“I feel sorry for those massage therapists.”
“Why?” She frowns, popping a bite-sized donut into her mouth.
I wiggle my fingers. “They’ll have to compete with these babies.”
“Ah, I can give you a rematch anytime you want.”
Summer piles more sweets on her plate and turns to walk back to our table. I make to follow, but, as if sensing I’m trailing her like a puppy, she stops and looks at me over her shoulder. “You’d better fill a plate with something.”
She blows me a kiss and goes without waiting for me.
I grab an empty plate and pile it with pastries from the closest tray, before returning to our table. But the moment I sit down, Logan looks up at me with a frown.
“Since when do you eat raisins?”
I stare down at my plate and recoil in horror at finding it filled with mini cinnamon swirls riddled with raisins.
“I—I don’t mind them that much lately.” And to prove my point, I grab one of the mini buns and bite half off. The pastry and cinnamon aren’t that bad, but there’s no escaping the chewy, disgusting, too-sweet taste of the raisins. There’s a ton of them, too, ruining a perfectly good breakfast treat and making me want to puke in my mouth. But I can’t, so I try to keep a straight face and, like a martyr, swallow.
Logan shrugs and goes back to eating his eggs, ignorant of the trial he just put me through, while Summer has to hide a smile behind her mug of coffee.
I make the other half of the pastry discreetly disappear in my napkin, and wash away the awful aftertaste with coffee.
***
A few hours later, I’m wandering around the spa’s indoor pool with contraband hidden in my robe’s pocket.
Spa guests are not supposed to bring phones into the relaxation area, but I’m half bored to death and my only hope for a distraction would be a text from Summer. Little chance of getting one, as I’m sure phones are also banned on the female side of the spa, but what can I say? I’m an optimist by nature.
Half an hour later, while I lie in a chaise sipping my third herbal tea of the day, a soft vibration shakes my pocket. I check the screen and see with a jolt of pleasure that it’s a text from Summer:
Not a fan of raisins, uh?
Leaning on my side to shelter the phone from view with my back, I compose a quick reply.
They’re the worst invention ever made
Why would someone in their right mind take nice grapes and turn them into shriveled down dead droppings set free into the world to ruin all the best foods?
Summer sends me an emoji of a crying and laughing cat.
I hate them only when I grab a cookie thinking it’s chocolate chips and find raisins instead
Oh, that’s the worst
How’s the spa day going?
I snuck into the locker room
I already had my massage and if I stayed in a Jacuzzi any longer I’d be sprouting gills
Can you get away unnoticed?
Why? Can you?
Say the word and I’m outta here
Let me check where my sister’s at real quick
The screen remains black for a few unbearably long minutes, before another series of texts arrive in rapid succession:
Winter is getting her massage now
Then she has a facial, waxing, and a full mani-pedi booked
She’ll be busy for hours
My room or yours?
Fourteen
Summer
The massage and spa day were relaxing, but not as relaxing as Archie taking care of me multiple times afterward.
I stretch in bed, unwilling to get up, but I must.
“I have to go,” I say.
“Mmm?” Archie raises his head from its resting spot on my chest. “Why?”
“Another lovely dinner with my parents.”
Technically, this should’ve been a meal for both the groom and bride’s families, but since Logan sadly lost his parents young, my dad will be the sole host.
“Oh, yeah,” he says, dropping his chin just below my collarbone, “it’s on the schedule.”
I look down at him. “You mean your schedule, too?”
Archie’s hands move to my sides, threatening to tickle me. “Don’t tell me you’ve muted the WhatsApp group again?”
To be honest, lately, I haven’t paid much attention to anything on my phone except for Archie’s texts. “I might’ve. Why?”
“The entire wedding party is invited.”
“Oh, you’re going to meet my parents.” I say the words before thinking of their meaning and immediately retract them. “I didn’t mean anything by that.”
“Relax,” he says. “No one knows about us; all the heat will be on the groom.”
He’s right, and I have no reason to be nervous. But I still am… At least, until Archie’s hands start to play a very different game from tickle monster, moving down from my sides to my hips while he kisses my neck.
“Do you think we have time for another—”
“No,” I say, before he can convince me to be late. “I have to go back to my room, shower, and get ready.”
He bites my earlobe. “We could shower together.”
It takes all my force of will to resist the temptation and get out of bed, but I have to. Already I left the spa early. If I’m late to dinner, I worry Winter will suspect I’m up to something.
I end up being so on time only my parents are seated at the table when I arrive at the restaurant. We’re at the fancy one tonight. A separate building from the main hotel, with an English countryside décor: all dark woods and fabric-shaded table lamps.
Tucker arrives next. Then Lana, the happy couple, and last but not late, Archie. At first, I don’t recognize him as he walks toward our table. He’s dressed ridiculously prim, clad in a pair of white jeans and a light-blue V-neck sweater. Tonight’s fantasy would be: member of a nineties boy band. If nineties boy bands ever allowed for beards. Mmm, I’m not sure about this one. The good-boy look is weird on him. But—and this is a big but—it’s the perfect outfit a boyfriend would wear to meet his girlfriend’s parents for the first time.
And I have to stop thinking like that. Yes, the guy I’ve been sleeping with for the past few days will have dinner with my parents tonight, but he definitely isn’t here in a boyfriend capacity.
“Hello, Dawson’s Creek,” my sister greets him, probably sharing my idea that his clothes look out of character. “Where did you leave your E.T. poster? In your bedroom next to Jurassic Park and Jaws?”
“Oh, come on, Snowflake, you must know my favorite Spielberg movies are the Indiana Jones,” he quips right back, and am I irked he has a nickname for my sister but not for me? Would I like him to call me buttercup, cupcake, sunflower? Honestly, no, yikes. “You’re the most glowing bride as always,” Archie concludes.
His smile is wide and charming, and his manners impeccable, especially as he rounds the table to shake my father’s hand and kiss my mom’s after officially introducing himself. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was trying to impress my parents. Mom, for one, has melted at the hand-kissing.
He finally sits down at the only free spot left, between Lana and Winter, across the table from me. I’m in the middle between Tucker, who has Logan on his other side, and my dad, who’s also sitting next to my mom.
Once it’s clear we’re not expecting anyone else, the server who has been looming close by since I arrived brings our menus and asks if we’re ready to order drinks. I sure am, and ask for an apple martini. If I have to endure an entire dinner with Archie and my parents seated at the same table, I need something stronger than wine or beer.
Everybody at the table is pretty chatty, allowing me to take a backseat to the conversation and cull my nerves in private, while doling out the odd comment here and there.
After delivering our drinks, the server comes back shortly afterward to take everyone’s orders. I go
with the Asian style tuna steak, while I note Archie orders a bone-in filet.
Dad is charged with choosing the wine for the table, not because he has any specific competence on the subject, but by simple merits of seniority.
The server has just left with the table’s orders when Logan’s phone starts ringing. He takes it out of his pocket and checks the screen, his eyes going wide. But he’s quick to hide the surprise as he silences the phone and puts it face down on the table.
But not two minutes later, the phone starts vibrating again.
“Darling,” my mom says. “Don’t worry, if it’s something important you can take the call.”
Logan squirms in his chair. “It’s a call from North Africa,” he says.
Winter, voice cold as ice, asks, “Which country in North Africa?”
Her fiancé holds the phone in one hand while scratching the back of his head with the other as he answers, “Egypt.”
A wave of discomfort ripples through the table.
Ah.
After she came back from Thailand, Winter told me everything about Logan’s ex, Tara Something. She’s a hard-ass archeologist who made a monumental discovery in the Valley of Kings in Egypt and who’s still living in Africa. We spent an entire afternoon Google-stalking her, and I suspect my sister even bought her book, a non-fiction account of her discovery, and read it.
“Maybe I should get this in private,” Logan says. “I wouldn’t want to disturb you all.”
“Oh, it’s no trouble at all,” my mom says, oblivious to the underlying tension between the bride and groom-to-be.
Winter hasn’t spoken since the word “Egypt” crossed Logan’s lips, and she’s now giving him the stare of death, daring him to get up and go talk to his ex in private.
Desperate, Logan stares at his best friend for help. Archie gives him a subtle shake of the head that I interpret in a, “No, dude, you’d better keep your ass glued to that chair if you want to speak with your ex who you haven’t heard from in years.”
Logan must understand the same unspoken message because, with a resigned sigh, he picks up. “Hello.”
“Hey.”
Tara’s is a simple greeting, but the tone is loaded with familiarity and a shared past. Unfortunately for the groom, the voice on the other side is loud enough for everyone at the table to hear and pick up on these details. Also, we’re all keeping a religious silence as we shamelessly eavesdrop on the conversation. And even if we weren’t, I suspect Winter would kill in cold blood anyone who dared utter a sound.
“Err, how have you been?” Logan asks.
“Oh, you know,” Tara says. “Busy. Lots of cataloging going on, and the work on the new museum is crazy. I’ve switched the exposition around a thousand times to find the perfect order of presentation and still can’t decide, even if I know patrons won’t care or notice that much,” she rants on, clearly nervous. “You must have the same troubles in Thailand.”
Logan lets out an awkward chuckle. “Oh, I wish we were already that far along. It’ll be months before we can begin on the exposition.”
“I can’t wait to see it,” Tara says. I look at my sister’s face, and it’s like Winter has turned to stone. “Rumor has it it will be magnificent.”
“I hope so,” Logan says, the portrait of a man who’d gladly crawl out of his skin.
A silence stretches on the line, until Tara speaks again. “I heard congratulations are in order. You’re getting married?”
The question seems to be loaded, in a “Have you truly forgotten about me?” way.
“Yes,” Logan says, staring directly at my sister, “to the most wonderful woman on Earth, day after tomorrow.”
Another protracted pause, and then Tara speaks in a small voice, “Well, as I said, congratulations. I have to go now, they need me at the museum. Goodbye, Logan.”
The ex hangs up before he has time to reply, prompting the entire table to let go of a collective breath of relief.
Logan turns to Winter. “I’m sorry,” he says. “She hasn’t called me in years. I thought something bad might’ve happened.”
My sister swallows and nods. “It’s okay,” she says. “I just feel sorry for her.”
“Why?” Logan asks, looking puzzled.
“Because Tara has realized she was the dumbest cow to dump you for a stupid pharaoh tomb, and now she’s too late.”
They kiss. And it’s not a chaste peck on the lips. It’s a real, deep, long kiss that prompts my dad to cough and hide his face in his napkin.
They’re so in love, it’s disgusting. I can’t help but steal a glance at Archie, and find him observing me. When our eyes meet, he winks, causing my stomach to do a silly little flip.
And I have such a crush, I’m disgusting.
When the betrothed couple finally break their kiss, my sister’s good mood seems completely restored.
Winter places her napkin on her legs, asking, “What are you guys all doing tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow?” I ask, on edge. “Friday is a free day, right?” Archie and I made plans to have lunch in Yountville, and maybe visit a vineyard or brewery together. And I don’t want Winter’s well-meant desire for conviviality to ruin the plan. “We don’t have any mandatory activities.”
I flash a panicked stare at Archie, and if eyes could talk, his would be saying, “Sheesh, woman, be cool.”
On his left, Winter pouts. “I’m sorry a mandatory spa day has been so hard on you? Where did you disappear to, anyway?”
“I had a work call,” I lie.
“I thought phones weren’t allowed.”
“No, but I went to the locker room to check my messages and had to call the office back.”
“So, what are you doing with your free day, then? More work?” She’s being passive-aggressive.
“No, I just planned on seeing the sights. Nothing in particular.”
“By yourself?”
“Yes,” I say, equally passive-aggressive. “I need some me time.”
Thank goodness our food arrives, and the topic of tomorrow is soon forgotten.
After that, dinner continues with no more incidents. The presence of non-family members prevents my mom from making any grating comments about The Mistake, and the meal ends with no embarrassing comments about my past transgressions. A first, as family dinners go, at least since that damn article came out.
We’re waiting for the bill when Tucker’s phone pings. He reads the text, and I swear he blushes.
“Sorry,” he says, standing up. “I have to go, there’s an emergency with the… uh… flower delivery.”
“This late at night?” Mom asks. “What could it possibly be?”
Winter goes into bridezilla-mode at once. “Is it serious? Fixable?”
“Yeah, yeah.” Tucker waves her off. “Nothing I can’t solve with a phone call, but I’d better go now. Can you ask them to put my share of dinner on my room? I’m in 451.”
The room next to Archie, I realize with a swallow. I hope the walls are thick.
Dad waves his request down. “Don’t be silly, young man, tonight’s dinner’s on me. And thank you again for all the hard work you’ve put into organizing the perfect wedding for my daughter.”
“No trouble at all, sir. Well, I’ll see you all tomorrow.”
Tucker says goodbye one last time and walks out of the restaurant, leaving the rest of us to endure at least another hour of chit chat before we can make our escape.
The bill arrives exactly seventy-five minutes later, not that I’m counting. Dad puts it on his room tab, and we get up to walk toward the elevators. The six of us can all fit inside, so we all go in one trip. Archie and I strategically keep at the back on opposite corners. Thankfully, Winter and Logan are on the first floor and my parents on the second.
The moment the elevator doors ding shut after my parents have gone, it’s as if someone had shouted, “Ready, steady, go!” Archie and I fly into
each other’s arms and kiss like two people who’ve been eye flirting for the past three hours and a half and can’t wait to tear their clothes off.
When the elevator doors swish open, I make to follow Archie outside, but bump into a solid wall of muscled back instead.
“What’s up?” I ask, peering around his shoulder.
“That sneaky weasel,” Archie whispers. “Flower emergency, my ass. Looks like Tucker is banging that actor’s assistant. I called it, didn’t I?”
“What? Are you sure? How can you tell?”
“They’re making out outside his room.”
“Let me see.” I peek my head forward between the elevator doors, which have already tried to close twice.
Down the hall, Penny is leaving Tucker’s room, but the goodbye is taking forever. They’re kissing on the threshold, making out like a pair of horny teenagers. We can’t go into Archie’s room with them in the hallway and risk being spotted.
Archie reads my mind, because he asks, “How long do you think that’s going to take?”
“Too long,” I say, pulling him back inside. “Let’s go to my room.”
One floor down, we tumble out of the elevator into the hall, which is clear of people, giggling and kissing all the way to my room.
At the door, I fish out the key and try to fit it into the lock while Archie distractingly nibbles at my ear from behind.
“We’re never getting in if you keep doing that,” I say.
Archie gives me a little space, but as soon as the door is unlocked, he lifts me and carries me to the bed with surprising gentleness for a man so big. He climbs on top of me, pinning my arms above my head, and just hovers above me, looking into my eyes for the longest time. A breath catches in my chest. This feels intense, too intense. So, I chicken out and close my eyes, arching my back and moaning to bring the interaction to a sexual plane.
Sex, I can handle.
Emotions, on the other hand, are running out of my control. Have been since the start.
***
A knock at the door wakes me up the next morning. “Sammy, it’s me, open up.”
Shoot. Winter. What is she doing outside my room? What time is it? I check the alarm clock on the nightstand: 7:00 a.m., pretty early.
You May Kiss the Bridesmaid Page 11