They did the whole “with this ring” bit, and it was time for them to kiss. My consistently controlled and subdued brother turned into someone with a wild side. He didn’t grab her and shove his tongue in her mouth or anything. Nah, this kiss was slow, sensual, full of a lot more passion than I was comfortable seeing, at least when the guy was my brother.
It was the kind of kiss women turned away from to give the couple a little privacy and men watched out of their peripheral vision.
I stared at my feet until I heard everybody clapping and a few catcalls.
Hallelujah! I made it—we made it—through the whole ceremony without any fainting or disaster. And all the tears shed were from happiness and sentimentality, even from Renee.
Friends and family attacked the couple before they’d gotten a few steps down the aisle, turning Andi and Hayden in every direction for a kiss on the cheek or a hug or a handshake.
Lane walked around the group to stand next to me and slip her arm around my waist.
“Did I see you cry?” she whispered to me.
I didn’t think so, but I checked my lower eyes lashes anyway. Anything could’ve happened while I was in fantasy land. “Maybe—men always cry when we lose another good one.”
Luckily, my lashes were dry. But hers weren’t.
“Same thing with women, huh?” When I slowly brought my thumb to her eye, she closed them for me so I could wipe away the tears that hadn’t already dried on her cheeks.
“Something like that.” She gave me a quick kiss then waded into the crowd to congratulate the bride and groom. I decided I’d do it later, once I figured out why they deserved congratulations to begin with. Saying some nice things and signing a piece of paper wasn’t exactly as impressive as running a marathon or winning the Nobel Peace Prize. Although, maybe that was the point—marriage was like running a marathon for forty, fifty years and you’d never make it that long unless you’d figured out how to keep the peace.
22
Carson
With such a small group, the reception felt more like spending the day somewhere beautiful with good friends, along with a few people I’d be happy to live without, than any wedding I’d ever been to, crashed, or dodged.
“What’s happening?” I asked Rob when Andi told all the single ladies to stand about ten feet away from her. A very selective group—only Lane, Sara, Anna, Hillary, and Clare—stood together and sang the only two lines they knew from the Beyoncé song.
“Andi’s going to throw the bouquet.”
“Where?”
He looked at me with equal confusion. “Haven’t you ever been to a wedding before?”
“Sure, but I’m usually drunk by this point.” Or, long ago, hooking up with a bridesmaid, something that would be happening again as soon as I could get Lane alone.
Rob’s expression didn’t change.
I shrugged. “If you knew my mother, you’d understand.” I’d been to three of her weddings. Being sloshed was the only way I got through them without saying anything honest about Renee and her taste in husbands.
“The bride tosses the bouquet and, supposedly, whoever catches it will be the next to get married.”
“And that makes sense to people? Still?”
“Not really, but it’s tradition.”
Right. But just in case there was any truth to it, I let out a sigh of relief Renee hadn’t joined the others. My mother was a recovering addict. It had been over two years since she’d worn an engagement or wedding ring, but it was better if she stayed away from temptation entirely.
I looked at Andi as she turned her back on the women. Aside from Hillary, none of them looked too happy to be there. Earlier in the bar, I’d learned just enough about Sara to guess she wasn’t dating anyone. But in case of doubt, the way she had to be shoved into the group and had her hands glued to her sides were good indicators. Clare was busy organizing the others, herding them closer together and making sure Eric had a clear view for photos.
The most shocking thing was to see Anna mildly into it. My guess? She didn’t give a shit about the tradition. She saw it as competition and therefore, it was something she had to win. And Lane? Well, Lane was subdued, even as Clare pushed her up front.
After one more quick glance behind her, Andi counted down, swinging her arm as if she were warming up for a toss from the outfield. “Three…two…one!”
Then, still clutching her bouquet, she turned around and ran over to the group, shoving the flowers right at Lane. Everyone laughed, including me, until I remembered what that actually meant.
Lane’s cheeks turned red as everyone applauded, and I felt someone smack me on the back.
“Pressure’s on now, little brother,” Hayden whispered in my ear.
Now? Did he mean I should do it right now, in front of everybody? Why else would he have used the word? I didn’t have to worry about flowers because Lane was already holding some.
I took it as another sign when my knee buckled underneath me. I could do this. And if she said no, I would still have enough adrenaline and leftover positive feelings to swim back to California.
“What the hell are you doing?” Hayden dragged me up.
“What do you mean? You said now!”
“Oh, Carson. You need help.”
Yeah, that’s what I thought I was getting. From him. Then I saw Lane again, the tiny shakes of her head as she tried to push the flowers into somebody else’s hands, the whispered “No,” and the way she kept trying to redirect focus back onto Andi.
I tried not to think too hard about what it all meant.
* * *
As the servers came out with trays of food, everybody dispersed to sit down around wood tables set-up on a shaded patio ten feet away from the sand and help themselves to the Champagne. I looked around for Lane and saw her a little farther down the beach, facing the ocean and picking at one of the flowers in the bouquet.
“Will he or will he not?” I said quietly, coming up behind her and slipping my arms around her.
“It doesn’t mean anything, Carson. Don’t worry.”
I turned her around, then lifted her chin until she was looking into my eyes. “I’m not worried. Never have been.”
“Well, you should be,” she said, her smile finally showing up.
“Aww, it’s our first threat. Someone take a picture!” I looked around for the photographer.
Clare was leading Eric around as she positioned people into various fake-candid poses.
“Hey, you!” I yelled at her. “Lady with the control issues! We need someone to take a selfie for us!”
Lane laughed under her breath, knowing exactly how I felt about men and that whole obsession. Instead of “selfies,” I called them “total dick pics.” Because only a total dick would think anyone wanted to see him flexing in front of a mirror or sitting in his car.
Clare turned away from the tableau involving Andi and Renee, quickly ordered them to look happy, and started walking toward us. Eric had better turn his shutter speed all the way up, because Hayden’s new bride felt the same way about her new mother-in-law as everyone else in the family did. Plus, Renee’s sincerity could only last about as long as a teenage boy the first time he got laid.
Clare smoothed her hair back as she neared us. “Who knew weddings were so stressful?”
“Um… you?” Lane’s voice rose at the end of the word, turning it into a question.
“True. But in my defense, I was stressed out for far less pleasant reasons at my wedding.”
“Because you’d just realized you were going to have to put up with my brother forever?”
She winked. “Something like that.”
“Can we get a picture of Lane and me on the beach? We’re celebrating a moment.”
Her eyes got huge.
“Yep,” I said, waiting for her disappointment to set in. “Lane just threatened me. I figure someday the picture can either make us laugh or be used as evidence in her trial.”
Lane studied me. “You say that as if you think I’m not smart enough to make it look like an accident.”
“Oh, you’re smart enough. But there’s no such thing as a perfect crime, and I don’t want you going to prison for doing the right thing.”
Clare shook her head. “You guys are so perfect for each other. Come on, let’s find a better background for the picture.”
“And something that could be used as a weapon.” Lane laughed as we followed Clare around and heard her complain about the sunset. Apparently it had purposefully shown up on the wrong side of the island, just to ruin all the shots she’d planned.
She called Eric on her walkie talkie—yes, I’m serious—to let him know he was needed and where. Twenty seconds later, he was jogging toward us, anxious to prove his worth to my ex-sister-in-law. The little business she’d started with Hayden’s help had already grown large enough to need employees and a solid list of freelancers.
Lane and I let Clare position and reposition our bodies, step back to contemplate our humiliation, then shake her head sadly as she came in for another round. She twisted my shoulders, moved my hand off Lane’s ass—
“Ah, come on! That’s its comfort zone!”
—and told us to smile without showing any teeth.
“Stop sneering, Carson. Tilt your head a little to the left, Laney. And lift your chin.” Obviously we were idiots because she actually showed us how to do every motion as she listed it. “Maybe… um…”
Lane held onto my arm for life when Clare knocked the back of her knee so her hip stuck out and she stopped standing “like a sumo wrestler.”
“Clare, if you really want to show off Lane’s best side, you need to turn her away from the camera.”
The women didn’t find my comment nearly as funny as Eric did. I think Lane would’ve if she hadn’t been worried laughter would ruin Clare’s hard work and force us to start over.
“Great. Now look natural.”
Lane and I glanced at each other from the corner of our eyes.
“Is this how it’s gonna be at your wedding?” I asked her through my teeth.
Lane was a better ventriloquist than me. “You mean if I ever find someone worth marrying?”
I tried not to smile. “I was trying to be supportive, but yeah, if you can ever find someone who’ll love your sorry ass.”
“It’s not my ass I’m worried about.”
“Carson, stop fidgeting please,” Clare said, in between comments to Eric about good angles. “We’re almost done. Just want to get a few more.”
This was a huge mistake. I’d just wanted a picture I could use as a screensaver, not to submit to National Geographic. Plus, I was now one hundred percent sure I could hear the bar calling my name.
“To answer your question,” Lane whispered. “I think I’d prefer something a little more casual.”
“Vegas is casual,” I joked, knowing how much she hated the place.
“Sure, if I meet him at a Vegas strip club or something, then that might work. As long as it’s somewhere that means something to us. And is family-friendly.”
“That takes me out of the running—there isn’t a place on earth where my family is friendly.”
“Stop it. My cheeks are cramping.”
“You sure? I should check.” I slipped my hand from her waist down to its comfort zone and gave her cheek a little squeeze. “Feels good to me.”
Her ass tightened beneath my hand. “Owww!” she wailed.
Shit, the jellyfish sting! “Sorry, babe. Look but don’t touch.” How could I have forgotten the world’s most depressing expression?
“Carson!” Clare yelled. “That was almost the perfect shot.”
I shook out my arms and watched Lane try to twist around to look at the source of her pain.
“Why do I get blamed whenever someone does something inappropriate?”
“Because you’re always the someone,” Lane said, still gently rubbing her ass.
“I cannot be held responsible for the temptation created by your proximity.”
I held her face in my hand and leaned down to kiss her. The parting of her lips was all the invitation I needed to deepen the kiss and forget where we were.
Somewhere in the distance, I heard Clare gasp and say, “Perfect! Stay just like that.”
Gladly. In fact, I planned to stay just like this as often as I could for the rest of my life.
23
Laney
Our original plan had been to stay on the island a few more days and have some fun. Unfortunately, any fun we might have had was curtailed by the fact that I still couldn’t sit down without wincing. So any excursion we could’ve gone on was out of the question, and I was too afraid to go back into the water. Carson and I tried all kinds of convoluted sexual positions, but—shocker—even if your butt isn’t directly involved in the position, it’s still involved.
I finally decided I just wanted to go home, get one of those awful butt pillows, and recover a little dignity before the unveiling of my lobby piece. So I asked the concierge to move up our flight home. We could leave on the same flight most of the other wedding guests would be on. Carson wasn’t thrilled to be on the same flight as Renee and Anna, or Hillary and Eric for that matter, but he agreed as soon as I started crying.
I looked at my boarding pass again, then turned it over as if it would say something different on the back.
Damn it. “These are the wrong tickets. The guy said the other flight had room on it. So how’d we get the wrong ones?” We were on a different flight than everyone else and had a layover. If the flight had sold out, why didn’t the concierge tell me?
I put my anger on pause when I saw Carson’s face. He had on his I’m-lying-but-feel-bad-about-it expression.
“Carson?” I spoke slowly, not wanting to spook him. “Did you have our tickets changed?”
He stared at me silently for a minute, then wet his lips. “Possibly. But if I did, I would have had a really good reason to.”
“Right.” I only needed one guess as to why. “Carson, did you put us on a longer flight just to avoid being on the same one as Hillary and Eric? Or was it Renee and Anna you wanted to avoid?”
He put his hand on his heart, a hurt expression on his face. “Babe, do you really think I would do—?” He cursed when he broke, his smile huge. “I would definitely do something like that, wouldn’t I? But I didn’t this time. Swear it.”
He held his left hand over my ticket and raised up his right as if taking an oath on a bible. “I didn’t change the tickets just to avoid being on the same flight as all the people I dislike hanging out with most. Promise. That said, I can’t guarantee I won’t find anyone to dislike during the flight. Especially if they steal the armrest.”
“Then why did you change the reservation?”
“Surprise?” he said weakly.
“What kind of surprise?”
“We have a layover now.”
“Oh! You meant a shitty surprise.”
“That’s not—” He shook his head. “We have a layover… in San Diego.”
I grew up in San Diego. My parents still lived there. So the surprise was… “Why?”
“Well, because I talked your mom down from a two-week visit to a three-day visit. Without insulting her or even mentioning sex toys.”
“You spoke to my mom?”
He nodded. “And I asked her to get you a butt pillow. Didn’t tell her why, though. Shit, will she think I was asking for a sex toy when I said ‘butt pillow’?”
“No, she’d think a butt pillow was for hemorrhoids. So you implied I have hemorrhoids. To my mom.”
“Uh… maybe?” He ran his hand through his hair nervously. “Did I make a huge mistake?”
“About the pillow?” I stammered. “I wouldn’t call it a huge mistake, but… I’m just…” Deep breath. “Are you sure you want to meet them?”
“Yes and no. But a lot more yes than no.” He grimaced. “That’s not exactly right
either. If you want, I could lay out my pros and cons list for you. I can recite it from memory.”
I kissed him, knowing what it symbolized for him. Knowing that he was putting aside his issues with his own parents and wanted to meet mine because it was the next step for us. How could I complain about that?
The only problem was I also knew what it meant for me. And that was a lot more complicated and a lot less sweet.
At least we could fight about which one of us was more nervous. Don’t get me wrong—my parents are good people. They’re just not Carson people. I still didn’t understand why they ever moved from the East Coast to California, let alone had lived there happily for thirty years. Neither of them understood sarcasm. Both of them assumed everyone who wore ripped jeans and had a band’s name on their t-shirt needed a hot meal and a place to sleep.
I was fifteen before I realized what that confused look on strangers’ faces meant. The one that appeared right after my mom gave them some money or one of the homeless care packages we made up every Sunday after church. I’m sure they enjoyed the sandwich, but ninety-nine-point-nine percent of them weren’t homeless. They were just fashionably dressed young people hanging out in downtown San Diego. I couldn’t count how many times I’d explained they didn’t need combs—they wore their hair like that on purpose. My parents would smile and hug me, but they never believed me.
“My parents are really nice people.”
“I’m sure they are.” Carson gave me the confused look I’d seen so often in my teens but eventually, his smile took over. “I mean, after screwing up their daughter so badly and sic’ing her on the rest of the world, they have a lot to make up for.”
I slugged him in the gut. Unfortunately his laughter had tightened his abs and protected him from any real damage.
“Do you really want to start down the road of whose parents have more to make up for?” It was meant to be a joke, but nothing about his parents made him laugh, unless bitter laughs counted.
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