What We Don't Say

The pool at the Sunset Motor Court was empty, its water the color of a bruised sky reflecting the orange light of dusk. Elena sat on a plastic lounge chair, her wedding dress still on after six hours, barefoot, her veil draped over the side like a dead bird.

"Thought I'd find you here."

She didn't turn. Marcus. Her oldest friend, her maid of honor's ex, the man who'd sat through three brunches listening to her describe Daniel's eyes like they were a discovery she'd made alone.

"They're looking for you," he said, sitting on the chair beside hers. "Your mother's having a meltdown. The cake's melting."

"Daniel's sleeping with my sister."

The words floated between them, lighter than they should have. Marcus didn't flinch. A calico cat jumped onto the pool's edge, tail twitching, watching them with amber eyes.

"Since when?"

"Since last baseball season. I found the tickets. Two seats, row twelve, every Sunday Daniel supposedly worked late."

Marcus laughed softly, not unkindly. "He always talked about baseball too much. Remember that party? He wouldn't shut up about—what was it?"

"The infield fly rule."

"God, yes. That poor freshman who asked about cricket."

Silence stretched, water lapping at the pool's sides. The cat wandered away, bored by human heartbreak.

"What do I do?" Elena asked, finally looking at him. Marcus's face was that careful thing it became when she cried: concerned but distant, like someone watching a car crash from behind safety glass.

"You could marry him anyway. Lots of people do."

"Is that what you'd tell a friend?"

"I'd tell a friend to run," Marcus said, "but you're not just my friend, El. You're the person I've loved since we were nineteen, and I've spent six years watching you choose someone else."

The orange light deepened to red. Somewhere, a clock ticked toward midnight, toward cake that wouldn't be cut, toward guests who would eventually notice the bride's plastic chair was empty.

Elena stood up, her dress pooling around her. "Then let's go."

"Where?"

"Anywhere. Just not back to that reception hall."

Marcus stood too, and for the first time in six years, he didn't keep his hands to himself. His fingers found hers, tentative and terrified, and the pool reflected them both—two small people making one large mistake that felt, suddenly, exactly like the right choice.