Page 19

Part I

“Between the World & You”

June

I was sitting at my desk in my college dorm room, writing a paper for English class, when hands came from behind me and covered my eyes. I gasped, then heard a familiar voice say, “Guess who?”

I turned around and it was her. This time, she wasn’t wearing a tux, but she was wearing a buffalo plaid button-down shirt, with some well-fitting khakis. I still couldn’t see her face, but I could tell she was smiling as she spoke.

“I’m kidnapping you for the afternoon,” she said.

“But I have a ton of work to do,” I replied, gesturing at my computer.

She took my hand in hers and pulled me up. “Nonsense. You can spare a couple hours, and you’ll come back refreshed and ready to work.”

This was the most conversation we’d ever had in one of these dreams. I couldn’t figure out how to describe her voice, though. But when she spoke I felt warm and safe—like I was home.

“Alright,” I relented, not really put off by my schoolwork that much. I mean, why wouldn’t I want to spend the day with—what I assumed to be—a beautiful woman who was obviously crazy about me?

Suddenly, we were in Hyde Park in London. I’d never been to London before, but had always wanted to go. She held my hand as we walked around the gardens, finally coming to a secluded spot where a picnic was laid out. We sat down and began enjoying the delicious lunch of sandwiches, fruit and cheese.

After lunch, she produced a wrapped bakery package with two perfect scones inside, complete with strawberry jam and tons of cream. The scones were divine, like nothing I’d ever tasted before. When we were finished, she looked over at me and said, “You have a little cream right there.” She wiped it from the corner of my mouth with her finger. The next thing I knew, we were kissing like it was going out of style.

Eventually, we pulled apart and gathered up the remains of the picnic. “I’d better get you back so you can get your work done,” she said, and suddenly we were back in my dorm room. As she was getting ready to leave, she leaned in and whispered, “I love you,” in my ear.

* * *

“I don’t think y’all are at all ready for this!”

I’m startled back to the present by Abby’s exclamation emanating from the dressing room of the bridal shop. While we wait on a luxurious sofa for her to change each time, my mind keeps wandering back to the dream I had last night with the faceless woman. I cannot shake the feeling that Abby had that exact same outfit when we were in college, but it’s been so long ago that the memory is as fuzzy as the dream-woman’s face.

It’s a beautiful Saturday, and the light streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the shop is giving everyone’s mood a boost. Nate and Isaac brought us both here to try on dresses for the wedding to see if we can figure out what would work best for our Best Woman ensembles. The guys have both taken advantage of the champagne being offered, and I’m sticking with water. Abby’s been too busy trying on outfits for the last thirty minutes to have anything to drink.

“Well, get on out here so we can see it!” Nate returns. He’s been practically acting like an Olympic judge with all the dresses she’s tried on so far. I keep expecting him to hold up a sign with “9” as if she’s doing gymnastics or ice skating.

“Are you sure you’re ready?” she asks, poking her head around the corner of the mirrored wall facing us.

“Yes!” Isaac replies.

I add, “Please, show us before Nate blows a gasket.”

Before she appears, I wonder what she’s going to come out in this time. So far, she’s tried on a red sheath (too dark and simple), a yellow mermaid dress (too washed out), and a pink princess dress (it was a tulle nightmare). Seriously, she looks great in anything, but we have to find something I can coordinate my look with and something that will set the tone for Nate and Isaac’s wedding since they’ve decided to wear white tuxes with rainbow vests and bowties.

The first things I see are a flash of teal and the sparkle of sequins. When Abby steps around the corner, we hear the opening bars to Cyndi Lauper’s “Girls Just Want to Have Fun.” With each dress she’s tried on, Abby has come out doing a dance number with a different song playing on her phone. As she bebops out and onto the riser in front of the mirrors, I think we can all tell there’s no way to take this dress in all at once. The whole thing is teal satin with a black shimmer. Sequins cover the entire bodice and spill onto the skirt, which opens out into a wide asymmetrical arc to the right. And the sleeves. Oh, the sleeves look like they’re going to engulf her head they’re so poofy.

Nate is the first to speak. “I think I’m going to vomit.”

Abby smirks. “I told you you weren’t ready.”

“Why on earth would you put that on?” Isaac asks. “It’s hideous.”

None of us can control ourselves anymore and we all start laughing hysterically. A couple of the shop workers stare at us, and I wave them off to let them know we’re okay, really. Tears are rolling down my cheeks and I grab a tissue from the box on the table next to the sofa to dry my eyes. It’s not lost on me that the tissues are for people so moved by their loved one coming out in a beautiful wedding dress that they’re crying, and this makes me laugh even harder.

Once we’re all able to compose ourselves, Abby explains the dress. “I saw it back there on the rack, and thought it was hilarious, so I thought I’d try it on for fun. Plus, I thought if I showed you how hideous this one was, it would make the one I really want to wear seem even better.”

“If you love whatever it is, I’m sure we’ll love it,” Isaac says.

“Please, anything but this,” Nate pleads, shivering. “Absolutely anything.”

“Do you want help burning that?” I call as Abby disappears into the dressing room, but one of the twenty-something sales people overhears me and shakes her head disapprovingly. “I was just kidding. It’s…lovely.”

“It’s vintage,” she returns. “It’s from the ‘80s.”

Nate, Isaac and I all share a look, and we shake our heads. Once she’s out of earshot, Nate stage whispers, “If that dress is vintage, then what are we?”

“Old, apparently,” I reply, sighing at the thought that something forty years old is “vintage.”

“I don’t know. But the ‘80s were twenty years ago, so I don’t think she knows what she’s talking about.” Isaac shakes his head, and we all laugh.

The three of us remain silent until Abby alerts us that she’s coming back out with her preferred outfit. We all wait with bated breath. Isaac leans forward with his elbow on his knee. Nate is literally bouncing on the edge of his seat. I’m hoping against hope that this is “the one” so I can start trying on dresses myself.

Abby emerges from the dressing room with the opening bars to “New York, New York” playing on her phone, doing what can only be described as a Broadway-style dance number. She’s kicking up her legs and mimicking having a top hat, and grinning ear to ear. She steps up onto the platform, doing a few more moves before twirling to a stop in the center. Her hands go out to the side in jazz hands and she says, “Ta-da!”

Our mouths collectively drop open. I think we were all caught up in the dance number to realize what she’s actually wearing. It’s a tuxedo but made for a woman. The pants are more like tuxedo leggings, but still have satin stripes up the sides. The shirt is crisp and clean, with black rhinestone buttons. She’s wearing a plain, black satin vest underneath, and the jacket looks like it was tailored just for her already. It hugs her curves in all the right places, and it has beautiful detailing all around the cuffs and lapels.

“Oh, Abby, it’s perfect!” Nate exclaims.

“I absolutely love—”

Isaac’s comment is drowned out by the whooshing sound of the blood rushing to my ears. Suddenly, I can’t see anything but Abby in that tuxedo. Abby in a tuxedo. The faceless one in a tuxedo. The rhinestone buttons are identical, as is the vest. In the dreams, the woman was sometimes wearing a skirt, but sometimes they were leggings. They must be the same. How could Abby not be the one in the dreams now? My thoughts come a mile a minute and I can’t process anything else. You have to tell her. You have to tell her.

“Clare? Are you all right?” Nate says from beside me.

I feel him shaking me gently and slowly my vision starts to come back. I look around at everyone, and they all share the same concerned expression. Abby’s come down off the platform to stand in front of me. When did that happen?

“I’m fine. I’m so sorry, guys,” I say. “I just…I don’t know what happened.”

“Is it the tux?” Abby asks. “Did it repulse you that much?”

I shake my head. “Oh, god no. You look amazing in it. I think I might just have low blood sugar or something,” I lie.

Nate pats my hand. “Look, why don’t we break for lunch”—he looks at his watch—“since it is almost two o’clock. Then we can come back, and Clare can strut her stuff for us? If you’re feeling up to it, that is.”

“That sounds like a great plan, dear,” Isaac replies. “Why don’t you two go to the café next door and get a table, while Abby and I put this fabulous tux on hold for her?”

“Great plan,” I agree.

* * *

“I can’t believe that took all day,” Abby says, as we finally walk into her—or is it our?—apartment at about five-thirty that evening.

“I know. My arms and chest are somehow sore from trying on so many dresses,” I reply. It sort of makes sense because we were putting ourselves in awkward positions to get into and out of these clothes all day, but also there’s this tingling sensation running up my right arm and it feels a little numb. I rub it a little to try to wake it up.

“I’m exhausted too. Do you wanna just order pizza for dinner?”

“Sure,” I reply, my feet also complaining at spending nearly eight hours at the bridal store, not counting the hour break we had for lunch. I had no idea picking out our outfits for the wedding would take that long. “I’ll just go hang my dress in the closet and I can place the order through the app, unless you want something different than last time.”

“That sounds great,” she calls from her bedroom door. “I think I’m gonna lie down until the pizza gets here.”

“Cool. I’ll let you know when it arrives.”

I order the pizza, then head into my room and hang up my dress in its grey zippered bag in my walk-in closet. After trying on more dresses than I can count, I ended up with a Kelly green, satin A-line dress that hits just below my knees. It has a V-neck and gauzy sleeves that come down almost to my elbows. The color really sets off my red hair, and the cut is very flattering for my voluptuous figure. While I did try on a tuxedo, it just didn’t look as amazing on me as Abby’s did on her, and I didn’t want to feel self-conscious standing in front of a large group of people.

I hang out on my bed with Shelley while waiting for the pizza to get here. Poor kitty hasn’t seen me all day, so she’s lying upside down on my bed wanting belly rubs and chin scritches. I oblige, of course, because it’s not often that she allows me to rub her tummy.

With my hand stroking Shelley’s warm fur, I ponder telling Abby about the dreams again. The one I had last night was so vivid and seeing her in that tux today was a sign if there ever was one. Wait a minute, I think. I know I’ve seen Abby in the outfit from the dream last night.

I leave Shelley on the bed and start riffling through my old photo albums on the bookshelf. Finding the one with our photos from college, I thumb through until I find the photo I’m thinking about. And there Abby is wearing a buffalo plaid shirt with khaki pants while we flew kites in Pullen Park.

I sink back onto the bed and stare at the photo. Abby’s hair is blown back by the wind, her eyes are closed because she’s laughing so hard. Her kite is falling out of the sky behind her, even as she runs to keep it aloft. She looks so free and happy.

I look at the next photo in the album, and it’s one of the two of us holding the broken kite. In the picture, I’m laughing at how mangled the kite became, and Abby is looking at me and smiling. Huh. I never noticed before that she was looking at me in this photo and not at the camera or the disintegrating kite. This is the first time where the dream has already happened…well, sort of.

With determination, I pull the photos out of the album and head out toward the living room. I open my door, saying, “Abby, I have something I need—”

“No! I really can’t tonight.” I hear Abby practically shout from her room.

Not wanting to pry, but still wanting to make sure she’s okay, I close my bedroom door slightly, but peek through the crack to see if she’s in distress. She’s pacing back and forth from her bedroom into the living room with her cell phone pressed against her ear.

“I don’t know. Maybe,” she says. “I’ll need to check my calendar.”

She looks up and sees me. I open my door a little wider and mouth, “Can I help?” She shakes her head.

“Okay. I’ll text you. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah.” She mimes talking with her hand and rolls her eyes. “You too. Bye.”

“What was that about? Are you okay?” I ask, crossing the distance through the living room to her.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” She sighs heavily. “My parents are in town again, for a week this time. They wanted to have dinner tonight, but I’m just too exhausted to deal with them. Plus, they gave me like zero notice. This is literally the first I’m hearing about them being in town.”

“That sucks.” I put my hand on her shoulder. “I wish dinner with them was just dinner and not all the drama.”

“Yeah, and I just don’t want to go at all, you know? But I can’t avoid them forever.” She shrugs.

“I’m sorry.” I honestly don’t know what else to say because their relationship will always be a mystery to me. I had such a great relationship with my parents, and she has such an awful one with hers. Really, it always makes me miss my parents even more when she’s dealing with or avoiding the Cassidys. “I could go with you again, if you need me to.”

“Thanks, but I might see if I can get out of this one. They were just here, and I don’t think I have the bandwidth to deal with them again this soon,” she says. “I’ll see if I can invent some kind of work crisis or meeting to use to get out of it.”

“You could always use the wedding,” I suggest.

“That’s a great idea! I’ll figure out something before they call again tomorrow.”

The doorbell rings, signaling the arrival of the pizza. I answer the door, take the food and thank the delivery guy, who was actually kinda cute—if he’d only been a little bit older. The box is very hot, so I set it down on the stove. Wordlessly, we grab plates and napkins and grab some piping-hot slices of mushroom and black olive pizza. Abby took the liberty of getting us each sodas from the fridge while I was answering the door, so those are waiting for us next to our spots on the sofa.

“What do you want to watch tonight?” Abby asks, turning on the TV.

I swallow the bite of pizza I shouldn’t have eaten yet because I knew the cheese was too hot, but I did it anyway and burned the roof of my mouth. Still worth it. “I dunno. Something brainless.”

We both think for a moment, then say at the same time, “ 27 Dresses ?”

She doesn’t wait for a response and just hits play on the movie. We enjoy our pizza, one of our favorite chick-flicks—which is insanely apropos—and just hanging out after a long day.

All thoughts of telling her about the dreams are put off for another time.

* * *

The next day, Abby drives us to an empty parking lot where I can practice driving. While I certainly remember the basics and I assume muscle memory will take over at some point, five years is a long time, and I don’t want to be out on the street with other people just yet. I also have no idea what my emotional state is going to be when I get behind the wheel again, so I’m so glad Abby’s here with me.

“Are you ready?” she asks, turning off her Mini and unbuckling her seatbelt.

“I think so?” It comes out as a question, though I don’t mean for it to.

We both get out of the car and switch sides. I slide into the driver’s seat and buckle my seatbelt. I check the mirrors and only need to adjust the rear view one slightly.

“How does the seat feel?” Abby asks. “I mean, we’re about the same height, but if you need to adjust it, feel free. Just make sure to put it back after.” She laughs.

I shake my head. “No, it feels fine.”

“Good. Then, go ahead and push the start button.”

I do, and the car comes to life. “I just don’t know what to do with all these screens everywhere. My old car didn’t have all this fancy stuff.”

“You can ignore most of it for now. The only one you need to worry about is the one right in front of the steering wheel with the speedometer, odometer, et cetera.” She points to the screen in question.

I put my hands on the wheel and feel the vibration of the car from my palms all the way up through my arms. Suddenly, it feels like the breath has been knocked out of me, and my vision is blurred. All I can think about is the accident with my parents. Even though I wasn’t driving that day, it was my car we were in, and I was sitting right behind my father, who was driving. Five years and I don’t think I’ve sat on this side of a car or held a steering wheel since then.

“Clare, are you alright?” Abby asks with concern.

“I…don’t…know…if I…can…do…this,” I eke out while panting. My back feels sweaty and there are tears running down my cheeks.

Abby turns the car off and starts rubbing my right arm. “Deep breaths. It’s okay.”

I try doing as she says, but I end up sobbing instead. My hands are still in a death grip on the steering wheel.

“Clare, it’s alright. I’m here, nothing’s going to happen,” Abby says. She pries the fingers of my right hand off the wheel and pulls me toward her. “C’mere.”

I release my left hand from the wheel as well and let myself lean over into Abby’s arms. She rubs my back while I cry. I let the tears flow. I think about my parents, about how if that patch of black ice hadn’t been there, they might be alive today. Everything might be different.

“Shhh. I’ve got you,” Abby soothes.

Between her words and her embrace, I feel supported and cared for. If my parents were here, they would be doing exactly what Abby is, then encouraging me to try again. And I know since they aren’t here, that they’d want me not to let their death stand in the way of me moving on with my life.

“Maybe we started too quickly. Perhaps we should have done the signs part first,” Abby says.

I sit up and wipe the wetness from my face. “No, I’m okay. I think I’m better now.”

“You’re sure?” Her face betrays her surprise.

“I’m sure. I promise if my emotions threaten to overtake me again, I will stop, turn the car off, and you can drive us home. Deal?” I say, putting my hand out.

She takes it. “Deal.”

I turn the car back on, figure out how to get it into drive, and I drive for the first time since the accident. It’s an empty parking lot, but the accomplishment is anything but empty.