Prologue
It all started with a simple introduction… actually, a teenage introduction, one where the sixteen-year-old girl tries to meet the maturity level expected. That night at the rehearsal dinner, she felt obligated to make conversation with people she had only met once or twice, usually in regards to nothing but the countless activities she participates in through school. Dolled up in her navy blue dress sprinkled with polka dots, she greeted the guests just like a good sister of the bride should. She approached this boy in the doorway. He practically towered over her. The boy nodded, perhaps taken aback as she shook his hand. Then she proceeded to greet the others, not thinking too much about him, but still remembering he’s behind her. During their hello and goodbye, small talk finally didn't seem required, for flattery took over.
She will start to see him as good looking, sweet, and funny, but will soon adore him for being overwhelmingly exciting and hilarious, all in the span of a month. A month of summer: the time of year where kids are encouraged to spend endless amounts of time together, flirting mindlessly with no strings attached. Although, in their case, there are several strings so thick they can only hang from family ties.
Chapter 1
“You can think my brother is hot, but you can’t do anything about it,” Opus teases Clea. Clea knows Opus well enough to understand his humor, but this time it’s different. It’s evident Opus is not joking. Clea remembers that she’ll be Opus's sister-in-law in twenty-four hours, so she decides to challenge him, just like a sister should: “Watch me.”
Yeah right. Like Clea-doesn’t-even-swear-goody-two-shoes is gonna make a move on he-just-returned-from-a-gap-year-in-Greece-Fletcher. Opus and Clea both smile at each other because the thought is just so ridiculous. Everyone else in the kitchen is silent with beaming faces of excitement. Their smiles are so tight words can’t escape through their teeth, for tomorrow is the big day: Willow and Opus will be exchanging rings and vows in front of two hundred people beneath New York City’s sky.
However, along with the hype comes the stress. The kitchen table is covered to the edges with last minute party favors and fabric. Willow, busily finishing the DIY projects casually, asks “You know what Fletcher said to me last night?” obviously directing the question to her younger sister. Clea shrugs. “He said that you were out of his league. And then he was like ‘do you think she’ll even dance with me at the wedding?’”
Just the thought of a nineteen-year-old boy having those thoughts about her makes Clea feel like a total babe, the kind of girl that doesn’t have to worry about having a date to the prom next year. The kind of concern that runs through every girls’ mind, especially the average looking ones.
While Clea was born to blend in, Willow wasn’t. She measures at about 5’10’’ topped off with long locks and a bold personality, not shy to question anything. Willow is an open book, and Clea is more honest with her sister than anyone else. Well, at least that’s how she used to be.
***
“It was such a lovely ceremony. I absolutely loved how…” Clea tunes the voices out. Her neighbor, one of the many people who pulled her aside, continues to compliment Willow’s beauty and Opus’s vows. Cocktail music is serving as a soundtrack to the guests’ laughter. Clea looks around and doesn’t spot the familiar shade of the bridesmaid dresses anywhere. She looks again. No one to be found. Great. Immediately, she finds the coordinator. “What are you still doing here, Clea? The limo just left with the photographer and everyone in the bridal party.” Except they forgot the maid of honor.
Clea doesn’t wait for her to finish. She kicks off her heels and runs up Park Avenue. Her up-do starts to come loose. The petals fall from her bouquet. She races down the city street, people mockingly screaming congratulations from a far, as if she were a runaway bride. Trying not to create more of a scene, Clea restrains herself from screaming at the limo in the distance. She can stay quiet, but she sure can’t stay still, flailing her arms wildly above her head. When she finally catches up to the vehicle at a stop light, Clea grabs the first open seat. In the corner of her eye, she sees blonde hair next to her, the kind so light it could only be lightened by Grecian sun.
***
His smile. That’s all she can remember. His big, goofy, white, boastful smile only inches from hers. At first, they can’t stop laughing over the fact of Clea missing the limo. Then they move on with the conversation. Luckily, it flows easily.
They come to a stop and get out of the limo. Separating, Clea begins to stick with Willow, loyally holding her veil so it doesn’t sweep the city streets. The exact setting: Central Park, May 27th with just the right amount of clouds, so people aren’t squinting in the pictures. With a few extra minutes, everyone takes a breath, soaking up the pre-reception moments. Walking beside Fletcher, trying to stay the perfect amount away from him, is like being in the company of a cute classmate on a field trip. Except Fletcher is nothing like a school boy. His charm makes it impossible to picture him like that.
When the majority of the pictures are taken, the bridal party is allowed to relax. However, Willow and Opus begin to take their couple shots, so Clea is released from her veil holding duty. She joins the rest of the group. “That was a close call, right Clea?” Confused, Clea questions the fellow bridesmaid. “I’m talking about you missing the limo, silly.” She giggles. “We wouldn’t have turned around if Fletcher hadn’t said anything.” At first, Clea doesn’t think she heard correctly. Her heart starts to race. He noticed I was gone? “Well I guess he’s my hero then,” Clea desperately tries to play it off. “Is that true, Fletcher?” she asks in her best flirtatious tone. More people are listening now. “Yeah, I knew that Willow’s little sister was supposed to be with us, so I just…” he trails off. Clea is rather bothered by that sentence because she is more than Willow’s little sister, and she is eager to prove it.
***
Clea brushes against Fletcher walking in between tables. They lock eyes and start approaching the bar together. He orders a Long Island ice tea, a drink familiar to Clea only from television. He offers to get her one too. Seriously considering having one, she asks what’s in it. “Straight up vodka with a splash of iced tea. ” He looks impressed with himself, too proud but still strikingly handsome. The bartender eyes him suspiciously. She corrects Fletcher. “Actually, it’s made with gin, rum, and tequila as well,” obviously realizing this boy before her is not legal. He doesn’t seem phased as he struts with the drink confidently in his right hand. Clea has a feeling this routine isn’t new for him. Clea walks away with a soda, her usual Diet Coke because that glass of wine at dinner was enough for her. She wants to be completely aware tonight, for she’s anticipated it for so long. She doesn’t want to ruin it in an effort to impress Fletcher who won’t even remember her by morning. Outside, the music begins to get louder. People start rising from their chairs, heading towards the dance floor. Fletcher looks into Clea’s eyes and questions, “Will you save me a dance tonight?” his words slightly slurred. Clea replies, “Of course.” He turns away just in time to miss Clea blush.
Dessert is served. The guests send Willow and Opus off. The band plays their last song. The night rushes by.
***
Clea helps to clear out the venue and get things together. She starts to package Willow’s wedding dress in the bridal suite when Gwyneth, Opus’s sister-in-law walks in. She’s the kind of young woman with a smile that could light up the room, and because of that she instantly became a good friend of Willow’s.
Luckily, she is willing to assist Clea in cleaning up. “If Fletcher calls you, you should let me know because he is…” She tries to complete her thought. “How do I say this? Fletcher is not made for girls. Don’t get me wrong. He’s lovely, just not made for girls.”
Clea knew where this comment stemmed from. Earlier tonight, she saw Fletcher and Gwyneth talking from afar. He was showing her a Polaroid picture taken by one of the guests. In the photograph, Fletcher is holding up a glass, cheering to luck, hoping for a good time. Clea, hand on hip along with a big smile, is in bliss standing amongst everyone she knows and loves. Fletcher flaunts the picture, a picture that summarizes the night perfectly. He is under the influence, and she is under his spell. When Gwyneth saw the Polaroid, she teasingly took her two fingers, pointed to her own eyes, then to Fetcher, reminding him that she’s always watching.
Obviously, Gwyneth’s statement triggers so many questions which Clea is dying to ask, but she decides to brush it off, letting Gwyneth believe Fletcher is the furthest thing from her mind. She shrugs and replies “Oh, don’t worry. That’s not going to happen.” It turns out to be true. Well, partially true at least. He didn’t exactly call.
***
The next morning, reality sets in. The wedding is over. Willow is married. Life will go back to normal. When arriving home from the hotel, Clea collapses on to her bed, a spot very much missed. She leans over the side and picks her computer up off the floor, logs onto Facebook, and clicks on her messages.
Clea then sees six words that will change everything that summer, a sentence realists would think is cliche, while romantics would believe it’s nothing short of breathtaking.
You still owe me that dance.
