by Megan Hart
“We should get back in there,” she says, and I have a flashback to that first day at the bridal shower, when we snuck away to sit together by the creek.
“Wait.” I tug the front of her shirt to bring her toward me. I kiss her. She leans into me, and the kiss deepens for a moment or so.
This feels right. It’s what I want. I think it’s what she wants, too. In that moment, all that matters is the two of us right here.
She takes my hand, linking our fingers together, as we walk back to the party room. Nobody’s noticing us except her mother, whose eyes zero in on our joined hands with the efficiency of a laser sight. I can see the steam building up in her like a teakettle, so before she starts to scream, I do what I think is the right thing. I drop Sam’s hand.
Sam notices, looking between us, then at my face. I want to reassure her somehow, but I don’t have time. Her mother is rising, glass of white wine in one hand, and she’s already toasting. Loud. Boozy. Vicious beneath the veneer of her loving smile. She’s putting on the best sort of show, but I’m bracing for impact.
“I just want to say how happy I am to see my daughter with someone who makes her so happy,” Margo says, gesturing with her glass at Abby, but her eyes never wavering from Sam.
Beside me, Sam stiffens.
“A mother never stops wanting the very best for her babies, no matter how old they get or how far from home they try to run.”
Margo is apparently unaware of how damned creepy she sounds, but I see enough of the older women around the table nodding and smiling, so I guess the room is filled with women who don’t understand the concept of raising your children to let them go. Abby’s smiling too, but her expression is strained and I can see her holding my brother’s hand hard enough to turn her knuckles white.
Margo continues, this time with a sly glance toward my parents who, God bless them, have pasted their faces into neutrality and blandness as best they can. “Tonight, we celebrate Abby and Tony, and I’m so thrilled. I couldn’t be happier unless it was to hear another announcement, about my other beautiful daughter, Samera.”
Sam winces. I am frozen. Everyone is staring at us. My parents look confused. Abby and Tony look confused and also resigned.
“Jenna. I should offer this next toast to you. Don’t you have something you want to tell everyone here tonight?”
I’ve moved away from Sam two steps, but I’m not sure how. I’m running hot and cold with chills. This bitch wants me to what…make a toast? She wants to out me in front of my parents?
“Jenna?”
Someone presses a glass of wine into my hands. I open my mouth to speak. I see Sam looking at me, but I can’t read her expression. Moments ago, all I felt for her was love and the desire to be together, but right now I can’t find any words. I can’t look my parents in the face and come out to them in front of their friends and family. I don’t worry that my family won’t accept me, but it’s the night before my brother’s wedding. To upstage that in any way would be selfish. Rude. I can’t do it. I love my brother. I love Abby.
I love Sam.
But this is not the time, not when she and I haven’t talked about what we’re doing or how far we think this is going to go. I can’t do it for so many reasons, but one of them is there is no fucking way I’m going to give Sam’s mother the satisfaction of having her way or being able to ruin anything for anyone.
I lift my glass. “I want to tell everyone tonight that I’m so happy for my brother. I’m so excited to be gaining the sister I never had. Abby and Tony, I love you both, and I can’t wait to see you get married tomorrow.”
Everyone claps. I drain half the glass of wine. Sam is gone, and I don’t know where she went, but I can’t go after her because everyone is still staring at me. There are more toasts. I’m trapped here in the room, and my insides are twisted and knotted. When I finally make my escape, I find Sam outside and around the corner so she can avoid anyone going in or out of the restaurant.
“Sam.”
She doesn’t answer me. Her face says it all. When I approach, she holds up her hands for me to keep my distance.
“What did you want me to do?”
The words come out angry. I’m hurt, I realize, and I have been since the night I said the “L” word and she didn’t. I’m hurt and sad and uncertain about what the hell we’ve been doing all this time, and it’s obvious we’ve reached that point in the relationship where it all turns to shit over something stupid.
“Nothing. I get it,” she says.
I shake my head. “I don’t think you do.”
“I absolutely do. You told me way in the beginning, you’ve never had someone important enough to you to bring around your family. I understand.”
“That’s not fair!” I want to remind her that I’m the one who started all this. I’m the one who took the chance, said the thing. I’d taken that leap, and she didn’t catch me.
“Look, it’s fine,” she says in a cold, hurt voice. “We have a lot going on tonight and tomorrow, let’s just leave it. Okay? It’s not a big deal.”
It’s not okay, but I also can’t make myself reach for her. “What’s not a big deal? Us?”
She doesn’t answer.
I draw in a breath. “What’s not a big deal, Sam? Us? Are we not a big deal, is that what you’re saying?”
Again, she stays silent. I can see her working to speak, and I want to give her the chance to make this right. I want her to find the words.
She doesn’t, and I don’t, either. She turns around and heads for her truck, and there’s the moment when I should run after her and tell her again that I love her. Instead, I watch her walk away.
❖
Fifteen
Sam
* * *
“You look miserable.” Jenna’s soft voice from behind me ought to make me turn around, but I don’t.
I keep staring at my reflection. The bridesmaid’s dress isn’t horrible, as far as dresses go, but the matching pale pink tights and ballerina slippers that look so cute on everyone else, and especially Jenna, don’t look the same on me. I’m clearly out of my element. I smooth my spiky hair.
“I am miserable,” I tell her.
She moves closer, behind me. Two women dressed identically. It should be a pretty picture, but I have to close my eyes against the sight of it. I don’t want to start bawling before I even walk down the aisle. I have to stand up for my sister, and any tears today should be happy ones, for her.
Jenna puts a gentle hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry, Sam.”
I want to shrug away her touch, but instead I gently take her hand off my bare skin and let it fall. “Don’t worry about it.”
“I do worry about it.” Her voice is hard. Angry.
It makes me angry, too, because where does she get off, acting like any of this is my fault? From outside in the hallway, I hear my mother’s rising voice. Shit. More drama.
“I should go help my sister,” I tell her, pulling away.
“Wait.” Jenna puts a hand out again, but this time she doesn’t touch me. Not quite. The warmth of her hand is a physical ghost I want to ignore, but can’t.
I’m defeated. I face her. Eyes closed. I can’t look at her, because if I do, I’ll scream or cry; I will kiss her and hate myself for doing it.
The splash of liquid hits me hard, in the chest above where the dress dips. I gasp, jerking back. I open my eyes to see Jenna staring at me with a look of grim concentration.
“Oh no!” She says, too loud for just the two of us. “Oh, shit, Sam, I’m sorry! What a mess!”
I am entirely covered in red wine. The liquid has already soaked into the pink fabric, turning it the color of old blood. I look like something out of a zombie flick, dripping with the gore of my victims.
The door flings open. My mother barrels in. She’s already shrieking, but at the sight of me, she goes stone cold silent.
If I didn’t love Jenna already, in this moment I would have fallen for her com
pletely.
“What. Is. That?” Mom manages to say.
Jenna’s shaking her head. “It was an accident.”
My mother is shaking. She actually makes a lunge at Jenna, but I step between them. I growl, “the fuck do you think you’re going to do?”
This stops her as suddenly as if I’d actually slapped her. Her lips pull back from her teeth. She’s going to scream or cry, or something, and I don’t want to hear it.
“You can’t wear that,” she says in a hoarse whisper. “Oh, my God, you can’t go out there, it’s all ruined.”
From behind us, Abby barks out a reply. “It’s not all ruined, Mother. Only the dress is. My wedding day is going to be amazing. But we have to get our asses out there and start it, and I’m sick to fucking death of dealing with the drama. So let’s go.”
If there was ever a time for a slow clap, this is it, but none of us are stupid enough to poke the bear. Jenna gives me a grin and tugs a tux I haven’t seen before off a hanger. Abby, wearing only her bra and slip, helps me out of my sodden dress. Mom moans and wrings her hands.
“Where’d you get the tux?” I murmur to Jenna as she hands me some diaper wipes to clean my skin of the wine.
She doesn’t answer me with words, only a nod and a grin, and I’m dressed in another minute. The mirror tells me I look good, and I feel a hell of a lot more comfortable.
Abby has dispatched my mother on an errand so Jenna and I can help her into her gown. She dressed almost as quickly as I did, her simple but elegant white gown fitting perfectly. She sighs as she looks at her reflection and turns to me with a face so lit with joy that all I can do is hug her.
“I love you,” I tell her. “You’re gorgeous.”
Abby steps back to look me over. “You, too. This is much, much better. So glad Jenna’s a klutz.”
The two of them share a look, making it clear they’d somehow conspired, but I don’t have time to thank or scold them, because my mother has whirred back into the room like she’s on wheels. It’s time to go. My sister takes a deep breath and lets Mom hustle her out the door.
Jenna hangs back, waiting for me to follow. Giving me space. I still want to kiss her, but now’s not the time. I manage to give her a nod, though. A small smile.
“Thanks,” I tell her.
She bites her lower lip for a second, then gives me a nod to match mine. “Let’s go.”
Sixteen
Jenna
* * *
I always cry at weddings, so there was no way I was making it through today without the help of some heavy duty waterproof mascara. You’d think with all the sobbing I’d been doing over the past few hours my tear ducts would have dried up, but I guess there’s a difference between tears of sorrow and ones of joy, because I barely get through the ceremony without looking like a raccoon.
It only takes me a few minutes in the bathroom to fix my makeup, but I take a minute or two longer to get myself settled. We need to get out there for the pictures and then to the reception, but I’m not lingering in here because I care about how I’m going to look in the photos. I’m trying to get myself under control so I can face Sam.
You know when you’ve behaved so badly you can’t even begin to think about how you’re going to make it up to the person you hurt? That’s where I am, right now. I love Sam Donovan, and more than that, I am in love with her. Instead of thinking that in the bathroom while I try to get the smears of black off my cheeks, I need to be saying it to her, whether or not she says it back. I need to tell her.
Mascara cleaned up, lipstick refreshed, nose powdered…and shit, now I have to pee. I hoist the voluminous dress up over my hips and tug at the torture device known as shapewear as far down as I can go. For one second, I envy Sam’s tux, and in another second, I’m fiercely proud of myself for making sure she got to wear it.
The bathroom door bangs open, and I hear the click of heels on the tile. I’m too busy trying not to dunk my skirts into the toilet water as I do the hoversquat over the seat to really pay any attention to who might have entered the bathroom — until I hear Margo’s familiar squawk.
“Disgusting,” she’s saying to someone else. “I’ve never been so embarrassed or insulted. And that little bitch thinks I don’t know she did it on purpose, but let me tell you something, I do know. They both did it on purpose.”
I freeze in place. My stomach knots. My throat closes. My fists would clench, if I didn’t have a double handful of my huge dress.
Whoever she’s talking to tries to answer, but Sam’s mother keeps talking, blowing right through the reply. She’s crying now, but I don’t feel bad for her. It’s all designed to get her sympathy she doesn’t deserve.
“She meant to humiliate me, because of course I’ve done everything for this wedding and none of his family could be counted on, you know…”
That’s it. That bitch can say what she wants about me. I guess I’ve even let her get away with saying whatever she wanted about Sam. But I will not let her talk about my family like that.
I burst out of the bathroom stall with my panties and girdle-thing still around my thighs, and I yank them up as I face a very startled looking Margo. Donovan. “Hi, there. I couldn’t help overhearing you about to start shit-talking my family. I figured you might want to say it to my face.”
Her expression clearly shows she does not want to say any such thing to my face, and in face, her jaw has dropped so much and her cheeks have gone so red, I’m a little worried for a couple seconds that she’s about to have an aneurysm. In the next second, though, I drop my skirts back around my ankles and push to the sink to wash my hands. I can still see her in the mirror. She’s gasping like a fish out of water, and it would be funny if I wasn’t so furious.
“I’ll see you out there, Margo,” her friend says, and makes a hasty and well-advised escape.
I turn and step in front of the door in a smooth motion when Margo moves to make her own escape. “Oh, no. You stay put.”
“How dare you!” She makes like she’s going to push me, but I don’t budge.
“Go ahead. Put your hands on me. See what it feels like when I punch you in your fat fucking mouth,” I tell her, and even though I’ve never in my life spoken to another person like this, much less at a wedding, it feels good to put her in her place.
“How….dare…!”
“Let me tell you something, you overbearing bitch. You are exactly right. I did dump the wine on Sam’s dress on purpose. But not to humiliate you. It might blow your mind to hear that, no, we actually weren’t thinking about you at all. I wanted Sam to be comfortable, and Abby and I agreed that she wasn’t going to feel like herself in one of these dresses,” I gesture at the gown, “and so we decided we were going to spill the wine on it. Because you know what, Mmmmmmargo?” I draw out her name in a long, sneering drawl. “When you love someone, you want them to be happy and comfortable, and Abby loves her sister. I wish I could say the same about you, but clearly, Margo loves Margo, and you don’t give much of a damn about anyone else. Do you? No. Don’t bother.” I hold up my hand, effectively shushing her. “You can just eat a bag of dicks. M’kay?”
She says nothing. She’s got a hand to her heart, and she’s gasping, but I have no sympathy for her. This woman has put my brother through hell for the past year, and she’s been doing worse to my girlfriend for much longer than that.
My girlfriend.
The thought gives me a second’s pause, because Sam and I have never used that word. We’ve never talked about it. But I want her to be my girlfriend. I want her to be more than that. In fact, I can’t stand the thought of the rest of my life without her. Unfortunately, I realize this means that I’m going to have to deal with the pustulant cankle doing her best dying carp impression in front of me.
I pull myself up to full height and look her right in the eye. “Pull yourself together. Your daughter just got married, and you better get out there and put a smile on your face for all the people out there. Especi
ally the ones you insisted she invite. I hear it was a lot.”
Margo sputters. Gasps. She shakes a fist at me, but she can’t seem to find any words. That’s fine with me. I’m shaking a little from the adrenaline of telling her off, but also because I’ve come this huge epiphany about life, love, Sam, me, and what’s going to happen…if I’m lucky.
“I’m in love with your daughter,” I tell her, and add, in case she’s still confused, “Sam. And I intend to spend the rest of my life with her. So you’d better get yourself ready, ‘Mom,’ because I’m not going to put up with anything my brother or Abby did. You got it?”
She doesn’t nod, but she doesn’t come at me or anything, so I take that as at least a little bit of a win. She draws in another of those gasping, sloppy breaths. “You little…”
“Yeah, I’m a bitch,” I interrupt. “And?”
“You…how dare…you…!”
I need to get back out there for the bridal party photos Abby and Tony have planned. “I’ve got bridesmaid’s things to do. Wash your face. It looks like a crayon box jacked off all over it.”
With that last word, I sweep out of the bathroom and leave her behind. I have to find Sam. I need to tell her I’m sorry, that I love her, all of the things I need her to hear.
I’m taking the leap again.
❖
Seventeen
Sam
* * *
The photographer is good. She’s got an assistant who’s wrangling all the family members into line so she can fire off a few shots, fast, easy, not a lot of drama. That’s saying something, considering how the rest of this wedding has gone. By the time she’s finished capturing all the pictures of the bridal party, my stomach is rumbling and thankfully, it’s time to hit the reception.
Abby and Tony had planned for all of us to enter the room while the DJ played one of their favorite songs. The idea was that we’d each go through the double doors, doing some sort of dance as he announced us, and when finally the happy couple made it through, we’d all circle around and dance.
