Team Spirit

40. Lars in Demand

40. Lars in Demand

I try very hard, but I cannot not look at the bridesmaids. I can't not stare at the silk flowers in their tulle cages, matching the bouquets and the centerpieces on each of the round hall tables. I can't not watch other people admiring them, catching the compliments on their tongues.

It's not my wedding, but it feels like it's all about me, anyway. Except that, of course, if it was all about me, we would definitely not be listening to the Dixie Chicks.

Roman and I pick slowly at a slice of cheesecake each, the tiered wedding cake not enough of a temptation, apparently. No, Crystal needed a whole dessert table, I suppose for all the stress baking she's done in the last week. Thank god I finished alterations before then, before wedding prep got too crazy. It was enough that I heard about it, that Sam tried to drag me into putting up the dangling twinkle lights glistening above our heads.

Oh, no. I did my part. Now I get to eat my cake.

"At no point in the last two months did I see any of this coming," Roman says, whittling a sliver of cake of his slice. If he takes the tiniest of bites, it'll take longer before we go back for more. This is the strategy we silently devised.

"Really? Crystal's been engaged for almost a year. I'm pretty sure the wedding is not a surprise," I say.

Roman smacks me playfully.

"Yeah, but you were supposed to come with Sam."

"Well." We are Sam-and-Lars. We might be more Sam-and-Lars than we've ever been, ever in a weird, separate kind of way way. It is strikingly unfamiliar to not have Sam practically tucked under my jacket like shy toddler Oli hides behind my mother's legs in public. I don't mind the shift. I like pastel-coloured Sam. I like him basking in the summery glow of Leo Zalinka.

"I did not foresee you sewing bridesmaids dresses in your basement," Roman continues.

"Trust me, I don't think anyone saw that coming."

I couldn't predict Crystal's bridal party dancing in floral magnificence. I can't help but cringe every time a groomsmen swings one of them around, positive the tulle will somehow tear loose and the heads of fake flowers will tumble everywhere.

It never happens. I spear my cake so I don't have to look, worst case scenarios still dancing in my imagination.

"I didn't honestly think you'd take me back."

I drop my fork, the silverware clattering against the plate. He makes it sound like he did something wrong. Absolutely not true.

"Really? You sure flirted like you thought I would at Pete's party." I raise an eyebrow at him and his crooked smile brings out his dimple. He's a little magnificent in his shined up motorcycle boots and a denim shirt. If it was a wedding outside of Murphy, it wouldn't work. Here, it does. It works with a nice watch and belt. 

He leans in, brushing my hair behind my ear. "But you don't change your mind."

"I never really did." I barely hear myself say it. "I just took a bit of a detour. Got lost. Bad case of road rage. Nearly got arrested."

I shrug. Roman smiles, his face still do dangerously close.

"So!" A body drops so heavily into the chair next to me, the chair nearly topples over.

"Oh my God." I bury my face in my hands before Tim can see it. He's eye patch free now. Good for him. 

"Punch, Lars?" Roman asks immediately, standing up to abandon me. He doesn't wait for an answer, just takes my cup and leaves his nibbled cheesecake unattended.