by DL White
Then I realize it’s Jackie, who I haven't seen in months, and her new husband.
“Well, well, well. The elusive Jacqueline Ross-Cooper emerges from hiding.”
“Don’t start with me, Angie.”
“Oh, I’m gonna start. I see what the newlyweds have been up to.”
“Alright, bitch. Get it all out of your system,” she says, but through a smug grin, while approaching me with her arms open wide and the most adorable bump in her maxi dress. Her hair is big, wild with curls that float on the breeze. Her deep skin is luminous; Jackie is the definition of pregnancy glow. By the light in her eyes, she's overjoyed. I'm so happy for her that I could cry.
Years ago, Jackie miscarried a late-term pregnancy. She was desperate to get pregnant again, but the stress of trying and failing destroyed a long relationship. When Matthew came along, she fell for him so hard and so fast that I was afraid for her, for her heart.
I love it when I'm wrong. About other people.
Matthew climbs from of the driver's side of the sedan looking more like a chef than before. I race around the car to give him a congratulatory hug, pausing to rub his protruding belly. “Okay, bruh. Don’t get carried away with this sympathy weight, here.”
“The baby likes bacon. Can’t let Jackie eat it all by herself,” he says, laughing while he slings an arm over my shoulder.
We walk the winding path to the front door, which opens before we can get to it. Morgan waves us in. The dining room is already full of people chatting over trays of finger food and holding champagne glasses filled with pale orange liquid.
After that ride with Preston, I need a drink, so I pick a mimosa and circle the table, plating a few things here and there: a mini quiche, some fruit and a few slices of bacon before I grab a seat at the massive table in the formal dining room.
Jackie sits next to me and immediately digs into a plate of eggs, bacon, and toast.
“You look amazing, Jacks,” I tell her, before digging into my plate. “Pregnancy is beautiful on you. You feel okay?”
“I feel great,” she says, between bites. “Hungry, but great. I was scared to take the test, but so far, really good.”
“When did you find out?”
“Not too long ago. We didn't want to say anything until I was further along because of... you know."
I nod. "You knew before you got married, though?”
“Oh, yeah. We had been talking about getting married since our third date.”
Jackie laughs when my jaw unhinges and hangs open. “I know. But when you know…”
She seeks out Matt, smiling when she spots him across the room, deep in conversation with Keith. Happily, her attention returns to her plate.
“I disappeared, and I’m so sorry, but I didn’t know what to say. When that second line on the pregnancy test showed up, my life flipped upside down. Matthew and I had to figure out so many things on the fly. Then Morgan decided to get married, and you know she would have rolled me down the aisle in a yard of white lace to make sure I got married before she did.”
I laugh so hard I choke on a mouthful of quiche and reach for my mimosa to wash it down. A glass of water appears, and Preston takes the seat next to me. I grab that instead and gulp it down.
"Thanks," I choke out.
"Welcome." Preston attacks his overflowing plate with a familiar vigor and concentration.
Jackie elbows me. When I ignore her, she pokes me again. “Hey! Keep those bony elbows to yourself.”
She leans in close so she can lower her voice. “Talk, bitch. You rode here with Preston. He's sitting next to you, and you haven't attacked him yet. And he brought you a glass of water. Not because you were choking, but just because. Are you two—”
“You know better, Jackie." I glare until she backs down, her head dipped toward her plate. I can see the disappointment in the drop in her shoulders. I'd love to make it disappear, but it's not happening.
Jackie starts to ask another question but is interrupted by a loud ting. Nate is at the head of the table, tapping a knife against his glass. When the room is quiet, he sets the glass down and clasps his hands together. He can barely contain his smile.
"Morgan and I want to thank you all for coming, especially on short notice. We wanted you all here because we have a huge announcement."
Morgan stands, her grin matching Nate's. They have always been too damn cute. "As some of you know, Nate and I have decided to get married. Finally.”
She stops while everyone laughs since they have been the butt of so many jokes since high school.
“We want to share this event with our closest friends and family, especially those who have seen us through all these years. We’d love for everyone here to join us at our destination wedding on St. Lucia in October!”
She pauses for the interruption of applause and low murmurs.
“Save the Dates will be going out this week, so mark your calendars. We’ll send out information, of course, but we want you to know that you'll only be responsible for your airfare. The resort is all-inclusive, so you won't have to worry about a thing from the moment you land until you get back on the plane. The entire affair is being planned by our Maid of Honor and Best Man—Angie Blake and Preston Reid!”
Morgan waves at us, encouraging us to stand. We awkwardly rise and smile through the laughter and sarcastic commentary.
"So, the theme of the wedding is Death Match?" Asks Brandess.
"WWE, Wedding Wrestling Entertainment!" Booms Matthew, who hasn’t known us long but knows that Preston and I don’t get along.
"You picked the two people that fight nonstop to plan your wedding on an island,” says Keith. His face is flush, not only from alcohol but laughter. “One of them isn't coming back alive."
I should have prepared for this reaction. When people think of Preston and me, they expect a spectacle. They practically bet on who will win every round. I hate what we've become over the two decades that have passed, and I know it's as much my fault as it is Preston's.
At that moment, I hold on to my resolve that this wedding will be a success if it kills me. And it might.
Hours later, as the sun dips past the horizon, throwing shadows through a pink haze, Preston is driving me back to my apartment.
"You're too quiet."
Surprised, I glance over at him. He's wearing wraparound shades as he drives into the bright sunset. "Enjoy it. It doesn't happen often."
He smiles, silently laughing. “You've been quiet all day. You alright?"
"I'm okay. Just thinking."
"Thinking? About what?"
"Stuff. I know it’s not something you expect from women, but I do think."
"I wasn't insulting you, Angie. But fine, keep your thoughts to yourself.”
And I’d planned to. Except that I need Preston’s buy-in. We both have work to do to pull off this event.
“Everyone at that table was surprised that we're planning this wedding.” I pause while he nods his agreement. “They expect it to be a hot mess. I want... I need to prove them wrong.”
Preston nods, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth. “I was thinking the same thing."
I stare at him for a moment before I ask, "Yeah?"
“Today was us against them." He glances at me, and I barely catch his eyes through the dark lenses of his shades before he turns his attention back to the road. "We're going to get this done, without a doubt. But I want to blow people away."
Not only do Preston and I agree on something, but he understands how I feel and feels the same. In a few days, we have come so far. Not wanting to kill each other is a happy medium for us.
Preston smoothly guides the car into a parking spot. I release the seatbelt and pop the door latch. "Thanks for picking me up."
"No problem," he says as I climb out. Then he leans across the seat and says, "Hey, I still think we should combine the bachelor and bachelorette parties. It'd be the easiest way to do both, and the same people are going to be at b
oth."
"I had no plans on attending Nate's bachelor party."
He rolls his eyes. "You know what I mean."
"I'll think about it. We'll talk about it when you call me."
"When I call you? When will that be?”
I smile. "You're an attractive, virile Black man. If you don't know when's a good time to call a girl, you're not as much of a lady’s man as you think you are."
I push the door closed before he can respond and bound up the stairs to my apartment. When I reach the door, I turn and notice the car is still there, idling. After I unlock the door and slip inside, I peek through the curtains from the living room window that overlooks the entrance. I wait there until I see Preston pull out and turn left, heading toward his house.
It’s touching that he waited until I was inside to leave. I'm confused that it even matters to me.
11
Thousands of women on the verge of becoming Mrs. Somebody have gathered at the downtown Orlando Hyatt Regency, foaming at the mouth at the display of decadence that could apply to the wedding of their dreams. Dresses, tuxes, flowers, invitations, and decorations from regal and understated to comically overblown have been packed into a football field of event space.
Morgan intends to walk every inch of it, clutching a binder that we lovingly refer to as The Wedding Bible. This book is sacred. All of her notes, business cards, quotes, ideas, random thoughts, i.e. my colors should be blush and bashful, go into the Bible.
We start at one end of a room that is Barbie's wedding on speed and move from table to table, collecting cards and samples, checking out wedding couture shows, looking at invitation designers. I glance around, slightly dizzy from the view.
Halfway through the day, we are toting cute bags full of swag, and our feet are aching. We take a seat in the refreshment area, and I buy us each a Coke.
"Are you getting good ideas?" I pop the top on my can and slurp down a mouthful. I want to moan at how refreshing it is after talking for an hour.
She nods, opening her can as well but daintily sipping. “I don't want it to be overdone. Enough to be classy and fun, but not too much.”
“I would never let your wedding be too much, Morgan.”
“That’s why you and Preston are planning it. But good luck dragging him to one of these things, right?”
My eyes still involuntarily roll at the mention of Preston. I can't go a day without someone bringing him up. "He'd spend the whole time telling everyone we're the happy couple and trying to get free shit.”
We sip, and watch frantic brides barking orders to trailing assistants dragging bags and taking notes.
“I meant to tell you that you did a good job smoothing things over with him."
“I can grovel with the best of them."
"I didn't mean for you to have to grovel, but whatever you said worked."
"I told him he had to do help me plan this wedding, or you were going to call him every day and cry."
She laughs. Then stops. "You didn't say that, did you?"
“Something like that. But let’s not pretend that you wouldn’t. You can be a dramatic, cunty bitch."
Morgan’s bows form an innocent arch. “It worked on you."
I cut my eyes at her, twisting my lips in a scowl. “That’s the only thing that’s going to work on me. We know what you think you’re doing.”
The new additions to the Bible suddenly occupy Morgan. She opens it, flipping through pages she already knows by heart and studying the brochures and cards we've picked up.
“Hmmm. I wonder what you're talking about?”
"It will not work, Morgan."
“Hmmm." She hums again, flipping pages. "We'll see."
"That's what I'm saying. We won't see. I’ve been around Preston practically every day for the last eighteen years. Why do you think planning this wedding will force us back together?”
She snickers, then mumbles, "I saw you get out of his car at brunch."
“He picked me up. My place is on his way. So what?” I huff a sharp breath and down the rest of my Coke. In my vigor, I spill half of it down the front of my shirt.
Morgan laughs. I’m pissed. I grab a napkin from the steel holder at the next table and dab at the caramel-colored mess decorating my chest.
"Would you look at this shit? You did this.”
She laughs harder. “My bad, Angie. Let me buy you one of those t-shirts."
She points at girls walking around with shirts that have quirky sayings like ‘Bride to Be' and ‘Because I'm the Bride, That's Why.' I groan, imagining myself flitting about that room, a ridiculously giddy woman on the way down the aisle. I consider the alternative while staring down at the dark spot on my chest.
"Let's go look at them. I can't take this."
I spend the rest of the day in a t-shirt that says BrideZilla, BITCH!
"Something we need to talk about?” says Preston, when I see him at Prime later that evening. I haven’t been home yet, so I haven’t changed my shirt, which reads Bridezilla, BITCH. “We could do a double wedding, you know. Nate's paying."
"Don't even joke about that," I say to him, before waving the waitress down. She takes my order, Morgan's order, and asks if anyone needs a refill. Preston orders a Stella Artois. I lean toward him and mutter under my breath. “No Stripper Name Girl?"
He straightens to full height and sweeps his eyes across the darkening bar. "Not working tonight, I guess."
My left eyebrow lifts curiously. "You guess?"
"Yeah, I guess. I don't keep tabs on my women."
"Unh.” I nod, holding back a laugh.
"Where's your boyfriend tonight? In a drawer somewhere?”
"Hahaha. Game point, Mr. Reid."
The waitress drops Preston's beer, Nate's Southern Comfort, Morgan's Shiraz, and my favorite drink at Prime— a Redhead in Bed, made with strawberries, lime juice, a sweet wine, and vodka.
"I think I’m a pretty funny guy," he says, taking a few long gulps as I sip my drink and savor the sweet, fruity flavor.
“Let me know when to start laughing.”
Morgan and Nate watch us from across the table. From their expressions, I can tell they don't know if we're fighting or playing around. Morgan takes a dainty sip from her glass. Nate seems amused but doesn't say a word either.
“This is us getting along,” Preston says. “Right?” He elbows me as I bring the drink to my lips. I nearly miss getting a very berry drink spilled all over myself.
"We were until you couldn't keep your elbows to yourself. I already ruined one change of clothing today."
"I'd buy you another shirt."
"Anything you buy me will be see-through and low cut."
He grins at Nate, who can't help but smile back. "What can I say? I'm a man."
"You're a pig."
"Let's stop flirting before these two freak out."
“You first.” I take another gulp and set my glass down. "What did you guys do today? I bet it doesn't top wedding-palooza."
“The groomsmen had a nine-thirty tee time,” says Nate. He glances at Preston, who nods. “Lunch at the Marina."
"They have a new waitress out there,” says Preston, sucking his teeth. “I gave her my number."
I bite my lip to keep from commenting.
"Guys have it so easy when it comes to weddings,” Morgan grumbles. “Did you do anything I asked you to do?"
“We went to the tux shop after lunch,” Preston says. "We picked out some nice duds.”
"Do I get to see the duds?" Nate and Preston's sense of nice and our sense of nice could be on separate continents.
Nate coos at Morgan, gathering her to him and planting a sweet kiss on her temple. "Don't worry about it, baby," he says. “The manager said we were the most handsome guys he's ever sold tuxes to.”
He pauses and looks at Preston with one eye narrowed. "He wouldn't lie to get our business, would he?"
"Nah," says Preston, gulping more of his beer. He sets the bottle
down and adds, "I mean, we chose the crushed purple velvet on our own, right?"
Nate nods, his countenance serious. “I believe it was the Crown Royal logo down the sleeves and the leopard print lapel that drew us in. By the way, I thought that looked great on you, man."
"I believe in making a statement in wedding fashion."
"You two are hysterical," Morgan drolls.
“Relax,” Nate soothes. “Armani, all the way. I’m in white; groomsmen in black.”
Preston pushes back from the table and stands. "Got to drain the snake. Want to come help?"
I don't give him the benefit of even looking at him. "You'd better be talking to Nate."
"Worth a shot." I watch him work his way around the room and down the hall to the restrooms.
“You two are getting along pretty well," Nate remarks.
"We're doing the best we can."
"I noticed you rode with him to brunch. That’s a good sign."
"A good sign that he manhandled his way into giving me a ride."
“Okay, but–”
“But nothing. We both know that you guys think this will be a romantic catalyst and maybe if we didn't have a deep, dark past–"
"Maybe the deep dark past doesn't need to be so deep. Or dark," Morgan says. "Is it that big of a deal, all this time later?”
I dip my head, carefully considering my words. These are my oldest, best friends who have no idea what they're meddling in. I raise my head and strengthen my resolve.
"Preston and I agreed that we're taking you up on your offer that we never have to see each other again after your wedding. Whatever you think is going to happen? It isn't. And if this is the only reason you're getting married, you might want to reconsider. It's a lot of money to spend, to gamble on something that's not going to happen."
Morgan's eyes are wide and glassy. Nate stares, slack-jawed but hasn't said a word. Preston takes that moment to come back to the table and drops into his seat. Sensing discomfort, he asks, "What? What happened?”
I reach for my purse, which I'd hung on the back of my chair when I came in. I sling it over my shoulder as I stand. "I have to go. I have work I've been avoiding. And I want to take off this t-shirt. People keep giving me thumbs up."
