Page 10 of Still the One

“Who is that?” Charles asks.

“Shhh,” Alan says, holding up a finger. “Later,” he whispers.

Mac is swaying along to the gentle, slow beat of the music. She’s as enthralled as Alan, but in a different way. I try to focus on Sandra and Tyrone, and on this new version of a musical evergreen, but my gaze returns to her again and again. She must have seen me look. What is she thinking? We used to joke that we were so merged, we could finish each other’s thoughts as well as each other’s sentences.

Mac’s just enjoying the moment, though, and it’s a beautiful moment. A wonderful celebration of that most elusive thing—for some of us, anyway—to hold on to: love. Sandra and Tyrone look as though they’re melting into each other. As though their bodies were made for each other, to move together to this song.

Tears stream down Alan’s cheeks. It’s beautiful, really, how he can be so touched by this and even more so that he doesn’t give a damn about showing it. Charles rests his chin on his husband’s shoulder and holds him from behind. Most couples around us are having a little private moment of whatever wonderful emotion is being coaxed from their lucky hearts. Mac and I are left to ponder things on our own. But as I live and breathe, I vow to ask her to dance with me later on, to a slow, romantic song like this one. It’s all I want from this evening. One dance from the woman I used to love like no one else.

“Shoot me now,” Alan says when the song ends. We all clap, which quickly morphs into cheers for Sandra and Tyrone.

“Am I allowed to speak now?” Charles kisses Alan on the cheek. “Aw, are you okay, babe?”

“It’s just this beautiful full circle moment,” Alan says. “Bianca Bankole covering Isabel Adler’s greatest hit.” He stretches his arm toward Mac. “Wow. I’m speechless, Mac. Best choice ever.”

“I had very little to do with any of this.” Mac takes Alan’s hand in hers and gives it a squeeze. Did she swallow a lump in her throat? Now that I’m getting a good look at her face, it’s obvious she’s moved by this moment. Warmth blooms in my chest at the sight of her.

“Isabel Adler started recording again after her new partner, Leila, introduced her to the music of Bianca Bankole,” Charles mansplains to me—even a kind man like him can’t help himself. “It’s all in her biography, which Leila wrote—and Alan has probably memorized by now.”

“I read her biography, darling,” I say.

“You did?” Mac asks, much in the same way I questioned her taste in music earlier. “You never liked Isabel Adler when we were together.”

Alan shakes his head as though I’ve committed the biggest sin in the universe.

“Maybe not, but I sure was interested when she started sleeping with her female biographer.”

Mac tilts her head as she looks me straight in the eye for the first time since this morning. Something shoots through me and I don’t know if it’s shame or guilt or something else entirely. This whole trip is so emotionally confusing, I’ll need another vacation to recover from it.

Around us, more and more people are being coaxed onto the dance floor. It’s only a matter of seconds before Alan and Mac make their move. I watch them go.

“Not keen on dancing?” Charles asks when we’re alone. “I have terrible rhythm. I don’t feel the music the way Alan does. It’s just not in me. I need a bit more time before I can let go.”

“I’ll watch from the sidelines with you.” I stare at the dance floor. Alan’s twirling Mac around already. How the hell can she even stay upright in those heels, and why is she even wearing them? Didn’t we used to rail against suffering from sore feet just because some man, who never had to wear an uncomfortable shoe in his life, one day decided women’s calves look sexier when they’re wearing heels? I do agree with whomever that man was, because Mac looks so fucking sexy, it’s starting to tear me up inside—and not just because it makes me feel like a bad feminist.

“Has Mac said anything to you?” I ask Charles. “About me? About… us?”

Charles shakes his head. “We’ve only just met. If she had anything to say, she’d talk to Alan—although he would tell me if she had.”

Mac has let go of Alan and is dancing on her own, arms in the air, hips shaking seductively.

“Are you okay, James?” Charles asks. “You look a bit… I don’t know. As if you’re decompressing already.”

“Being here with her has thrown me for a massive loop. I didn’t think it would still be so confrontational after all this time.”

“The great loves of our life always are, no matter how much time passes,” Charles muses, then throws an arm around me.

Loves, plural? If only, I think.

Chapter 7

Mac

Because I’ve had a few glasses of wine, I can at least pretend to dance as if no one’s watching, although I can feel Jamie’s eyes on me with every move I make. Throughout dinner, every time I glanced at her, she was watching me. My experience of sitting through hours of live sports broadcasting came in very handy when I had to pretend I didn’t notice. And it is pleasing in some petty way, because part of me wants her to suffer a little when she looks at me, when she sees what she lost. That’s why my hips have an extra sway right now. That’s why, when I turn to our table, I let my gaze linger longer than I’ve done all day.

Oh, great. Teddy, Tyrone’s father, is dancing his way toward me. The man’s got moves and we are at a wedding, but he obviously also has a bit of a thing for me. Tyrone’s mother is holding court at the main table, presiding over it like a queen. Maybe for that reason, Teddy just bops around me for a bit without striking up a conversation. This, I don’t mind.

Although mostly pleasant, sitting at a table with Jamie for the better part of three hours has been taxing. So I happily dance the awkwardness off me. Everyone on the floor is happy. The vibe is joyful. After a few songs, I may even say something to Jamie about this morning. About how big of a lie it was when I told her that I didn’t care about her feelings.

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