The Best Woman ╱ Chapter Five

TEN YEARS AGO

Lines encompass her ruby red lips. Her skin is like soft leather. Her eyes, so very kind and the exact same shade at Lucky's. Her hair, once a vibrant shade of auburn, is now a withering white. The doctors told her it wouldn't be best to continue dyeing the strands.

            I'm sat at the base of her rocking chair, my bottom bony against the cherry wood deck. Lucky's still at baseball practice and abuela sent me to his nana's with a freshly curated Chocoflan. I helped her make it. It's Nana's favorite.

            She's wearing her favorite lavender night gown with a sheer, floral floor length cardigan to match. She's always been a stylish woman. If I could compare her to anyone, it'd be Blanche Devereaux. She's got the same spunk, sex appeal, and valor. An emerald ring gleams against the falling sun. The gold band is dainty in comparison to the many other rings adorning her manicured fingers.

            "That ring sure is pretty, Celia." I admire the ring blissfully.

            She takes a few short tokes from her "magic pipe" is what she calls it, helps with the nausea. She got diagnosed with stage four breast cancer a year ago. She stopped all treatments a few weeks ago. The family was in an uproar, but Celia—all graced and poised—said, "I've lived a beautiful life. I can't handle those treatments, and I won't turn into a woman I can no longer recognize, or leave y'all with that image of me. Now, I'm going out for a smoke. Don't sit here and sulk about it."

Lucky sits with me by the creek sometimes and sulks about it quite a bit. His fists clenched along the hem of my sundress, eyes stained a deep red, and jaw wound as tight as fiddle string.

Celia exhales a cloud of smoke, before outstretching her arm and fingers, her eyes coasting over the jeweled surface. They flit over to me and a large grin forms on her lips, "Not as pretty as you, my dear."

PRESENT DAY

            The soles of our shoes scuff against the cement. I tip my head back to admire the cloudless sky. I can feel it at the nape of my neck, the rain shower meant for this evening. As we round the corner of E. Nantucket, Lucky's voice filtering through my ears with tales from the big city, I spot our destination.

Meryl's Menswear.

Suit shopping. Apparently this is filed under the category of Musts as a Lucky's appointed best woman.

I feel his shoulder nudge against my own, knocking me out of my inward daze. My brows shoot up as I flit my eyes over to him, his expression that of confusion. His lips tip upward at the ends, smirking.

"I lost you, where'd you go just then?" he asks, his hands sliding into the pockets of his pants.

I widen my eyes and give my head a shake, as if to visually realign my wandering mind, "Just thinking of all there's left to do in such a short amount of time."

I nearly slice my lip in half, internally cursing myself for the slight dig. Lucky's expression melts into that of contentment, clearly unaffected or unaware of my verbal intent.

"There's the two of us? We were the best partners in school, projects always stamped with an A, A+ whenever I'd dig my head out of my ass and let you take the lead. This project will be no different." he explains, his tone of voice nonchalant while mine resembles that of a quiver.

"This isn't just a project." I murmur.

"What was that?" he inquires with his neck craned, arms now clasped behind his back. He reminds me of his grandfather. Proper and a bit intimidating, except he's being unintentional about it.

I tuck a few strands of hair behind my ears, "What do you mean the two of us? What about Imogen?" I'm a lot of things, sometimes spiteful can be one of them.

"Isabel," he corrects coolly. "She's busy doing lawyer stuff, so she won't be able to help with a lot of this stuff, y' know? That's why," he collides lightly with my shoulder again as we wait for the queue to cross the street, "I recruited you, my dearest and bestest friend."

Talk about a knife straight to the heart. Ridiculous, I know, as if the engagement wasn't a star-studded sign that screams: Friends, that's all we ever were! That's all we'll ever be.

I force a smile, "I'm flattered." My lips flatten, but before I can part them again to speak, the walkway sign flashes and Lucky grasps my hand, glances both ways, and tugs our bodies along the asphalt toward the menswear shop.

When we hop up onto the sidewalk, the words propel from my throat and bounce right off of my tongue, "But she can't set work aside? I mean, this is a once in a lifetime kind of thing."

"Not always." Lucky murmurs.

I'm taken aback. With brows furrowed, I avert my eyes toward him, "In both of your cases it is though, right?"

His body recoils as if my words had physically scorched him. "Of course, why would you ask that?"

My cheeks ignite, undoubtedly becoming streaked with blotches of red. "I-I just, I was just reiterating my point. This is a once in a lifetime kind of thing. If it's expected to last, then it should be cherished."

I watch his expression contort, a dozen emotions seeming to pass through. I continue to fumble over my words, eager to explain in a way that isn't conveying ignorance, until I'm a mere blubbering heap. I palm my eyes, digging and digging, then remove them and give my head a shake.

Exhaling a nervous laugh, I rub my fingers along the side of my neck, and down to my collarbones where I eventually rest them. I sneak a peek at the skin covering my chest, watching as it collects with large splotches of pink.

"I don't mean to pry, or offend you in any way. Isabel, either. I'd never—God, I-I—"

I muster the courage to lift my eyes, meeting his gaze, which isn't filled with rage and pointed away from me as expected, but instead zeroed in on my chest. His expression softens and he steps toward me, a small smile coming to life on his lips. My lungs deflate. The nervousness shifts from flustered, to full-fledged embarrassment.

I shield my chest, flitting my eyes toward our journey's end, entirely constructed with burnt clay bricks and a vast display window complete with various styles of lavish-looking suits. Some had neckties, some had bowties, some were blue, some were gray, others black and even cream, my personal favorite. There were some fitted slim, others classic.

Truthfully, I couldn't care less about each and every one, but considering the circumstances, I become wholly transfixed by them.

His aroma surrounds me as he edges closer. His arms appear in my peripheral vision and reach out to take hold of me. I turn my head toward him quickly just as his fingers skate along my collarbone. It's light at first, like a feather, but eventually his palm is flattened against my collarbone, his long fingers curled around my shoulder. His eyes are focused, seemingly concerned.

"Mags, it's okay. You caught me off guard, I didn't mean to upset you."

"I didn't mean to upset you." I blurt out. His touch both burns and heals me right through. My skin remains an inflamed mess, as well as my mind, but my heartbeat is no longer bordering on dangerous levels.

"You didn't, I just—" I watch a battle ensue behind his ice-colored lenses, in that expansive mind of his I'd like to thoroughly pick apart, before they press shut in quiet deliberation. He removes his hands from my skin. I exhale a breath.

When his eyes reopen, they pierce straight through me, "I'm a little on edge. You can tell, can't you? Sometimes it feels like you can see straight through me, like I'm a glasshouse and you're visible light."

I bite back a laugh. Sometimes it feels like you can rifle through my mind with ease, like I'm an open book and you're the heaviest reader. "You're more of a maze than a glasshouse, Luther James."

He appears bashful at my perspective, his arm hovering so that his fingers can trace the outer edge of the backside of his head. Do not look at his forearms, do not look at his forearms, I silently and inwardly battle with myself.

I sneak a peek anyway, and am immediately filled with regret. And copious amounts of guilt.

He's an engaged man. But he was the love of your life. (Yoo-hoo! He still is.)

I feel the warmth of his skin again. His pinky's latched onto mine and he's drawing me closer. I peer up at him, "You disappeared on me again." he mumbles, his tone more serious than before.

"Where do you keep going? It's like you want to be anywhere else than here with me. You weren't busy today and lied to me about, did you?"

I shake my head, "No, I'm sorry, just didn't get much sleep last night," I give my body a shake, strum my lips for a beat all while blinking rapidly, until I finally settle into a more normal state of being. "Let's just forget about this entire morning, pretend we're just now meeting up, and get you all settled in a nice suit that Isabel's gonna eat you right up in."

My choice of words evokes an internal cringe that I attempt to smile through. I watch as Lucky studies me closely, before granting me some relief with a nod. A smile blossoms on his lips, his arm lifting yet again, only this time it lands across my shoulders.

"Thanks for meeting me here so early, Mags." he says, seemingly going along with my proposition.

"Nowhere else I'd rather be, Luck." I exhale.

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