To Be Your Wife

by Rae Kennedy

  “You look so lovely dear,” she says, smiling with that I’m just so proud of my grown-up baby girl look she’s started giving me since going to college. I wonder if she’ll still give me that look after she finds out tomorrow.

  “Thanks.” I straighten and smooth out my dress.

  She sort of fusses over the now askew table cloth and straightens it out. “Oh! The potato salad is getting low. I better go get the other batch from the house. It’s Tuck’s favorite, you know.”

  “I’ll go get it. You stay and enjoy the party.”

  “Are you sure honey?”

  “Of course.”

  “Oh thank you Gracie Lou. It’s been so nice having you home again this week, you’ve been so helpful with all of this, I don’t think we could have pulled off everything without you.”

  I offer a small smile.

  “I feel like we just got you back and now you’re leaving again.” She’s giving me that smile again. The proud one. But this time she looks like she might cry too.

  Shit.

  “Uh...yeah.” My hair falls, covering half my face as I turn and look away. I really should have told them earlier. I’d originally justified the secret so I wouldn’t take any attention away from Court and her big day but with every passing week, day, hour that I’ve been hiding this I can feel the weight of it pressing harder and heavier against me.

  I trudge back up to the house, across the faded wood deck and through the back door, letting the screen door bang shut behind me. Inside the house is warm. A singular lamp is lit in the corner of the living room and down the hall, light is glowing from the kitchen, but otherwise it is dark. Dark and quiet and still. No band, no rowdy dancers or loud conversations. Not even the soft hiss of the wind—only the occasional snort or whimper from our elderly hound dog who is currently napping under the dining room table.

  I run up the stairs, the old wood planks groan and creak with each step. I flip the switch in my room, the light flickers twice before crackling on. I ignore my collection of dance ribbons and trophies, the pom-poms on my dresser, and the collage of photographs from high school on my wall—mostly selfies, to get to my phone charging on the bed.

  Me: are you still coming to the reception?

  Kyla: Yes! I just got here, sorry I’m late...Grandpa.

  Me: No worries. I’ll be the one carrying a bowl of potato salad the size of Jupiter

  Kyla: Do you need help?

  Me: Nah, I’ll meet you down there in a few

  On my way out I pass the suitcase sitting at the end of my bed, ready and waiting to leave with me tomorrow.

  It’s empty.

  I race to the kitchen and the giant-ass bowl of potato salad is, in fact, only marginally smaller than Jupiter. It proves difficult to manage while opening the door to the yard. Maybe I do need help.

  The air outside is fresh and I am surrounded by crickets chirping as I huff it toward the party. Kyla waves at me from the buffet table. She’s been my best friend since we were awkward twelve-year-olds with braces and knobby knees. I’m glad we grew out of that phase.

  She’s wearing a flirty emerald green dress that is stunning with her auburn hair and bright hazel eyes. Her shoulder-length hair has the perfect amount of natural wave, one side is tucked behind her ear revealing a peacock feather earring that hangs to just above her collar bone.

  “Hey!” She runs up to me and helps carry the bowl back to the food table.

  “Hi, thanks,” I say, a little out of breath.

  “I feel like I’ve hardly seen you!” she pouts and squeezes me around the middle. “You look great by the way I could never pull off the color peach I’m so jealous of your complexion.”

  I chuckle at her rapid-fire compliment. “You look beautiful, Ky. Love the earrings.”

  “Yeah? Me too.” She fluffs the giant feathered earrings. “I saw them and I was like yes these are perfect because I am going to be peacocking the hell out of tonight.”

  “Peacocking?”

  “Yeah, like when peacocks display their feathers to get a mate’s attention. Peacocking. It’s a thing. Anyway tonight is the night I’m going to finally get Wes to notice me.”

  “Tonight’s the night you make your big move?”

  “Yep. I mean he’s been pining over your sister for how many years and she is now officially off the market so he has no choice but to move on right?”

  “Right. Totally.”

  “But enough about Wes finally realizing we are soulmates I’m just so glad we get to hang out tonight I feel like I’ve hardly gotten to see you since you’ve been home from school and now you’re leaving me again I’m so sad.”

  “Um...” I need to tell someone already. “About my trip—”

  “Are you so excited? I mean it obviously sounds like a lot of work but you’ll have so much fun I’m so jealous of all the adventures you’re going to have out in the world! We should celebrate tonight. Hey there’s some champagne let’s sneak some champagne!”

  Champagne is for celebrating. “I don’t want champagne.”

  Kyla tilts her head toward me, a little crease forming between her eyebrows. The look isn’t because I turned down alcohol—that’s not new—but she can read even the subtle changes in my tone.

  “I need to tell you something.”

  She steps closer to me. “What’s up G?”

  “I’m not leaving tomorrow.”

  “Huh? Why?”

  “I...I lost my spot in the program.”

  “How? What happened?”

  “My grades last semester didn’t meet their requirements so they gave my spot to someone else.”

  “Oh, Gracie, I’m sorry that sucks.” She puts her arm around my shoulders. She always smells like citrus. “I didn’t know you were having a hard time in school.”

  “It’s not... I just... Yeah. It hasn’t been great.”

  “And your parents...?”

  “I haven’t told them yet. But they’ll know tomorrow. Everyone will know. It will spread through the whole town like every other piece of gossip does and people will be talking about me behind my back again. The worst part about failing school is it was supposed to be my way out, so I don’t get stuck here.”

  “Hey, I kind of like it here.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that. I love this town...I just want more. I want to see more, have more experiences. I’ve barely been out of the state. But right now, what I really want, is to run away.”

  “Ahem—” Someone clears his throat behind me.

  I jolt away from the food table. Jesus, Gracie, you’re completely in the way. “I’m so sorry, I—” I look up and am met with dark brown, smiling eyes. Bedhead hair. The guitarist.

  I glance at the stage, which is empty, the band must be on a break.

  “No need to apologize.” He flashes me bright white teeth that stand out against his tanned, olive skin. He’s holding a plate full of food and is eyeing the watermelon at the end of the table. The watermelon I had been standing so inconsiderately in front of a moment ago.

  “Hi!” Kyla steps up next to me, chin held high, chest proudly puffed, hand outstretched toward him. “I’m Kyla. This is Gracie.”

  “Hey Kyla. I’m Logan.” He shakes her hand and nods, then looks back to me. Before I know it, my hand is wrapped in his warm one. “Gracie...” He glances down briefly at my dress and warmth rises from my chest to my ears. “Bridesmaid?”

  “Yeah. I’m the bride’s sister.”

  “Right!” He bobs his head like this should be totally obvious to him. I guess I do basically look like a miniature version of Court. “It’s nice to meet you, Gracie. You too, Kyla.”

  It is at this moment my stomach decides to let out the loudest, gravelliest growl known to man. I am probably red as a beet right now. Please let it be dark enough he doesn’t notice.

  “Hungry?” he asks.

  “Have you not eaten yet?” Kyla looks at me with her overprotective I-will-cut-a-bitch face.

>   “No, I keep getting distracted by this and that.”

  “Shit, girl—” Logan gives me his plate so quickly I almost drop it before I realize what he’s doing. “Here.”

  “You don’t need to give me your food, really.” Like, really this is a little weird.

  “I’ll get more, come on.” He waves me over to where he’s standing by the fresh bowl of potato salad with a heaping ladle full.

  I eye the already overflowing plate of food in my hands. “I’m good.”

  He gives me a scoop anyway. And adds a couple slices of watermelon for good measure.

  “He’s hot ohmygod Gracie he’s totally into you did you see him eye-fucking you out of your dress?” Kyla says as soon as we sit at a table. Also, something to note—Kyla does not know how to whisper.

  I’m trying—unsuccessfully—to get her to chill out about hot guitar player when he walks up to our table, all nonchalant and running one hand through his wavy hair while holding a plate piled with food even higher than mine in his other hand.

  “Can I join you ladies?” He flashes his gorgeous smile.

  “Um...”

  “Of course yes you can here take my seat!” Kyla chimes in, standing and pulling out her chair for Logan.

  “Ky,” I say in a low tone and I stare at her with wide crazy eyes. She knows what the crazy eyes mean. She ignores them.

  “I was just about to get up anyway. I’ve got peacocking to do. I’ll come find you in a bit.” With a wave, and a not-so-subtle wink, she walks away.

  “Peacocking?” Logan asks.

  “Yep.” I really don’t want to expand any further than that.

  He just shrugs in acceptance and starts tearing into his food. “Oh my god.” He talks between bites of food, licking his fingers. “This is so good. Have you tried the ribs yet?”

  “Yeah, I helped make them.”

  “No shit? That’s so cool.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Seriously, it’s so nice to have a home-cooked meal like this right before we head out. We always eat like crap on the road.”

  “You guys are going on the road, like on tour?”

  “Yep, all summer, thirty-one shows, all across the country.”

  “Wow, that sounds exciting. I’ve hardly been anywhere.”

  “This is our fifth tour, but yeah, still just as exciting as our first time.”

  He continues to tell me a bit about the band and their past tours as he polishes off his plate. I’m done eating—though you wouldn’t know it by the mountain of food still sitting in front of me. Logan casually reaches over and takes a remaining short rib off my plate without skipping a beat in his story about when they were playing a teeny tiny venue in New Jersey and a fire broke out halfway through their set. No one was hurt, thankfully, and they stuck around and played the rest of their set acoustic outside the club in the sprinkling rain for whoever wanted to listen while they waited for the first responders.

  “So,” he says leaning back in his chair. “The bride’s sister, younger I’m guessing?”

  “Yeah.” That’s obvious, I’m six years younger than Court and I have a naturally heart-shaped baby face.

  “You’re like, what, twenty-two, three?”

  “Nineteen.”

  “Huh. I would have guessed older. Not because you look it, just you seem mature...I don’t know, like there’s a depth in your eyes.”

  Not often have I—as a bouncy blonde cheerleader—been called deep, but I’ll take it.

  “I kind of have a lot on my mind right now.”

  He nods knowingly. “Is that why you said you wanted to run away earlier?”

  “You heard that?”

  “Yup. I also heard you say you wanted to see new places, have new experiences.”

  “Does that make me sound lame? Like I’m a sheltered girl from a small town who hasn’t seen or done anything?” I guess that’s exactly what I am.

  He puts his hands up in apology. “Hey, no judgements here. But you don’t seem like the kind of girl who would run away.”

  “I’m not. Maybe that’s why I want to so badly.”

  He looks at me for a beat, running his index finger along his jaw, a spark in his dark eyes. “You could run away with us.”

  “What?”

  “Come on tour with us. We’re going to leave tonight around two a.m., heading for LA. You’ll get to see the whole country. It’ll be an adventure.”

  “Oh no, I couldn’t.”

  “All right. Hey, I’ve got to go announce they’re cutting the cake, but—” he pulls a black sharpie out of his pocket and scans the table. Not finding what he’s looking for, he takes my hand and starts writing on my palm. “—here’s my number. Text me if you change your mind.”

  Read more of Gracie’s story here