Paper Hearts

13

The sky was dark and clear, the stars appearing in its murky depths, merely pinpoints of light from where I stood on the porch, breathing in the weirdly sweet scent of honeysuckle and asphalt. Behind me, the lights were still on in the kitchen, and I heard Dad fumbling around with silverware, cursing under his breath when something hit the floor with a loud clang.

"Vicki!" he called, and I obliged, turning to enter the house once more.

But, before I knew it, he was already there, standing in the doorway, opening the door to let himself out.

"I have something to tell you." He said, somewhat breathlessly, and I arched a brow.

"Yeah?"

He shoved a slip of canvas paper into my hand, and I took it, somewhat suspicious. Lowering my gaze, I read,

YOU'RE INVITED!

Join us to celebrate the marriage of Laurie Hemmings and Daniel Matthews

October the Fourth, Two-Thousand and Sixteen

1315 Palmetto Drive

Anna Maria Island, Florida

RSVP at cherylcrowe@amiweddings.com

SAVE THE DATE!

I looked up, my chest constricting slightly as I watched Dad hold up his own wedding invitation, his eyes downcast.

"It's really happening," I said, pushing the words through a lighthearted laugh. "I—I can't believe it."

He nodded, and then went silent for a moment, inhaling a deep breath from his nose.

"Look...Vicki..."

He paused, his forehead creasing, as if whatever he had to say next was physically paining him. I just stood there, waiting, my hand clenched around my mother's fancy, gold-embroidered invitation.

"What is it?" I asked finally, and my voice came out sharper than intended, but I didn't care.

Finally, Dad looked up, blowing out a breath.

"I'm not going." He muttered, and it was as if someone had just drenched me in a bucket of ice water. My whole body stiffened; I wasn't sure if I'd heard him correctly.

"What?" I asked, even though the statement didn't exactly need clarification.

"You heard me."

"But—"

"I can't, Vicki." He said, shutting his eyes tightly. "I can't—I can't watch the woman I loved go and get married to the guy she left us for. It's unfair of you to think that I would be willing to do that."

"Unfair for you?" I demanded, my voice hysterical. "What about me, Dad? Do you think this is easy for me? I hardly even know her. And—and she just ran off!"

I paused, trying to recollect my emotions, unable to reign in the anger and sadness and pain that coursed through me, through every cell in my body.

"I grew up without a mom," I said, tears beginning to prick at the corners of my eyes. "But—despite all of that—I'm going to her wedding. Because I want her to know that I love her, no matter what, even if she doesn't love me."

"She loves you," he protested, but I shook my head, cutting him off.

"Does she, Dad? Because she hardly ever calls. And she never asks how I'm doing. And she's only ever worried about me if I'm single."

"That's not true," he said, although we both knew it was.

"I'm going." I told him, my voice flat, devoid of emotion. "And I'm sorry that you can't find it within yourself to come, too. Not for Mom. You don't have to come for Mom. But for me. I'm sorry that you can't find it within yourself to be an actual parent, because God knows you're the only one I have left."

I turned from him then, wrenching the door back open and stepping inside. Before I could close it, however, Dad's hand was wrapped around my wrist.

"Hey," he said, his voice a low, menacing growl. "You have no right to speak to me that way. I am your father, and you must respect me."

"Yes, sir." I said, my voice cold and sharp, and he let go. I slammed the door shut, hard enough so that the glass panes trembled with the impact.

When I realized that I was still holding the invitation, I walked briskly to the trash can, not even bothering to reread the words as I tore it in half, and then smaller, and then smaller—until the reminder of my mother's newfound happiness was nothing more than scraps of paper in the palm of my hand. I hated her. I hated my mother for ruining everything, even when she wasn't even there.

I tossed the remnants into the trash and stalked back to my room, taking the steps two at a time, and slamming the bedroom door with equal force, if only to make a point of my frustration.

I sat on the edge of my bed, fighting back tears as I opened up my recent calls and pressed Luke's phone number.

He picked up after three rings, his voice slightly scratchy as he said,

"Victoria?"

"Yeah. Hi." I replied, and I hated myself for sounding like I was about cry. Which, coincidentally, I was.

"What's wrong?" he asked, and I tried to laugh, but it came out more pathetic than anything else.

"Um..." I said, my voice trailing off. "It's my dad. He...he doesn't want to come."

There was silence. One, two, three beats. And then he spoke.

"Victoria, I'm so sorry. That's—awful."

"It's okay." I replied quickly. "I guess that just means it's going to be you and me, then. Which works out, you know, because he's never met you, and he'd be able to tell that I was lying—and all that."

"But still," Luke protested, the sympathy in his voice growing. "That's not fair. He should be there to support you through it, because—"

"Luke, I told him all that. I tried to tell him that I—that I don't want to be the only Hemmings there, but he won't listen."

"But that's so—"

"I know."

He let out a sigh.

"So what are we going to do?"

"We're just going to have to go by ourselves. Have—have you cleared everything up with your parents?"

I was surprised when he answered "yes".

"Really?" I asked, incredulous. "What—what could you possibly tell them that would convince them to let you go?"

"I think they're just happy to have me out of town for a week. And I didn't exactly give them every little detail. I just told them that I'm going down to the beach with some friends for fall break. That's all."

"And—and they're okay with it?"

"Yeah, of course. I mean, what they don't know won't hurt them, right?"

"Right." I said, and I felt myself unwind a little, beginning to calm down, beginning to sort things out in my head. "Okay. So it will be me and you, headed down to Florida on October third. And we'll get back on the eighth."

"Sounds like a plan." He said, and I couldn't help but smile to myself.

"I got the invitation today," I said, and there was a slight pause. "I—I kind of tore it up, but I remember the details. Apparently Daniel lives on an island."

"Which island?"

"Anna Maria," I replied, and he made a vague noise of recognition.

"I know that place. It's a ways down from Sarasota."

"Yeah, well," I replied flatly, "I've never been to Florida. Or out of the state, rather."

"You've never been out of Kentucky?"

"Maybe once, when I was little, to go see my aunt in Alabama. But other than that, never."

"Christ, Hemmings. We need to get you out of here."

At this, I laughed. "That should happen soon enough."

"Yeah."

After that, we fell into silence, and I closed my eyes, enjoying the ease of his breathing mingling with mine over the receiver. Peace and quiet was something I rarely had, and just for a moment, I was actually in the mood to enjoy it.

"Victoria," Luke's voice came through once more, snapping me out of my stupor. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah." I said quickly, "Yeah, I'll—I'll be fine."

"Okay," he said finally. "I'm going to hang up now."

"Alright. See you tomorrow."

"Four o' clock sharp," he replied jokingly. "I'm looking forward to it."

"Me, too," I said, and I meant it.