh, well. The wedding may not be ideal, but it will only be a few painful hours, followed by a lifetime of perfection.
I drag myself off the bed, committed to somehow remaining sane for the next five months. I spend the next half hour getting ready for our night out. Graham and I have a handful of friends we sometimes spend time with on the weekends, but we mostly spend our time with Ava and Reid. They got married just before I met Graham. Ava was smart. She married Reid on a whim in Vegas. My mother wasn’t able to order her invitations or book her venue or even choose which cake tasted best to her. I was the only one who knew they were jetting off to Vegas to get married and I’ve secretly been envious of their decision.
I’m buttoning my jeans when Graham walks into the bathroom. “Are you ready?”
“Almost. Let me grab some shoes.” I walk to my closet and Graham follows me in there. He leans against the doorway and watches me while I look for a pair of shoes. I have to dress up for work every day, so a lazy night at Ava and Reid’s is a nice respite from the heels and business attire I wear daily. I’m looking through all the shoes on my shelf, trying to find my favorite comfy pair. Graham is watching me the whole time. I glance at him a couple of times and I can’t help but think he’s up to something. There’s a smirk on his face. It’s barely there, but it’s there.
“What is it?”
He unfolds his arms and slides his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “What if I told you I just spent the last half hour reworking the plans for our wedding?”
I stand up straight. He definitely has all my attention now. “What do you mean?”
He inhales a breath, like he’s trying to calm his nerves. Knowing he’s nervous about whatever he’s about to say makes me nervous for what he’s about to say.
“I don’t care about the details of our wedding, Quinn. We can have whatever kind of wedding you want as long as the final result is that you’ll be my wife. But . . .” He walks into my closet and pauses a foot away from me. “If the only thing you want from this wedding is me, then why are we waiting? Let’s just go ahead and get married. This weekend.” Before I can speak, he grabs my hands and squeezes them. “I just booked the beach house through next Monday. I spoke to a minister who is willing to come marry us there. He’ll even bring a witness so we don’t have to tell anyone. It’ll just be you and me. We’ll get married by the ocean tomorrow afternoon and then tomorrow night we can sit by the fire where I proposed to you. We’ll spend the whole night eating s’mores and asking each other questions, and then we’ll make love and fall asleep and wake up married on Sunday.”
I’m almost as speechless as I was the moment he proposed to me. And just like three months ago when I was too excited and shocked to say yes, I nod. Profusely. And I laugh and I hug him and I kiss him.
“It’s perfect, it’s perfect, I love you, it’s perfect.”
We grab a suitcase out of my closet and start packing. We decide we aren’t telling anyone. Not even his mother.
“We can call them tomorrow, after we’re married,” Graham says.
I can’t stop smiling, even though I know my mother is going to completely lose it when I call her tomorrow night and tell her we’re already married. “My mother is going to kill us.”
“Yes, she probably will. But it’s a lot easier to ask for forgiveness than permission.”
Chapter Twenty-six
* * *
Now
Tomorrow will mark three weeks since I’ve been at Ava’s and I haven’t heard Graham’s voice since the day he dropped me off at the airport.
He called me once last week but I didn’t answer my phone. I texted him and told him I needed time to think. He responded and said Call me when you’re ready. He hasn’t texted me since then and I’m still not ready to call him.
As miserable as I feel inside, I really do like it here at Ava’s. I can’t determine if I like it because it’s new and different or if I like it because I feel further away from all of my problems. I haven’t done a lot of sightseeing because of the recovery. My body is still sore and weaker than what I’m used to. But Ava and Reid’s home is beautiful and relaxing, so I don’t mind spending most of my time here. It’s been so long since Ava and I had quality time together, I’ve actually been enjoying myself despite the circumstances of my marriage.
I do miss Graham, though. But I miss the Graham that was married to the happier version of myself. We fit together better in the beginning than we do now. I know that’s because my piece of the puzzle has changed shape more than his. But even though I feel more at fault over the downfall of our relationship, it still does nothing to change the trajectory.
This trip has been exactly what my soul was craving—a much-needed change of pace. I spoke openly to Ava about everything going on with Graham for the first time. The thing I love most about Ava is that she listens more than she gives advice. I don’t really want advice. Advice won’t change how I feel. Advice won’t change the fact that I can’t get pregnant. Advice won’t change the fact that Graham said he was devastated he hasn’t become a father yet. The only thing advice is good for is to pad the esteem of the person giving it. So instead of advice, she’s just given me distraction. Not only from Graham, but from our mother. From work. From infertility. Connecticut. My whole life.
“What about this color?” Ava holds up a swatch of yellow paint.
“Too . . . canary,” I say.
She looks down at the swatch and laughs. “That’s actually what it’s called. Canary.”
Reid walks to the stove and lifts a lid from a pot, taking a whiff of the sauce he’s been cooking. I’m sitting on the bar with Ava, looking through possible wall colors for their nursery. “If we’d just find out what we’re having, it would make this process a lot easier,” Reid says, putting the lid back on the pot. He turns off the burner.
“Nope,” Ava says, sliding off the bar. “We decided we aren’t finding out. We only have ten weeks left. Be patient.” She gathers three plates from the cabinet and walks them to the table. I take silverware and napkins to the table while Reid brings the pasta.
Neither of them have made me feel as if I’m overstaying my welcome, but I’m starting to worry that I might be. Three weeks is a long time to host someone. “I’ll probably fly home this week,” I say as I spoon pasta onto my plate.
“Don’t leave on our account,” Reid says. “I like having you here. Brings me a little peace of mind while I’m traveling.”
Reid spends two or three nights a week away from home and with Ava being pregnant, he worries about leaving her alone more than she wants him to. “I don’t know why my presence brings you peace of mind. Ava is braver than I am.”
“It’s true,” she says. “One time we went to a haunted house and Freddy Krueger jumped out at us. Quinn pushed me toward him and ran back to the entrance.”
“Did not,” I say. “I pushed you toward Jason Voorhees.”
“Either way, I almost died,” Ava says.
