He didn't have three tries in him. It was pretty amazing that he was up and dressed and at a wedding, for fuck's sake—really all he had in him at this point was moaning and the fetal position.
But here he was. In the hall just outside the banquet room, women in saris gestured with their smooth brown arms. Pink and orange and red and magenta, bouquets of women in the loudest colors, but everyone was quiet, even when they got excited. Like no family gathering Nick had ever seen. The table was littered with half-drunk tumblers, and he guessed and took a sip from one. Watery whiskey. Bad idea.
Nick crosses his arms over his chest. His body hurts. He'd been holding himself together all day, walking like you do when you're heartbroken, super-careful, like an old man. When he'd walked away from Jess minutes ago, it'd taken effort, real effort, like dragging something heavy. "You can't tell me you haven't thought about what your dad said, Jess." He'd said. And she'd been silent. And that was all he needed. He'd turned quickly with his shoulders high and woven through the spangles and mirrors and the ankle bracelets crashing in his hears and found his way here to hide in plain sight, among stale drinks and stragglers, where he belonged.
Movement in the hall is Elizabeth, walking fast, and then Schmidt running full on behind her. Go Schmidt. He creaks a smile. Who woulda thunk it? Two women, both of them who seemed to genuinely like him. And there he was choosing the not-model, the one he brought as a date to the wedding. It was so…brave…of Schmidt? That was the word. He was being all kinds of brave. He was going to lose all credit with the douchebags and maybe lose CeCe, but it was the right thing to do and Schmidt was doing it.
Like he was doing. Like he was doing? His stomach churns and his legs draw up to his chest like someone behind him has a crank attached. Here comes the fetal position. What he was doing was nothing – Jess had said it once about him, but here he was, not trying a third time. He didn't have it in him. She hoped her dad didn't get in his head. He looked at the yellow-patterned carpet and grimaced at the picture of Bob Day and Tom Waites drinking together, kindred spirits, whatever that meant.
"She's crying you know. And leaving."
"I know CeCe," he tells her shoes.
"And that's it? Hiding in here is what you're going to do about it? Is this some kind of ass-hat White-Fanging?"
Fanging? He looks up at her. She's taller today, red-and-gold and radiant with something, still dressed in her wedding sari even though there was no wedding. How could that be? Left at the altar should look like he looks, not like this towering, ferocious girl. He has no answer but he tries anyway. "I can't do anything, here, CeCe. She knows it can't work."
Cece's voice changes a little tiny bit, a little warmer. "No, she doesn't. She just knows you don't want to try, Nick. That's it. How can you of all people not get that?" The crowd in the room has parted behind Cece and is beginning to drain out of the room. "Jess is a big girl, sure, and stronger all the time, but you walking away from her? No. It's too much for her."
She was right. When had Jess grown up so much? Since last summer in the canyon, yowling at the coyote? Since teaching again? Since going back for Sam? He didn't know when it had happened but it had. She'd said it had to do with him. Said it was because of him that she was going to be alright. His head was going to explode.
"Your reasons for going away don't matter, Nick. All she sees is Nick Miller doesn't care enough about her to try."
He is already running. In his body his heart beats blood to parts of him that have been numb over the last 24 hours, and he feels loose and light and alive for the first time since their first time. He looks for blue, and there it is, flashing outside the door to his left, and he sprints for it,
"Jess Wait!"
She is crying quietly. Her car is here. She is turning to the valet and taking her keys. A valet stub in her hands. It is killing him.
"Jess! Stop!"
She raises her wet eyes to his. He doesn't know what to say now that he is here. Just make her wrong idea right again, that terrible, terrible idea that he didn't want her enough. Can't she see how much he wants her?
"What Nick?"
"Don't… leave."
She widens her eyes a little. Then shakes her head and straightens. He sees it: There she is. There's that new girl I've fallen for.
Her voice is rustier than usual. "I know what I want Nick. I'm not ashamed of it."
He can't ask her.
"I want to try, Nick. I want you. I'm in deep here, and I have been for a long time. When you love someone, it's simple."
His mouth is dry.
"But the other simple might be that I'm not enough for you. You're not trying, and that says something about me." Tears are springing again and she is fumbling in her sari for her pocketbook and keys.
He's not sure what to do now that he can't speak. Moving has worked before here, so he moves. He dives in between her hand and the car, ducking and snaking. Backed against the car like a teenage girl with her greaser, he takes a breath that shudders a little too close to crying. "Enough? Jess." He shakes his head. He can't find the words to try this third try. And then he remembers. He takes the valet stub from her hand. He searches his pockets but can't find anything to write with. Gives up, and just gives the stub to her, closing his eyes and bowing his head, like a gift.
She has no idea what is happening. She looks up at him, asking. He answers, whispering into her ear,
"Love."
"What?"
"That's what I wrote. When Russell asked us what I thought this was. I wrote "love" on the back of my stub."
She makes a really weird sound. It's a snort, and he looks and sees that she's snort-crying, but smiling. He's not sure what's happening but he tries some more:
"It is simple, Jess. My life has not been the same since I met you. And that's a good thing. For me anyway…I mean, thank you?" He's not sure of this but tries again, more sure: "and I want you, and please don't go, and I need you…I mean, I hope I'm not bad for you, but don't think I can take doing the right thing without you…" he's rambling and he's not sure how to explain.
"Shut up Nick". She has thrown her arms around his neck and is still shudder-snort-crying into his shoulder. And laughing a little. There is only one thing to do here, and so he kisses her wet face, and then rests his forehead on hers while their breathing slows down again. Lights from the car the valet is bringing behind hers sweep across them. "Let's go home."
"Let's go home."