Even if Matt was still gone.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Matt’s cousin and his bride married in one of the few remaining buildings in Goldmount untouched by the tsunami of progress—the pristine little white church whose steeple had been visible for miles before the shopping mall obscured it. Maybe fifty people gathered in the age-old pews to watch the couple say their vows.
Then a white limousine whisked the couple away, and the guests headed over to the Goldmount Country Club. And here, the bride’s family pulled out all the stops. For this black-tie reception, they’d spared no expense.
When those who’d attended the ceremony arrived, another two hundred people or so were already there, sipping top-shelf drinks from the open bar and nibbling hors d’oeuvres from bone china plates while a string quartet played unobtrusively in the background. Where anyone had found an ice sculptor, Matt had no idea, but there were two intricate dolphins on either end of the main buffet table. Behind that, crystal champagne glasses were arranged in front of an immense, seven-tiered cake.
Things like this reminded him of prom, only no one had to hide the alcohol. Except he’d enjoyed prom. No small part of that, however, had been because he’d had a friend on his arm who always knew exactly when to tug him away from a conversation or step outside for some fresh air. Just knowing she was there and that she’d never make him stay when he got overwhelmed was enough to keep him relaxed for most of the evening—all night long, they’d only stepped out a couple of times, and once was because he’d realized she’d had enough.
But he was on his own tonight.
Maybe he should’ve brought Julie. They were still trying to nail down a second date, and he did want to see her again. On the other hand, Dara was probably right—no sense scaring the woman away by introducing her to his family quite yet. Or, for that matter, showing her the side of him that struggled to cope with social functions.
Most people who knew him had long since accepted that he preferred being a wallflower at things like this. He didn’t mind conversations, and he didn’t mind meeting people, but when the crowd was thick and there were too many people talking over too much music, he couldn’t handle it. It used to be that nobody would try to drag anything out of him in a situation like this. Back in the day, that was brushed off as “Oh, Matt’s being shy again.” And he was fine with that. Perfectly fine.
But tonight, from the moment he walked into the reception, things were different.
“Matt, it’s so good to see you! I’d like you meet my daughter, Ellie.”
“Oh, Kristen. Do you remember me telling you about Matt Coolidge?”
“Have you met my sister-in-law?”
When one conversation ended, another quickly took its place. He’d never been so grateful for the wedding party introductions, the toasts and all the reception traditions. Anything to give him a minute to catch his breath.
But all that ended, and as soon as dinner was over, the dancing commenced, and everyone who wasn’t dancing was standing around talking.
And so the gauntlet began again.
As he stood with several people from high school—as well as a daughter, a cousin and a friend he’d been introduced to—he clung to his soda for dear life. Tonight, he desperately needed that accidentally-on-purpose bump and the “You okay, or do you want to take off?”
No, I’m not.
Yes, I do.
Except there was no safety net tonight. This was dozens of people, way too many of them trying to talk to him. Strange faces he was supposed to impress. A giant room that was getting smaller and hotter by the minute.
An all too familiar sensation crawled up his spine. The air was getting too thick to breathe. His bow tie and this damned vest were suddenly too tight.
He cleared his throat, which took more effort than it should have. “Would you excuse me for a minute?”
The woman beside him—her name suddenly escaped him—blinked. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah. Yeah. I…” Think fast. Faster! “Just need to step out and make a call.”
Everyone shrugged and nodded, and he got the hell out of the ballroom. Despite his pounding heart and tightening throat, though, he kept his gait casual. There were a couple of restrooms just outside the ballroom, but there were more down the hall, and while those were farther away, they were more likely to be empty.
The other men’s room was indeed deserted, thank God. He rested his hands on the sink, closed his eyes and breathed slowly—in through his nose, out through his mouth.
Now that he was alone, the shaking kicked in. First his hands, with the tremors echoing up his arms as he gripped the sink to steady himself. Then his knees. His field of vision narrowed, so he closed his eyes. Like the throbbing before a migraine, this wasn’t a point of no return, but he was getting there fast.