Page 35 of The Moon Also Rises
“Yes, and I take full credit, of course.”
I nudge him before I move to stand. “Come on, Forester. I think you’re allowed another glass of champagne now.”
“Fair wedding guests!” The Town Crier’s voice calls out from behind us. “Your presence is required on the terrace once more as we release twenty-eight white doves into the air, the number signifying today’s date.”
“Oh, for fucking fuckity fuck’s sake,” Jake drawls barely under his breath and I almost give myself an injury with how quickly I spin to give him an admonishing look. He holds his hands up and his smile is full of mischief and playfulness.
“Okay, starting now!”
*****
As it happens, when we’re back on the terrace Jake doesn’t reach for another glass of champagne and instead joins me in drinking orange juice. He also surprises me when the light scoff he makes as the doves are released and fly high in the sky isn’t accompanied by a sharp-edged comment. And when we are encouraged to mingle once more with the guests, all while we sporadically watch Lionel and Luigi have their photos taken in the gardens below, Jake is indeed the social butterfly he promised he would be.
When it’s time for a group photo, everyone is invited to stand at the bottom of the stone steps. When I see couples all around me holding hands or wrapping their arms around their partners, I speak into Jake’s ear.
“I’m going to put my arm around you, Lover Boy,” I say. “Just for the photo.”
Jake’s groan is too loud to be genuine revulsion, at least that’s what I tell myself. “If you must,” he sighs. But when it comes time for the photo to be taken I feel a bit more of his weight lean against me. I turn and see his smile is broad and bright. I suspect mine is too, because I like having my arm draped around his back a bit too much. As the photographer barks a few more orders for people to make adjustments to their positions, I reassure myself I only feel this way because in recent years I’ve been so starved of intimacy, companionship, or anything remotely representing affection or fondness with someone I’m not related to by blood.
However, I’m questioning this again an hour or so later when we’re eating dinner and talking with the couple next to us. Marco and Salvatore are from Sorrento where Luigi has one of his summer houses, the plurality of his holiday accommodations not missing an eye roll from Jake. Marco tells us all a story about Luigi at university and after he delivers the – frankly uninspired – punchline and we all laugh, Salvatore covers his husband’s hand on the table. It’s while I watch their joined hands that I feel a warmth cover mine. I can’t stop myself turning to Jake to see if he did it because he wants something, but he’s still laughing – albeit in an undeniably forced way – and his eyebrows quickly bounce once in a way that is almost warning.Right, don’t draw attention to it.Instead, I flip my hand over so I can hold his hand properly, interlocking our fingers.
I don’t know how long we hold hands for, but I know by the time Lionel is giving his speech, my right hand is free again for me to go into my jacket pocket and retrieve another tissue for Jake.
“God, that was so sweet,” he says, his voice cracking in more than one place as he wipes at his eyes. “This wedding is turning me into a puddle. Thank God I opted not to wear mascara today.”
After the speeches, we are invited to vacate the ballroom and go to the bar. I accompany Jake to the bar where he orders a glass of wine, and possibly flirts a little with the bartender. I indicate a free table for us to sit at but Jake has another idea.
“Let’s go outside, it’s far too noisy in here with all these annoyingly attractive people enjoying themselves.”
Once out on the terrace, I follow Jake to stand close to the stone balustrade wall that looks out over the gardens. I take a few moments to close my eyes and tap into all of my senses. I feel the same warm air on my skin. I hear the murmurings of chatter all around us. I taste the zing from the orange juice I just sipped. I smell the same floral scents I did earlier as we walked through the garden, and there’s also something else, something a little citrusy, a little airy or earthy and possibly even fruity too. It takes me a moment to realise what I’m smelling, what I’m actively breathing in deeply to inhale more of, is Jake. My eyes are not yet open when Jake asks the one question I hoped he'd never ask.
“So, California, huh? What exactly were you doing out there?”
I’m grateful my eyes are already closed. It gives me a moment to compose myself before I reply, or rather, before I stretch the truth to its absolute limits.
“I moved out there for work, mostly.”
“Doing the same job? Events?”
“Sort of.” I turn so I can rest my back on the stone wall and avoid looking at his curious expression.
Jake doesn’t miss anything. “Hmm. You’re being cagey. That makes me think there’s some big dark secret about California you’re trying to keep from me.”
“It’s not like that,” I say, I put my drink down on the stone wall and tuck my hands in my pockets. “It’s more like… Well. The thing is… I had a bad break-up.”
“In California?”
“Yes.”
“Is that why you left?”
“Yes,” I say, and it does feel good not to lie, even if it’s not the whole truth.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Jake says. “Break-ups suck.”
“This one really did,” I admit. “We still don’t speak. I find that hard.”
“You broke up with her?”
