by Kira Graham
“He’s nuts. But whatever, right? You love who you love,” Sin mutters, smiling when we all huff and shake our heads.
She isn’t looking so hot today, either, but I suspect that that has more to do with her having to walk down the aisle on Paris’s arm than anything else. What? Like I wasn’t going to use this opportunity to get those two together? Puh-lease. I’m not that sensitive, and honestly, a wedding is the perfect place for Paris and Sinai to get together. Call it a romantic streak that I didn’t know I had, but I have this idea that if they get drunk enough to hook up, it’ll solve all their problems.
Sigh. I am such a genius.
“Stop. Please. All that sensitivity and romance is killing me,” Rosetta deadpans, cracking up when Sin blushes and flips her off, reminding her that she is, as proven by actual evidence, the least romantic of us all.
It’s true. Rosetta’s idea of romance is so bad that she got Zeus a first edition book for Valentine’s Day. So okay, maybe to him that was awesome, so I suppose that in a way, it was romantic—eye roll—but where’s the heart, ya know?
“I’m just being honest. Apparently, we’re all supposed to live in denial now, but it’s not like the rest of you haven’t thought about this. Come on. Just one of you tell me that you weren’t thinking that Chilli was going to have a nervous breakdown,” she mutters, making me giggle because it’s true.
I watched him like a hawk for the first three days, but he surprised me. He didn’t waver, and the more he talked about the wedding and all this stuff, the more at ease he put me. We really are doing this!
A knock at the door startles me right before Dad sticks his head in and grins at me, giving a low whistle when he takes in my appearance.
“Honey chile, you look amazing. That boy better know how lucky he is,” he murmurs, coming in to give me a kiss and a bear hug that’s only a little less strong around my stomach.
The babies, only just having started to move recently, flutter inside me as if they, too, agree.
“He knows. Trust me, Dad—I tell him all the time,” I muse, smiling brightly until another knock reveals Mindy peeking in.
“Oh my gosh, you look fantastic! And all that hair,” she trills, skipping in like she’s caught a jumping bean up her ass and can’t help it.
I hug her back when she practically falls on me and ruefully accept that yes, she is now a part of the family, and no, I won’t mention that dyeing her hair red is weird. We all have our strange little quirks, and apparently Mindy’s quirk is the refusal to accept that her hair comes out orange when she tries to go red. God help my wedding photos.
“Thanks, honey. So. You’re looking good,” I tell her, really looking at her.
Despite the orange hair, she looks amazing for a girl who had her ass dumped recently. And while Nate isn’t one to really talk about the details of their breakup, I do know that it didn’t go well because Mindy took it hard. Maybe she rebounds fast, I think, looking her over again. She really does look good, and she seems happy enough as she grabs a glass of champagne and downs it in two gulps, surprising us all.
Teetotaler Mindy is drinking now? Oh, my God—maybe there is hope for her after all.
“Thanks. I was really bummed after Nate and I broke up, but then I joined a shooting club, and it sort of channeled all that rage. I feel awesome!” she tells us, nodding for a full three seconds longer than necessary.
“That’s the spirit! You know, when I got fired—”
A round of groans cuts Rosetta off, because my God, if I have to hear her life story again, I will kill someone. Probably her. No offense to Rosetta, and yeah, I fully admit that being accused of murder, almost getting thrown in prison, and then having some ex-military assassin with more than a few screws loose try to kill you, is epic. I’d just like to hear the epic stuff a lot less than three times a day.
“Be nice! My therapist says that talking about it helps me to work through it,” Rosetta mutters, scowling when I suggest that she make friends with a wall.
“Aaaanyway. Like Alex was saying before Drama here tried to overtake the show again,” Sin says, glaring at Rosetta and stepping back a little farther out of her reach, “you are looking good. Except for the hair. That came out all kindsa wrong,” she says seriously, her lack of tact rearing its unsurprising head.
Mindy giggles, the sound a little unsettling because she hiccups at the same time, and her eyes don’t seem to agree with her emotions.
“Oh, pshaw! It looks great. I just thought that I needed a little pick me up after Nate decided that I wasn’t for him. A little change does a body good. Besides, I like y’all’s hair,” she says seriously, giving us all a look of adoration that I would normally enjoy—I mean, who doesn’t enjoy adoration—but honestly…
As cool and kind and sweet and all of those other things as Mindy is, she’s a strange duck, and I thank God that she’s besties with Sin and not with me. Although I don’t know how that’s possible, when Sin says whatever she’s thinking, whether it be good or bad.
“Yeah, but it doesn’t like you,” Sin sighs, taking her by the arm and steering her over to the booze while whispering to her.
I don’t need to hear what is said. Honestly, Sin and Mindy are both screwy in the head on a good day. They can keep all that crazy between the two of them, thank you very much.
“Sooo, now that Sin the Sensitive and Mindy the Mindless are out of the way…how you feeling?” Tee asks me, something about her expression giving me pause.
Dad, Rosetta, and Cleo are all huddled around the canapé tray, fighting over food, which leaves Tee and me alone in our own little bubble. I can’t say that I like this bubble, because Tee’s answers usually come in the form of grunts, bites, or shrugs. Actually having her focused on me is a little like staring into the eye of the storm. Unsettling.
“Good! Honestly, I feel good. Today’s a good day, Nefertiti,” I say softly, almost gently.
We’re sisters, and, as sibs, we share a special bond that I feel is losing some of its strength as time passes. Tee has tended to keep to herself lately, and even when she’s around, she’s a silent watcher. It’s not in her nature, and for the first time in months, I see that something is up with her.
“Are you okay?” I ask softly, keeping my voice down and inching closer.
“Me?” she scoffs, running a hand over the part of her hair that she had shaved after she donated some of it to charity. “I’m good. Just want this day to go well for you, is all,” she huffs, her gaze meeting mine again. “You sure this is what you want? Not what Chilli, Mom, or any of the others want? Because if it isn’t, I have a plan.”
I snort, a bubble of amusement filling me because that is so like her. Tee is violent and nuts and just…a lot, but she’s the planner and the one that I rely on most. Like when everyone first found out I was pregnant, she took a step back—not because she wasn’t being there for me, but because she knew that I needed space. I could literally call her at any time, and she’d drop everything for me, and I know that she’d do that now. No matter what the outcome.
“Car and everything, huh?” I muse, giggling when she shrugs.
“Even brought a gun just in case,” she assures me, smiling when I clear my throat and try not to look spooked. “Don’t worry—I left it in the car.”
Well, phew! That’s a load off.
“I’m ready for this, and I want it,” I promise her, hugging her back when she nods and pulls me in for a short side squeeze.
“Well, okay then! Then I guess we’d better get this show on the road. Come on, fatty, let’s go get you hitched. By the way, that Greek island that Zeus is letting you use for the honeymoon…off the freaking hook. You’re gonna love it…” she starts to ramble.
I discreetly tune her out, my nerves growing when Dad comes forward and offers his elbow, leading me out of the little room and into the main hall of the church. The place is huge, ornate, and as fancy as Mom and Honey could manage, and it’s as intimidating as hell to
step out and hear the murmur of over three hundred voices filling the space. From where I’m standing, I can’t see much, but with the doors open, I can make out just fine how many people Mom invited to this shindig.
“Don’t be nervous. It’ll just be a short walk down there, and Dad won’t let you trip,” Dad promises in an indulgent whisper, his eyes smiling down at me when I glance up and blow out a hard breath.
“Thanks, Dad. I knew there was a reason that I refused Jack’s kind offer to be chaperone,” I giggle, thinking back to the histrionics involved when my dad refused to let Uncle Jack horn in on his glory.
The damn man is a hoot, I think, my legs trembling and then outright shaking when I realize that the wedding music hasn’t started playing, and that the backs of my sister and cousins are all ramrod straight.
“Hey! You’re supposed to signal the organ person,” I hiss at Cleo, my stomach starting to tingle when she makes a whining noise and doesn’t so much as move a finger.
When Rosetta herself doesn’t do anything, or Sin, for that matter, I get a really unsettled feeling that starts to spread. One that explodes when Mindy slowly turns around, her wide eyes so big that they look ready to pop out.
“Uh. I, uh…think we may be a little early? she whispers back, yipping when Sin pinches her and hisses something that I can’t hear.
Beside me, Dad is craning his neck, and, with his height, I know that he’s able to see what’s happening. Damn stupid rule against wearing heels, I think, regretting my maternal instinct to go with flats.
“We’re not early! Daddy, what is it? Is Mom holding things up again?” I whisper, vowing to kill my own mother if—
“I, er—no, honey pie. I, uh—maybe Mindy is right. We’re just a little early,” he says, his voice trembling.
When I look up and meet his eyes, I realize that the shaking isn’t his nerves echoing my own fear of falling down somewhere at the end of the aisle. My dad is pissed, and he seems to be getting more so as I lean around, see all the people, hear the rising chatter of their whispers, and then spot Adonis rushing down towards us, his face unreadable.
And then it hits me, a little more slowly than it should, but a lot harder than I thought it would. I mean, I know what this is, and somewhere in the distantly foggy back of my mind, I think that I even sort of suspected it at one point, but knowing…
No. Nope. This isn’t happening, I keep repeating, even as Adonis stops beside Cleo, whispers something to her, and then hurries towards me. I keep repeating it even through his grimaced whispers, and then I keep repeating it when people start to look at me, their expressions filled with pity.
I can’t stop saying it, not even when my heart starts to pound and throb so hard that it hurts to breathe.
This isn’t happening…
********************************************************************
PREGNANT BRIDE JILTED!
CHILLY CHILLI ESCAPES AGAIN!
I’m keeing a scrapbook of headlines that are more accusatory and mocking than informative. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know that collecting the things isn’t healthy, but hey, I never copped to thinking that I’m normal and, in fact, have been telling people for years that I’m far from it.
For this reason, I keep cutting out headlines and pasting them into my scrapbook, even when Nate keeps sighing and begging me to stop. I can’t stop. I need the reminders of why I despise Chilli Hart staring me in the face, every single minute of the day. That way, I won’t cry, and that way, when he keeps calling, I can refrain from answering and let it go directly to voicemail.
At first, after like the twentieth call, Nate suggested that I just turn my phone off, but I don’t want that, either. I want him to keep calling and to know, without a doubt, that I am not answering because I don’t want to. I don’t want to talk to him, look at him, or think of him ever again.
But since I can’t have everything, not talking and not looking are going to have to do, because not thinking about him would entail a lobotomy at this point.
“Baby. This isn’t healthy. Come on. Let me help you get cleaned up and out of that dress,” Nate tries again, jumping back when I turn to hiss at him, my teeth snapping wildly.
“I said no! Remember what I said?” I ask patiently, giving an indelicate sniff as I paste the last headline of the day into my book and stare down at it.
PREGNANT AND CHEATED
I don’t agree with this one, but not because it‘s mean; it’s just not accurate. I wasn’t cheated on, as most people suggest, despite all of the press coverage and the photos that ended up in the paper of Chilli with another woman on the morning of our wedding. I know in my heart that he would never have done something like that, but I don’t particularly care what he was doing talking to some skirt while I was being stood up.
I just don’t care.
I hate him, and no, it’s not that “Oh my God, I love him, and this hurts, so I hate him” kind of feeling. This feeling is more along the lines of hating him silently and keeping up my crazy scrapbooking hobby so that I won’t find him and shoot him dead, kinda thing.
Rosetta offered to do just that—hell, when Tee realized what was happening, Ares had to tackle her from behind as she let out a shriek and started running for her car. It took her getting hit with a rock by Jack, having her gun stolen, and then eventually being wrestled into Ares’ car to ensure that she didn’t hunt Chilli down and actually shoot him dead. In fact, they all offered, even Zeus—and Paris, who in fact did not end up getting drunk and boning Sin like I’d been hoping.
No, all those plans I’d had went to shit because…
I got left at the altar.
There. I said it. And you know what? It feels good to finally say something honest, even if it hurts. Achilles Hart left me at the altar, and while everyone keeps banging on my door and yelling excuses at me, once again, I don’t care!
I don’t care if he had an emergency and got held up. I don’t care if someone had a life-threatening anything that required him to run late. I just. Don’t. Care.
I should have known that he’d do this, that it was all too good to be true, and you know what? Maybe that’s why I’m not just letting go of my control and going off to kill him. I blame myself more than anyone else in all this because it was bound to happen that Chilli would hurt me. Hell, thinking back on it, I realize, I should have said no in the first place.
The one part of my magical proposal—with its Def Leppard violin strumming, the one bent knee, and all the right words—that was missing? He never once said that he wanted to marry me because he loves me. So really, in a way, he did me a favor by humiliating me and standing me up. Really.
Nate clears his throat, letting several long minutes pass, and then, as I wait patiently, he utters the words that I said to him after I came back to my apartment.
“You, uh, said that—ahem, that you were going to ‘stew in this dress until you shit and pissed on it the way he did on your heart,’” Nate mumbles, his eyes flinching when I bark an affirmative and go back to reading and looking at the book.
“And what else?” I ask, my eyes fixed on that photo of Chilli and the other woman.
God, that chick looks so familiar; I just can’t place her. I’ll bet that if I ask Rosetta, she’ll know, which isn’t necessarily a good thing, because I’ve heard her yelling homicidally on and off over the last two days, and chances are that if she finds someone to kill, she will do it. Consequences be damned.
“You said that it didn’t matter,” Nate says softly, his eyes going hard when I nod.
“And it doesn’t. None of it does. I’ve realized, Nate, that fooling myself isn’t going to get me very far, and so now I’m being real with myself.”
“Al, the guy didn’t mean to stand you up. I keep trying to tell you that there was an emergency—”
“Does that matter? If Achilles really wanted to marry me, he’d have been at that church, or he’d have called me! He wouldn’t have let me ma
ke a complete fool of myself, Nate,” I whisper, a small zing of emotion trying to escape the grip I have on it.
I haven’t cried, not once, and I feel proud of that fact. I haven’t broken, though God knows that after some people started laughing, I wanted to. I wanted to run out of there, keep running, and not look back until I was so far away that no one would recognize me. Instead, I marched up to that altar, told all the guests to please enjoy the reception but that the wedding was off, and then personally greeted and thanked them all for coming out.
I had to. I needed to prove to them all, and to myself, that I’m not a coward—so yeah, I am proud of myself, even if only to say that I held my head up and didn’t panic like I once would have. That doesn’t mean that this shit doesn’t hurt, though. I’ve been on this couch for two days, and I’ve hardly slept or allowed myself to think. Nate waters me and feeds me, but that’s all I do. For the babies. They need to eat and drink. I don’t care about me. In fact, this would be a lot easier if I didn’t have to worry about them. I could crumble into a pathetic heap and cry and tear things apart and eat until I got as fat as a pig.
It’s only the thought of these two tiny little things that keeps me going. I need to be strong for them.
“He said that he did try. He tried to call you personally, Al. You didn’t answer, and then he called Adonis.”
“Like that matters! What kind of reaction do you think I’d have gotten if I’d stood him up?” I ask, my eyeball twitching wildly.
“Oh, babe,” Nate sighs, falling down onto the couch and grabbing at the scrapbook to toss it onto the coffee table.
I try to struggle and get it back, needing it because it’s become my lifeline—my talisman, as strange as that sounds. The truth of it is so inescapable that just having it makes me feel stronger, in a way. You can’t fight reality, and when it’s a part of you, when you know, then you can’t be surprised.
That’s what I need.
“Exactly. Now, let’s talk about other things,” I say, my eyes burning with the need for sleep. “Tell me about Mindy.”
