Page 163 of The Spider & the Storm

Stormy and I headed back to her parents' house for a brief respite before we were due at Ivan's wedding. He had claimed we could wear what we wanted, likely as another incentive to get me to show up. But Stormy had twisted my arm and convinced me to wear a suit, insisting that the best man was strictly prohibited from wearing beat-up jeans and scuffed combat boots. So, for her, I listened, and while she was getting ready in the bathroom, I dressed in the bedroom where we'd slept the last two nights.

I was just buttoning my sleeve cuffs when she opened the door. She walked inside with a downcast gaze, shyly unable to meet my eye as I took in the swing of her long-sleeved, floor-length dress, as black as her raven-colored hair. It was modest and simple, the squared neck hardly revealing, save for the smallest glimpse of cleavage, nearly hidden behind an oval onyx pendant. Her fingers smoothed down the delicate lace overlay, fussing with the material before her hands flew to her hair, piled high in her trademark knot of chaos. Random strands had been left out haphazardly, as per usual, to frame her face, andshe always—at least as long as I'd known her—wore the look with confidence. Today though, she seemed unsure and self-conscious as she turned from my wandering eyes to hurry for the mirror above the dresser.

“My mom's hair straightener isn't working, so I had to just wing it, but, fuck, man, I look like I stuck my tongue in a freakin' outlet. I can't go to a wedding, looking like this. Maybe I should braid—”

I stepped behind her and took her hands in mine, putting a stop to her fussing. Then, my eyes met hers in the mirror's reflection and said, “Did you know that spiders make different webs depending on their species? A lot of people don't realize this. They're taught that all webs look uniform, often symmetrical. You know, like paper Halloween decorations or cartoons.”

I lowered one of her hands to hang at her side, then held the other up, palm facing us. With the tip of my finger, I drew a circle in the center. “Orb weavers make webs like that, and they're beautiful, damn near perfect. They're the type of webs many people would use in art. I guess because they find them more visually appealing, the way some people might find someone conventionally beautiful to be more suitable for modeling.

“But the webs I like—the ones in my drawings and the ones on my body—are made by the black widow. Less uniform, uncontrolled, and untamed.”

Now, I drew haphazard lines against her soft flesh. She flinched at the featherlight touch and laughed airily as I intertwined our fingers and held her hand tight.

“To me, I see them as a more accurate depiction of life. Messy. Unpredictable. Yet, somehow, it all makes sense. Every strand is put there for a reason, and as wild as it might be, it's still just as beautiful.”

I lifted my other hand to touch the ends of her hair. “The black widow changes for nobody, and neither should you.”

Stormy swallowed, her face flushed and heated. “When you talk like that, I have a hard time believing I deserve someone like you.”

A brusque, humorless chuckle made its way up my throat as I diverted my reflected gaze from hers. “You act like I'm perfect, and I'm far from it.”

“No, and neither am I. But I think, together, we make something that's pretty fucking close.”

***

We showed up at the wedding venue ten minutes before the ceremony. Traffic hadn't been on our side, and I had spent the last twenty minutes of the drive stressed that we would be the reason for things not going according to plan. But as it turned out, there hadn't been much of a plan to begin with. No instructions, no rehearsal.

“Life isn't orchestrated, Chuck, and that's not how I want to start my marriage to the love of my life,” Ivan said, leading the way to the head of the aisle after I questioned what I was expected to do. “Just hand me the rings when the judge asks for them.”

“Wait, what rings?” I asked, already panicking. “You didn't give me—”

“Oh, I knew I was forgetting something!” He dug his hand into his breast pocket and dug out two matching gold bands. They were dropped into my open palm as he said, “The judge will ask to have the rings, and you just hand ‘em over, Chuck. Easy-peasy.”

“Sure. Got it.”

I glanced into the small crowd of seated guests and searched for Stormy. She was easy to spot, sitting toward the back at the end of a row of chairs. My little black cloud in a flood of spirited color. She lifted her hand in a slight wave, the corner of her lips curving into a smile. I waved back, glad I wasn't there alone with too many strangers. I was also glad she had talked me into coming because from the looks of it, Ivan didn't have a whole lot of people there on his side.

That's how your wedding will be.

My eyes held Stormy's as I thought about the wedding day I knew we'd eventually have. How empty my side of the guest list would look. Did it matter? Her friends could become mine. Her family would become mine. They would all beours. But the thought that I had nobody to offer to the mix—apart from Ivan and his newfound lady love, of course—hurt in a way I'd never expected.

Maybe Luke could get a pass. Maybe he could come. He could be your best man, and then at least, you'd have one member of your family there. The only one left.

Tears pricked at my eyes as a violinist began to play an instrumental rendition of a song I vaguely recognized, but couldn't name. I sucked in a deep breath and ignored the constricting of my chest and the tightness in my throat. My attention reluctantly turned from Stormy to watch the end ofthe aisle, where a woman I didn't know by looks but by name emerged in a white gown that dusted the ground she walked upon.

“That's my Lyla,” Ivan said, sounding more thrilled than I'd ever heard him. “Isn't she the most beautiful thing you've ever seen?”

I couldn't say that she was when the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen was sitting at the end of a row, green eyes aimed at the bride while fussing hands brushed away strands of her wild hair. But Lyla was indeed beautiful, emanating a love for my friend, even from where she stood feet away. Proving there truly was someone for everyone.

“I'm happy for you, Ivan,” I said, laying my hand over his shoulder. “I really am.”

He tore his eyes from his bride long enough to look up at me for the briefest moment, surprise written plainly in his stare. “Thank you, Chuck,” he said with awe and sincerity. “But I'd argue that I am far, far happier for you. That Stormy has breathed a life into what was once an empty, hollow husk of a man, and I'm honored to have witnessed your rebirth. The kids would say to wife her up, and I sincerely hope that you do.”

I startled even myself by laughing, about to reply to my friend who was quite possibly even stranger than me. But Lyla arrived at the altar, and whatever I thought of saying left my mind as I listened intently to the vows and the official words, passing the rings to the judge when he asked and watching as Ivan and Lyla kissed for their first time as husband and wife.

They walked down the aisle in a hurry, holding hands and laughing in a way I could only describe as giddy. I strolled languorously behind, deep in thought with my hands buriedin my pants pockets. When I came to stand beside Stormy moments later, she looped her arm through mine and reached up to pinch my chin between her thumb and forefinger.

“Whatcha thinkin' about, Spider?” she asked, using a name she hadn't referred to me as in what felt like an eternity, but … had it only been weeks?

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