The Boyfriend
Page 32
I shook my head. I couldn’t spend the entire day drunk off my ass. Not only would it make being a good hostess at the reception difficult, but my blood sugar probably would do something goofy if I overdid it on such a stressful day.
I didn’t know what I was so worried about. It wasn’t like Tony was going to leave Mom at the altar, or a meteor was going to strike the church or something. The weather was perfect, everyone had managed to get here without a hitch. The bed and breakfast we’d put overflow guests in hadn’t burned down. There wasn’t an outbreak of land sharks. But my stomach still twisted up into knots at the thought that anything, no matter how small, might go slightly imperfectly on Mom’s big day.
“I’m fine with water,” I said. “I’m more nervous about this wedding than I was for my own.”
Marie laughed right in my face. “Sophie. You puked at yours. Come on.”
“Don’t,” Mom warned her sister. “There’s still time.”
“I’m not going to puke,” I insisted. So long as I stayed away from the alcohol, I would be fine. I hoped.
“You’re both going to be drunk at church,” Grandma said from the other side of the room. She already wore her mother-of-the-bride dress, a stately lilac chiffon sheath with a beaded, long-sleeved jacket. “Don’t forget, the wedding is at two, so you need to be done with all your drinking by one.”
“We’ll be at the church by one, Ma,” Marie reminded her. “And it’s not like I’m going to sneak hooch in there. Besides, if the wedding starts at two, we don’t have to stop drinking until one-thirty. They’re not gonna get to communion before two-thirty.”
Grandma made an eye roll that I knew by heart.
There was a knock at the door, and we all called, “Come in!”
Amal entered with Olivia by the hand. At the sight of my mom, Olivia raced across the room. “Rebecca! Olivia is ready for her dress!”
“I think it’s a little too early to put on your dress, flower girl,” I said, indicating the garment bag hanging on the door. “We’ll put that on at the last minute so you can still play.” I glanced over at Amal and tried for a friendly—not nervous—smile. “You look beautiful.”
“Yes, I know,” she said loftily, tugging at her black satin cummerbund. She’d chosen to wear a tux and tails, but the front of the jacket was cropped, tails lined in a flash of purple satin to match the vest and cravat, and the trousers were tailored tight to emphasize her hips.
El-Mudad had thrown a huge parental fit about it until Neil and I had gently talked him down in private. It wasn’t like she was parading around naked or something.
Seeming to realize how arrogant she’d come across, she tucked a short strand of her slicked-back faux-hawk into place and added a sheepish, “Thank you, Sophie. And Ms. Scaife, your hair is coming along beautifully.”
“Without help from me,” Marie sniped before taking another swallow of wine.
Amal gestured over her shoulder. “I’m going to go see if my father needs anything.”
“All right. Thanks for bringing Olivia down,” I told her, and she backed out of the room with a nod.
“She’s a lovely girl,” my grandma said, clucking her tongue in dismay. “But the haircut…”
“It’s modern, Ma,” Mom said. She took a deep breath as the stylist stepped back. “Oh my god. Look at me. I look…”
I went over and put my hands on her shoulders, leaning down to meet her eyes in the mirror. “You look like a bride.”
She covered my hand with hers and patted it, tears shining in her eyes.
Since I was her only bridesmaid, Mom had let me pick out my own dress— “Provided it isn’t something weird, Sophie Anne,” she’d warned me—and I’d decided to go with a pale pink satin-finish Catherine Regehr trumpet gown with turned-down shoulders embellished with subtle crystal beads. It was gorgeous, but not super comfortable to sit in. I should have thought of that before it was time to get into the car, but at that point, it was too late.
I rode in the sleek stretch limo with Mom and Olivia and grandma and Marie, frantically calling ahead to the church to make sure Tony was hidden away by the time we arrived.
“I honestly thought I’d be hanging out in the basement or something before the service,” Mom said nervously as we pulled up outside the church. “This is like how the princesses arrive.”
But as we walked through the doors, she grabbed my hand. “Sophie. Do you have your phone?”
“Marie has it,” I said, but Marie was already sliding it into my hand.
“Call Tony,” Mom said. “Make sure he’s here.”
“The music is already playing, and everybody is in their seats,” I told her. “If he wasn’t, I’m sure we’d know by now.”
“You’re supposed to walk down the aisle with him,” Grandma said with a sniff. “I guess Catholics do things a little different here.”
“Oh please, like you’ve never been to a Catholic wedding where the bride walked down the aisle by herself,” Marie said, putting my phone into her purse. “Now I have to go inside looking like the asshole who got here late.”
“Jesus can hear you, Marie!” Grandma snapped.
“Ma, just go in and have your moment,” Mom said, gesturing to the usher who waited patiently outside the closed sanctuary doors. We stepped aside so we’d be hidden while Marie went into the sanctuary.
“I’m ready!” Olivia said, grabbing her basket of petals from my hand and launching herself at the door as it closed behind Marie.
“Olivia, no!” I whispered frantically. Luckily, Tony’s cousin, the usher, stopped her with a gentle, “Whoa, whoa there.”
“I better hurry up before she goes wild,” Grandma said. She kissed Mom on the cheek and squeezed her hand. “You’re beautiful. And you deserve all this happiness.”
“Thanks, Ma,” Mom said, her voice choked up. “Gah, now I’m going to cry and ruin all this makeup.”
“It’s waterproof,” I reminded her gently. “And that’s a really great setting spray she used.”
Mom laughed through her tears and waved frantically at her eyes. The usher took Grandma inside; as mother-of-the-bride, she had the honor of being seated last before the processional. Once she was gone, Mom turned to me. “Are you doing okay?”
“Am I doing okay?” I asked with a laugh. “It’s your wedding!”
“I know, but I have to check!” she said, with all the frustration of the Mom I knew and loved. And our relationship had healed, somewhat. Though I’d thought she’d invited El-Mudad and his daughters out of spite, she’d seemed genuinely delighted when the girls had arrived. Now, she gave me an apologetic smile and said, “I’m sorry. I wish we would have never fought about El-Mudad.”
I shrugged. “It happened. Today’s your big day. Let’s not ruin it.”
“Making things right won’t ruin anything, Sophie. I don’t want to walk down that aisle with you thinking there’s some kind of fracture between us. I want you to know...I think you’re lucky to have two people in your life who love you.”
She grabbed me for a big hug while I held her bouquet out at arms’ length so she wouldn’t crush it.
When she stepped back, she nodded at the ushers at the door. One of them reached in to give the signal, and we took our places as the opening notes of the wedding march blared from the organ in the sanctuary; no doubt my grandmother would have something to say about that “pagan” choice of music.
“Are you ready to be given away?” I asked Mom.
She took a deep breath and slipped her arm through mine. “Absolutely.”
“Then let’s go get you married.”
The doors opened, and we entered the church together. We immediately had to step over a giant pile of flower petals; Olivia had clearly dumped the entire basket the moment she’d gotten inside.
As we walked past a sea of smiling faces, I thought about what my mom had said. Two people who loved me. I caught Neil’s eye at the end of the pew where he stood with El-Mudad;
how anyone could look at them and not see how in love they were, even without apparent PDAs, I had no idea. Amal and Rashida were beside them. They might not love me yet, but I wouldn’t give up hope.
Holli and Deja had seats in the next row; Holli put both thumbs up and stage-whispered, “Yeah, Becky! Get it!” before Deja pushed one of her hands down. We walked past our family, and past Tony’s, who I didn’t know very well yet but knowing my mom, would in no time. And when we reached the altar, I let Mom go—because that’s what it was. I wasn’t giving her away, because I didn’t own her, no matter how long I might have believed that as a child. I handed her off to Tony and stepped into my reserved spot in the front pew, beside Olivia, who took my hand in hers. She stood on her tiptoes, and I leaned down so she could whisper in my ear.
“Good job, Sophie,” she said earnestly. “You can give Olivia at my wedding.”
Tears sprang to my eyes, and I blinked them back as I whispered back, “Deal.”
Mom was wrong, in the best possible way: there were more than two people who loved me, and with every passing year, it seemed like I gained more people to love.
If that was what getting older was, I would take it. Varicose veins and all.
ALSO BY ABIGAIL BARNETTE
Bad Boy, Good Man
Surrender
THE SOPHIE SCAIFE SERIES
The Stranger
The Boss
The Girlfriend
The Bride
The Ex
The Baby
The Sister
THE BY-THE-NUMBERS SERIES
First Time (Penny’s Story)
First Time (Ian’s Story)
Second Chance (Penny’s Story)
Second Chance (Ian’s Story)
Baby Makes Three (Penny’s Story)
Baby Makes Three (Ian’s Story)
THE CANIS CLAN:
Bride Of The Wolf
Wolf’s Honor
Writing as Jenny Trout
Choosing You
Say Goodbye To Hollywood
Abigail Barnette is the pseudonym of Jenny Trout, an author, blogger, and funny person. Jenny made the USA Today bestseller list with her debut novel, Blood Ties Book One: The Turning. Her American Vampire was named one of the top ten horror novels of 2011 by Booklist Magazine Online. As Abigail Barnette, Jenny writes award-winning erotic romance, including the internationally bestselling The Boss series.
As a blogger, Jenny’s work has appeared on The Huffington Post, and has been featured on television and radio, including HuffPost Live, Good Morning America, The Steve Harvey Show, and National Public Radio’s Here & Now. Her work has earned mentions in The New York Times and Entertainment Weekly.
She is a proud Michigander, mother of two, and wife to the only person alive capable of spending extended periods of time with her without wanting to kill her.
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