Lovestruck Forever

by Rachel Schurig

  “It’s easy,” I told him. “Just put your hands on my hips and follow me.”

  Thomas did as instructed, his movements stiff for the first song or two before he started to relax. “See?” I called over the shouts of laughter and music. “Easy peasey.”

  “Yeah, right.” He looked around at my family and friends, many of whom were dancing with us. Sofie had enlisted Samuel to dance with her, and her feet and hips were moving so quickly it was hard to keep up. “I have a feeling I’m holding you back,” Thomas called out to me.

  I winked at him, pulling away to twirl once, shaking my hips as I went. Sof whistled next to me, grabbing my hand. I happily complied, laughing as she swung me away from Thomas. “Be right back!”

  I could feel his eyes on me as I danced with my cousin and my brothers. Callie had taken me dancing in London the night I met Thomas, and I had spent most of the evening feeling awkward and out of place—the complete opposite of how I felt now. Many of our family gatherings, from formal parties to generic weekend dinners, ended up with everyone on whatever makeshift dance floor we had room for. I could do this kind of dancing in my sleep. The exhilarating feeling of the quick foot movement, the hip shaking, the twirling, the laughing and shouting as my family relaxed and let loose around me. I danced three songs with Sofie and my brothers before I realized that I wasn’t being the best host to Thomas. I kissed Sofie on her sweaty cheek before I set off to find him—or a cold drink, whichever came first.

  I was red-faced and breathing hard when I collapsed into a seat next to my mother. “You look good out there,” she said in her now familiar slower drawl. I leaned over to pat her arm.

  “Thanks, Mama. You’ll be up and dancing by the wedding.”

  Thomas appeared at my side, two glasses in his hand. “I’m not sure what this is,” he told me, setting one in front of me and sitting down on my other side. “But your uncle told me I had to try it.”

  I peered into the cup at the cream-colored liquid. “Mmm, horchata. This is amazing, Thomas, you’ll love it.”

  I took a sip, whimpering a little with pleasure when I realized the horchata had been spiked, adding a warmth to the creamy, cinnamon goodness.

  “I could drink this all day,” I moaned, setting the glass down.

  “Why don’t we?” Thomas asked, licking a drop from his lip. “That’s delicious.”

  “We don’t because we would both gain a hundred pounds, and your days of being a heart throb and chasing bad guys on screen would be over.”

  He looked down at the drink, nodding. “It is pretty rich.” He set the cup down, leaning over the table so he could see my mom. “May I get you something to drink, Mrs. Medina?”

  She pointed at her still full glass of sangria. “No thank you, dear.”

  “Did I hear you two talking about the wedding?”

  I smiled at my mom. “Just reminding her that we fully expect her to dance at our wedding, so she better not be slacking on her physical therapy.”

  “Oh, absolutely,” he said, his voice very serious. “Dancing will be a requirement, Mrs. Medina.”

  She laughed. “Look at you both, bullying an old woman.”

  “Whatever,” I argued. “You should see her dance, Thomas. She puts every one of us to shame.”

  “Well, that’s something I look forward to seeing on our wedding day,” he said, winking at her.

  “Speaking of the wedding…” I took a deep breath, shoring up my courage. “Thomas and I started to make some plans last night.”

  “Thank God,” Maria said, plopping into a seat across from us on the other side of the table. “We’ve been wondering when you were going to get a move on it.”

  I scowled at her. “We didn’t want to plan anything until Mama was feeling better.”

  My mother patted my hand. “I don’t want you putting your life on hold for me, mija. I’m fine!”

  “I know, Mama. You’re doing so well. That’s why we felt comfortable thinking about our plans now.”

  “So when are you thinking?” Maria asked, pulling out her phone. “Because Daddy already had me call the hall and get a list of available dates. We have a tentative hold placed for a few weekends.”

  “Wait…what?”

  She looked at me like I was slow. “The hall. Daddy put holds on a few dates to make sure they’d be able to accommodate us when you guys finally make up your mind about when to have the darn thing.”

  My palms were starting to feel damp. I rubbed them across the hem of my dress, trying to keep my voice from shaking. “He booked the hall?”

  She shook her head. “He didn’t book it. He put a deposit down with a hold for a few dates.”

  My head was spinning. I couldn’t believe they had already gone ahead and done this, without even talking to me. “What dates?”

  She peered at her phone. “A Saturday in the fall—October, I think. And one in January. Then the last weekend in May. We figured that would cover us for every season.” She paused, apparently noticing my expression. “Unless you wanted a summer wedding? We didn’t think you would want to wait that long.”

  I had no idea how to respond to any of this. I could feel Thomas’s gaze on me, waiting for me to say something, to tell her that I didn’t even know if we wanted to get married here. But I felt too shocked, too overwhelmed by their interference.

  “Are you okay?” my mother asked, apparently realizing that I was less than happy about these developments. “If you don’t want to have the reception at the hall, that’s your choice.” She patted my knee under the table. “Daddy and I just wanted to make sure you had your options.”

  I shook my head, mutely. “I just…I don’t know, Mom. I had no idea you guys were making plans already. Thomas and I—”

  “What’s wrong with the hall?” Maria interrupted, her eyes narrowed. “It’s the only place big enough for all of us that won’t bankrupt Daddy. Besides, it’s in the family.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with the hall, Maria—” I began, but she plowed right ahead.

  “And it’s close to the church.” Her eyes narrowed further. “You are planning to get married at the church, aren’t you?”

  I heard Thomas take a deep breath beside me, about to come to my rescue and respond for me. I placed a warning hand on his arm—I had just caught sight of my mother’s expression, the way her entire face fell at the mere idea that I might not get married in the church my family had attended since long before I was born.

  “We haven’t planned anything yet, Maria,” I said, conscious of the edge in my voice. “We only got as far as picking a season.”

  Her face relaxed, as did my mother’s, and I immediately felt a surge of guilt for not being honest. It would have been one thing to have the conversation alone with my mom, but add in what I was sure would be an outburst from Maria, and I just didn’t have the nerve for it.

  “What season?” Maria asked.

  I swallowed, feeling cowardly. “We thought October.”

  My mother sighed happily. “I knew you would want an autumn ceremony. You always loved the colors in the fall.” Were those tears in her eyes? “Oh, Lizzie, it will be such a beautiful wedding.”

  “Mama—” I reached out for her hand and she grabbed mine, laughing a little shakily as she moved her other hand to her face to swipe at her eyes.

  “I’m sorry, mija. I’m just so happy that I’m here to see this day. After everything that happened…I’m just glad I’m still here, that’s all.”

  I felt tears in my own eyes, now. “Me, too, Mama.”

  “October doesn’t give us much time,” Maria murmured, punching on her phone keys. “We’ll have to get moving right away.”

  In spite of the happiness in my mother’s face, my stomach tightened. How had everything moved beyond my control so quickly? How could I possibly tell my mom that I didn’t want to get married here? I had no desire to be the cause of that disappointed expression I’d seen a moment ago. And my dad—he had cared en
ough about this wedding to go ahead and start planning already. He’d put a deposit down, apparently planning to pay for the reception himself. How could I throw that gift back in his face?

  “We should probably make an appointment with Margarita ASAP,” Maria mused, now in full-on Maria Control Mode. “You know how long it took to get our dresses done for Laura’s wedding.” She smirked. “Of course, that might have more to do with Laura gaining and losing the same ten pounds three times before the wedding.”

  I spluttered. “Margarita?” The dressmaker had indeed made our bridesmaid dresses for Laura’s and Maria’s weddings. She’d also made my quince dress—the fuchsia nightmare Thomas had taken such delight in making fun of. I wished I could say my quince dress had been the polar opposite of the dresses we’d had made for the weddings, but they were more similar than I wanted to admit. That was the style Margarita designed—loud, tight, big, and covered in beading. The exact opposite of what I would pick for my bridesmaids to wear. I had a sudden image of Callie in one of her dresses and would have laughed if it weren’t so real.

  “Which means you need to pick out your bridesmaids,” Maria went on, oblivious to my silent horror. “It’s going to be tricky with Laura’s baby bump. I’ll see if I can get us in next week for the first consultation.”

  “Wait,” I finally managed to say. “Maria—”

  She looked at me, eyebrows raised. “There’s really not a lot of time to wait, little sister. October is five months away. And Laura won’t be much help with the baby coming at the end of August.”

  “I know.” I took a deep breath. “I know there’s a lot to do. But I’m not ready for dress fittings yet. I don’t even know if I want to use Margarita.”

  Maria looked like she was about to argue, but my mother, mercifully, stepped in. “You’re right, dear. You just set the date! You and Thomas take some time to discuss what you’d like. We’ll be ready to help when you’re ready.”

  I felt a rush of gratitude toward her. Maybe there was time to rein this in after all. Maybe I could still sit down with my parents and figure it all out, before Hurricane Maria took complete control and I ended up walking down the aisle in fifty yards of tulle and beading.

  “Better get a move on,” Maria muttered, slipping her phone into her pocket. “These things take time, Lizzie.”

  I stared down at the table, doing my best to ignore the feeling of Thomas’s gaze boring into the side of my head. I couldn’t look at him right now, couldn’t see the disappointment I was sure would be in his eyes. He had spent the past year and a half helping me work on standing up to my family. He’d been so proud of the progress I’d made, always reminding me of how strong I was. But now, when push came to shove, here I was, ready to give into them all over again.

  Chapter Six

  It was several days before I was able to talk to Sofie about what had happened at the party. Sarra, Meghan, and Carter were all staying in town for a long weekend, keeping us busy. The Harpers, on the other hand, were staying in the States for a full week. They spent the first part of the week with us in Detroit before heading to New York City to see the sights. “Might as well take the chance to see some of the world while I can,” Anne had told me with a sigh. “Heaven knows I’ll have a hard enough time getting that old grump out of Britain again anytime soon.”

  “I heard that,” Gilbert called from the den where he and Thomas were both reading the paper.

  “I know you did,” she called back. “Because you’re spending this precious time abroad sitting around reading the paper, just like you do at home.”

  “A man must stay up to date, Mum,” Thomas replied, and Anne and I shared a good eye roll at their expense.

  By week’s end, however, they had moved on to New York, Bryony in tow. Thomas had pulled some strings to get them excellent theater seats, as well as the chance to see a taping of Letterman. Bryony was convinced she’d meet a celebrity who would sweep her off her feet, allowing her to live a fairy tale life in Manhattan. Thomas called her silly, but I couldn’t help but think that was pretty much what had happened with him and me. “You never know,” I told her, winking before kissing her good bye. “I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you.”

  By Friday morning, our company was gone and things were back to normal at our house. Thomas had some promotional obligations to handle at Jenner’s theater before the Friday night performance, so I made plans to meet Sofie at her favorite coffee house near work, hoping she wouldn’t mind too terribly if I spent most of the time bitching about our family.

  We had barely sat down with our drinks before I launched into a long monologue about their presumption in booking the hall and my complete inability to tell them about our London plans.

  I paused to sigh, stirring my ice tea. “I don’t know why I’m surprised, I should have been expecting it. But…I don’t know. I guess I thought they would at least discuss it with me, you know?”

  Sofie shook her head. “Why on earth would they discuss it with you?” she asked, her voice uncharacteristically bitter. “Discussing it with you would indicate that they gave a shit about anyone’s ideas except their own.”

  Wow. Where had that come from? Sof and I had long been united in our irritation at our family’s overbearing interference, but I didn’t think I had ever heard her sound so…angry about it. I remembered the way she had looked the week before when discussing family, the tightness of her face. I had promised myself I would talk to her about it after the party but had forgotten in favor of stressing about my own issues.

  “You okay, Sof?” I slid my hand across the table so I could brush my fingers over hers. The moment my skin made contact with hers, she burst into tears, quickly pulling her hands back to cover her face.

  “Sofie!” I cried, aghast. “What’s wrong?”

  She merely shook her head, her face still covered, sobbing into her hands.

  I jumped up from my seat to join her on her side of the table. “You’re okay,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm. I felt more than a little freaked out. Sofie was not one for dramatic, emotional displays—particularly not in public. I realized that we were attracting quite a bit of attention, so I moved my chair, shielding her from the curious eyes of our fellow patrons. “Just breathe, Sof. I’m right here.”

  Slowly, her sobs quieted; her shaking shoulders stilled. I continued to rub her back as she took deep breaths, swiping at the tears under her eyes.

  “Here.” I reached across the table and grabbed a few napkins, passing them to her. She took them, offering me a shaky smile in return.

  “Sorry, Lizzie,” she muttered, using the napkins to mop up her tears. “I’m probably embarrassing you.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” I moved my hand from her back to her shoulder, giving her a squeeze. “I’m not embarrassed, just worried. Are you okay?”

  I figured she would laugh it off, make some excuses for her behavior, and was further shocked when she welled up all over again. “No, Lizzie,” she whispered. “I’m not okay. Not at all.”

  “Sofie—”

  She waved her hands over her face. “Go back to your chair,” she muttered. “I can’t tell you this with you sitting so close.”

  Feeling nervous, and incredibly confused, I went back to my side of the table and took my seat. “What the hell is going on, Sof?”

  She took two deep breaths, so big I could see her shoulders rise and fall. Finally she looked up and met my gaze. “I’m pregnant, Lizzie.”

  I stared at her, uncomprehendingly. Pregnant? But—

  “Wait, what?”

  She shook her head impatiently. “I’m not joking, that’s for sure. I took about a dozen tests.” Her face crumpled a little before smoothing out. “I was so sure it was a mistake. Turns out it’s real—a nightmare, but a real one.”

  I felt completely lost for words. When we were little, Sofie and I had mapped out our entire future together while sharing a sleeping bag in her basement during one of our many sleepovers
. I was going to be a famous writer and marry a Mr. Darcy clone, and Sof planned to become a paleontologist and travel the world looking for dinosaur bones with Dr. Grant from Jurassic Park. We figured we’d have kids eventually, when we were done having fun. In none of the scenarios we discussed did our future include children before marriage—before even moving out of her parents’ house, in Sofie’s case.

  Oh God. Her parents.

  “Have you told anyone?” I asked, almost afraid of the answer.

  She shook her head, a few stray tears slipping down her cheeks. “No. I just took the tests this morning. I’ve…I’ve had a feeling for a while, though. I think I was just in denial.”

  “Shit, Sofie. You should have told me.”

  “Before your party?” She made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “Yeah, that would have been great. Happy engagement cuz, sorry to drop this on you, but I’m knocked up and my parents are going to kill me.” She shook her head. “Like I said, a nightmare.”

  “It doesn’t have to be a nightmare.” I reached across the table to grab her hand. “I’ll help you. Whatever you need.”

  She shook her head, her expression so sad it made my heart twist. “What I need is a time machine. Don’t think you can help me there, Lizzie.”

  She released my hand and started fidgeting with the wrapper from her straw, twisting it tightly before smoothing it flat against the table.

  “Is it…is it the guy from work?” As soon as the words left my mouth, I felt like an ass, but she merely nodded sadly.

  “Yeah. Tim.”

  “And I take it you haven’t told him?”

  She shook her head. “What’s the point?”

  “If it’s his baby, he deserves to know, Sof.”

  Her next words were so soft I had to strain to hear them. “He doesn’t love me. And I don’t love him.” She met my gaze, her eyes wide and clear. “There’s no fairy tale ending here, Lizzie.”

  Shit. I had no idea what to say to her, how to make this better. I remembered the brief pregnancy scare Thomas and I’d had last year in L.A. I remembered the panic and the shock. How scared I was to tell my parents. And my situation was completely different from Sofie’s. I had Thomas, for starters— a man that I loved and was committed to. A man that could and would be happy to take care of a baby. Sofie didn’t have any of that.