In six months, Gwen Johnston turns thirty, and when she does, she vows she'll have her life together. She'll no longer be jumping from one job to another, from one relationship to the next. A new, more mature, Gwen will have emerged. She's giving he...
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The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur of wedding pictures and being shuttled from one location in St. Anthony to another. Those moments I got with Gwen in the church before the ceremony feel too far away by the time we arrive at the dinner and reception. I catch my next glimpse of her while we're all standing at the entrance to the hall waiting to have our presence announced.
She's seated at a table with my friend from high school, Thatcher, who rents my house next to my parents. Whatever they're talking about, they both seem fully engaged, and it's the first time I've felt the pinch of jealousy since we got together. Gwen throws her head back on a laugh, clutching her chest as though she's never heard anything funnier. Thatcher gazes at her, a grin on his face, clearly pleased with himself and perhaps a bit smitten. Can't blame him. As I've discovered, it's impossible to resist Gwen's charm.
It's one thing to see other people gazing at her like that when I'm seated beside her, but it's another to be over here, unable to slide my hand along her back, make it clear that whoever it is doesn't have a chance. She's mine. If we do long distance, that'll be the reality more often than not. Gwen, out in the world charming people, and me across the ocean praying she doesn't become equally charmed by someone else.
Kellen, Ang's Master of Ceremony, gets on the mic, and a cheer goes through the hall. Gwen twists in her seat, and when we make eye contact, the hint of jealousy evaporates. The familiar light in her brown eyes helps to ease the tension across my shoulders. Nothing has changed. For now, she's still mine.
When I'm announced, I enter and wave to the crowd before heading to the table where Gwen is seated. She's already standing from all the other introductions, and she frames my face before giving me a quick kiss.
"I missed you," she murmurs against my ear before sliding her hand into mine.
I squeeze her hand in return, but I don't say it back, even if every fiber in my being feels it. What I should do tonight still isn't clear. Let her go or propose long distance. In some ways, long distance is just ripping the Band-Aid off at a glacial pace that'll probably make us both miserable. Our lives are on different paths.
After Ang and Adam are introduced, everyone takes their seats. I greet the rest of the people at the table, and when I go to introduce Gwen to everyone, Thatcher waves me off.
"Gwen's easy to talk to. She's met us all. Has our life stories tucked in her back pocket," he says.
"In this dress?" Gwen scoffs. "Stuffed all those stories in my purse. Small towns are filled with so many good, interconnecting stories. A treasure trove." She grins at me.
"There is definitely always something to talk about in St. Anthony," I agree while I slide my hand along her thigh.
She links her hand with mine and leans into me.
For the rest of the meal, one of us is touching the other, as though we're both reassuring ourselves that we're still here, tomorrow hasn't come yet.
Once the tables are cleared, and they start the first dances, Gwen nudges me on the side of the dancefloor.
