I keep saying it too late. At least, that's what I tell myself when I inevitably wake up back in 2018 on the day of the wedding.
If I'd just told Nessa the second she got home, before Connor arrived with the pizza, maybe she wouldn't have given him a second glance. Maybe she'd have realized that something amazing had been in front of her all along, much like I had about three months into our friendship.
I still remember the day it hit me. It didn't start out as anything special. Nessa had convinced me to come with her to a party, my first. Being a party virgin, I'd let her dress me up in a short skirt and flannel cutoff shirt.
At first it was flattering, the drinks everyone offered me. Well, the drinks the guys offered me. It seemed like the second I finished one off another would land in my hand.
Didn't take them long to start asking for things in return. Nessa had found me in the bathroom, the tears on my face a relic of both humiliation and puking my guts out, and unlike any normal person, she hadn't run away.
I still remember how she didn't push me off when my clammy hands clamped around her arms. I still remember her fingers running through my hair. And I still remember the tiny spark of somethingâlike an ember that had maybe been there all along, but that I'd never felt the need to really search for.
I remember thinking as she held me that I was just drunk, and surely the upheaval in my chest was just the remnants of stomach acid in my esophagus. That thisâthe steady beat of her heart against my ear, the puffs of her breath tickling my hair like feathersâit all fell under the umbrella of friendship.
But when I woke up the next morning, I still felt all of it.
I always wonder if she felt it too. But then I see the way she looks at Connor, and I imagine it's the same way I look at her. That he makes her feel the same way she makes me feel.
But there's a popular theory that just knowing someone likes you is enough to foster feelings. It changes the whole game. I learned on that bathroom floor that impossibilities close doors, but don't lock them. We do that on our own, when we focus exclusively on the open ones.
So maybe I just need to open my door.
"Do you remember that party we went to freshman year?" I ask Nessa as we enter the church.
"Which one?" she returns.
"The first one."
Her face falls, and I hold my breath. It would be too much to hope that she's about to admit she's making a huge mistake and she's secretly loved me all along, too.
"I'm still so sorry about that," she mumbles. "I thought it would be like high school. Just stupid truth or dare games and yeah, a couple people hooking up, you know.... At least, that's how it was here. But this town stops where campus begins."
That's funny. I always felt the crushing influence of the town over the more free-spirited campus. If we had existed solely in that college bubble, I might have told her back then. But the backwards, yet still nosy, presence of the surrounding area and its locals kept me locked up.
"I always thought that night corrupted you," Nessa adds.
"In a way," I say slowly, my accelerating heart suddenly slamming the brakes on my plan. "You remember in the bathroom, right? I looked like complete crapâyou came in right as I was hurling into the toilet. And you just pulled my hair back and, I don't know how to explain it, but I saw somethingâ"
A loud clatter from outside perforates the thick door, and Nessa's eyes bug out. "What was that? Please tell me that wasn't the flowers for the altar!"
I deflate, losing steam rapidly. Maybe it's for the best. She won't be able to listen to me if she's worrying about the flowers. "I'll go check on it," I offer.
I step out into the chapel, cursing whatever clumsy idiot ruined my confession. Probably Cam. I can't imagine such a mountainous person being coordinated. There's too much of him.
However, I turn the corner and find myself face-to-face with the pizza delivery guyâyou know, the one who was supposed to bring us our pizza back in 2013.
"What are you doing here?" I demand.
"I'm sorry I'm late, ma'am," he scrambles.
Yeah, by about five years.
"Never mind that, what are you doing here?" I repeat.
"I'm with the caterer." He stands like a soldier speaking to a superior, his hands clasped behind his back and his chin held high.
"You have the wrong address. The reception is across town." And don't I know it. How many limo rides have I taken there?
"I'm so sorry," he says and scuttles away.
I return to Nessa, who abandons her dress to interrogate me. "Is everything okay?"
"It's fine. Listen, Nessa, there's something I need to tell you."
"What was that noise, though? It sounded like a mess. Is there a mess out there? Will they clean it up before the wedding starts?"
"Everything is perfectly fine and under control," I try to assure her. "But Nessa, please listen to me. I lâ"
The door bursts open, and I whirl around to glare at the intruder.
Effing Cam.
"What?" I snap.
"Oh good, everyone's fully dressed," he observes.
"And it would've killed you to verify that before barging in?"
He shrugs. "Sorry. Listen, there's aâuh, a wonderful addition"âhe shoots me a look that says it's not wonderful at all, but he doesn't want to say it out loud in front of Nessaâ"to the chapel that I could use some help with."
I sigh. "I'm coming."
Cam's eyebrow arches. "Are you, now?"
"Shut up," I growl, following him outside.
"Isn't it the bride's job to be crabby today?" he asks, leading me to the chapel.
"She's not crabby," I defend her automatically. "Just nervous...." I pause as we stop halfway up the red carpet that runs down the aisle. "Oh, wow."
"Yeah."
I guess I should've investigated where the pizza-guy caterer's food had gone, especially after the crashing noises. But never mind, Cam seems to have found it. All over the carpet.
"Is there a spare?" I ask.
"I'm afraid rogue finger sandwiches weren't on the list of potential crises, at least not until the reception," Cam says.
"Okay." I glance around. "Well, there has to be a supply closet somewhere. Maybe we can find a vacuum?"
"I'm on it."
And he leaves me with the mess.
I sigh. What if I turn back around, open the dressing room door just enough to shout "I love you!" through the crack, and then come back to scrape the sandwiches off the floor? I shake my head. It's too much like yelling orders back into the kitchen at some chain restaurant. Too impersonal. I want to see her face when I say it.
So I grab a trash can and start using my hands. I have to wipe them on my own pants every few fistfuls just so I don't keep spreading the gooey toppings around Nessa's red carpet, but at least by the time Cam arrives with a handheld Dust Devil, there are no longer large lumps in the mess.
"This will have to do," I mumble, frowning at the little device. Then I make Cam hold the carpet steady so I don't accidentally suck it into the vacuum, and we set to work.
"Well...." Cam steps back to inspect our handiwork. "It only sort of looks like someone's water broke on the way down the aisle. Any pregnant bridesmaids we can blame it on?"
I punch him in the chest, even though I laugh. "Thankfully, no."
We end up borrowing a leaf blower from the hillbilly who lives next door, which gets a lot of strange looks from people arrivingâa well-dressed groomsman pointing a loud yard tool at the red carpetâbut it does the job.
"It's just a little...crusty," I observe.
Cam snorts.
"Shut up. Let's turn it over."
And it's as good as new.
"We're superheroes," Cam announces when we're finished.
"Yeah." I smile tightly.
The superhero never gets the girl.
He looks me over, the ends of my hair starting to stand up and my pants soaked through with sandwich juices. "You should go get changed, you don't have much time."
I sigh. Not much time to get the truth off my chest.
When I step back into the dressing room, chatter meets my ears. The other bridesmaids have arrived. Nessa is almost ready, her cousin just tying the last lace on the side of her dress.
We're not alone anymore.
I curse Cam. I curse the pizza guy who no longer delivers pizza, only splatters sandwiches all over people's floors. I curse Connor for getting down on one knee. I curse weddings in general. Who invented this tradition, anyway?
"What happened to you?" Nessa exclaims when she catches sight of me. "Oh my god, what happened? What's ruined?"
"My heart," I mumble to myself. "Nothing's ruined," I add louder, pushing my feelings aside so she doesn't latch onto my tension. From her perspective, everything really is fine. The crisis is averted. No one will even be able to tell they're walking on sandwich remains.
"Well, hurry up and change, we're going to be late!"
Technically, I'm the only one who would be late, but I'm too distracted by the thrill my heart lets out when she refers to us as "we" to point out that flaw. My hands tremble as I pull on my dress, wishing the other bridesmaids would give us some peace.
A sudden hush falls, and then our music starts up.
So does my heart. I really am out of time now. The first bridesmaid exits, and then the second. Finally the third, and Nessa and I are alone again.
I only have twenty seconds. I swing toward her, grab her by the arms, and take a deep breath. "I love you," I blurt.
She smiles, and I grin back, waiting for her to say it.
"Aw, I love you too, Lana."
My smile slips. I can tell by her tone that she doesn't mean it the same way. She means it like a best friend.
I suppose that is what we are.
She gives me a push out the door, and I'm too numb to resist. I've already done this twice. I can't do it again, not when my feet feel like cinder blocks and Nessa's words echoing in my ears.
I love you, too. It almost seems like a mockery of every heartbeat.
I take my place beside the altar. I feel Connor turn to me, but I keep my gaze on the door, waiting studiously for Nessa to appear. I ignore my closing throat when she does. I take her flowers from her like a best friend and smile like a best friend, fighting to keep a lid on the truth.
I don't even know why it's so urgent all of a sudden. I've had almost six years to tell her. I should be used to keeping my mouth shut by now.
But I can feel it pushing against my chest, constricting my heart, welling up in my throat and straining to escape. If I don't say it now, I never will.
"Do you, Connor Edward Mariani, take Vanessa Elizabeth Williams to be your partner in life, in sickness and in health, in good times and bad, until death do you part?"
"Iâ"
"I object!"
The ringing silence that follows is only punctuated by a few tiny gasps from the audience. Connor, Nessa, the entire wedding party, are staring at me, too shocked to even drop their jaws.
That's when I realize it's my voice whose echoes are still dying in the crevices of the high ceiling. My voice objecting. The air is suddenly heavy in my lungs, solidifying until I can't force anything past it.
I drop both sets of flowers, gather my dress, and flee.