Paige Turned

by Erynn Mangum

  “You say it’s about Wes, but I know the truth. You just have a thing for the orange shag carpet,” I tell her, trying to change the subject off of me and Tyler since I’m not sure I can voice what my heart thinks right now.

  “I’m a child before my time,” Preslee says.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Eating junk because I apparently have this hidden desire not to be able to fit into my dress. Based on the crunching, I’m assuming you’re doing the same thing.”

  “My dinner was a Frappuccino,” I tell her.

  “Sometimes I think you really work at Starbucks and all these girls just come visit you there.”

  “Sometimes it feels like that.” Exactly the reason why I rotate what Starbucks I’m at.

  It didn’t help today. I walked into the third Starbucks in a row that I’d been at, and the barista behind the counter looked at me, grinned, touched his fingers to his forehead, and guessed my entire order.

  I changed it purely so I wasn’t so predictable. Even though I really did want a caramel macchiato.

  “Well. I’ll let you eat. And watch your Kitchen Cousins show that’s about to come on.”

  “Preslee Marie Alder. Are you watching HGTV?” I am in shock. Preslee hates home-improvement shows.

  “Only because all the other channels have reruns on.”

  “No, I do not accept that as a valid answer.”

  She sighs loudly into the phone. “Fine. Some of it is a little entertaining.”

  “I really have seen it all. Preslee Alder is agreeing in my choice of television. I am just going to sit back and wait for the heavenly trumpet call.”

  “Well, we wouldn’t want to be dramatic, would we?” Preslee says, but I can hear her smile. “Have a good night, Paige.”

  “Night, Pres.”

  I climb into bed a little later, pull my Bible over onto my lap, but leave it closed.

  I think about my conversation with Preslee and close my eyes, leaning my head back on my headboard.

  Tyler.

  I am comfortable around him. He makes me laugh and he always knows the right thing to say. And for only being a Christian for six years, Tyler has a depth of wisdom that could only come from Jesus.

  Love is such a strong word. And I’d said it before to a guy without really knowing what all it meant and entailed.

  I think about my parents and how my dad and mom have grown up and changed and gone through incredibly hard times, and if anything, they’ve only gotten closer to each other. I think about Wes and Preslee and how much they had to overcome with Preslee’s crazy past. And Layla and Peter and how they are complete and total opposites and how it seems to work perfectly for them.

  Love comes in many forms, it seems like.

  I open my Bible and flip over to 1 John, where I remember there being a lot of talk about love.

  Chapter 4 has the verses I am thinking about. “There is no fear in love; but perfect love casts out fear. . . . We love, because He first loved us.”

  Love.

  Tyler’s sweet face comes to my mind and I smile.

  The week flies by in a blur of meetings with girls, meetings with Rick, holding hands with Tyler, and meeting a frantic Layla at Hobby Lobby because she realized she never bought napkins for the wedding.

  I take Friday off to help Layla get everything set up and decorated for the next day. She is standing in the gym at our church, staring at the ceiling, hands on her hips when I walk into the room. While Layla is normally in something cute and frilly like a lace-trimmed skirt or something coral pink, she’s wearing black yoga pants and a loose gray tank top today. Her brown hair is up in a sloppy topknot, and she’s got an elastic headband holding back her bangs.

  We looked like we called each other, which I guess she did. “Wear comfy clothes,” she warned me last night. “We’re going to be doing a lot of lifting and climbing.” I was also wearing my black yoga pants and a royal blue tank top.

  It’s eight thirty in the morning and we’re the only ones in the quiet gym.

  “Last full day of being a single woman,” I say, going over to her and handing her the caramel macchiato I brought with me.

  She takes the drink with a grateful smile and looks back up at the ceiling. “Eight months of planning and it all comes down to today and tomorrow,” she says quietly. “I’m worried that Sunday is going to just be this huge adrenaline letdown.”

  “It probably will.” I sip my own macchiato.

  “What a great way to start a marriage, right?”

  “I think that’s why there’s a honeymoon,” I tell her. “So you can both decompress together on a fabulous vacation.”

  She smiles and loops an arm around my waist. “I love you, Paige.”

  “I love you, Layla.”

  “Let’s get to work.”

  I follow her out to the parking lot, and she’s got her mom’s Suburban loaded to the top with boxes and laundry baskets full of supplies. “Where is your mom?” I ask. I was expecting her to be here early. Layla’s mom is nothing if not a fanatic about the details.

  We got along really well the whole time I was growing up.

  “She’s on her way in Dad’s truck. She’s picking up the rental curtains and tablecloths. I think she was actually stopping by Starbucks too.” Layla grins. “Drink up, friend. We’re going to be swimming in a caffeinated fog by tonight.”

  “No worse than a usual day for me,” I tell her, smirking. “I’m now conditioned to eight shots of espresso a day.”

  “I would die.”

  I think about my hyper friend and nod. “Yes. Yes, you would.”

  Mrs. Prestwick gets there about fifteen minutes later after we’ve unloaded the Suburban’s contents into the gym and lined all the boxes and baskets against the wall.

  “Hi, Paige!” Mrs. Prestwick waves and climbs out of the truck. She gives her daughter a kiss on the forehead. “Hi, baby.” She hands both of us another cup from Starbucks.

  I grin at Layla’s mom. We’d inhaled our macchiatos I had brought and Mrs. Prestwick brought the same thing.

  “So.” She walks into the gym. “Everything is unloaded from the Suburban?”

  “Yeah. So, here’s what I’m thinking. The head table will go over there.” Layla points to the far side of the gym. “And the dance floor will be this big area in front of it. We’ll set up the round tables all around the dance floor and then have the long tables all along that side for the food.”

  Mrs. Prestwick is nodding as her daughter talks, looking around the gym, sipping her own drink from Starbucks. “We have a ton of work to do.”

  I follow her gaze and we definitely do. Our church’s gym is just that. A gym. It has two basketball hoops on either side, and the floor is covered in the basketball court markings. I think the hoops can be lifted so you can’t really see them, especially with the lights dimmed like Layla wants.

  We unload the curtains and tablecloths Mrs. Prestwick brought with her and start setting up the stands for the curtains. Layla wants twelve-feet-tall blackout curtains going all the way around the wall so we have a dark, flat, and totally blank background for everything. “I do not want those posters in the background of my wedding reception.” She nods to the inspirational posters featuring a lot of pugs and little kids that someone thought would be cute to post all over the room.

  Rick walks in eating a doughnut as Layla and I are struggling to lift the very heavy frame with the very heavy curtains up into a standing position. He watches us for a second, pops the rest of the doughnut in his mouth, walks over, and easily sets the curtains up. “These didn’t come with installation?” he asks as we stand there panting, looking at the six other ones we still have to do.

  “It was more expensive.” Layla bends backward, stretching out her neck.

  “Yes, but can you put a price on being able to move on your wedding day?” Rick asks.

  “Apparently.”

  He just shakes his head and then stays and helps
us put up the rest of the curtains. By the time we finish, it’s nearly lunchtime and I’m already exhausted. And we’ve barely done anything.

  Layla swipes at her forehead and winces. “We may have underestimated how much there was to do.”

  Mrs. Prestwick is there to bolster her up. “It will be fine, sweetie. Look, all we have to do is set up the tables, put on the tablecloths, and decorate. No big deal! We can get that all done in a couple of hours.”

  I think she’s being a little too enthusiastic, but it seems to help Layla’s mood. She starts setting up tables.

  Rick nods to me. “I’ve got to run. I’ve got a meeting in ten minutes.”

  “Thanks for helping with the curtains.”

  When our church built the gym, they knew it would likely be used for wedding receptions as well. So they spent a little extra and wired the whole room with an awesome sound system. And thanks to a lot of training over the summer from Rick on the youth room sound system, I actually have something of a clue of how to work it.

  I dig my iPod out of my purse and plug it into the system, turning the power on and lowering the volume so we can still hear each other talking. Then I turn it to my most upbeat playlist.

  Hopefully this will instill more energy into us.

  Layla is dancing to “Dancing Queen” a few minutes later, popping the legs out on the tables and plopping them in their places. “This is a great idea, Paige!” She grins at me.

  Mrs. Prestwick lays out the black round tablecloths and then puts a big white square tablecloth over them. An hour later, we have twenty tables up and dressed.

  Time to get to the actual decorating.

  “We’re doing a buffet, but I still want the silverware at every place setting.” Layla grabs one of the towering stacks of napkins. We roll silverware, singing along to old musical songs. Mrs. Prestwick goes around placing all the silverware. Then we turn to the tables. The flowers won’t be delivered until tomorrow morning, but we go ahead and put the vases out, set out the tea lights in their little holders, and set up all the chairs.

  We finally finish at five, which just makes Layla panicked because the rehearsal starts at six and she hasn’t showered or anything. Mrs. Prestwick drives her home and I run home to shower and change as well.

  I jump in and out of the shower, blow dry my hair as fast as I can, and run a straightener through it because I don’t have time to curl it. I dab on some makeup and run back down the apartment stairs, slide back into my car, and drive back to the church.

  In hindsight, it would have probably been easier if I’d just brought my clothes and makeup because there’s a shower at the church.

  I pull into the parking lot right as Layla does with her mom, and they picked up her dad as well.

  Seeing as how this is the first wedding I’ve ever been in and I’ve never been to a rehearsal before, I’m a little nervous. I’m the maid of honor. Everyone is coming to me when they have questions and I don’t have a clue how to answer them.

  “Does Layla want a guest-book table? And did she order flowers for it if she does?”

  “Did Layla say what kind of shoes the girls are supposed to wear?”

  “What about nail polish? Does she want us to wear nail polish?”

  Layla asked her two closest girl cousins to be the other bridesmaids. I finally just looked at them and said, “I doubt she cares, so I would just go with what sounds good to you.”

  That seemed to answer some of them, anyway.

  Layla, for as frantic and panicked as she’s been all morning, is the picture of calm and serenity tonight. Her brown hair is down, curling in soft waves around her shoulders. She is wearing a gray skirt, black heels, and a white top with a black three-quarter-sleeve cardigan over it. She found a huge light pink hydrangea and pinned it to her cardigan.

  She looks adorable.

  Mrs. Prestwick comes to stand beside me as I’m watching Layla smile and snuggle against Peter’s arm as they talk last-minute details with a showered and suited Rick before the rehearsal officially gets underway.

  “Thank you so much, Paige.” Mrs. Prestwick puts her arm around my shoulders.

  “For what?”

  “For what.” She laughs at me. “For everything. You’ve been the biggest help to this wedding. But I was mostly referring to how you’ve been Layla’s friend for so long. Thank you for that.”

  I smile, getting misty-eyed already, which isn’t a good sign for the rest of the evening.

  Who would have thought I would get emotional at just the rehearsal? I should have gone with the waterproof mascara for tonight as well as tomorrow, I guess.

  I was fully planning on crying tomorrow.

  I suck it up and paint on my “I will not be affected by this” face.

  Mrs. Prestwick goes to talk to the friend of theirs who is acting as the photographer.

  “Fancy meeting you here,” a low voice says behind me.

  I turn and Luke is standing there looking picture-perfect like he always does. Black slacks. A white button-down shirt. Shiny black shoes. He’s smiling at me, but for once it’s totally lacking in anything other than just genuine niceness.

  And that makes me smile back. “Hi.”

  He stands next to me and we both watch Layla. “Can you believe my baby sister is getting married?” he asks in a quiet voice.

  “No.” And really, I can’t. This whole day has felt like some weird sort of charade where we’re pretending to be grown up and getting older and getting married, but really we’re just two little girls playing wedding day.

  It’s just strange.

  I watch the way Layla smiles up at Peter, and something finally clicks in my heart.

  They’re going to be just fine.

  So maybe he isn’t the ideal guy I had in mind for Layla. His name isn’t Gilbert, he isn’t from Avonlea, and he hardly speaks. But he is kind to my friend, he loves Jesus, he loves Layla, and at the end of the day, that’s all that really matters.

  I take a deep breath and I’m starting to get excited. This isn’t a sad event, really. It’s weird and it’s different and it will completely change our friendship, but it’s a good thing.

  And I finally believe it.

  “They’re happy,” I say.

  “Yes they are.” Luke nods and turns to look at me. “It’s good to see you, Paige.”

  “You too, Luke.”

  He walks away as Layla flits over. “So, everything is good. Are you good? I’m good. And Rick is good. So we’re going to just go ahead and start. Good? Good.”

  I grin at the back of her head as she rushes off to inform Peter’s brother, a guy who looks identical to Peter but seems to be much more outgoing.

  “All right, gather round!” Rick yells and everyone stops chattering in their little groups and gathers in front of the stage.

  “Okay, first let me just welcome everyone to this practice for tomorrow’s fantastic event. I know Layla and Peter are honored to have you all here, so I’m excited to be here with you all too. Let’s start with a prayer, shall we?”

  Rick prays and then has all of the wedding party come up to the stage and stand in the spots where we will be the next day. “It’s easier to practice this backward,” He has all of us then walk out the doors and then we practice walking back in, standing in our little assigned spots, watching Layla and Peter pretend to get married, and then we follow them back out again.

  “Any questions?” Rick asks when we’re all back up in our spots on the stage for the last time.

  No one has questions so he tells us to walk back out once more, and then we are free to go to the rehearsal dinner. I take Peter’s brother’s arm and step down the steps.

  Tyler has suddenly appeared in the empty chairs, and he’s sitting there grinning at me.

  We walk out to the foyer and Peter’s mother starts handing out directions to the Mexican restaurant where the rehearsal dinner will be. Tyler catches up to me in the foyer.

  “It’s such a p
ain to read directions while you’re trying to drive.” He comes up right beside me.

  “Oh, it’s okay, I know where Los Cuatros is.”

  He shakes his head slightly. “You are not so good at picking up subtleties, Paige. Want a ride?” He grins.

  “Oh!” I grin at him. “Sure. Sorry.”

  He has a weird smile on his face. “I guess I just need to remember that I have to spell things out for you, huh?” Then he wraps an arm around my shoulders and leads me out to the parking lot, and everything is normal again.

  We drive the very short drive to the restaurant, and Peter’s parents have reserved one of the private rooms for the rehearsal dinner.

  The room is beautiful. Stone floors, a fountain, plants, lots of dim, blueish-toned lighting. Layla made a playlist of Peter’s and her favorite songs, and it plays quietly in the background. A bunch of their relatives are already here.

  We all find a seat, Peter’s dad prays, and then they open up the buffet. Every kind of Mexican food I can imagine is on the tables. Enchiladas, tamales, burritos, quesadillas, mountains of chips, and buckets of salsa.

  I load up my plate and sit in my chair between Rick and Tyler. Which just means that tonight is going to be an interesting night.

  “I’m always especially convinced of a couple’s rightness for each other after a decent rehearsal dinner.” Rick sits beside me and sets a plate with a mound of food on the table in front of him.

  “You wait until the rehearsal to decide if a couple belongs together?” I shake my head. “Isn’t that a little wasteful? What if they don’t belong together? All the deadlines to get their money back have long since passed. And I’m pretty sure that traditionally, the groom’s parents are the ones who provide the rehearsal dinner, so I’m not sure that is a good judge of the couple.”

  “Then I have definitely married a few couples I shouldn’t have,” Rick says, digging into a pile of enchiladas.

  “You are terrible.”

  “What’s terrible?” Tyler sits on the other side of me and looks sadly at his plate. “Not the enchiladas. Please say it’s not the enchiladas. I’ve been waiting for these since I saw that plus one on your invite to the rehearsal dinner.”