The Redemption Series

by Leigh, T. K.

  “Dear me…,” the woman says, appearing genuinely remorseful. “It’s not my place to say. I should never have opened my mouth, considering how full your hands are with planning a wedding.”

  I force a smile, pretending this news doesn’t hit me in the gut like it does. “It’s all right.” I raise my lemonade to my lips, bracing for the sugary concoction to assault my taste buds. I would give anything to have a flask of rum or vodka. Hopefully Molly will come better prepared than me, even though she’s pregnant. “Thankfully, Mrs. Bradford’s been an enormous help in that regard. She’s taken the guesswork out of everything.” I try to hide the annoyance in my tone. “All I have to do is show up when she tells me. She even made sure I had the perfect dress to wear today.”

  I survey the bright white, A-line sundress with more layers of tulle than necessary. She claims she’d bought it for Julia, Wes’ sister, to wear to her bridal shower. That was before she up and eloped. When I first heard the story, I wondered why anyone would give up having the wedding of their dreams. However, after the past month of pre-wedding appointments and festivities, I know why she did it.

  “Oh, come now,” Mrs. Bradford interjects, her lips turning up into a smile as fake as most of these women’s boobs. “You make it sound like I’m making all the decisions. We both know that’s not true. You chose your own wedding dress, even after I spent hours pre-selecting ones that would complement the look the planner had envisioned. Now she has to scramble to change gears and redesign everything.” She lowers her voice. “I’m still not sure how you were able to pay for the dress on your own.”

  “Like I told you, it was an early wedding gift from Molly.” I take another sip of my lemonade, hoping she can’t hear the shakiness in my tone. I can’t exactly tell her Drew paid for the dress. She doesn’t know our history, but it would only encourage questions…ones I don’t want to answer. I still grow uneasy about how I’ll feel walking down the aisle to Wes adorned in a dress Drew bought me.

  “I guess there’s quite a bit of money in writing porn,” Mrs. Bradford comments rudely, making her distaste for my best friend clear. The instant she learned what Molly did for a living, she’s harbored nothing but animosity for her.

  “She doesn’t write porn,” I respond in an even tone. “She’s a romance author. One of the most successful romance authors out there today, to be precise.”

  Mrs. Bradford looks back to her circle of friends and mutters, “Like I said, she writes porn.”

  “We prefer if you call it ‘mommy porn’,” a voice cuts through. I fling my eyes to where Molly stands, her arms crossed over her stomach that seems to have ballooned in size almost overnight. Then again, I haven’t seen her much recently.

  After Wes’ proposal do-over, I realized spending time with Drew was clouding my rationale, messing with my brain. Never again did I want to see the pained expression that adorned Wes’ face when he learned I ditched our wedding responsibilities to spend time with Drew. So I’ve kept my distance from him. Unfortunately, that also means keeping my distance from Molly, Gigi, and the girls. I haven’t blown him off altogether, but our interactions are at a minimum, just enough so he doesn’t get suspicious and try to ruin what I’ve been working on with Wes. I hate it, but I can’t think of a better way.

  “Actually, we prefer if you don’t even use that term, since it degrades the amount of time, effort, and creativity it takes to write a book.” Her statement is met with silence before she continues. “Have any of you ever written a book?”

  The silence only grows as everyone avoids Molly’s gaze, obviously embarrassed she overheard the conversation. This is one of the things about Molly I’ve always admired. She doesn’t care what others think of her. And she has no problem speaking her mind. There are times I wish I could be more like that.

  “By the lack of response, I’m assuming none of you have. So you have no idea how many hours go into crafting a story, developing characters, making the reader want to root for those characters, using the only tool you possess, your words, to make your reader physically feel the connection between your characters. Romance is one of the hardest genres to write, but I love it. And billions of readers love it, too. So you can stand there and pretend you’re too good to read romance, but I’m pretty sure you all have so-called ‘trashy’ books downloaded onto your e-readers that you read one-handed.”

  Eyes widen in response as I struggle to stifle a laugh. I look at her, her lips formed into a satisfied smirk. I’ve never been more happy to see Molly. I need this right now, need to joke and laugh with my best friend like we used to before life got complicated.

  “If you’ll be so kind as to excuse us, I need to steal the bride for a minute. You know. Maid of honor stuff.”

  She grips my hand and tugs me away from Mrs. Bradford and her minions, heading straight to an hors d’oeuvres station. Without saying a word, she grabs a plate and proceeds to pile it high with every type of finger food available, sometimes taking two or three of each.

  “Hungry?” I ask timidly, waiting for her to unleash her anger at my disappearing act over the past month.

  “Starving. Fuck this eating for two bullshit. I feel like I’m eating for ten.”

  I look around the room, a few familiar faces still missing. “Is Aunt Gigi coming?” I wouldn’t blame her if she doesn’t show.

  Molly narrows her eyes at me. “Why? Think she’ll blow you off just because you’ve been avoiding us lately?”

  “I haven’t been avoiding you,” I argue. “We’ve seen each other at least once a week.”

  “We’ve seen each other,” she emphasizes, gesturing between our two bodies. “You haven’t seen anyone else. Gigi, the girls… Drew.”

  “Like I told you. I’ve been swamped with work.”

  “Mmm-hmm. Good luck with that.”

  “With what?”

  “With that story. You know how Gigi can be.” She nods at the entrance. I follow her line of sight to see her aunt heading toward us, Alyssa and Charlotte on either side of her. The second Charlotte sees me, she breaks into a run, the joy on her face melting my heart.

  I crouch down, taking her into my arms as she barrels into me. “Auntie Brook! I’ve missed you so much.”

  I sigh, basking in Charlotte’s tiny arms squeezing me tightly. “I’ve missed you, too, peanut. So much.” I pull back so she can see the sincerity in my eyes.

  “Why haven’t you been at dinner?” Her happy expression falls, and I hate that I’m the cause of it.

  What can I possibly tell her? That her father’s always been my one weakness and I need to stay as far away as possible for my own sanity? She’ll never understand why I need to distance myself from him. No one will. No one knows about that one night I finally let my guard down only to learn the passing of the years hadn’t changed anything. I was still just as invisible to to Drew as a twenty-five-year-old woman as when I was a fifteen-year-old girl. I almost made that same mistake again…before Wes reminded me of what’s important.

  “Auntie Brook’s been very busy with work. Isn’t that right?” Gigi says pointedly.

  “That’s right.” I raise myself back to standing, meeting her eyes.

  “Will you be coming tomorrow night?” Alyssa asks.

  “Yes, Brooklyn.” Gigi crosses her arms in front of her chest, giving me a sanctimonious smile. “Will you be attending family dinner tomorrow night? Or have you forgotten what’s important?”

  “I haven’t forgotten what’s important.”

  “So you’ll be there then?” She arches a brow.

  I refocus my attention on Alyssa and Charlotte. “I’ll try my best.”

  Aunt Gigi lets out an irritated sigh just as Mrs. Bradford’s voice cuts through the room, telling everyone to please find their assigned seats for the first course. I’ve never been more grateful for the interruption.

  “Come on, girls.” I reach toward Alyssa and Charlotte. They both take a hand without complaint. “You’re at my table. And
I want to hear everything you’ve been up to the past few weeks.”

  “Alyssa has a new boyfriend,” Charlotte volunteers excitedly.

  I look from Charlotte to Alyssa, both dressed in the same green and white floral dress. “You do?”

  She shrugs sheepishly.

  “And what’s his name?”

  “Connor.”

  “He has a Yankees backpack,” Charlotte offers. “Daddy says he’s not allowed in our house. Ever.”

  We all burst out laughing.

  “If I know your father, I have a feeling he most likely wouldn’t be allowed into your house anyway, but the Yankees thing makes it a certainty.”

  “Yeah,” Alyssa agrees as we approach the table, the two girls sitting on either side of me. “At least he’s not a Canadiens fan.”

  “That would not go over well with your father at all.” I lift my water to my lips, basking in the familiarity of these people. A ball of regret forms in my stomach from avoiding them the past month, but what choice did I have? There isn’t room in my heart for both Wes and Drew, so I had to make a decision…one I should have made a long time ago.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Brooklyn

  Unwrapped gifts lay scattered before me, like shells lost to the sea. I can’t remember ever registering for anything. I didn’t even know we had a registry. Again, Mrs. Bradford must have made all the decisions regarding what items her son and his future wife should have in their home. I’m not sure if I should be grateful or extremely creeped out by the idea that she picked out the expensive Egyptian cotton bedsheets we’ll be having sex on.

  The entire shower has seemed like one big spectacle, every woman in attendance trying to one up the other with the gift they bought, even though they barely know me. I’ve never wanted to be somewhere else more than I do right now. I pray this display is almost over so I can disappear into my townhouse for some much-needed “me” time. I eventually need to talk to Wes about what it means for us if he takes over the company, but after this afternoon, I just want to forget about everything…about the wedding, about the house, about my future.

  I stand from the chair placed in the front of the room, plastering a fake smile on my face as I address everyone. “Thank you for coming today. Your generosity means so much to Wes and me.” I swallow hard, heat rushing over me when I meet Aunt Gigi’s eyes. This woman practically raised me. If anyone can sense the indecision plaguing me, she can. These past few weeks have been nothing short of an emotional roller coaster. One minute, I’m certain I’m on the right path. The next, I’m questioning everything. Now faced with the possibility of Wes relocating to Atlanta, I’m even more unsure. “I’m looking forward to celebrating our marriage with all of you, as well.” My voice is anything but convincing.

  A few guests in attendance begin to stir, the party winding down, when Molly jumps up from her seat beside mine. “Wait. The fun’s not quite over yet. No bridal shower is complete without a game.”

  I fling my eyes to her, shooting daggers.

  She ignores my stare, continuing to address the room. “To make this as authentic and entertaining as possible, we didn’t tell the bride what we were up to. Thankfully, Mrs. Bradford offered her assistance.” She nods at my future mother-in-law. I wonder why these two would willingly work together on anything, unless they had a common goal. My stomach rolls at what that could be.

  From the beginning, Mrs. Bradford has made it clear she isn’t exactly a fan of my marriage to Wes. And I know for a fact Molly thinks this is a bad idea, even though she’s repeatedly stated if this is what I want, she’ll support me. Now I worry I won’t like what’s about to take place.

  “So everyone gather ‘round and make sure you can see.” Molly claps excitedly, turning to set up her laptop on the table behind me. I approach her, leaning close.

  “What are you doing?” I hiss under my breath. “I didn’t want a shower in the first place, but Mrs. Bradford insisted. You said it would be okay, that you’d do everything to make it as enjoyable as possible. A stupid shower game is not enjoyable. You know this.”

  She faces me with a sigh, her eyes soothing. She runs her hands up and down my arms, comforting me. “I promise. This isn’t a stupid shower game. Trust me. Do you think I’d resort to doing a lame scavenger hunt for items we find in people’s purses?” she scoffs. “Give me a little credit. I’m much more creative than that.”

  “That’s what scares me, Molly.”

  “Come on,” she encourages. “Have I ever steered you wrong before?”

  “I can name a few such occasions, like our weekend getaway to the Cape one summer during college. I’m pretty sure that place you found for us to stay in has since been condemned.” My stare softens as the memory returns. I didn’t grow up accustomed to the finer things in life, but I did like things clean, free from grime…and used condoms littering the floor. It wasn’t amusing at the time, but now I look back and laugh at the memory of the dump she booked.

  “True, but you trusted me when I said it would work out, and it did, didn’t it?”

  “I suppose.” It’s true. Instead of abandoning our plans, we found a campground on the beach and stayed there. We made friends with several other college students who were camping there, and are still in touch with several of them.

  “It just goes to show, you may not like my ideas, but you always learn to appreciate them. So please, play along. I promise, you’ll appreciate this, too.” She places her hands on my shoulders and forces me back into the chair decorated to look like a cheesy throne, streamers and bows adorning it with the word “bride” on the back.

  Returning her attention to the guests, she smiles a fabricated smile, oozing excitement. “We’re going to play a version of the Newlywed Game.”

  There’s polite clapping, along with some laughs, a stark juxtaposition to the dread filling me at the idea of sitting here and answering questions about Wes. True, I’ve been trying to make time for him, but even when we’re together, it doesn’t seem like either one of us is present. My nose is usually stuck in a book, getting a jump-start on some recommended reading for my upcoming curriculum. Wes is typically glued to his tablet, drawing up plans or checking specs on whatever project has his attention that day. We never just sit and talk.

  “First question.” Molly’s voice sounds muffled and far away. “What is Wes’ favorite movie?”

  I stare straight ahead, not seeing anyone. My chest tightening, I swallow hard, feeling like every muscle in my body is quivering. A sinking feeling forms in the pit of my stomach that this is Molly’s way of demonstrating how little I know him. I search my memory for the answer. Surely, he must have mentioned it at some point over the past few months, but nothing comes to mind. I pride myself on my observational skills, yet I can’t seem to come up with a single movie Wes might consider his favorite, my brain refusing to remember.

  “Come on, the future Mrs. Bradford,” Molly goads. She doesn’t mean anything by it, but it still stings.

  Having no clue, I blurt out the first thing that pops into my mind. “The Godfather?”

  Molly gives me a sideways glance, knowing all too well why I chose that. It’s her brother’s favorite movie. “Hmm… Let’s see what Wes has to say.”

  She presses a button on her laptop and Wes’ voice fills the room. The sweet southern drawl that once soothed me only serves as a reminder of how inadequate I am. I shift my eyes to the screen, my stomach rolling when I take in his appearance in the prerecorded video. He’s been so busy, yet he found the time to answer these questions for her…and for me. I couldn’t even put in the effort to learn these things about him. Why do I feel like I’ll never measure up to what Wes deserves?

  “It’s a Wonderful Life,” he answers with a charismatic smile. His hair is neatly groomed, his tie perfectly straight as he sits in front of the large windows in his office. “It’s cheesy and nostalgic, but I’m a cheesy and nostalgic kind of guy. I like the idea that it’s never too late fo
r a second chance, that sometimes the people we surround ourselves with are more important than money or material possessions.”

  I swallow hard, studying my guests, who seem to be looking upon me with pity. You can hear a pin drop in the stiff silence. Gone is the polite chatter, the clinking of ice against glass, the shuffling of plates. I almost want to ask each of them if they know their significant other’s favorite movie, but don’t. They probably do.

  “Well, let’s move on,” Molly says finally. “It’s my fault. I put you on the spot. Just take a deep breath.” She meets my eyes. “I’m sure you’ll get the rest of them.” She lifts the next note card and reads another question, the acid churning in my stomach burning a little more with each answer I can’t give.

  This goes on for several minutes. Molly asks a question, one I should know. Thankfully, some of them I do, like what side of the bed he prefers. But for many of the questions, the ones that would require some sort of conversation, I’m clueless. She said to trust her, that even though I may not initially agree with her ideas, I eventually learn to appreciate them. I doubt I’ll ever appreciate her putting me on display in front of Mrs. Bradford’s friends and family, confirming her belief that I’m not right for her son. At first, I wanted to prove her otherwise, but now I can’t help but think I am wrong for Wes.

  “Last question, and it’s a good one.”

  I close my eyes, bracing for yet another one I won’t be able to answer.

  “When did you first say I love you?”

  My shoulders fall and I shake my head. Tears prickle my eyes, a lump forming in my throat. Every person in a committed relationship with their soulmate should be able to answer this question with no problem. But not me.

  I look at Molly, silently begging her to put an end to this. With a sympathetic smile, she hits the spacebar on her laptop.