As if I have no choice.
“But—” I say, glancing at the time. Worried Reeve might already be waiting.
“I fixed it with Rhys.” Mom smiles, looking like the wicked witch of the East.
“He’s keeping Reeve busy until tomorrow, and keeping himself away from me. It's bad luck don’t you know? For the bride to see her groom before they marry.”
I’m surprised but not surprised she’d even believe in that crap.
At her age, and with a guy like Rhys practically bagged, I can’t really blame her though.
She wants everything to go as planned.
Her plan.
My phone pings with a message from my room, and before I practically race to answer, mom gives me a sidelong look.
I don’t exactly get text messages. From anyone except her.
Panting as I search for my phone, my heart thrills when I see it’s from Reeve.
But my heart sinks some when I read his text.
Guess you know by now.
No ‘work’ today
Can’t wait to see you tomorrow, puppet.
R.
I’m upset, but not surprised. Mom has just spelled it out to me.
My reflex is to call him straight back, but sitting on the edge of my bed, I feel that would only make things worse somehow.
Hearing his voice would lead to wanting to see him. Lead to wanting to…
“Who the hell’s texting you at this hour?” Mom hollers from the living room.
I feel like slamming my door in reply, but what’s the use?
The whole day today, and tomorrow are practically wasted. With no way to get my Reeve fix until mom and Rhys disappear on their honeymoon.
The sudden memory of my dress at the bridal store stops my heart in my chest.
I dunno what makes me think of it, probably remembering every little thing I can about Reeve.
Crap.
Mom’s already on the phone again by the time I change into something less for Reeve and more to mom’s expectation of me.
Track pants and a T-shirt. With a bra and my period panties for good measure.
She gives a furrowed brow but approving look as I pass through to the kitchen.
“So… The caterer’s won’t do it after all?” she groans, wounded but not too surprised.
I don’t blame anyone for pulling out of her wedding plans, it’s so last minute but I’m glad she’s still going ahead with it.
Who would shift their entire schedule with a few days’ notice?
The caterers, florists, and anyone else she’s expecting to do backflips on her account have other jobs booked, so it’s no real surprise when catering cancels for good.
“Less wedding dinner means more honeymoon…” I murmur to myself. Making some fresh coffee and helping myself to some Danish mom set out.
I assume we’re gonna be blessed with Denise’s company all day.
Yep. It’s her on the phone, and she’s coming over.
Try as I might, I just can’t see a way out of this for today but as long as I can steer the conversation away from the dress that I don’t have right now, I should be fine.
By the time Denise arrives by cab, I can see where mom’s anxiety fuel is coming from.
Denise looks like she hasn’t slept since I saw her last, and everything is the biggest drama when it comes to the wedding she’s supposed to have helped plan, for the most part.
“I just can’t believe it,” she squawks, as if saying it any louder will change anything.
“It’s just a meal, Denise,” I remind them and feel both of their eyes on me.
“Well, about half said they couldn’t make it on Tuesday anyway,” I add, sticking to my guns for once.
“I guess you’re right,” my mom concedes. “We lost the deposit, but we would’ve paid full price for a handful of guests,” she adds.
Denise holds her sour look for my benefit.
It’s as if the wedding was her own.
And that’s when it hits me.
This is Denise’s wedding. In her mind anyway.
The closest thing she’ll probably come to in this life.
Like I should talk. A few days ago I would have been in the Denise corner. A spinster aged eighteen. Already picking out my burial plot and the lace shawl I’ll be buried in after dying of loneliness.
The morning drags on into the afternoon, ever slower for me with the knowledge that there’s no escape. Not until this wedding goes off without a hitch. Well any more hitches.
Once all the details of who’s coming and who has canceled have been established, it’s mom’s turn to start fretting over every tiny detail.
Insisting we run through the whole ceremony in the living room.
Reeve is a large chair, with Rhys played by a low coffee table.
Our TV is the priest, with all three of us in position as if we’re in the church.
I seem to be the only one having trouble keeping a straight face.
Mom and Denise are more than serious.
“Should we do it with the dresses on?” Denise suggests, wiping the near smile off my face in a second after we’ve gone through it all over and over again.