Save the Date: The Occasional Mortifications of a Serial Wedding Guest Read Online Free PDF Page B

even
consider
anyone less than some idealized form of man. In truth, I knew that my heart, though deeply crusted on the outside with a protective layer of sarcasm and revenge schemes, was as welcomingly pliable as any of the hearts of the married twosomes I’d seen into wedlock. I might present a tough barrier, but it was a thin one, and once a man had found his way in, I was as accepting as anyone else, possibly more so, probably to a fault. I was starting to consider another truth: that I gave too many chances to people who didn’t deserve them.
    But with Boyd, we were suspended in the faux reality of the wedding. Whether I gave him a chance or not didn’t really matter, not in terms of any permanent situation, not in terms of having to clean something up afterward. Not in terms of heartbreak. He’d made an offer, the most basic of overtures. I knew I could take it or leave it, and I knew that leaving an offer on the table, while occasionally advisable, is almost always the inferior basis for any sort of experience you might want to tell someone about later.
    “So, are you going to go?” she asked. “You’ll go. You always go.”
    “What’s
that
supposed to mean?”
    “It’s a story,” she said. “You’ll do anything for a story.”
    I might have smiled—she knew me after all—but I kept it from getting out of control. I had a cover to protect. “I’m really happy for you,” I said. “You and David are a great couple.” I meant it. They clearly loved each other, and that was far better than any false impression of idealized couplehood, which, I’d come to realize, was a cruel form of deception to both those who wed and their guests. Lucy and David bantered and bickered and laughed and teased, but his expression when he looked at her, which he was doing right now, though she didn’t appear to notice, was one of joy and amazement.
I am so lucky
, it seemed to say. For some reason, out of me came these words: “Not everyone gets this.”
    She smiled, that dreamy look crossing over her features again. “I know.”
    •   •   •
    O n the way back to our rooms, Fred and I decided we’d take a quick dip, because no matter how often you get to jump into a pool overlooking the ocean under the light of the moon, it’s not enough. We traipsed through the resort, which was quiet but for the chirping of tiny tree frogs and the occasional rustlings of nocturnal creatures or other humans wandering back to their rooms. We emerged from a wooded patch to find ourselves not by the pool but in front of one of the expensive villas, an entity on its own. I’d seen the photos on the website: Underneath that thatched roof was an enormous four-poster bed surrounded byfloor-to-ceiling windows so as to allow a guest to gaze out at the ocean while horizontal. Adirondack chairs were perched outside on the rocky patio surrounding the hut, which had its own personal climbing ladder for access to the water beyond the cliffs. Outside of this hut there was a man sitting and smoking in his Adirondack chair. We were all in shadows, but there was no doubt in my mind who it was, and soon we found the man knew exactly who we were, too. “Oh, hi,” I heard, a familiar voice emerging through the dark over the crashing of the waves. “I was hoping to see at least one of you.”
    Fred gave me a look, squeezed my hand, and was gone. I picked my way along the rocks, trying my best not to trip in my heels, until I arrived at the empty chair next to Boyd. Brave through drinks, I looked at him, not letting my gaze waver when he stared back at me. In the dark his eyes resembled those of a raccoon interrupted while picking through the garbage. I realized he was waiting for my next move before he made his. “I was robbed,” I said. “You do realize that.”
    He laughed. “Sit down.” He gestured toward the nearest chair, but I waited a moment, gauging him; even, I thought, making him sweat. Of course, it was hot. He’d be