Don't Kiss the Bride

Erin: Stop searching, Jude. I’m not missing. I left.

Me: Where the fuck are you? Come home.

Erin: Just stop. Okay?

Me: Tell me where you are. I’ll come get you. I just want you to come home.

Erin: Please stop looking for me. I have to go.

I never heard from her again, and her cell number was deactivated shortly after. It’s been ten years, and there were never any leads or sightings. The case went cold. The cops basically wrote her off as a runaway, especially after I showed them the messages. I’ve never known if I should believe it was her who sent those texts. That last line I have to go bugged me. We were close, and I can’t believe that’d be the last thing she’d say to me. She’d either say something funny or say love ya. Was she being forced to go? Did someone kidnap her and send it from her phone to throw us off? She could be dead. Or sold to some psycho. My blood chills just thinking about it. Or, maybe she really did run away and is out there in the world living her version of her best life.

I hope she is.

Later, when I’m stretched out on the sofa with a bowl of popcorn and the dog curled up on my feet, my phone pings with a message:

Skylar: Just wanted to say hi, and thank you for the ride and dinner.

Me: A hamburgerless bun isn’t dinner.

Skylar: Anything can be dinner ;-)

Me: True.

Skylar: Here’s me and my cat right now.

A photo comes through of her and a furry, gray cat sitting on the floor. Her hair is up in a huge, messy bun.

I snap a quick pic of me and Cassie and send it back.

Me: Here’s me and my shit dog.

Skylar: LOL. She’s cute.

Me: Have a good weekend. Enjoy your new job stuff.

Skylar: Thanks! Hope you get some rest.

Earlier I gave her my cell number in case she needed a ride to pick up her car. I wasn’t expecting her to start sending me random messages. In hindsight, I probably shouldn’t have given my number to her. I don’t want to become a personal taxi driver or get crazy messages riddled with emojis night and day.

But I can’t deny it’s kinda nice to get a message from someone who isn’t asking for something or bitching about something, and who was just thinking about me and wanted to say hi.

Nail, meet coffin.

Chapter 5

Skylar

Unsurprisingly, I’ve never had a new cell phone. The three I’ve had have been hand-me-downs from my mom, and always came to me sticky, dented, and cracked.

But this new iPhone from Rebecca has me shook.

It’s like a work of art. Nestled and glimmering in a sturdy, pristine white box. Perfect, shiny black screen and—oh my God—the prettiest lavender-purple finish.

I’m almost afraid to touch it. It’s that beautiful.

“Skylar?”

I look up to meet Rebecca’s questioning eyes, and I have no chill. I can’t control myself. I throw my arms around her and hug her, not caring if it might be unprofessional. Thankfully, there are no customers browsing the shop right now.

“Rebecca, thank you so much. It’s stunning.”

Laughing, she hugs me back, then slowly pulls away. “It’s just a phone. But I’m really happy you like it. I thought the purple suited you.”

“Like it? I love it. It’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever had. I promise I’ll take care of it. And if you ever have to fire me, I’ll give it back. I won’t wreck it. I’ll get a really good case for it.”

“Skylar, it’s yours. You don’t ever have to give it back. I have no plans to fire you. I’m excited for you to get started on all this social media stuff. I’m curious to see if it brings in more sales.”

“Me too.” I press the power button on the phone. “As soon as I have it set up, I’m going to load the apps I read about last night, then I’ll start taking photos.”

She smiles. “Have fun. Don’t worry about the register today. I always work up front on the weekends. A lot of regulars come in just to chitchat anyway.”

She takes a few steps toward the front of the store, then pauses. “I made fresh cookies and blueberry muffins. You should grab one before the customers gobble them up.”

Smiling, I nod. “Okay.”

My stomach is growling from the scent of the bakery items, and I’m sure they’re delicious, but I just can’t eat any of them.

I spend the day taking pictures of the products in the shop. Most of the items are already placed in photo-ready positions—the sweaters are neatly folded on top of a shabby chic dresser, the candles sit on distressed wooden shelves, handmade teddy bears are cozy in cute wicker baskets. I arrange necklaces, bracelets, and rings on the wood floor, snake a purple ribbon around them, and use the features of the phone camera to subtly blur out the items in the background.