Page 134 of (Not) The One
‘It’s the most remarkable moment in life when you meet the person who makes you feel complete. The person who, for you, makes the world a better place. A beautiful place. The person with whom you share a bond so special you can see no other standing in their place...’
Something in her words strikes a chord deep inside me.
Could it be that James is my person? I clasp my hands to my stomach as tears suddenly prick at my lids as I recall a kaleidoscope of tiny moments. When he makes me laugh. The kindnesses he has shown. The way he’s made me face my fears without me really knowing.
James is my person. He is! Something inside me cracks, something as cool and as sweet as a watermelon, the sensation souring almost as quick.
Am I his person? Do I make him feel the same? Or do I keep him at arm’s length because I don’t trust myself? Is he waiting for me to claim him?
I’m not pragmatic. I’m a coward. James deserves better, and I’m going to deliver.
Readings are read, vows are made, and kisses bestowed before a cry of congratulations goes up marking the first moment of the rest of their lives.
Or did that start in New York?
I don’t see James in the congregation and he’s not at the marquee. He’s also not in the house, as far as I can tell. Back at the tent, Heather and I are served champagne and we weave through the happy people still looking for him.
‘I can’t see him.’ I push up onto my toes, even though I know he’s taller than most people here.
‘Maybe he was called to work,’ Heather suggests, her voice even.
‘He would’ve text. And he’s not answering his phone.’
‘Don’t stress. And swap me your champagne.’ As we exchange glasses, the happy couple appear. I refrain from pointing out that Olivia’s veil is coming lose and that Beckett’s shirt tails are hanging out. I also tug at Heather hand to make sure she doesn’t point out the obvious.
‘You haven’t seen James at all, have you?’
‘James?’ Olivia looks to Beckett, though his expression betrays nothing.
‘She means Harry,’ Heth says.
Cue a literal shit-tonne of expressions on all of our faces in something akin to a farce.
Mine.Mortification. Awkwardness. My gaze sliding away.
Olivia.Surprise. A narrowed expression. Suspicion directed at her husband.
Heather:Ouch. Painful. Where is that waiter when you want a fresh glass?
Beckett:I refuse to be drawn into this.
* * *
‘He was supposed to be here. I called him at the last minute and asked him to stand up with me as best man.’
‘The day of the wedding?’ Olivia complains. ‘Are you high?’ A look passes between the two; a wince from her and imperious glance from him.
‘We’ve both been rather busy.’ Cue another awkward look. This time, from me as I examine the clouds. ‘The man is like a brother to me. If I call him five minutes before something, I know I can rely on him to be there. Proximity permitting.’
‘But he’s not here,’ Heather points out unhelpfully before draining what’s left in her glass. My glass?
My phone rings, James’s name lighting up the screen. Well, his initials. We were keeping this thing between us on the down low, so that included making sure no one guessed by looking down at my caller display or texts. But after today, I’m going to take a photograph so I can see his face every time her calls.
Were.
‘Where are you?’ I don’t wait for greetings as my heart starts to pound, that sixth sense where you just know something is wrong. The noise in the background. What is it? A tunnel or an airport?
As the person on the other line begins to speak, my world tilts on its axis.
