Cross My Heart

by Katie Klein

  “Rise and shine!” Melissa bursts inside, lugging her David’s Bridal dress bag and . . .

  “Is that a carry-on?” I ask.

  “Yep. I have everything you could possibly need on wedding day: soaps, cleansers, facial scrubs, nail polish, nail polish remover, shampoo, conditioner, blow dryers, hair brushes, make-up, a sewing kit including needles and white thread—though I really hope we don’t have to break that out—duct tape, Advil . . .”

  “Oh my God. Wait a minute,” I interrupt. “Did you say blow dryers? Like plural?”

  “That’s exactly what I said. Besides, you look like you could use a hair dryer right now.” She nods toward my towel-wrapped head.

  I reach up and touch the damp cotton. “Right.”

  “I’m making pancakes, Melissa,” Mom says. “Are you interested?”

  “If you are offering I am very interested,” she replies. “Has anyone seen the bride to be?”

  “Not yet,” I answer.

  “Let her sleep as long as she can,” Mom says.

  “If she even slept at all,” I mutter. “I barely did and I’m not even getting married. You got the mixer wrapped, right?”

  “Yes,” Melissa says. “We’re good.”

  “Pancakes!” Phillip cries, entering the kitchen. “You are my favorite mom in the whole world.”

  “She’s your only mom in the whole world,” I remind him, rolling my eyes.

  “How many do you want?” she asks.

  “Six.” Phillip sits down at the table between Melissa and me. Mom brings him a plate stacked high with pancakes. “Can I get some OJ?” he asks.

  I give him a sisterly punch him in the arm. “Get it yourself, loser.”

  “Ow!” He rubs it for a moment, then cocks his arm to strike me back. I flinch, pulling away, then watch as it falls back to his side, like he has second thoughts. “Whatever,” he grumbles.

  He barely even teases me anymore. It’s like everyone is afraid they’re going to break me. When are things going to be normal again?

  “Are you working with Daniel today?” Mom asks.

  “Nope,” he replies. “I’ve got something to do in Hamilton, but I’ll be back in time to shower and change and pick up Becky at her parents’ house.”

  “You are just like your father,” Mom says. “Is anyone going to stay and help Daniel today? I mean, what is so important that you have to be in Hamilton on his wedding day?”

  Daniel walks into the kitchen. “I’m a big boy, Mom. Are those pancakes?”

  “Yes, these are pancakes. And I’m just saying that it would be nice if someone would give you some company today.”

  “I’ll be fine. Men don’t need constant companionship,” he says. “Going to the bathroom does not take a group effort and I don’t need my cuticles done.”

  “Your cuticles look pathetic,” I tell him, poking at my pancakes with a fork.

  “That’s what Sarah says,” he replies, grinning. “God, Melissa, what did you pack in that thing?” He prods the suitcase with his toe. It doesn’t budge.

  Melissa rolls her eyes. “Everything I could possibly need to make sure your bride makes it to the park on time.”

  “You have like, eight hours,” Phillip points out, mouth full. “If you can’t get her to the park on time with eight hours, then something is wrong.”

  “The wedding doesn’t start without the bride, anyway,” Sarah answers, Joshua planted on her hip.

  “Good. Everybody’s up,” Mom says. “Daniel? Sarah? How many pancakes?”

  * * *

  “Another big smile.” The shutter clicks. Flash pops. “Last shot,” the photographer says. This is the millionth one, or so it seems, and my cheek muscles ache.

  We’re dressed and ready to go. Mom is pretty in pale blue—wearing a glittery, sleeveless dress that compliments my lavender. Sarah has slipped into her gown, veil clipped in place, soft, brown curls framing her face. Even Joshua is decked out in his little baby tuxedo.

  “Do we have everything?” Mom asks as the photographer checks the screen on the back of the camera.

  “Technically, as long as we have the bride we’re good to go,” I remind her.

  “Is everyone dressed?” she asks. “Shoes?”

  I check my feet.

  “Pocket books?”

  “I’m leaving mine here,” I announce.

  “Me too,” says Sarah.

  “Me three,” adds Candace, the other bridesmaid and Sarah’s friend from school, who arrived just before the photographer.

  “I’m leaving my purse, but I’m bringing my carry-on. You know, in the event we need duct tape,” says Melissa.

  Mom smiles. “Good. Does everyone have flowers?”

  Four lavender and white rose bouquets lift to the sky. Mom touches her lapel, verifying that, yes, her corsage is pinned in place.

  “Are we ready, then?” I ask.

  “Yes.”

  “What about the boutonnieres for the guys?”

  “In my car,” Melissa replies. “Who’s driving who?”

  “Sarah’s ride is waiting outside, and I can take Joshua in the truck,” says Mom.

  “I’m with Sarah,” says Candace.

  “I’ll ride with you, Melissa, if that’s okay,” I say.

  “So everyone has a ride,” Mom confirms.

  “Yes,” we reply in unison.

  “And we have everything we need?”

  Again: “Yes.”

  She checks her watch. “We have twenty minutes before the ceremony.”

  Across from me Sarah touches the edge of her finger-tip length veil. She sucks in a huge breath, then releases it all at once. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

  * * *

  The park where Daniel and Sarah are getting married is more like a town square than a park, really, with huge oak trees, a fountain in the center, a bronze statue of the town founder, and benches scattered throughout. Today it’s transformed: a large, white tent set up to one side; tables and chairs arranged beneath; one hundred and fifty chairs set up in front of the white gazebo adorned in sheer, gauzy fabric; roses and freesias.

  Cars line the streets, circling the entire block. The first empty space we find is at the far end of a tree-lined Main Street.

  “Well this is something we didn’t plan for,” I mutter as Melissa and I climb out of her car. Across the street, Sarah eases herself out, too. She steps onto the pavement, smoothing the folds of her satin gown. It’s like something out of a dream: a bride standing in the middle of the road, clutching her bouquet. People linger at the various storefronts, typical Saturday afternoon bustle slowing as people drop everything to watch us.

  We know or recognize almost everyone, and a few “Good luck, Sarah’s” are thrown out as we make our way down the street. Already, sweat prickles at my skin. My nerves are shaky, at best, and though clouds still hide the afternoon sun, the humidity sucks the life straight out of my pores.

  “It’s hot out here,” Melissa says under her breath.

  “That’s exactly what I was thinking.”

  The photographer snaps photos as we walk.

  “What if she passes out?” I ask.

  “I have a spray bottle of water in my bag,” she informs me, tapping the black strap on her shoulder.

  “That’s great, but where will the bag be?”

  “I’m going to make Daniel or Phillip sneak it into the gazebo when no one is paying attention.”

  “God, you thought of everything. I may make you my maid of honor,” I muse.

  “I take the job seriously.”

  We continue walking, the soft strains of classical music filling the air, growing louder as we approach the ceremony site. Guests are still being seated.

  Sarah’s aunt greets us when we arrive, ushering us to one side of the tent, closed off, hiding us from view. She and my mother go to work dividing up the corsages and boutonnieres, then head into the crowd to disperse them. We wait, feeling the seconds as they tick by.


  “How are you doing?” I ask Sarah.

  “Fine,” she replies.

  “Nervous?”

  “Very.” She takes another deep breath. “Joshy, don’t pull on the tablecloth.”

  I glance over at my little nephew.

  “I have some gum,” Candace offers.

  “That’s okay. I’ll probably forget to spit it out and start smacking when I’m up there. And that wouldn’t be very bride-like.”

  “Do you need a bottled water?” Melissa asks.

  “Is that in your miracle bag, too?” I tease.

  She throws me a dirty look. “The bag is secured,” she whispers.

  “What? Already?”

  “It was a covert op. Blink and you missed me.”

  “What are you talking about?” Sarah asks, confused.

  Melissa smiles. “Nothing,” we reply in tandem.

  “Anyway,” Melissa continues, “I was actually thinking that maybe we should check with him.”

  We follow her finger until our gazes rest on a guy—a very cute guy—manning the punch table. He can’t be older than any of us, and is wearing black pants, a white shirt, and a black tuxedo vest.

  “Wow,” Candace murmurs under her breath.

  I smile.

  “I know,” Melissa replies. “Whoever he is, he doesn’t live in this town.”

  “All right, ladies!” Sarah’s aunt approaches, motioning for us to line up.

  I lift the mass of curls at the nape of my neck, fanning it with my hand. The clouds are breaking, and every other moment is filled with bright sunlight. A warm breeze passes through the tent, rustling the tablecloths, playing with our hair. When I look at Sarah, I can see tears welling in her eyes.

  “Are you okay?” I ask.

  “They came.” She shakes her head, hesitating. “I can’t believe it. They actually came.”

  And she laughs. Happy.

  When the music is cued Candace moves into the aisle, like we practiced days before. Only then there were no people, no chairs, no white runner covered in flower petals. Then, we were pretending. This time, it’s real. I step forward, following Candace the moment Sarah’s aunt nudges me.

  Daniel, handsome in his tuxedo, smiles at me as I approach the gazebo and find my place. As I watch Sarah, ready to make her entrance, my thoughts flitter back to the night before: graduation and the speeches given, which, even at this moment, seems like lifetimes ago. Specifically, I remember crossroads, and roads less traveled, and staying the course, follow the dream. An endless progression of cliché after cliché. But despite this, I marvel at how even the wrong choices can keep us on the right path. How the worst mistake can wind up being the best thing that ever happened to us. Because even though Daniel and Sarah chose a fairly rocky journey, everything seemed to come full circle to bring them back to this one, perfect moment: exactly where they’re meant to be.

  * * *

  Hours later I kick off my lavender shoes and sit down at the table to eat another piece of cake. It’s past dinnertime and I’m starving. Sarah and Daniel departed earlier in Daniel’s truck, after running through a shower of birdseed. A few family members still linger, mingling, but my duties as bridesmaid are officially over.

  As I examine my feet, the monstrous red blisters gracing my tiny toes and heels, I groan.

  “I can get you something for that.”

  My cheeks flush, growing warmer. I tuck my feet beneath the chair, hiding them from the cute server, still manning the drink station.

  “You can get me some water,” I say, smiling. Because honestly? I never want to see another cup of red punch ever again.

  He bends down for a moment, disappearing, and re-emerges moments later, producing a Dasani.

  “You . . . are my hero,” I say as he carries it over to me.

  “I got it,” a voice interrupts. “You can go back to your little table.” Phillip snatches the bottled water from the server’s hand and sets it down in front of me.

  The guy pauses for a moment, confused, before slinking away.

  “Phillip,” I hiss as he plops down in the chair beside me. “You are so embarrassing. I expect this kind of thing from Daniel. Not you.”

  “He’s not your type,” Phillip replies. “And he’s been eyeing every girl here under the age of twenty-five.”

  “Does that include Becky?” I ask, twisting the plastic cap open. “And you’re jealous?”

  “That includes Becky, and Candace, and Melissa, and Sarah, for God’s sake, and you. . . .”

  “And that blonde who works with Sarah,” I add.

  “Who?”

  “The blonde. In the green dress. She sat with Candace all night.”

  A flicker of recognition. “Oh. Everyone was checking her out.”

  I roll my eyes. “You’re such a guy. So where is Becky, anyway?”

  He nods toward the table where my parents stand, still talking to guests. “She’s on Joshua duty.”

  She’s sitting at an empty table holding Joshy, who’s fast asleep, head on her shoulder.

  “Poor little guy had a busy day.”

  “There was a lot of excitement,” he replies.

  “Sarah’s parents actually showing up,” I muse.

  “Your over-priced, unnecessary pink mixer.”

  “Our big brother actually settling down. Moving out.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m thinking about one-upping all that,” he says.

  I eye him warily. “What are you talking about?”

  He reaches into his pocket and removes a diminutive, ebony ring box.

  “Phillip!” I whisper. “No freakin’ way!” I glance over at Becky, still sitting with Josh, oblivious.

  He pops open the lid, keeping the box tucked safely below the table. A dazzling square diamond, nestled deeply between the velvet folds, shimmers back.

  “Oh My God. It’s gorgeous!” I cry, heart skipping a beat. “When are you going to ask her?”

  He shrugs. “Later tonight. I heard about women and weddings. I figured I’d be more likely to get a yes if I asked her today.”

  I take a swig of water, then shake my head in disbelief, swallowing hard. “I can’t believe you. You actually found a girl you like . . . and you want to marry her.”

  “Why’s that so surprising?” he asks.

  “Because you’re . . . you. You’ve never dated a girl longer than a week. I swear to God, I’m waiting for it to start snowing, or the zombie apocalypse, because the world is coming to an end.”

  He smiles. “Maybe. But you know, when you love someone you love them. And every day you sit back pretending that you don’t is one less day you have with him.”

  “Her,” I correct.

  He shifts his eyes in my direction. “I wasn’t talking about me.”

  He wasn’t talking about. . . . I swallow hard, forcing back the lump lodged deep in my throat. “Well, anyway. I like her. I hope she says yes.”

  “Me too.” He closes the box with a snap and exhales deeply. “We’ll try to give you a breather, though.”

  My eyebrows furrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He stands, slipping the ring box into the pocket of his black tuxedo jacket, a mischievous grin plucking at the corners of his mouth. “Because if she says yes, you get to play bridesmaid again.”

  Chapter Thirty

  In the time it takes to travel from the park to my house, the sun disappears below the horizon. The entire world shadowed in reds, purples, and dark blues. Melissa pulls her car to the curb, and we step back into the cool, evening air. I shiver, rubbing my arms as we cross the damp lawn.

  Daniel’s truck, still covered in streamers and balloons and paint, is parked in the driveway.

  “I figured you guys would’ve left by now,” I call, entering the foyer.

  Sarah’s voice drifts downstairs, muffled: “We’re packing!”

  “We would’ve been gone already, but Sarah couldn’t leave without saying goodbye to Joshua,” Danie
l adds, appearing at the top of the stairs.

  “They’re on their way. They were leaving right behind us.” I step out of my shoes and kick them into the front living room, feet aching. I flip on the light. Hairdryers, rollers, make-up, safety pins, garment bags, and clothes are scattered across the room. It’s trashed beyond all recognition. I heave a sigh, turning the light off. This is not something I can deal with right now. “I don’t think I’m gonna be able to walk right for a year,” I tell Melissa.

  “I know,” she replies. “Sarah? That whole dyed-to-match thing didn’t work for us,” she yells.

  “It’s too late now,” she points out as we head upstairs.

  Sarah, already changed into jeans and a sweatshirt, is packing a suitcase. Her wedding dress is tossed on the bed in a heap of satin and tulle. “Wedding’s over!” I tease, passing her bedroom and entering mine.

  I flip on the light switch in my bathroom, moving toward the sink, feeling the exhaustion in my legs from standing most of the evening. I study my reflection in the mirror. Definitely in need of a good night’s sleep, I think, examining the dark circles beneath my eyes. And the concealer on my scar didn’t hold up.

  Without thinking, I reach for the wrench to turn on the water, but . . . it’s missing.

  “What?” I murmur.

  That’s when I see it: a brand new faucet. An entirely new fixture . . . with two handles sparkling in the light. I carefully twist the knob. Cold water pours out of the spout. It works.

  I smile.

  Behind me, Daniel clears his throat.

  “What is this?” I ask, turning to face him.

  He shrugs his shoulders.

  “When did you do this?” I ask. “Because I know it wasn’t Dad.”

  “You don’t know it wasn’t Dad,” he says, walking into the bathroom. I eye him suspiciously.

  “All right. It wasn’t Dad,” he confesses.

  “I just don’t get how you managed it.” My shiny new faucet glimmers. “I mean, you were at the new house all day. And we were here until right before the wedding started.”