Part 2

1997

Ethan, Jeff, and Simon sat on a low stone wall outside the church. With their groomsmen duties completed, passing a pint was just the right thing to do before the ceremony. All that was left to do, was to line up in front of the altar, and only to forever hold their peace as another friend said, “I do,” which meant “goodbye” to them.

Suddenly, a tiny blue microcar raced through the gate, its little wheels spewing dust and gravel. A woman in a bridesmaid’s dress laboriously pushed her pregnant belly through the car door in front of the chapel gate. “Run!” she yelled into the cabin. She slammed the door and attempted to run up the stairs.

They laughed, and the woman turned toward them. Ethan recognized Clara and she him. They smiled and waved, and then she turned and waddled through the door.

“I think we are late!” Jeff jumped, and they all ran to the chapel.

After the ceremony, they threw rice, the bride tossed the bouquet, and the wedding party headed to the reception. After the dinner, Ethan found Clara on the dance floor.

“It’s been a while.” He smiled at her, warmed by the memory of the stormy night and its peaceful morning, eating toast together, smiling and joking like newly found siblings.

She threw her arms around him and kissed his cheek.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Groomsman.”

“Bridesmaid. A last-minute stand-in, as you can see. Seeing you, I’m happy I agreed to embarrass myself like this. It’s been like ten years.”

“Twelve,” he corrected her, and she smiled. “What happened here? Who did that to you?” He pointed at her belly and smiled.

“Ah, my beloved husband happened. Over there.” She pointed and waved at the husband with a big smile on her face, and the husband smiled and waved, and Ethan waved and smiled as well.

“I need to sit down,” she said. They walked outside and sat on lawn chairs while beat of the music and the sweet smell of the smoke machine drifted through the door. They smiled – she excited and he tentative.

“You look positively happy,” he said.

“Oh, I am. It’s been quite a ride with John. College sweethearts and all that. How you’ve been,” she changed the topic swiftly, as if John didn’t belong in the conversation.

“I’m well. I ended up staying in Europe, and became a translator in Brussels. Are you still painting?”

“That’s amazing,” she said. “No painting for me right now, but I’m working in a gallery, and finishing my masters of arts.”

“That’s brilliant. I loved that painting you showed me. The one with the black trees and orange sunset. It was soulful and dark at the same time. And the size was so audacious. Like a light at the end of the tunnel.” He smiled.

“Oh my God, I can’t believe you remember that.” She slapped his arm. “It was actually two dark silhouettes of people walking into the centre of a star holding hands – I was very profound those days.” They laughed. “That painting got me into the university. My parents still have it. It hangs in the basement. They are waiting for me to make it big, so they can sell it and retire.”

“How can something that audacious fit in a basement?” he asked, and they laughed. They sat quietly in a comfortable silence. She reached for his hand and squeezed it. He smiled and squeezed back. They held on for one mournful, heartbreaking moment, as if the truth was that they were in fact always together. As if they could change the reality by holding tight for one. And when the baby kicked, her hand quickly slipped out of his, and the moment vanished and they could see it drift away with the sweet smell of the smoke machine.