The call came on a Tuesday afternoon. Her phone buzzed with an area code that tugged at the edges of her memory. Unfortunately, it interrupted the quiet rhythm of Renée's writing. But there was no use crying over spilt ink.
"Ms. Laurent?"
The voice on the other end was bright and very official.
"Speaking."
She responded immediately while setting down her fountain pen. The manuscript draft would wait. It would have to. The thoughts she had been engaged in were scattered to hell already.
"We're confirming your attendance for the Rodriguez-Francis wedding. You're listed as a confirmed guest, but we haven't received your official RSVP. The destination wedding is in three months, on a private island off Puerto Rico."
A wedding planner's enthusiasm. Suffocating and infectious. Renée's fingers traced the edge of her notebook - a bit of a nervous tick.
Destination weddings weren't typically her scene. Too much social performance, too many expectations. No one should be subjected to drunks and dancing at an event you couldn't just leave from.
"Who is getting married exactly?"
She asked... though a recognition was already at the back of her mind. One of the last names was ringing a bell. Of course, she hoped it would... and that people she did not know would never list her to attend their events.
"Leana Rodriguez and Marcus Francis. I believe you know Leana from your university writing group?"
[Ah. Yes.]
Renée remembered the journalist student. Someone who'd been part of their larger social circle in the university during... well. During that time.
"I'll send out the RSVP today."
The wedding planner continued, detailing logistics. Renée pretended to listen, but her mind was already elsewhere. It was impossible not to wonder about a guest list from someone she knew back then.
About who *else* might be attending.
It was an event where she would have to dress up and make small talk. Something she was perfectly capable of doing, but often doubted that anyone liked as much as they claimed.
"Thank you, Ms. Laurent. We look forward to seeing you there!"
"And I look forward to being there."
Renée hung up. Then she stared at the wall like it was about to go somewhere if she didn't.
There were two options, as far as she was concerned. She could politely decline despite what she told the planner and save herself the trouble. Or she could go and probably make a nuisance of herself.
She wanted to be that person. The one that could not remember the last time they'd seen a classmate from those years. That got 'excited' about the prospect of seeing them again.
[I'm sure my therapist has it all written down. Just as I'm sure... I know it without asking her.]
It was a sort of macabre anniversary that she kept track of. She knew the date by heart. The time and the place. The two people involved. And all the little things she hadn't thought were important enough to keep track of until they were gone.
But, in truth, it was easier to forget. Which is why she had forced herself to remember it. To own up to it.
Renée stood up and stretched to feel the circulation being restored after a long sit. She happened to be a lean woman and only twenty seven years old... but sometimes her profession made it easy to fall into bad habits.
It was another thing in her life to constantly work on.
She glanced at the clock. It was only four in the afternoon, but she decided she would have to go for an early dinner to reset herself. Seeing the elderly couples was always nice. A good habit.
The phone rang again... and Renée felt like she was suddenly busier than she'd been all month. Two calls in a half hour couldn't signal anything good.
[Hopefully it is a telemarketer that I could hang up on.]
"Hello?"
"So you're still in the city?"
A mostly familiar voice was on the line that made her want to click her tongue. One of the very few that could have called in this scenario that she wouldn't have hung up on. The planner had probably just messaged her after ending the call.
"Hello, Leana."
"You're coming, right? To the wedding?"
Renée didn't have a chance to say yes or no with how she babbled. She wouldn't have been able to give either response, even if the other woman had waited. The author was still deciding whether to be an ostrich with her head in the sand or a vulture circling the carcass.
"I sent out the invitations weeks ago. If I don't see you, I'm going to assume you're dead."
[She has a way of making me sound like a bad parent, still. Uncanny.]
"I'm glad you're well enough to cast voodoo on me through your wedding invite."
Leana snorted, though Renée couldn't say why. Had it sounded like sarcasm?
"So are you going to come or not? Because you know some other friends that will be there and we don't want to have any awkward drama."
There was a strange tone to her voice that the author didn't want to get caught up thinking about. She didn't bother to ask *why* a wedding invitation to her would cause drama. The author knew exactly who must be the other 'friend'.
Instead, Renée's answer was automatic.
"I'll come, of course."
"Great."
… The line was static with silence.
"Is everything okay, Leana?"
"I'm doing fantastic! And I'm getting married. What isn't okay?"
There was another pause before an awkward cough. The kind a misbehaving child makes before changing the subject.
"I'll talk to you later, Renée. It was good hearing from you."
"Yeah, likewise."
The writer found herself staring at her phone. The journalist on the other end was now doing who knows what and the short 'conversation' was over. Fishing was a better way to describe it. She put the device in her pocket and tried to think about something else.
Maybe the next book she was working on - or the latest novel that she was reading. Something... anything except... She could feel her mind running, but her thoughts were still in the same spot. Stuck.
On what would happen. On what won't happen. On what had happened.
"This is stupid."
The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. Renée grabbed her keys and purse before heading out the door.
She was not going to spend her evening thinking about the past. It wasn't something she should worry about. It was done and gone. There were people who lived in the past and it made them unhappy in the present.
Renée had no intention of being one of them. Not anymore.