Wondering how I'd feel in his place. Waiting for the woman next to me to promise to love me forever.
But she's not here, and the absence is like a lost limb, a disease, an ache. Beside me is Summer, and Anthony to her right. From the corner of my eye I can see their tightly clasped hands.
Their wedding is coming up, too.
I used to roll my eyes at my friends' obsession with marital bliss. The joke doesn't seem quite as funny now, when I'd rather be the punchline than the joker.
A single violinist starts to play, a soft, warm sound. Everyone turns in their seats to watch Cecilia… but I look at Victor. He's in a tux, hands relaxed at his side. Watching his wife walk down the aisle to him.
And beneath his composure, he's burning with emotion.
I see it in his eyes. They're locked on her. We might as well not be here for all he cares. It's not even that he'd prefer it… but he doesn't care. Because he's focused on her and her alone. We don't exist.
This man, who I've argued with time and time again. The competitive bastard who loves to find weaknesses and exploit them, who has never seen a business he couldn't make more efficient, who is a far bigger proponent of layoffs than I've ever been.
He's standing here with love shining in his eyes.
If Victor St. Clair can change for Cecilia and embrace vulnerability, then I can't do anything less for Audrey. I'll be nothing short of what she deserves.
I watch them renew their vows. Eyes locked on one another, a silent conversation flowing beneath their softly spoken words. Audrey might not be mine, but by God am I hers. The need to talk to her is a bone-deep ache. For so many years, convincing people had been my job. I'd used my charm in more ways than I care to count. Some I'm proud of and many I'm not.
This time is different.
I'm going to have to be one hundred percent myself, and even that might not be enough. But I'm not going to run anymore.
The landscape flashes outside the train window, mile after mile of distance added between me and my family. Returning to the city is always a mixed bag. Exciting, with the lure of New York and my life there. The job I've dreamed of forever. And sad, because it's a renunciation of my home, my past, my little hometown and the street I spent the first eighteen years of my life on. Safety and adventure, and always the balance between the two.
I feel it more acutely now than I have in years.
It's been a week since I heard from Carter. The disastrous conversation in his office has been on replay in my head. I've tried to analyze every angle. To find the point where it derailed. He'd been impossible to talk to. Shut off somehow.
And in my head, the only thing in my mind had been how he'd kept the truth from me. He didn't tell me, he didn't tell me, he didn't tell me.
But in the week since, that refrain has changed, the words shifted around. I miss him so much he's like a song beneath my own singing. I love him, I love him, I love him.
And I never got a chance to tell him that.
The conversation I'd had with my dad helped, soothing the jagged edges of my hurt. He'd been the true victim of Will C. Jenner, after all, him and my mother. Just money, sure, but it had always been his pride and self-esteem that took the worst hit.
Maybe that's why I've had such a tough time wrapping my head around Carter's father being the same person who hurt my dad, the best man I've ever known.
We took a walk in the woods behind our neighborhood with my parents' black Labrador patrolling the leaves beside us. "Is a person more than their parents?" I'd asked.
Dad answered immediately. "Of course they are, sweetie. You're more than Mom and me."
"But what I mean is… are they more than their parents' worst actions?"
He'd laughed. "God, yes. What's all this?"
I'd taken a deep breath. Wondered if this was wise, and then throwing caution to the wind, trusting him the same way I had when he taught me to swim, to ride a bike, I told him the entire story.
I told him who Carter's dad was.
Dad had listened with patience. He'd asked a few cautious questions here and there, about the timeline. No, I haven't met him. Never, ever want to.
"Poor boy," he said finally, when my words ran out, and we both watched Nibbles dig industrially behind a tree stump. "I can't imagine having that man in my life permanently. Being his son… Christ."
"They have virtually no contact, at Carter's insistence."
"Good decision," Dad had said. He looked over at me with a half-smile. "This has thrown you for a loop, hasn't it?"
"Yes. How could it not have? I mean, what he did-what happened-I don't know if… How could I?"
It was half-coherent at best, but Dad's smile had only grown deeper. Like he heard the real issue immediately. "If you're worried about me, don't be. This man is not his father. You wouldn't be with him if he was. All I care about is that he makes you happy, and treats you well."
"He has, and he does. He just didn't tell me about this."
"Have you asked him why?"
"He shut down."
Dad made a hmming noise and whistled for Nibbles, who'd followed a scent trail nearly out of view. "I'm guessing he was scared. He's been defined by his dad's actions all his life, hasn't he? And now it has once again interfered."
"You're wise," I said.
He'd laughed. "I don't know about that, but I've been around the block a few times, sweetheart."
"How can you be so… forgiving about this? We've never spoken much about what happened in the years since. Have you gotten over it? What the con man did?"
He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice was quiet. "I won't tell you that I've stopped regretting it," he said. "I don't think I ever will. But, sweetheart… Will Jenner came to me with nothing but cynicism and greed, masked in charm. I met him with hope. Naively, perhaps. Foolheartedly. What he was selling me was too good to be true. But I'd rather be too hopeful than too cynical, and if I know you, you would be too."
The words had lodged like a hot stone beneath my breastbone. I carry them even now, a day after, on the train transporting me back to New York. I'd rather be too hopeful than too cynical. Maybe I'd lost that thinking for a while, stuck in my dream of investigating corruption and fraud, righting wrongs and exposing secrets with my journalism.
Too hopeful than too cynical.
I don't know what'll happen. If Carter even wants to talk to me again, if that bridge is burned, if I'm back to bad first dates and nursing a broken heart. But I carry Dad's words with me like a token.
The city is cold and empty when I arrive at the station. I lug my too-heavy bag with me on the subway. Mom had insisted on baking bread, two whole loaves, and packing them in with my clothes.
I round the street to mine. The familiar stoop beckons, and I can't wait to collapse on my too-small bed in my too-small shithole of an apartment. Work starts tomorrow again, and the idea of seeing Carter from a distance is painful.
Something I'll have to get used to, I suppose.
There's a figure sitting on my stoop. I slow down. There are plenty of weirdos in the city. Should I just keep walking and circle back? No, that coat looks nice… and the hair is familiar.
Carter is sitting outside my house.
My bag slips through my fingers, landing with a soft thud on the wet sidewalk.