Chapter 2 - A Hand in the Bright Light
The hand was still there. That was the first thing I could make myself focus on, because everything else in the ballroom felt too bright and too loud to look at directly.
It came in from the left, a man's hand in a white cuff and black sleeve, palm up and steady. I didn't look past his wrist at first. I couldn't. The chandeliers were throwing light off the marble floor and off my bracelet, and my eyes were wet enough that everything had a halo. I kept my gaze on his fingers because they weren't moving. They weren't grabbing. They were just waiting.
The music had gone low. I realized the band had pulled back to strings, like someone had told them to give the room space. Around us, I could feel the tables go quiet. Nobody was pretending to check their phones anymore. White flowers blurred at the edge of my vision, tall centerpieces I had picked out with the event planner in February, and now they just looked like witnesses.
I breathed in and it caught. I tried to fix it before anyone heard.
I finally lifted my eyes a few inches. Black tuxedo jacket. White shirt. No bow tie in my line of sight, just the lapel and shoulder cut off by the frame of people behind him. I didn't see his face. Someone's head was in the way, and the light was behind him, and I was crying too hard to make him out clearly anyway. Part of me didn't want to see him. If I saw him, I'd have to decide what this meant.
Daniel's doorway was still in my peripheral vision. I checked it without moving my head. The blonde in the red gown had turned there, her back bare to the room, her hand light on his arm. Then they were gone. Just the dark line of the hallway and a waiter holding the door. Empty.
That emptiness hit harder than their backs had.
"Hey," the man to my left said quietly. Not the line from before. Softer now. "You don't have to stay out here."
I didn't answer. My throat was locked around his name. Daniel. I had already said it once and watched it do nothing.
The man's hand shifted a fraction closer, not pushing. I could see a small scar across one knuckle. Clean nails. No ring. I stared at that missing ring like it mattered, like it told me anything.
I knew what it would look like if I kept standing alone in the middle of the floor in this green dress with tears on my face. I knew how fast a photo moves from a charity gala. My hands were shaking against my skirt, pleats catching on my damp palms. I flattened them once, hard.
I put my fingertips on his palm. Lightly. Just enough weight that it wouldn't look like a refusal. Not a yes to dancing. A yes to moving.
His fingers closed just enough to hold me steady. Not tight. His skin was warm and dry.
"Okay," he said under his breath. "Slow. I've got you."
He didn't pull me. He waited half a beat for me to shift my weight, then stepped back toward the edge of the floor. My heels caught on the marble. The sound was too loud in my ears. He slowed instantly to match me, his arm coming up just enough that I could rest my hand on his forearm if I needed to. I didn't take it fully. I kept my fingers on his hand and let him lead the pace.
The tables got closer. I could smell lilies and someone's spilled champagne and the hot metal smell of the chandelier lights. A woman in navy at table six looked away fast when I glanced over. A man with a foundation pin stared straight at me and then down at his plate. My earrings swung when I turned my head and one brushed my wet cheek, cold.
Breathe, I told myself. In. Out.
As if he'd heard it, the stranger said, very low, "In with me. Out with me."
I almost laughed, which would have turned into a sob. I did what he said instead because my body needed an instruction that wasn't mine. In. His shoulder rose slightly. Out. Mine dropped.
We reached the edge near the white florals. Table nine, half-empty, programs and water glasses and a purse left on a chair. The marble gave way to carpet under my shoes and the sound softened. My knees felt strange, like they'd forgotten how to lock.
He pulled out a chair with his free hand, angled away from the dance floor so I wouldn't have to face it.
"Sit for a minute," he said.
I sat because standing was becoming a choice I would lose. My dress pooled around my legs, the green bright against the white tablecloth. I pressed my fingertips to the cloth to stop them shaking and felt the damp spot I left there.
He didn't sit. He stayed standing a half-step to my side, blocking me a little from the room without making it obvious. His hand finally left mine,slowly, like he was making sure I was steady first.
I looked back toward the doorway one more time.
May you like
Empty. The waiter was gone. The hallway light looked ordinary. Daniel was not coming back through it.
I folded my hands in my lap and stared at them so I wouldn't have to watch the room stare at me.
