Bad Habits Box Set

by Staci Hart

  I drew in a noisy breath through my nose, worrying my bottom lip between my teeth as I glanced at Billy, who seemed happy and willing to help. I imagined him marrying us, imagined Cooper standing behind West with a dejected look on his face and his mouth swollen like a bass, imagined Billy’s gruff voice asking me if I’d love and honor West.

  I might have also imagined him whooping like Macho Man and encouraging us all to snap into a Slim Jim.

  “Do you feel okay?” I warily asked Cooper.

  “Yeah, dutht kinda itchy.”

  I sighed my resignation. “All right. You can do it.”

  He whooped and gave me an oddly spongy kiss on the cheek. “You won’t wegwet it!” And then he bounded out the door with Billy on his heels.

  We all shared a glance, and Cam checked her watch. “Are you ready, Lily?”

  A charm of hummingbirds took flight in my rib cage, and my cheeks tingled as they flushed and warmed. “I’m ready.”

  Rose handed me my bouquet. I followed Cam through the empty hallways, catching the first, distant wisps of a string quartet. My breath hitched with every step, the music rising, and when I saw my father looking at me with his face so full of emotion and pride, my tears welled.

  “Here,” Rose said gently and pressed a handkerchief into my free hand.

  I couldn’t take a steady breath, the band around my lungs tightening and loosening as I took his arm.

  He cupped his hand over my fingers. “I’ve been thinking about this day since you were a little girl, standing on my shoes with a pillowcase veil on your towhead. And now, here you are, all grown-up. Today, I’m giving you to another man, and I couldn’t have picked a more worthy one if I’d chosen myself.”

  “I love you, Dad,” I tried to say bravely, but the words trembled.

  He smiled, leaning in to press a kiss to my hair. “I love you, too. Are you ready?”

  I drew a deep breath, formed the word yes in my mind and on the tip of my tongue. But before I could speak, a thick peal of thunder ripped through the sky just beyond the doorway.

  A hundred and forty-three people turned their faces up to the darkening sky, and my heart sank into my stomach.

  Dad tried to look reassuring. “Don’t worry, Lil. But … we might want to get moving.”

  A small, worried laugh puffed out of me as I turned to the door. “All right, I’m ready.”

  Cam motioned to the quartet, and the violinist nodded, her instrument bobbing, then turned to make eye contact with her colleagues. Within a moment, the opening chords of “Fade Into You” began along with the processional. First, Tricky and Rose. Then, Maggie and Astrid on each other’s arms. And then, as the stanza ended and the music rose to the chorus, we stepped out of the doorway, and every face turned toward us.

  But I only saw one.

  West stood at the end of the aisle, tall and strong and sure. Dark and beautiful and perfect. His face shone with his love, with his adoration and hope, with the promise of forever. And everything around us seemed to dim and fade. I felt my father’s arm under my fingers and the grass beneath my feet. I smelled the charge of rain in the air. I was cognizant of my bouquet in my free hand and, in my periphery, the faces of our friends and family as they watched me pass. But it all existed on the fringes of my awareness.

  There was only him.

  My heartbeat thundered in my ears as we came to a stop. I heard Cooper asking who was giving me away with a comical lisp, but West and I were connected with such intensity, I could feel us leaning into each other. I broke the contact for only a moment to look into my father’s face and to kiss his cheek, and then he placed my hand in West’s and stepped away.

  I only had time to breathe my surprise as he pulled my hand, tugging me into him, his hand in my hair, his lips descending to capture mine in a moment of sweet and utter joy, a gentle possession, the stamp of his claim on me before a single word was spoken.

  The guests laughed, cheering and whooping their approval. When he ended the kiss, his lips smiled as he looked down at me, still holding my face in his hands.

  “I fink you’ve got da owdew off, buddy,” Cooper said, smirking.

  But West just took my hands, and we stood that way, facing one another under the eaves of a garlanded pergola teeming with jasmine.

  Cooper opened the leather-bound folder and drew himself up tall.

  “Mawwiage. Mawwiage is what bwings us togefa today,” he said in a perfect imitation of the priest who attempted to marry Buttercup and Humperdinck.

  The crowd laughed, West and I included.

  Cooper shrugged. “Sowwy. I had to. And I apowogize in adfance fow the impediment. I’m one of point-zewo-zewo-one pewcent of da popuwation awergic to anithe.” He looked down at his folder. “I have had the pweasuw of watching the fwiendship between Wiwy and Wetht bwoom—”

  The sky darkened as a pregnant thunderhead passed over the sun, the dimming of the light accompanied by a low, long rumbling of thunder.

  West squeezed my hand, his thumb skating the fine bones on top of my hand. It’s going to be okay, that gesture said, and I smiled, believing him.

  And then I heard the bagpipes.

  They were only a high, distant honking, and we all looked around, trying to figure out what direction it was coming from. But it was impossible to tell with skyscrapers stretching up all around us, echoing the sound. The guests murmured, and I saw Cam dart to the edge to peer over. My ears strained, recognizing the tune. I couldn’t place it.

  “Is that …” West started, his eyes narrowing in concentration.

  And it clicked into place. “‘Like a Virgin.’”

  Cooper barked a laugh, covering it with a fake cough when I turned my eyes on him. I imagined they were a glimpse straight into hell.

  When Cam turned to meet my eyes, she blanched and shook her head in apology.

  “I think it’s getting louder,” Rose said from behind me.

  Which was true. The dissonant sounds grew, hitting the chorus with gusto met by everyone on that rooftop. When they started singing, my shock slipped into hysterical giddiness when West belted out the chorus to me, about me being fine and his, telling me he’d be mine until the end of time, as the Sixth Annual New York Bagpipe Parade made their way down the street below during my wedding ceremony.

  It was too loud to carry on, so we took the opportunity to sing as they switched to “Don’t Stop Believin’.” There was some masterful air-guitaring by my grandmother, Nellie, a deep baritone belting of the second verse by Billy Backlash, and a hamstring-snapping half-split by one of West’s eight-year-old cousins in the aisle. Even the quartet joined in, playing along, and West pulled me close and sang to me, swaying me like we were in the kitchen, making pancakes. And he kissed me again like the rule-breaker he was.

  The bagpipes faded away, and we settled down, our faces flushed and cheeks high. And Cooper carried us on.

  We spoke the words of our promise, the vows of forever, of love and honor, of sickness and health as the first rain fell. I placed the ring on his finger, and he did the same with trembling hands and racing hearts as the drizzle turned into a stream. Staff of the venue rushed out with umbrellas for the wedding party, unfurling them as Cooper gave West permission to kiss his bride, not that he needed it as the sky opened up.

  And he kissed me in the rain with his hands on my face and his lips against mine and our hearts thumping together and our breath mingling as one. We didn’t feel the rain as it drenched our fine clothes, didn’t sense the commotion around us. In that moment, with that kiss, his soul and mine stitched together that final inch.

  I didn’t think I would feel that different, but I did. It was a wholeness I felt, the love I’d thought was bottomless stretching to every horizon.

  He broke the kiss. When I opened my eyes, his were still closed, his dark lashes on his cheeks, his lids smooth. And when they opened, it was my future I saw.

  We turned to the crowd, who was smiling and crying and holding pr
ograms uselessly over their heads. West stepped down the aisle, towing me as we practically ran for cover, laughing all the way. The moment we passed the threshold, he threaded his arm around my waist, spinning me as if we were dancing, pressing me against the wall, kissing me again, both of us breathless.

  After a long moment, we were forehead to forehead, smiling our bliss.

  “I love you,” I said.

  “Forever,” he said back.

  The rest of the wedding party ran in behind us, feet slapping and faces alight. And we all laughed at our state, which was properly drenched.

  But we sobered when we really saw the photographer’s face.

  She was worrying her lip between her teeth, her brows pinched together and hands fidgeting with her camera bag strap.

  “What do you want to do?” she asked, the words foreboding.

  I took a look at all of us, myself last. Outside, the sky was still falling, the rain thick and heavy as a fire hose. And just like that, the tears were back, stinging my eyes, squeezing my throat.

  I looked up at West. “Everything’s ruined.”

  The worry on his face smoothed as he caught hold of a thought that tilted his lips in a smile. “Oh no, it’s not,” he said as he moved for the door to the roof. “Take off your shoes.”

  I glanced back at the photographer, who smiled, setting down her bag. “Oh, this is gonna be good.”

  And I found myself smiling as I kicked off my shoes and followed him out into the rain.

  4

  Magic

  West

  Lily’s head was tucked under my chin, our bodies swaying gently to “I Will Always Love You.”

  It was the only song the DJ had in English.

  Our DJ had gotten food poisoning and landed himself in the hospital, but he’d graciously sent a buddy of his to fill in. Thing was, he only spoke Portuguese.

  The quartet had another gig that no amount of money could have convinced them to cancel, and Cam had tried to connect her phone to the PA system, but no one had the adapter her phone used to hook it in. As far as I knew, she was still working on it.

  I couldn’t care less.

  I didn’t care that the caterer had mixed up our meal with another wedding, one who had apparently been a big fan of fish with their heads still on and escargot. I didn’t care that the cake had teetered when Lily’s drunk aunt bumped the table and we’d lost the top tier that we were supposed to freeze and eat on our anniversary. I didn’t care that we’d been listening to Portuguese rap for the last forty-five minutes.

  Lily was mine.

  Her hair was still damp—it had been taken down, scrunched up to let it wave, and plaited into an elaborate braid. Her dress had been the subject of the hair dryer instead, and the French designer who had fixed the rip in her dress had gathered it up into some sort of bustle. She looked as beautiful as she ever had. More so.

  She sighed against me and lifted her head, her face soft and dreamy. “How could everything be this wrong, but I’m happier than I’ve ever been in my life?”

  “Magic. You and me, we’re magic. This day, as unexpected as it was, has been magic. And it’s not over yet.”

  A smile, a bright, beautiful smile I’d see every day until I died. “You know all this is your fault, right?”

  “Who? Me?” I teased.

  “You cursed us.”

  “And how’d I do that?”

  “With your sneaky sneaking and irresistible package.”

  “What package?” I asked innocently. “I didn’t bring you a package.”

  She made a face. “Please don’t make me say dick while we’re dancing at our wedding.”

  A laugh climbed up my throat. I pulled her closer. “I love you, Lily Williams.”

  “I love you, too,” she echoed with a smile as Whitney Houston belted out the chorus. “You make everything better. A hundred times, I thought I’d break today. But you laughed and told me to take off my shoes so we could dance in the rain. When I wanted to cry because we couldn’t dance to Etta James, you twerked to Portuguese hip-hop and made me laugh so hard, I cried anyway. You are the magic. How’d I ever get so lucky?”

  “Oh, I don’t know about lucky. I’m the one swinging you around the dance floor to the greatest ballad known to man.” Whitney hit the high note in agreement. “Life can throw whatever it wants at us. A little rain and some fish heads won’t stop us. Because we have each other. Nothing else matters.”

  Her eyes shone with tears, though she smiled. “Kiss me,” she commanded.

  And I did. I kissed her with my heart and soul as the song wound down.

  The sound cut out mid-note, and we turned to the DJ’s table, surprised.

  Cam crowed, “Aha!” just before the monitors popped with the connection of her phone, and Etta James floated from the speakers.

  And when we looked back at each other, Lily’s expression was as happily shocked as mine was smug.

  “See?” I said, pulling her closer. “Magic.”

  No Such Thing

  5

  Plan? What Plan?

  Maggie

  The little display screen said the same thing the others had said, but I still didn’t believe it. My eyes scanned the word, straining until the word didn’t even look like a word anymore.

  Pregnant.

  I took the deepest breath I could, which was pitiable at best. There wasn’t enough oxygen in the room, maybe in the world, and I dropped onto the toilet lid with my eyes on the stick in my hand. I looked right through it.

  My mind tripped over one thought after another. I’d been taking birth control religiously since I was sixteen. It was rare to miss one pill. Two was unheard of. I even took it at the same time every day, just in case.

  Maldives.

  It had to have been our trip to Maldives. We’d stopped in Sydney for a few days, which had been a haze of sleeping, sightseeing, and miscounting what day it was. I thought I’d only missed one day.

  Clearly, my math was incorrect.

  I thumbed the ring on my right ring finger, the one Cooper had given me years ago in Greece. He’d told me one day he’d give me a real ring, ask me for forever. When we were ready.

  An odd, cynical laugh bubbled out of me at the word. Ready. Ready or not, here we were.

  I sat numbly on the toilet seat, my mind full of static, blank and white and buzzing.

  My hand moved to rest on my stomach, and I felt it then, the heaviness, the shifting awareness beneath my palm where our baby was.

  Our baby.

  Tears pricked my eyes, panic rising in my chest as one hand pressed against the flat of my stomach and the other clutched that pregnancy test like Jack hanging on to that damnable door in Titanic with icy hands and hope for rescue and a heart full of love.

  I had to call Cooper. It was the first real instinct I had—he was always the first person I called, the person who I told everything. Always.

  But when I reached for my phone and pulled up his contact, I hesitated.

  I had no idea how to tell him, but I knew I didn’t want to tell him over the phone when he was in his office or getting out of a board meeting. I had to tell him face-to-face. Which meant I had to keep it to myself for at least—I checked the clock—five hours. Maybe six or seven, if work ran late.

  The thought of spending that time alone with that information made my stomach turn. Well, it was either that knowledge or—

  Baby.

  The word conjured a dozen images that sprang from one another—Cooper kissing my swollen belly, me changing diapers, the two of us buying tiny shoes and onesies and pajamas and pushing a stroller through Central Park.

  The fluttering of excitement, the realization of hopes I’d had since I was a little girl with a man I loved so well took flight, burst into a raucous joy, then rose in a violent charge up my esophagus. I barely got off the toilet in time, flipping the lid with a millisecond to spare before my stomach emptied.

  When it was over, I brushed th
e tears from my cheeks and reached for my phone again with hands trembling to fire a text off to Lily. She was the only friend I had who’d been through this—and my sister-in-law to boot. She’d know what to say. She’d know what to do.

  You awake? I asked even though it was noon.

  Their baby, Hazel, was only a few weeks old, and the chances that they were all asleep were high.

  Yup. Baby just woke up. What’s up?

  I nibbled my lip, not wanting to say too much. Mind if I swing by for a bit?

  Not at all. Baby holders are always welcome.

  I’ll be sure to prep.

  No perfume! Don’t forget. Wear something soft. Oh! And no weird lotions or anything.

  I laughed. You act like I haven’t been over there.

  I know, I know. But she’s got baby acne, and I know it’s normal but I hate it, and I’m 110% sure it’s because Mrs. Munch came over to bring lasagna and insisted on holding her. I love that woman, but she had enough Chanel No. 5 on to take down a small village.

  Hahaha. I’ll shower one more time just to be sure before I leave in a bit.

  You’re a gem, Mags!

  As I set down my phone, my smile faded. And as I showered and dressed, my mind chewed over my fate, vacillating between excitement and fear and worry and, most of all, hope.

  An hour later, I was climbing the stairs to their apartment with my stomach rolling. Lily answered the door, hair piled in a bun on top of her head and a pretty patterned robe over stained pajamas. Dark smudges cradled her eyes, but she was smiling and glowing and absolutely lovely.

  “Hey,” she said in greeting, stepping out of the way.

  We hugged when I reached her.

  “Hey. How you feelin’?” I asked.

  She sighed, still smiling. “Oh, we’re good. I’m not sure what day it is, and I haven’t slept more than four hours in a row for weeks, but we’re good. So good. Come in.”

  I did, and she shut the door. The house was a comfortable mess, littered with baby blankets and pacifiers, burp cloths and half-empty glasses of water. A baby monitor sat on the coffee table next to a nearly empty box of donuts.