by Dee Palmer
“Yeah, the other day, when we were fixing up the barn, she came over with lunch and lemonade.”
“She’s real kind like that. She’s a widow. Her husband passed a few years ago, and between you and me, I think she’s got a soft spot for Gramps.” Her nose wrinkles when she scrunches her face in a cute smile.
“Between you and me, I think he’s got a soft spot for her too.”
“He told you that?” Her voice drops to a hushed whisper now that we are on the porch and the front door is ajar. It gives me an excuse to whisper too, leaning in closer to her ear to speak. I get the waft of sweet vanilla as the breeze around her lifts her hair. I wonder if she’d mind if I pressed my lips to her neck?
“He didn’t have to. He wears his heart on his sleeve, just like his granddaughter.” I breathe her in and hold her gaze. Her throat bobs when she swallows slowly.
“He always did, with Grandma, I mean. Brought her flowers everyday. Told her he loved her before he left for work and every night before bed. Even if she was mad at him and not talking, he’d still tell her she was the most beautiful woman in the world and that he was the luckiest man.”
“He sounds like a true gentleman.”
“He’s the best man I’ve ever known. I don’t want him to be alone when I—” Snapping her mouth shut, she winces at the words already half-way out there. As much as I might not want to hear what she’s about to say, I never want her to feel she can’t say whatever the hell she wants.
“It’s okay, Buttercup, you can say the”—I air quote—“m word.”
“Mistake?”
“Um, I meant marriage, but I’m not going to argue that Freudian slip.” I smirk.
“No, I don’t want to argue.” Her light laugh is filled with renewed embarrassment. She is about to push the door wide when I reach for her hand. She jolts from the contact even if her fingers instinctively entwine with mine.
“Do you think your Grampa would want you to go through with this if he knew the truth?”
“Pink, please, you promised.” She releases her hold and pulls her hand free.
“I did, but the clock is ticking, Buttercup, and the more I see you, the harder it is to keep my mouth shut.” Her body stiffens with agitation, and crossing her arms defensively, she bristles with her response.
“Being with my Grampa for a day doesn’t make you an expert, Pink.”
“Being with him a lifetime hasn’t made you one either. Tell him the truth.” I’m stepping over a line, and I know it. The depth of hurt in her expression hits me like a slap across my face. I kind of wish she had done that, instead of giving me that look—heartbroken and lost, all mixed up in the saddest eyes I’ve ever seen. Before I can take it all back, Joshua, her grandfather, swings the front door wide and steps between us.
“Tell who the truth?”
“No one, Gramps.” She kisses his cheek and uses him as a barrier, stepping behind him and into the house. She half turns, as if suddenly remembering her manners. It’s like she’s mad at me but isn’t quite able to execute the whole ‘storming away’ gesture. It would be too rude. Her eyes narrow and her words are clipped and faultlessly polite. “I’ll put these in some water. They are beautiful, by the way. Thank you.” She spins on the heel of her cowboy boot and disappears in a dramatic swish of her glossy dark hair and bright yellow sundress.
“You’re most welcome.” I call after her. I wonder how long she’s going to be angry with me. Is this going to be the most awkward lunch ever? And more importantly, is it going to prevent our nightly ritual? I hope not.
Two things I learned over lunch: One, Buttercup can really cook, and two, Buttercup doesn’t bear grudges, she forgives.
I PARK MY GRAMPA’S FORD next to the long line of expensive sports cars and top of whatever range convertibles. Even if my insurance company decides to give me a full valuation to replace my car, I couldn’t ever imagine buying something so impractical. The personalized license plates give me a shuddering snapshot of who’s inside the pristine colonial mansion of my soon-to-be sister-in-law. Bonny Mason has gone all out.
Each of the twenty-four windows on the front elevation is decorated with large pink paper lanterns, and I can guess it’s the same round the back. The mile long drive is illuminated with hundreds of flaming torches, and the avenue of ancient oak trees that frame the lawn and lead to the sweeping drive in front of the house of Kurt’s older brother Chet, have massive church candles around the base. Unfortunately, the flickering flames cast shadows on the underside of the branches thick with hanging Spanish moss, which are more suited to Halloween and send an ominous shiver up and down my spine.
I don’t want to be here.
Not that it seems to matter. Like so many things with this wedding, I’m surviving on autopilot, a mute autopilot for the most part. It’s not my day; it’s theirs, all of them: Kurt, his family, his extended family, business associates, his friends, my friends. It’s the event of the decade, and I feel utter dread in the pit of my constantly churning stomach.
In truth, before, I didn’t really mind, even in the beginning when Kurt’s mother steamrollered every single decision I made,., I was both numb and content to go along with it all. It made her happy, and that pleased Kurt. I felt like a voyeur most of the time, peeking in on someone else’s moments of joy, and in my heart, I liked that I was responsible for that. I gleaned some pleasure from it, and it was enough. That was before.
Now, the smile I fix hurts and takes every bit of my energy to keep in place. It falters, and every day, it’s getting harder and harder to pretend. My head is a mess. The violent storm of emotions raging inside has me balancing on a knife-edge. I am sick with the weight of the lies. Every day is a fresh hell of fake smiles and trying to act ‘normal’. The wedding is next week, and I’m struggling to find it in me to care enough to even try. Time has become my nemesis. Pink and I share something I’ve never had with anyone, an easy silence, a connection and sense of truly belonging with another soul, something so rare I long for it with every fiber of my being.
Bonny offered to organize my bachelorette party way back when I first got engaged, and like everything else, it was all agreed without me actually saying yes. I know this isn’t for my benefit, yet here I am. It’s mostly her friends, there’s even a few coming that openly dislike me, and Patty, the only close girlfriend I have outside of this small town, isn’t coming. She lives in San Francisco and couldn’t get the time off work for the party and the wedding. Bonny was openly relieved. She’s not a fan of outsiders; none of them are, not really. Fake hospitably and a wafer-thin layer of sincerity fool most. However, scratch the surface, and you’ll find they are as closed off as a nest of vipers and just as welcoming. I honestly believe they only include me because of my connection to Kurt’s family. When I went out of state to college, I became the outsider, and for a few years, I was truly happy. I felt free. It’s where I met Patty, at veterinary school. She’s the only person I really need to be here tonight.
“Oh my god! Oh my god!” Bonny squeals and jumps up and down like the Energizer Bunny on speed. Throwing her arms around me, she strangles the breath clean out of my lungs, backs up and pulls me into the grand entrance hall. A thick cloud of her perfume assaults my nostrils and makes my eyes water. She grabs my shoulders, and her perfectly manicured talons mark my skin as she jerks me away from her, tilting her head this way and that while pouting out a sappy smile. A thunder of clicking heals clatter across the marble floor drowned out by the ear splitting pitch of giggles, cries and platitudes. If only their enthusiasm was contagious or genuine.
“I can’t believe you’re getting married. You guys have been like total sweethearts since high school.” Lisa-Marie beams, her eyes wide as saucers and watery with emotion. “It’s so romantic.” Alicia’s sardonic tone matches the distaste in her expression.
“Lisa-Marie, you’re also married. To the same guy you dated in high school.” I point out over my shoulder as my arm is being pulled
out of its socket. We are all moving in one large swell of pink chiffon and silk toward the salon.
“Yes, but it was hardly planned. My daddy would’ve killed Louie if we didn’t marry after he caught us, and I wasn’t even pregnant.” She giggles.
“You guys are the perfect couple.” Yvonne holds her hands together as if in prayer. Say one for me, because I can’t help thinking that hell must feel at lot like this.
“But you love Louie.” It’s out of my mouth before I can stop myself. The words are bad enough, the tone causes a stunned silence. Bonny lets out an awkward laugh and pops open a bottle of champagne, which goes someway to restoring the ‘party’ atmosphere. Lisa-Marie takes two glasses and hands me one. The ladies resume their chatter and laughter. I can still feel eyes on me, furtive, knowing glances and pitying smiles. I don’t know what’s worse. It’s not like I don’t know.
Lisa-Marie perches on one of the bar stools and faces me. She takes a long pull of her drink. “Of course I love him, Buttercup. Even if I had been pregnant I wouldn’t have married him if I didn’t love him. Relationships are hard enough, you’ve got to have that one thing solid in your foundation, or it’s never going to last, being in love with the man you’re going to marry is a given.” Her earnest response takes me back. Bonny continues to fill glasses and everyone is in a semicircle around me. I can’t keep eye contact with anyone. I’m afraid they’ll see the truth.
Carmen downs her drink and waves her hand for an immediate refill. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she scoffs around guzzling down the second glass. “Or it does last like my parents, and that’s worse. They fucking hate each other. Growing up, every day was a fresh gauntlet of how much pain and suffering they could inflict on one another. All the time they were smiling for the rest of the world to see as they tore each other to shreds. What kind of life is that?”
“I didn’t know.” I’m shocked and sorry, but she brushes off my concern with a harsh, derisive sniff.
“No one did. It’s why I’ll never get married.” Adamant, she slams her empty glass down.
“Me either.” Alicia tips her glass up toasting Carmen’s statement.
“No one ever marries the town slut,.” Bonny snarks without missing a beat. They might be sisters but there’s no love lost.
“Bonny!” I snap. The girls fall into a fit of giggles, failing to hide their pleasure with tight lipped sanctimonious smiles.
“You’re such a bitch,” Alicia seethes, narrowing her eyes at Bonny and then me. What did I do?
“Can you maybe stop with the unladylike behavior and talk of doomed marriages? This is Buttercup’s bachelorette party.” Taylor claps her hands to quiet everyone down. She walks around the island and slides her arm across my shoulder and presses her cheek to mine, giving everyone a reprimanding glare. Taylor was my best friend through high school, and although we grew apart when I left for college, aside from Patty, she is the closest thing I have to a sister.
“Thanks, Taylor.” Her sideways hug tightens and she kisses my head.
“I’m sorry,” she says. Her eyes search mine and I have to blink to keep from crying. Does she know? Why is she sorry? Hold it together, Buttercup, it’s just one night.
“Yes, I’m sorry too, Buttercup,” Bonny adds.
“Yeah me too. You know we don’t mean you and Kurt. You two are like Romeo and Juliet without the joint suicide bit,” Yvonne chips in.
“Yeah, like Brad and Angelina…oh, maybe not them, although they had a good run,” Lisa-Marie encourages with her quirky, clumsy honesty.
“He loves you, you love him, and you will be wonderfully happy, have a gazillion genetically perfect offspring, and live happily every after,” Charlotte declares with a dreamy sigh.
“He must really love you to wait like he has,” Bonny says, and I cringe. I hate when this private topic is brought up for public dissection. I know it’s dated, old fashioned, and ‘silly’ but it’s mine and it’s between me and Kurt.
“Yeah right.” Alicia scoffs.
“Shut up, Alicia!” Lisa-Marie snaps with a look that strikes Alicia as hard as any palm across the cheek. “Not everything is about sex, and I think it’s sweet that Kurt and Buttercup have waited until their wedding night to make love.”
Carmen responds first, but I don’t doubt they will all want to give the pot a stir. This is my moment to sink into myself, sip my drink, and flip the switch to mute. “Trust me, everything is about sex, and I can’t believe an intelligent woman would leave something as important in a relationship as sex to chance. What if they don’t click? What if it isn’t worth the wait?”
“Well, she won’t know the difference for a start, and they have a whole lifetime to ‘click’. Don’t worry, B, when you really love someone, that connection takes sex to a whole other level. It will be everything you’ve ever dreamed of.” Taylor’s attempt at reassurance falls flat. If anything, I just feel sick; this isn’t a dream; it’s a nightmare.
“I don’t dream of sex with Kurt.”
“Of course not, I meant ‘making love’.” The air quotes are unnecessary.
“I don’t dream of that either.”
“Are you gay?” Alicia asks, and my jaw drops.
“What?”
“I mean it’s cool if you are, but maybe Kurt should know,” Lisa-Marie chips in, and my head whips comically between them and their assumptions.
“Oh he’d definitely like that.” Taylor winks at me.
“I’m not gay. It’s just…never mind.” I put my glass down, slide from the stool, and step away. The crowd of women suddenly feels very claustrophobic. Unfortunately, they follow me step for step out on to the veranda.
“You’re just nervous. Come on, girls, let’s get to town. We’ve got the party room at Bo’s Place booked all night.”
Taylor turns on Bonny. “Seriously, Bonny? That’s what you have planned for B’s big night? Man, you’re the worst Maid of Honor, ever!”
“She’s not the Maid of Honor, Patty is.” My raw nerves are fraying. Still, I shouldn’t have snapped.
“It’s because I’m married,” Bonny explains, embarrassment coloring her cheeks.
“That’s right, and I couldn’t choose between everyone else. I thought it better to pick an outsider. That way everyone can hate me equally for not picking them,” I joke. Forced light laughter fills the air. My explanation seems to placate Bonny.
“Look, Taylor,” Bonny huffs, and her surgically enhanced breasts strain against the tiny buttons on her pink silk Versace blouse, barely containing her indignation. “Buttercup said she didn’t want to go to the city, and we’re a little limited for entertainment around here. I opened up my home and booked the only darn place in town.” She’s affronted and her defense quickly morphs into an accusation. Waving her diamond-laden finger directly at me, hurt makes her voice wobble. “She’s not been around lately to tell me any different. I did ask, didn’t I, B?”
I take her finger and hold her hand, squeezing some reassurance. It’s not her fault I didn’t want any of this. It was kind to offer, and she’s done a great job with the decorations, or her staff has. “You did. It’s fine. I didn’t want anyone going to any trouble and look at this place, it’s amazing!” Bonny beams at my compliment. Tears spring in her eyes, and she wrestles me into another chest crushing hug.
“So, where have you been hiding these last few weeks?” Alicia asks. It’s not like we ever hang out together, and the accusation in her tone catches me off guard.
“What? Nowhere. I’ve been at home. I have to get packed and make sure Grampa is going to be okay when I move out.”
“Riiight.” She purses her lips and nods slowly.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.” She holds her palms up in all innocence and shakes her head. She holds my gaze, narrow eyes and a silence filled with accusation. “It’s just I came over the other night, to drop off some bridesmaids stuff and you weren’t in. It was late.”
>
“I was at Kurt’s.” I blurt and internally curse that I answered too quickly to come off remotely nonchalant.
“After nightfall? I don’t think so, B, I know the rules: Front doors and long legs get closed by sundown.”
“Alicia!” Bonny pulls Alicia back with a warning glare that could freeze ice, but the innuendo and suspicion are out there. I’m instantly under a fresh spotlight with fifty pairs of eyes boring down on me, silently waiting.
I attempt to divert the unwanted attention with a soft smile and a borderline bored response. “I went for a drive after visiting Kurt’s family. I lost track of time, is all. I’ve had a lot on my mind, Alicia.”
“What are you accusing her of exactly?” Taylor stiffens beside me.
“I’m not accusing her of anything. She’s just been acting weird, Bonny, you said as much the other night, and Taylor, when was the last time you guys hung out. I might not be her friend, but you guys are supposed to be. I thought being friends meant something. I thought you’d want to share. With one of us, at least.” She levels me with a piercing stare. I feel no obligation to share. These aren’t my friends, yet the lie is destroying me, and I can’t go on like this.
“I’m having second thoughts,” I confess, holding my chin high, although my voice is a reluctant whisper. What am I doing?
“What?” Taylor’s head snaps round.
“Noooo!” Lisa-Marie gasps, along with many of the others. Shock and horror clearly evident on their flawlessly made up faces.
“Why?” Bonny’s tone is more angry than anything. Her scowl is battling with the saturation of Botox in her forehead, and it’s winning. She’s furious.
“Kurt knows I don’t love him and—” Instantly regretting my rash decision, my explanation isn’t helped with the weak delivery, and Lisa-Marie interrupts when I hesitate.
