Sunday
To-do before the wedding!
Get nails done sans Trixie who equates a nail salon with false imprisonment and sans Serena who has clearly imprisoned my sanity.
Avoid the Black Bear in order to avoid Serena and, more importantly, avoid He Who Shall Not Be Mentioned for reasons certain raw and slow to heal orifices would rather not discuss.
Stock up on all products that promise the aforementioned orifice relief from injury.
Research cat breeds for an upcoming future that bars men with weaponized joysticks from ever entering any residence I might take up in. Spinsters are the new black. I’m calling it.
I’ve spent New Year’s Eve in just about every kind of way. My father, being the unofficial baron of New York, made sure that as children, my brothers and I spent that raucous night having many a misadventures down in Times Square amongst the chaos and the all-around revelry that takes place. I’ve also spent New Year’s Eve at home and knitted a scarf, gone to the movies with friends—so weird to be in the middle of a dull monologue while the rest of the world is screaming their heads off—I’ve done the party scene, the curling up on the couch and watching it unfold on TV thing, I’ve pretty much covered most of my New Year’s Eve bases—and tonight I’m pretty sure I’m covering the last one. A wedding. My brother, Nolan, older by far too many years to remember, is marrying his longtime love, Misty Baker. Misty teaches at Whitney Briggs University in the English department and has earned the esteemed title of Professor Baker—soon-to-be Knight. I’m thrilled to be gaining a sister. In fact, Misty has felt like one all along. And in an odd way, I’m glad to welcome Seth into the fold as well, even if he has always felt a little like family to me anyway.
“This is the place,” I say as Serena and I stare up at the giant pink bird atop The Sloppy Pelican Bar and Grill. The Sloppy Pelican is pretty much a knockoff of the Black Bear, only for the older set—underclassmen and graduate students need not apply.
“Come on, let’s do the obligatory selfie before we head inside.” Serena snaps a quick pic of us making crazy eyes with the bird in the background and quickly uploads it to all her social media sites before we head on in.
It’s warm inside, noisy, no thanks to the house band blaring away, and there seems to be just as many bodies here as there are back at the Black Bear. The floor is covered with peanut shells—per management’s wishes. Each table gets a bucket full of peanuts and is encouraged to toss the shells aside for the hell of it. I’m starting to understand why Serena chose the Black Bear over The Sloppy Pelican since the staff is required to clean this mess up each and every night. A waitress whizzes by with a giant, glibbery steak, and the heavy scent of garlic and onions trails behind like toxic fumes.
“Oh, gross.” My stomach does its best rendition of a spin cycle at the putrid smell. I’ve never been big on red meat, but something about that onion stench—and, my God, did they harvest every garlic on the planet just to douse that poor dead cow with it? I’ll be happy if I never get near any of the aforementioned quasi-edible fare ever again.
“It’s not gross,” Serena is quick to correct. “It’s beautiful in here. Lex and her friend turned this place into a goldmine, no pun intended.” Lex is Serena’s older sister, and for all practical purposes both of our mothers. She’s practically raised us as her own, being that my mother is dead and theirs walked out on them way back when.
We take a few steps into the cheery establishment and pause. The Sloppy Pelican was once an old mining-themed restaurant and the new owners chose to keep the rustic look of the plywood floors and tables. Mason jars are used instead of glasses. Lex, my psychotic cousin, means well, and I love her as if she were my mother more than my cousin or sister. She’s always been there for me no matter what. But she’s a straight shooter and a little rough around the edges so she takes a bit of getting used to. And, of course, there’s Marlin, Serena and Lex’s older brother, who is now a proud member of the Jepson Police Department. He’s always been there for me too in a brotherly way. A brother with a loaded pistol at his side at all times. I’m pretty sure for the sake of everyone’s safety I shouldn’t even whisper Eli Gates’ name or the acts that may or may not have played out in private.
Serena leads us into the oversized banquet room in the back decorated with bright red roses and baby’s breath as far as the eye can see. Each table has a crystal vase filled with their glory, and there’s an arch in the rear with a makeshift altar covered with a bed of wisteria where the knot will officially be tied. Lex and her new husband, Axel, were married here just over a month ago. There’s a violin quartet playing classical music from the stage, and there are enough bodies milling around to contest Nolan’s promise of having a small wedding. I’m not surprised. Misty and Nolan are well-loved by everyone.
“Ladies.” Seth appears from among the crowd, and my head inches back a notch. My God, does he ever clean up nice. Black, slicked hair, eyes the color of the deep end of the ocean, and that broad chest is stretching taut the dress shirt he’s wearing. Seth in regular clothes is enough to command the girls’ attention. Seth in his basketball uniform for damn sure does the job. But Seth in a dark fitted Italian suit is enough to make even the toughest girls swoon. “Serena.” He nods before looking to me, and his eyes widen a notch. “You look stunning.”
Serena does a little mock bow. “Thank you. And by the way, there are other girls in this room other than Sunday.” She gives a hard wink my way before heading into the crowd. “Have fun, nerds!” Serena has always teased the two of us as if we were a couple. Insert eye roll. She knows very well that Seth is destined to become brother number three in less than an hour—four if you count Marlin.
“Thank you,” I say, making a face in Serena’s direction. “For helping run an extension with the shelter.” It was Seth who calmly called and explained that I would need a little more time to get the money to them, and they assured him that they always provide a grace period for these kinds of things. Four months. I have until May to make the monetary magic happen. Not that it’s any better—more like a slow slide into my soon-to-be disgrace.
“You’re welcome.” He tips his head back and his lids hood low, making my stomach squeeze tight. I glance around the room immediately for Rush or Nolan. I always feel guilty for having a smidge of attraction to Seth. Okay, so it’s more than a smidge, but nobody on the planet needs to be apprised of that. “And I mean it. I’ll be helping you get every last dime long before the deadline. Don’t you worry.”
“Why are you being so nice to me?” It comes out far snippier than I meant it to, but I can’t help it. I’m exhausted beyond reason. I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in weeks. It’s as if sleeping with Eli reset my body clock for one-night stand mode—minus all the fun I supposedly had. I’ve never felt lousier in my life than I did waking up to that naked body beside me—a gorgeous body but nevertheless. I’m never touching a drink again in my life.
“I’m always nice to you,” he counters.
“Ha! You just said nice as if it were a four-letter word, and before you correct me, I’m quite aware it is, smartass. Besides, we’re not nice to each other. It’s our thing, remember? I see you coming and I go the other way. You see me coming and you amp up the rude remarks. It’s our safe zone, and I’m not comfortable any other way, so boot scoot your way to that crowd of vixens eyeing you. I’m sure you’ll rustle up a skank to take back to your place before the night is through and ring in the new year the right way.”
“Boot scoot? Rustle up? Do I look like I just got off a cattle ranch?” He holds out his arms, and my mouth waters as his shirt struggles to shift along with him.
“You look like you’re about to do a hit for the mob. You’re not packing any heat, are you?”
“Honey, I’m packing heat every single night.” He gives his belt a jiggle, and I gasp and swat him with my purse as all the heat in my own body dive-bombs to that sugar hole Eli invaded like a Navy SEAL.
?
??What’s this?” a deep voice strums from behind, and we turn to find Rush and Trixie looking dapper and downright gorgeous. Rush is a preppy by nature, so he pulls off the dapper thing far more often than necessary, and Trixie is always a beauty, but tonight she turned up the volume in her bright blue off the shoulder dress. I’m a bridesmaid, so Misty chose a rose gold sequin gown that makes me feel like an awards statue. It’s above the knee, long sleeve, square neck, and it looks both elegant and chic. She swears I’ll be able to wear this again and again, but I doubt I’ll find another rose gold-worthy event to attend. After that whole Eli Gates vaginal debacle, I’ve sworn off parties unless there’s a nuptial agreement attached to it.
“Rushford.” Seth slaps him five and nods to Trixie. “You both look great. What’s up with that long shot arm? You feeling okay?”
The last game before Christmas break Rush pulled a muscle in his shoulder. Trixie confided in me that it wasn’t exactly sports-related, or at least not a commercial sport. It turns out their bedroom shenanigans involved some acrobat-worthy stunts that I assured her I wanted zero knowledge of.
“I’m great.” He winces at me because he’s unsure whether or not I’m apprised of the truth. Trixie made me swear I wouldn’t let on. That’s the pickle she’s in. She can’t divulge any dirty details my way because they happen to pertain to my brother. Disgusting. And just like that, my stomach does another unexpected toxic spin.
Hey, that’s two for two. My mind does a quick roll call of all the unsavory food I’ve put in my mouth in the last twenty-four hours. It couldn’t be food poisoning. All I’ve eaten for God’s sake is a steady diet of those chocolate balls filled with fudge that Trixie’s mother sent home with her by the crateful. I was, however, in the Student Union this morning filling out paperwork on some last-minute classroom assignments. And everyone knows that place is a hotbed for bacteria, what with all the freshmen suckling off the free wifi while secretly drooling over one another, spreading their germs from sofa to sofa. If I get the flu, I’ll shoot a video from my deathbed, and as soon as the school’s legal team gets wind of it, I’m sure the janitorial staff will be forced to pressure wash the campus with bleach. God forbid I get another bout of norovirus like I did in tenth grade. I had it coming out of both ends like a corn littered fountain. I’ve never in my life clung to a toilet while fighting the urge to drown myself.
Trixie pulls me aside while the boys talk b-ball. “What’s with the green face? You look as if you just licked the bottom of a shoe that just stepped in—”
“Please stop.” I hold up a hand. “My stomach is upset, that’s all. Probably just nerves.” I glance back and spot Nolan at the altar speaking with the minister, looking so handsome my heart melts through the floor, and just like that, it stops because that’s no minister. It’s my father.
“Daddy’s here!” I chirp to Rush as we speed on over. I’m the first to wrap my arms around my father. Even though he’s pretty much persona non-grata, it doesn’t mean I love him any less. My mother died when I was young, so he’s been the only DNA-bearing parent I’ve got left on this planet. “I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you.” He pulls back, and I can’t help but think he looks young enough to be another brother. He shares Nolan’s and Rush’s caramel-colored hair and has the same smiling eyes as my brothers. For some reason, whenever he’s around, it feels as if we’re a family again. It sounds absurd, I know, but with him gone so much of the time, we’ve never quite felt like a family. But Lex stepped in early on and made sure we were just that, a family of sorts.
“My God, who gave this girl permission to grow up? Would you turn down the beauty already?” He dots the top of my head with a kiss, and the scent of his pickled cologne sets off nausea roll number three in me.
This cannot be happening. My brothers and father engage in chitchat while I do my best to gauge an exit strategy. There’s an opened door to the left that looks as if it leads to the parking lot, and for a fleeting moment I entertain heading that way for some fresh air. But a frantic wedding planner corrals me and the other bridesmaids to the back. I recognize the other bridesmaid from the Black Bear, Izzy Edwards, one of the owners’ wives. She and Misty have been longtime friends, so I’m not surprised to see her taking the coveted position. What I am surprised to see is that bulge in the front of her dress. Izzy is expecting.
“Wow, I hope Holt knows about the new development.” I give a little chuckle as I pat her belly, then quickly withdraw my hand as if it were in a fire. “Sorry. I bet you hate that—strangers touching your body all the time.”
“I don’t mind at all.” She grins down at her baby bump lovingly. “We just told our friends and family at Christmas, and no sooner did we announce it than my stomach popped out the next day. I guess we had good timing. I’m only four months along, but I couldn’t even fit into my jeans at six weeks. Can you believe it? I’m going to be the size of a house by the time I pop.”
“I’m sure you won’t. And how exciting! You’re going to have a baby in just a few short months. Hey”—a brilliant thought comes to mind, and I take a minute to do a little happy dance—“I’m doing a bunch of new tutorials for my beauty vlog, and I’d love to feature you. Your skin really glows, and I know all of my viewers would love to coo over your upcoming bundle of joy. How about a free makeover?”
“I’m in. But you might regret it. My face has been breaking out nonstop, and half the time I’m so sick I’m actually emerald green in the face. I hope you have a magic wand that can cure the Wicked Witch of the West look I’m stuck with.”
Green. That word rings out like a buzzword in my mind. Trixie thought I looked green, and just the mention of the word makes me queasy.
An instrumental melody begins, and Izzy heads down the aisle first with Rush by her side and then me with Seth. I can’t help but wrinkle my nose at Serena as we pass her looking every bit the regal couple. I know what she’s thinking—that our wedding will be next. We hit the end of the aisle, and suddenly it feels as if the world is swaying in these sky-high heels I’ve pressed myself into. The room feels far too stuffy. And, my God, why did Nolan and Misty cram the room with enough people to populate a small island nation? There is clearly a fire code violation happening here.
The music stops then restarts with a bit of drama as the entire lot of us turn to the double door entry where Misty arrives looking every bit the princess in white. She is so stunningly beautiful my eyes tear up in an instant. Her hair is swept up, and, of course, her makeup is on point. Misty has never needed any tips from me, although I know firsthand a professional was on site today. Not that she needs it. Misty has that fresh scrubbed, girl next-door appeal. Nolan told me that’s what first attracted him to her. I can’t believe how lucky my brother is. I only wish my mother could be here to witness the event. I’d like to think she is anyway.
Misty makes her way down with her father. Mr. Baker, Phillip, looks like an older version of Seth, handsome to a fault—much like his son—and yet refined—unlike Seth—and his womanizing days are far behind him. I take a moment to frown over at Seth himself. Fine, he’s not a womanizer to the extent Eli is or even my brother used to be, but he has a fairly-riddled reputation nonetheless, and for whatever reason it irritates the hell out of me. Come to think of it, this entire night is irritating the hell out of me. It’s eight o’clock, a perfectly indecent time for a wedding if you ask me, but Nolan and Misty swear the hours will fly by and we’ll all be chiming in the new year together.
It’s probably worth it to note that Mrs. Baker, Seth’s mother’s, name is Elizabeth. So, in fact, when Elizabeth and Phillip reference themselves as the royal we, they would be correct in just about every sense. She’s a Pilates fanatic who likes to bake and keeps an immaculate house. I don’t know why, but I’ve always felt as if the Bakers have turned their noses up at the unruly motley crew the Knights have unraveled to. Mr. Baker is a retired electrical engineer who once worked for the aerospace industry. And even th
ough collectively they have far less in the way of finances, they’ve made up for it with their refined snobbery, something it appears that money cannot buy. My father doesn’t care about them one way or another. After this wedding, I’m sure he’ll be back on his jet on the way to his penthouse with who knows how many women warming his bed for him. You could say the promiscuous apple didn’t fall far from the tree where my brother Rush is concerned, not that Rush is still employing those naughty bedroom tactics.
Misty hits the front of the altar, and the ceremony gets underway. It feels as if someone just put a lid on the Dutch oven this shrinking room just morphed into. My God, it’s sweltering. Can it get any hotter in here? And wait just a minute—what in the heck is that disgusting odor? My nose bounces as I sniff the air. Holy crap. Is that garlic? What in the hell are they doing with that stinking root? Bathing the staff in it? Ugh.
My stomach does a hard roll, and I can’t help but give a little moan.
Seth shoots me a look, his brows bouncing with curiosity, and I take a moment to scowl at him. There. The simple act of gifting Seth a dirty look has made me feel better.
The minister’s voice suddenly sounds like gibberish as the room takes a solid spin. My stomach pinches with heat before twisting into an undeniable knot the size of a dinner plate.
“Oh,” I groan, and the room breaks out into titters because obviously I’ve timed my bodily malfunction to something cute Nolan just said to Misty. My brother turns to me and gives a slight wink before his eyes grow wide.
I’m quick to wave him off until he turns back around. I just need a little air, that’s all. I shove the bouquet of blood red roses into my nose as if I were slapping myself in the face, and I try my hardest to take in their fragrant beauty, but—oh my shit. Who the hell doused this poor red pompom in a vat of raw onions? And why does the entire world suddenly smell like feet?