All This Time

33 ⦿ in which i'm shattered

The dinner party goes off without a hitch. And considering my own exacting standards, that's saying something. 

The tablecloth was draped over Wolf's typically bare dining table and with Wolf on one side and me on the other, we tugged the fabric taut until we were both satisfied that it was even. I set the table with the round rattan plate chargers and when my back was turned getting the silver candelabras, Wolf replaced them with gold melamine chargers. 

Now that dinner is over, we can laugh about it without remembering how quick we had been to bite each other's heads off deciding what color the napkins should be, ruby-red or ivory-white.

"The place settings were so pretty, though!" Graeme says with a laugh, throwing her head back to accommodate a generous swallow of wine. "It's so weird to think they were a battleground."

"Excellent wine," congratulates Xander, giving his half-full wine goblet a speculative look as he wraps an arm around the back of Graeme's chair. She leans into his one-armed hug with a soft, dreamy smile and drops her head onto his shoulder.

Plates scraped free of food, soiled napkins, and empty wine bottles litter the table. The room is aglow with flickering candlelight and the dim light of wall sconces. Rivulets of wax slide down the sides of the candlesticks, solidifying into little nubs before they reach the bottom. Shadows leap from faces to walls, casting us all in an ephemeral glow. 

For that moment, it feels so right to be there with all of them. Happiness is pungent - inhaled through my nose and slipping into my blood and bone, sending little shocks of satisfaction as it finds its home inside me. I never want tonight to end.

Wolf smirks his victory—he had been in charge of the wine selection—and raises his own glass to Xander in a silent toast, much to my own grumpiness.

"Battleground implies I even had a chance at winning," I retort, cheeks flushed with too much rich, buttery food and two glasses too many of Wolf's excellent—fine, I admit it—wine. "He," I say, pointing an accusing finger at Wolf, "is a far better hostess than I'll ever be." 

Opposite me, at the far end of the table, Wolf rolls his eyes at the word "hostess".

Everyone laughs, even Levi, who has been uncharacteristically silent tonight. His eyes meet mine in amusement, but as I watch, the merriment dissolves and leaves behind something more serious in its place. He leans forward, his elbows on the dining table, scrunching the tablecloth upward.

"I'll take that compliment with the drunken graciousness you intended it," says Wolf, the briefest of smiles cracking his face, drawing my attention back to him.

I'm transfixed by the way a dimple forms in his cheeks when he deigns to smile. I want to press a kiss against it as if to say you're mine, I want you to be mine and I want to be yours. The candlelight is beautiful, yes, but nothing in that instant can match the radiance of his smile. 

I feel a smile creeping onto my face in return, slow and languid, like my wine-soaked limbs, and he notices. Everything is silent and perfect. A lot of people talk about this so-called "perfect" moment, and it usually has to do with romantic rendezvous with their significant other, but for me, my perfect moment is this. Here. Now.

The people around me who have somehow wheeled and dealed their way into my life. The people who were there for me beyond the normal bonds of friendship, setting the yardstick for all future friendships.

Levi, seated next to me, sees my face. He glances at Wolf, then back at me, and I think he knows.

To my other side, Xander and Graeme, the first of us to set off on our journey of adulthood, are too wrapped up in each other to pay attention.

But Levi does.

"It's good you two didn't kill each other, at any rate," he says. His smile looks forced as he reaches for the nearest bottle of wine. Finding it empty, he extends his hand across the table to beckon for the still-full bottle next to Wolf. 

I watch as Wolf passes him the bottle, the moment feeling heavy and momentous. No one else seems to notice, but this feels like the moment that everything will change. After filling his glass to the top, Levi replaces the bottle on the table in the no man's land between Wolf and himself.

"Mhm," Wolf agrees. His eyes land heavily on me, smoldering like liquid mercury.

"Excuse me, I need to wash my hands," says Xander, getting up from the table, gently prying himself from Graeme.

"And then there were four," intones Graeme in a deep, ominous voice like the voice-over for a murder mystery.

"I'm thinking about getting away for a little while," says Levi in a tone so matter-of-fact that all three of us lurch in our seats. 

"What?" I exclaim, eyebrows shooting to my hairline. "Why?"

At the same time, there is a chorus of "Why's" from Wolf and his sister, both of whom look as shocked as I do.

"A change of scenery." Levi shrugs. "I'm starting to feel a little stifled in New York. My art feels stymied and stale."

"Not according to the art world and every critic worth his salt!" I say, puffing my cheeks at him.

"How?" Graeme asks on the heels of my protest, her rosebud mouth pursed in indignation. "You live in one of the most exclusive zip codes!" she says, very much in the tone of someone who can't believe that there's life outside of New York. A philosophy most New Yorkers seem to share, I've noticed.

"Well, you know, I'm not really a native," Levi says. "I don't have the same attachment to New York like you guys have."

With a sudden pang of awareness, I realize that he's considering me as "you guys". Somehow, in the back of my mind, I had always considered Levi a constant. He is as New York to me as the vendors who hawk their hot dogs in Central Park or the flannel-wearing twenty-something hipsters in Bed-Stuy.

"Where would you go?" I say finally, trying to muster up the words without my voice cracking. What I mean to say is Why are you leaving? If I'm being really honest with myself, I've left a word out of that sentence. Why are you leaving me?

"I don't know. I'm young. I'm"—he ducks his head, training his eyes on his plate with a studious look—"rich." With a look of vague embarrassment he raises his head. "What better time to travel?"

"Good for you." Wolf calmly pours himself another glass of wine. "Where were you thinking? France? Spain?"

"Or something closer to home, like Martha's Vineyard?" suggests Graeme, her eyes lighting up at the suggestion. "Oh, what if we have the wedding there!" She grabs her phone from where it's resting next to her napkin and her fingers fly across the screen, undoubtedly hunting for possible wedding venues along the beach.

"We have a home there," Wolf says in an agreeable voice. "I'm sure we could have the staff air out the house for you if you'd like to reside there for the summer."

Still dissatisfied with what I feel is Levi's incredibly lackluster excuse for why he wants to leave New York, I open my mouth to say something, but he beats me to it.

"Summer?" He gives a rueful shake of his head. "That's still months away." He lets the bomb drop, shattering my perfect moment with painful precision. "I was thinking of leaving right after the gallery exhibition."

The exhibition is in three days.

Author's Note: Hey-o, lovely readers! As a thank-you for your unstinting support towards me and this story, I updated again this week! I really hope you enjoy this chapter :) And please, don't forget to leave me a comment! I would love to know what you guys think. Not only is it heartwarming to see a new notification pop up, but it's also really good for me to know what I could do to improve it for its second draft. Thanks!