The Boy I Hate(87)

Samantha frowned, trying to comprehend what her friend was trying to tell her.

“He’s pushing you away, can’t you see that? He’s pushing us all away.”

Samantha shook her head, feeling a thousand bricks land on her shoulders. “What do you want me to do? He won’t look at me; he won’t even talk to me,” she said, her voice choked with emotion.

“Then make him listen. He may take his time to hear you, but he always does.” Tears spilled from Samantha’s eyes, and Renee grabbed another tissue and continued to talk while she attempted to salvage her friend’s makeup. “I don’t know if Tristan has ever felt loved. Really loved, aside from me and my mother… But he needs more than us. He’s been loved for his looks, loved for his body and what he can do with it, loved for so many other things, but I think it’s hard for him to see that it can be unconditional. That he can be himself and still have value. That people aren’t perfect, and that doesn’t mean love ends.”

Renee rose to her feet, smoothing the silk of her skirt down her legs. “He’s pushing you away on purpose. And if you really love him, Sam, you won’t let him do it.”



It was just a half hour later when Samantha pulled herself together enough to rejoin the reception. She had cried for a long while. Trying to process all that Renee had told her. It was heartbreaking and awful, but still, she had no idea how to get through to someone who wouldn’t even look at her. Everyone was seated at their tables, being served their chosen meal of prime rib or lobster, and she took a seat next to Mark. He immediately poured her a glass of Chardonnay and pushed it across the table. “I was about to send out a search party. Where’d you disappear to?”

She took a large gulp of the offered drink. “The restroom,” she answered with a tight voice.

He glanced over to Tristan on the other side of the room. “Trouble in paradise?”

She nodded and pulled in a deep breath, but only glanced up for a moment, because she was afraid if she looked longer than that the tears would come again. “Can we talk about something else? I’m not feeling up to this right now.”

His brow furrowed, but he nodded and began cutting his steak. They continued eating their meals in silence, time passing as though she was in a fog, and before she knew it, her sculpture was being rolled out into the middle of the dance floor.

She knew it was coming, but at the same time she wasn’t ready. Wasn’t ready to stand in front of all Renee’s friends and family. Wasn’t ready for a thousand eyes to be watching her. But the DJ called her out on the dance floor, and she turned to Mark. “I don’t want to do this.” She whispered, but she rose from her seat anyway and collected the microphone from the podium.

She looked into the faces of all the guests. People she barely knew, but were about to see her at her most vulnerable. She turned around to face all of them, then glanced over to Renee, deciding she didn’t care what any of the guests thought. She was doing it for her best friend, her salt of the earth friend whose heart was bigger than anyone else’s.

Renee watched her, eyes and body at attention, waiting for her to speak. Samantha’s chest tightened, and all the tears she’d been holding rushed up to clog in her throat. She ran her hand along the length of the microphone cord, hoping energy or strength would miraculously enter her body. She owed Renee this. If nothing else, Renee deserved a speech from her maid of honor.

Samantha closed her eyes, letting out a deep breath before pulling the drape from the sculpture. The fabric fell to the ground, revealing a plethora of green, blue, and earth toned colors.

She turned back to Renee, meeting her best friend’s eyes as she took in the sculpture for the first time. It was of a ballerina, tall and beautiful, though it’s legs were twisted, fabricated into roots stuck deep into a ball of soil. Her arms were long, held over her head and growing up to the sky like limbs, covered in tiny, intricate leaves in a myriad of colors.

Samantha turned toward the audience and pulled in a breath. “I still remember the day I met Renee,” she began, staring through tear brimmed eyes to look at all the faces. “Her hair was up in one of those tight ballerina buns she wore all throughout grade school, and Ricky Jones had just stepped on her fingers. I instantly felt a connection.” She smiled softly, stretching out her hand to examine her knuckles. “I’m pretty sure I still have the scars from when he stepped on my hand only the day before.”

The crowd chuckled, and Renee’s lips curved in a soft smile. “But Renee was always different than me. Because, instead of worrying about herself, she helped Ricky up to his feet when he fell.” Her voice grew husky with emotion. “She’s always been like that. A harbor of strength. A sheltering tree to all those lucky enough to be loved by her. But she’s kind of crazy, too.” She nodded, causing the whole crowd to mumble with shock.