Текст книги "Outside the Lines"
Автор книги: Emily Goodwin
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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 14 страниц)
“Maybe it’s my fault and I gave you the wrong impression because I slept with you on the first date. I don’t do that. It’s not who I am, but there was something special about you, something I couldn’t ignore and you made me get carried away. It meant something to me, but I guess it meant nothing to you.”
I stand and turn around, wiping away tears before Ben can see. Push him away before he pushes me. It’s a subconscious defense mechanism and if I calmed down, I’d realize what I’m doing.
But I don’t. I can’t. Ben means too much to me that logic isn’t going to apply right now.
He doesn’t move. He doesn’t speak. My heart pounds in my ears and each second that goes by makes me realize that my words are true. If they weren’t, he’d protest, tell me I’m wrong, say he was sorry for messing with my head. The silence is killing me, and my mouth opens despite my better reasoning, saying I should shut the hell up because I say things out of anger than I regret later. I know I do. Always have, always will.
“Then the office booty call … The signs were in front of me. But I guess that’s how you are with everyone, right?”
Still, all I get is silence from him.
“If I mean so little, then just go. Call up one of the other girls you’re seeing or even Mindy.”
I get nothing. Come on, Ben. At least be angry. Shout, yell. Tell me I’m right and that you don’t care. Tell me I’m wrong and I’m stupid.
Just.
Say.
Something.
“That’s what you think of me?” he finally says and his voice is broken.
“Yeah. It’s obvious now.”
He sharply inhales. “Felicity, that—no,” he cuts off, shaking his head. “I thought you were different, but I guess I was wrong. I should go.”
I whirl around, not expecting that. And I’m not expecting the hurt on his face.
Oh, fuck.
“Ben,” I start but he’s already on his way out. His hand is on the doorknob. He turns, eyebrows pushed together.
“I never asked you to go to my fancy art events because I always take my mom. It’s her shoes you saw at my house by the way. She stays with me when she’s not staying with my dad, who has memory problems after so many head injuries fighting in the war and needs round-the-clock care. You could have just asked me about it. I don’t bring it up because it’s not exactly fun to talk about, and most people here don’t understand the culture on my mother’s side, and see living with their parents as a burden. But I thought you would.” He turns his head and our eyes meet for what I’m sure will be the last time. “I thought I loved you. I was wrong.”
Then he leaves.
And it hits me all at once: I did the very thing to Ben I hate that people doing to me.
I judged him. I made assumptions and filled in the blanks with misinformation. I let my own insecurities get the best of me, and I let Mindy fucking Abraham ruin my life, nearly ten years after high school.
You’ve won, Mindy. Again.
My chest rapidly rises and falls and I suck back a sob. I blink and shake myself, then sprint to the door. But I’m too late. Ben is already pulling out of the driveway, driving down the street. I watch, tears filling my eyes, as the tail lights of his Audi disappear.
Suddenly I can’t breath and it takes everything I have to go inside and close the door behind me. I fall onto the couch and cry. I messed up. Big time. I was so worried about getting hurt that I ended up hurting myself.
I am my own self-fulfilling prophecy.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I don’t know what to do. I wipe my eyes, sit up, and swallow a sob. My phone is in my purse, by the couch. I pick it up, madly rummage through for my phone, and call Ben. I get his voicemail. I wait a few seconds then call again. It rings once then goes to voicemail.
He hung up on me.
I close my eyes, barricading more tears, and try not to hyperventilate. He’s mad right now. Just like I was. He needs time to calm down, and he’s not even home yet. I fall back onto the couch and wait.
One minute goes by.
Then one more.
I want to call him again. Now. But it hasn’t been enough time. My heart is still pounding, and I feel sick. I fucked up. I said things out of anger and fear, things that make no sense and that I don’t really believe.
He said he thought he loved me.
And now I know that I really do love him. I fell for him even though I didn’t want to, even though I was sure he would hurt me.
I hurt him.
I hate myself for it.
And I have no idea how to make it better. I can’t take back what I said. I can’t delete this glitch, reprogram the day and start over. I bite my trembling lip and know the only thing I can do is tell Ben I’m sorry and wait for him to calm down enough to hear me out.
I call him again. Two rings then voicemail, and take a breath. The words die in my mouth and I’m hanging out without saying a word. I fall onto the couch, tears running down my face. I’m suddenly exhausted, and it feels like it takes an incredible amount of energy to put our dishes in the sink, grab a bottle of wine from the fridge, and go into my bedroom. I sink into bed and start drinking. I gulp it down, letting emotion be my guide, and soon I’m feeling sick before my mind hazes over. But I don’t stop now. I keep drinking until I literally can’t and pass the fuck out.
I want to wake up and have everything be better.
But that doesn’t happen. Instead, I wake up hours later feeling like roadkill warmed over, with a dry mouth and a full, angry bladder. I check my phone—no missed calls—and get up to pee. I shower because that just seems to make sense. Warm water pours over me and then I’m crying again, sinking down to the shower floor.
I messed up. Again. I let my insecurities get the better of me. Two times in my life I’ve thrown something amazing away. The first time it was because I didn’t want my shitty-ass boyfriend to leave me, and now it was because I didn’t want to get hurt. So I hurt Ben instead.
I crawl out of the shower, dry off, and collapse into bed. I set my alarm for work in the morning and let sorrow and sleep pull me into darkness.
*
“Rough weekend?” Mariah asks when I sit at my desk the next day. My eyes are puffy from crying. Ben never called me back, and he never answered my calls. Things were over between us, and I wanted to be mad at him for not even trying.
But I’m not.
“You can say that,” I mumble. “Drank too much. Have a headache.” I don’t want to be short, but I think that gets my point across so she’ll leave me alone. I don’t want to talk to anyone. I don’t want to explain what happened or even think about it for a second more than I have it. Because if I do, I’ll start crying again.
Ben is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. He is everything I want, and everything I need. And I didn’t just let him slip away, I opened the door and kicked him in the ass, forcing him out of my life.
I turn to my computer, not even sure what I should be doing. It takes me a few minutes to get my mind to focus, and I put everything into this new assignment. And as if the universe didn’t hate me enough, the site I’m designing is for a local wedding dress shop.
Not only is my heart broken, but I have no date for my brother’s wedding. Ben won’t be there with me, talking and dancing and secretly laughing at how Danielle freaked out over details when none of that really matters. I’ll be alone, like I’m sure I’ll be the rest of my life.
Because you don’t meet someone like Ben Hartford more than once in a lifetime.
For the first time ever, I find myself dreading the end of the day. Work goes by slowly, but it’s at least a distraction. I kept my phone on my desk all day, just in case Ben called or texted me.
He doesn’t.
And I’m not sure if I should call again. I did more than once yesterday and got nothing. I’ve been trying to convince myself he’s still just mad and this will all blow over, but when I walk to my car that evening and still haven’t heard from him, I know it’s more than that.
I want to get be mad at him and say he’s being dramatic. But really I know that he must really have meant it when he said he loved me, because only people you care for deeply can hurt you that badly.
The more you love someone, the deeper the wound. I don’t like making anyone feel bad about anything. Knowing I said things that hurt Ben’s heart kills me and makes me feel no better than Mindy fucking Abraham.
I get into my car and put my head in my hands. It’s hot in here, and I can hardly breathe. I need to turn the air on, open the windows … something. But I’m a glutton for punishment right now, punishment I deserve.
My phone rings and you’d think I had three seconds left to cut the wire on a bomb for how fast I dig that sucker out of my purse. It’s not Ben. It’s Erin, and I don’t want to answer. It’s not that I don’t want to talk to her, but I don’t want to tell her about Ben and start crying again. Because I know I will.
I feel guilty as I ignore the call. I start the car and tell myself I’ll call her when I get home, where I can ugly cry my heart out in the privacy of my own home. I keep my phone on my lap in case Ben decides to get a hold of me.
He doesn’t.
Not on the way home, not throughout dinner, not even during the four hours I marathon watched Doctor Who, eating ice cream and feeling sorry for myself. I’m holding onto hope, but that hope is slipping away.
By the time I should get ready for bed, I call Erin.
“Hey, lady,” she says, upbeat as usual. “Just wanted to make sure you got home and everything okay. You didn’t log on to any of your accounts last night.”
I close my eyes. “I know. I did make it home.”
“Uh, but everything isn’t okay?”
“No, it’s not.” Then I start crying, and tell her about the stupid fight and how I said things I shouldn’t have because I have no filter and don’t know how to stop myself when I get started. “I ruined everything,” I sob, wiping my eyes. I tuck my legs underneath myself and lean back on the couch. Ser Pouch sits next to me, offering me what little comfort his asshole self can.
“No, you didn’t,” Erin assures me. “You got in a fight. It happens. Do you know how many time Dave and I got into fights? If you do, tell me, because I lost track a long time ago. People fight, Lissy, it happens. What happens next determines your fate. Tell him you’re sorry and explain that the word vomit is a result of being insecure. I think he’ll understand.”
My eyes are puffy from crying. I blink a few times and take a shaky breath. “I don’t think Ben knows how insecure I am, and I think once he does he won’t feel the same, well the same like he did before the fight. I will apologize the first chance I get but I have a feeling explaining why I said what I did won’t help.”
“I disagree. He said he loved you. I’m sure he still does. You don’t just stop loving someone. Falling out of love isn’t really a decision. It just happens, and it usually happens gradually. Call him. Go to him, just talk to him.”
“I’ll call,” I say and feel nervous about it already. “I just want things to go back to how they are.”
“People fight. People make up. Then they come out stronger in the end.”
“You make it sound so easy.”
“It’s not easy, hun,” she tells me. “Nothing about relationships are easy, really. They take work. Hang up and call him.”
“Okay. I will.”
“Good. Love you, Lissy. Call me if you need me, anytime.”
“I know. And thanks, Erin.” We hang up and I decide I need to clear my head and mentally go over what I’m going to say to Ben. I get in the shower, make my lunch for tomorrow, and settle into bed. I have 2% left on my phone. Heaving a sigh, I get out of bed to retrieve my charger, then plug in my phone before laying back down, intending on getting up in a half hour or so to call him.
I end up dozing off, my thoughts on the good times I had with Ben over the weekend. I don’t want to wake up and step out of my dreamy mind. When I wake up, it’s one AM an too late to call. I’m relieved, actually. It’s one more day that I can hold onto the false hope.
*
I’m calling Ben after work today. I have to. I didn’t yesterday, and there is no more putting it off. Tuesday actually goes by fast, as the dread of being hung up on or told to get lost haunts me. I run through everything and decide the best is him saying it’s okay, he forgives my stupid mouth, and wants to see me tonight. We have mind-blowing sex and things are fine.
The worst. Well, I can’t really decide. The worst involves him telling me he never wants to see me again in some sense. The words that surround it will determine how much wine I need to buy on the way home.
I feel bad but avoid Cameron. He has to know something is up because I’ve been quiet, and didn’t sneak any extra donuts throughout the day. I pretend like I leave for lunch but really take my egg salad sandwich and apple slices into my car and eat while listening to upbeat music to keep my mood in check.
I get back to my desk and go over an email sent to me from the owners of the wedding dress shop. They want customer photos included, and I glower at the happy faces and kissing couples.
Ah, fuck. I need to tell my brother I don’t have a date to the wedding, though by now they’ve turned in the number to the caterer. Erin is already invited and RSVP’d for herself and David, so I can’t take her as my plus one. Danielle is so anal about everything I’m sure I’ll get an earful about the wasted plate later. Hell, if it’s that big of a deal, I’ll eat two meals.
I take my time finishing up for the day, giving time for the parking lot to mostly clear. I parked in the back, facing the street so if I break down, it’s possible no one will see me before I make my getaway.
My heart is racing as I walk out. Clouds rolled over the bright sun and the air is humid. I drop my keys I’m shaking so badly. I pick them up, close my eyes, and take a breath. I can do this. I can do it for Ben. For us.
I toss my purse into the back and sit in the driver’s seat. I crank the AC, turn the radio off, and get out my phone. My fingers tremble as I pull up Ben’s number. Without giving myself a second to hesitate, I press on his name.
I put the phone to my ear and swallow the lump in my throat. The phone rings and rings. He’s not going to answer. I get his voicemail, and hearing his voice, even though it’s recorded, hits me in the face and I miss him so much.
“Ben,” I say. “It’s me, Felicity. Ben I’m … I’m sorry. I didn’t mean what I said. I’m not the girl who’s used to having someone amazing like you like me, and I panicked. I convinced myself you were going to leave me, that you really didn’t like me to protect myself and I’m such an idiot. Ben, please know I’m so so sorry. It might not make sense, I know, but I pushed you away to keep myself safe and in the end I hurt us both.”
I’m rambling and repeating myself and need to stop before I dig a second grave. I take a second to breathe. “Ben, I don’t just think I love you. I know I do.”
I close my eyes and tears stream down my face. I end the call and let the phone fall to my lap. I put both hands on the steering wheel and pitch forward, allowing myself to cry for a moment before starting the engine and driving home. I finish my one bottle of wine that I had left before dinner and regret not going to the store to get more on my way home from work.
Oh well. I’ll get it tomorrow. I keep my phone on me, ringer up as loud as it can, and work on my Comic Con costume until 1 AM.
Ben never calls.
After saying what I said on the message, I don’t know what else to do, how else to prove to him I’m sorry and that I want to be with him. I’m exhausted when I get out of the shower and get under the covers. I lie away for an hour, a sick feeling of regret replacing any and all hope that I had left in me.
I fucked up. And I’m going to have to live with that.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“You did your final fitting, right?” my mom asks me as I walk out of work Thursday. The wedding is only days away and everyone is running around like chickens with their heads cut off. And according to Dad, who swears he’s seen it, chickens really do run around after you take an ax to their neck. I don’t believe him.
“I did,” I lie. I haven’t even tried the damn thing on since I picked it up. Years of making costumes has left me a rather good seamstress. I need to go home and do that ASAP. It’s going to be a long night. “It looks great. And I have my shoes and the jewelry Danielle wants us to wear.”
“Just making sure,” Mom says. “I’m excited to see you all dressed up! And to see your boyfriend again. Who knows, maybe wedding bells are in your future too!”
I internally wince. I never heard from Ben. I got a big fat nothing after I poured my heart out in that message. No calls, no texts. He hadn’t even updated his Instagram since last week.
“Maybe,” I say and force myself to inhale slowly. I spent all of yesterday trying to pull myself out of the self-pity puddle I’d melted into. I’m dripping, but at least I’m standing and not drowning now. “I need to go. See you tomorrow. Love you, bye!”
I hang up before Mom can go on even more. I’ll see her in the afternoon tomorrow. I’m working a half day then going back to her house, where I’ll stay for the weekend. Where I’ll have to tell her why Ben isn’t with me.
I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to deal with anyone’s pity, and I don’t want to be reminded how utterly alone I am at my little brother’s wedding. I’m not conventional by any means, but knowing he’s younger than me and getting married first stings. Just a bit.
I stop at the store on the way home. My period started in the middle of the night Tuesday and I’m down to my last tampon … and it needs to be changed. Now. I was worried all day something would travel down the crack canal and leave a not-so-fun stain on the back of my pants. I’m pretty sure the universe really does hate me. I sigh. At least Aunt Flo should pack up and leave by Saturday. I really need to get on some sort of birth control. This inconsistent uterine bleeding ruined my second favorite pair of PJ pants.
I accidentally looked into the eye of the Target symbol and was bespelled, and my basket is half full of stuff I don’t really need by the time I reach the feminine hygiene aisle.
“Hey, Felicity.”
Oh for the love of all things good in this world. Why does it have to be her? I press my lips together.
“Mindy, hi,” I say flatly. I look past her for the brand of tamps I want. She pulls a pink box of panty liners down and puts it in her cart.
“What’s wrong with Ben?” she asks, cutting to the chase.
“I don’t know,” I mutter and grab a variety box.
“I’m sure you do. He left work Tuesday morning and didn’t come back until today. He’s been quiet and in and out all day and doesn’t want to talk about ‘it,’ whatever that means. I’m pretty sure he was at the nursing home. Did his dad die?”
My heart stops in my chest. He mentioned it just once, while we were fighting. His father has memory issues and needs constant care. Oh fuck.
“He’ll talk about it when he’s ready,” I say and keep walking. “Bye.”
She doesn’t say “see you this weekend at the wedding,” thank God. Though, she still might show up. Who knows. I get what I need, pay for it, run to the ladies’ room, and high-tail it home. I have some research to do.
*
Within an hour, I know that Ben’s father lives at Meadow View Centers in downtown Grand Rapids. I hacked into the admission records, but drew the line at digging into medical records. I’m no criminal anymore.
His father was admitted a month before Ben moved here from New York.
It all makes sense now, and it hurts my heart even more. Ben left his dream job, left a potential for national recognition and fame as an artist for his family. He really wasn’t anything like the player I thought he was, that I knew he really isn’t. I was so scared of what could be, I let what actually is fly right by.
I close my laptop and bite my lip, trying to decide what to do. I pick up the phone and punch in the number for Meadow View. It rings for a long minute before someone answers.
“Hi, is James Hartford available?” I ask the nurse.
“He’s in the dining room eating dinner,” she says and relief floods through me. “Can I take a message?”
“No,” I say, relieved even more. I didn’t actually want to talk to him. “I’ll call back. Thanks, bye.” I hang up before I’m questioned and hope they don’t check the caller ID.
Ben’s dad is alive at least, though I know that didn’t mean he was “okay” by any means.
I sigh. Now what? Should I call Ben again? Give it just one more shot? I don’t want to come across as desperate, but that’s exactly what I am.
And people do desperate things for the ones they love.
I call Ben, hands shaking as the phone rings. He doesn’t hang up, but he doesn’t answer.
“Ben,” I say to his voicemail. “It’s me. I’m sorry, and I miss you. Can we please talk in person? I … I just need to know.”
I hang up and close my eyes, wondering how long it will take before I’m back to my old self. I was happy. A little lonely, yeah, but I was doing all right. Living and loving life and just being me.
I want that again, but not as much as I want Ben.
*
I didn’t get the dress altered in time before I passed out on the floor of my guest room. I woke up at 4 AM, crawled into bed, and slept for two more hours until my alarm blared. Then I called into work and said I was sick.
I’m feeling guilty now as I sit behind the sewing machine. Cameron is concerned; he said he noticed how quiet I’ve been over the last few days and wants me to take it easy so I can get better and be back to my old self Monday morning.
I let out a breath and cut a thread. Almost done. I like making costumes, but altering this dress made out of horribly flowy material … not so much. It didn’t take much work. I had to shorten the hem and let it out around the boobs. I pull out the pins, snip any extra hanging threads, and try it on.
Perfect fit.
Finally. I wrinkled the dress when I altered it, so I take it into the bathroom, hang it on the shower curtain, and get my steamer. I never realized how helpful being into costuming would be. Not everyone has a vast array of thread colors or steamers available in their homes.
I clean up and start packing my bag. I need something fancy to wear to the rehearsal dinner tonight, since the Boba Fett dress probably won’t go over well with my parents. I settle for a plain black dress and my Harry Potter heels. I gather everything I’ll need for tomorrow and load up the car. I lose myself in League of Legends for a while, until it’s ready to say bye to Ser Pounce and make the long drive home alone.
The house is empty when I arrive. I assume everyone is at Jake’s or the hotel where family is staying. I use the time alone to take everything up to my room. I had planned on staying in one of the available cabins with Ben, but that’s not really necessary anymore.
I take my computer downstairs, find the leftover booze from last weekend’s party, and pour myself a glass of red moscato. Then I settle on the couch and make it through one-and-a-half episodes of Supernatural before my parents come home.
“Oh good, you’re here!” Mom says as soon as she walks through the door. She’s wearing those temporary Styrofoam flip-flops they put on you when you get a pedicure. Dammit. I knew there was something I was supposed to do. I bend my legs and hide my feet under my body. There is nail polish in the upstairs bathroom. Left over from my childhood, but if I shake it enough it’ll be okay. Right? I hope so.
I cannot get my shit together to save my life.
“Where else would I be?” I ask her.
“I called you and you didn’t answer!”
“Oh, yeah, left my phone upstairs.” I pause the episode, leaving Dean in an awkward position with Castiel. I snicker to myself.
“Did you remember your dress?”
“Yes.”
“And your shoes?”
“Yes, Mom.”
“And the necklace Danielle got you?”
I tap my neck. “I’m wearing it.”
Mom sets her purse down and comes into the living room. “Good.” She inhales and closes her eyes for a second before exhaling. “I’m so nervous. I’m having heart palpitations.”
“Calm down, Mom. The last thing we need is you passing out.”
“I’m not going to pass out. Why, do I look like I’m going to pass out? I’m not pale, am I? I skipped the sunscreen a few times this summer to get a glow.” She spits that all out rather quickly.
“No, Mom, you look gorgeous. The tan is very youthful. Just relax. Danielle has that fancy wedding planner, and everything else is all set. It’s going to be perfect.”
Mom smiles at me. “Yes, it is. And I’ll worry more at your wedding, anyway. At least I’m not paying for this one.”
I roll my eyes.
“Speaking of,” she stars. “Where is your hunky boyfriend, Ben?”
I clench my jaw, locking eyes with my mother. I want so badly to tell her everything, to cry and blame myself for losing him, and to have my mommy hug me and tell me it’s going to be okay. Life sucks for a while for everyone, but then things get better. They always do. They have to.
But I don’t tell her.
She’s already stressed and this weekend is all about Jake. I don’t want to take that away from him, and I don’t want my mom to worry any more than she already is.
“He had this big art event he couldn’t turn down. Something about investors in New York,” I say, unable to look at Mom as I lie. I go back to my computer, trying to seem uninterested. “He’ll try to come tomorrow.”
“Oh, what a shame. But I understand. And your cousin Randy will gladly fill in for him if he can’t make it.”
“Ew, Mom, that’s super creepy.”
She waves her hand in the air. “No, he just looks up to you.”
“Mom. He has a picture of me hanging in his room. And his locker at school.”
“He graduated high school this past year. So just one picture of you.”
I wrinkle my nose. “The one in the room is the creepiest. It’s right above the lotion and tissues.”
“Why would he—oh, don’t go there, Felicity.”
“You’re the one who brought it up.”
She presses a smile and shakes her head. “I’m going to get everything ready for tomorrow. Do you want me to pack you snacks?”
I raise my eyebrows. “Do you have to ask?”
“That’s my girl. There is chicken salad in the fridge. Eat something before we leave. We’re going to the venue after the rehearsal so dinner won’t be until later. Danielle wants everyone there in case the planner needs help.”
I roll my eyes. “What’s the point of hiring a planner if we have to help her? Jake told me what that lady cost.”
Mom purses her lips. “It’s her day. Just go with it and then you won’t have to see her until Thanksgiving.”
“Fine.” I won’t go into why it’s not just Danielle’s day, but Jake’s too. I finish my episode of Supernatural, eat, then go upstairs to do my hair and change. I’m ready before Mom, and join my dad on the couch.
“You don’t seem like yourself, kiddo,” he says, even though he’s only seen me in passing since I got here.
I force a smile. “Just tired, that’s all.”
Dad nods, not convinced. I turn back to the show he’s watching. As much as I’d like to think I could totally survive the zombie apocalypse, I know I wouldn’t last two days on Naked and Afraid. I shudder at the thought of bugs in my coochie.
Mom’s running late, and is getting bitchy at Dad like it’s his fault. He shakes his head. This happens a lot, and he’s used to it. We pile into the car and drive to the church. Dark clouds are gathering overhead. None of us say anything, but I know we’re all thinking it: Danielle is going to lose her shit if it rains.
Though Danielle isn’t originally from Mistwood, the small, beach community is picture perfect for her wedding. Any wedding, really. I’ve driven past this old place of worship many times but haven’t been inside. It’s white with a tall steeple that has a bell tower and flowering bushes around the church front.
It looks like something straight out of a Lifetime Movie Channel wedding special. I’m not expecting this ball of emotion to roll around like lead in my stomach, choking me up and bringing tears to my eyes. I blink and turn away from my parents, inhale then press forward and walk into the church behind them. I’m so happy for Jake, proud he manned up over the years and is ready to settle down and be a husband.
And I’m so pissed at myself for hurting Ben. For throwing away my chance at maybe—just maybe—being a wife someday. Another deep breath. Hold it. Let it out slow. Okay. I’m feeling a bit better.
Danielle is sitting on a stool near the altar, with her bridesmaids gathered around her. I would have been totally fine not being one. I’m only included because I’m Jake’s sister, not because Danielle and I have any sort of friendship going.
Zoey turns and gives me the side eye. Great. I’d nearly forgotten about her. I channel my inner Hermione once again, reminding myself that what is right isn’t always easy—thanks, Dumbledore for that one—and fake a smile. I go to the rest of the bridesmaids and tell Danielle she looks so pretty.
Ten awkward minutes tick by as we wait for the last to arrive, then start the rehearsal. It’s a standard church ceremony: we walk in, take our places at the altar, wait for the bride … blah, blah, blah … and then we get to sit for the church part of the wedding. Danielle is already crying as she walks down the aisle, carrying a bouquet of ribbons and bows. Then I see the way Jake is looking at her and, fuck, I’m a goner too. I hold in my tears, crying on the inside like a winner.
We run through the procession five times. Five. Anyone who’s seen a wedding movie knows how to do this. Even the priest looks bored when Danielle wants to go over it one more time.
Finally, we’re done practicing the lineup. My stomach grumbles and I think we’re going to go to the venue but nope, the photographer is here to take pictures. Is that a thing now? I’m glad I did my hair and makeup.
Forty-five minutes later, we run through the parking lot, dodging raindrops, and load into the cars. The venue is about half an hour away, and the rain slows things a bit. The hall is rather new, having opened two years ago, and is gorgeous.
I stop when I go through the entrance, stepping into a two-story foyer. The ballroom is directly ahead of us, and the large, double doors are closed tight with a sign on the door telling staff not to enter. A curved staircase sweeps around, the balcony running the length of the building. Deep-red, velvet carpet lines the stairs, and everything has a rich, country club feel to it.
