A May Bride

by Meg Moseley

  “You’re welcome.” I scrambled to my feet. “Chin up, sis. Everything’s going to be fine.” I left her sitting on the carpet in a puddle of sunshine.

  Outside, one hand on the stair rail, I looked down at the parking lot. Gray leaned against his shiny old car with his shiny new phone to his ear. He was probably calling his brothers with our news.

  In all the drama, I’d forgotten to tell Alexa I was engaged too. Maybe that was for the best, because I didn’t want to talk about it now.

  Holding my head high, I walked down the stairs. Paying for my sister’s wedding was the ultimate in standing up to Mom. Gray would be so proud.

  Gray didn’t start asking questions until he’d pulled onto the main road. “How’s she doing?”

  “She’s all right. I, um, helped her out a little.” I wiped my eyes. “I offered my wedding fund.”

  “To Alexa?”

  “Yes.” I let out a shaky laugh. “She couldn’t believe it.”

  “I can’t either.” Gray drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “Clarify, please. How much did you offer?”

  “All of it.”

  “The whole thing? You gave her your entire wedding fund?”

  “You want me to stand up to Mom, right? Well, I did. Not just with talk but with action too. Alexa will have her dream wedding after all.”

  “I see,” he said lightly. “And what about yours?”

  “Ours? Well, it . . . it’ll still happen.”

  “How?”

  “Um . . . a courthouse wedding? There’s nothing wrong with that. We’ve talked about outsmarting the GAWM, right? It’s supposed to be about the vows. The relationship.”

  “Isn’t a relationship supposed to include some communication?”

  A cold knot of fear weighted my stomach, reminding me of a day when I’d lost my footing on the way down Stone Mountain. If I made one wrong move, I would slip and slide straight to disaster.

  I tried to sound chipper. “Isn’t that what we’re doing? Communicating?”

  “After the fact. After you’ve made a big decision. Without me.”

  “If I did something impetuous, well, look who’s talking.”

  He punched the accelerator and swerved around a slow-moving farm tractor.

  I grabbed my armrest. “Slow down!”

  He didn’t. He swooped around a couple of curves and made an abrupt turn into a brand-new park on the outskirts of town. He pulled smoothly into a parking space and shut off the engine.

  “Alexa and Eric could have solved their own problems,” he said. “You’re not responsible for their happiness.”

  “Too late. She already accepted the offer. Very gratefully.” My voice shook. I was beginning to feel my own losses.

  “I should think so.” He shook his head. “Why can’t she borrow money? Why can’t Eric help? Or his parents? Is everybody broke? Nobody has good credit?”

  “You’re the guy who hates debt. Now you want Alexa to go into debt?”

  “There must have been another way.”

  I watched through the windshield as three teenage boys kicked a soccer ball around on the grass. “It’s not just about the money.”

  “No kidding.”

  “It’s about love. And forgiveness.”

  “Yes, and your kindness is commendable. Your priorities are skewed, though.”

  “But you’re the one who doesn’t want all the frou-frou trappings. Fine. We can’t afford them now, so what’s the problem?”

  “You still don’t see it?”

  I was starting to. I’d saved for a wedding for years. Now that I’d finally found the right man, I was back at square one. Saving. Waiting. Except for the money I’d just promised to Alexa, I was nearly broke. Even if I cut corners everywhere, I couldn’t pull off a wedding with no money.

  I swallowed hard, remembering what I’d told him: I won’t make you wait to marry me.

  “It won’t take long to save enough money for a simple wedding,” I said. “And maybe you could help out a little?”

  “Sure, I could.” He pulled the key out of the ignition. “Tell me, though. How would you feel if I gave my entire wedding fund to my sister, if I had one, without talking things over with you first?”

  “You have a wedding fund?”

  “That’s beside the point, but yes. I pulled money from the pony fund for rings and the honeymoon. Because you’re more important than a car.”

  I absorbed that in silence for a moment. “And you’re more important than Alexa’s fuss and feathers, but come on, Gray. You’re always telling me to stand up to my mom. Now that I did, you’re mad at me. It’s not fair.”

  He let out a sharp sigh. “There’s your mom again, affecting everything. If she hadn’t overreacted, you wouldn’t have overreacted either. We’d still have a happy announcement to make—together—and we’d still have our own wedding to plan.”

  “We still have a wedding to plan.”

  “Do we? I can’t compete with your family. They always come first.”

  “No, they don’t.”

  He stared straight ahead, his silence chilling me. He pulled his phone from his pocket and dropped it into the console.

  “Gray?” I said timidly.

  “I need some time to cool off.” He climbed out, shut the door, and strode toward a walking trail that would lead him into the woods and out of sight.

  I grabbed the door handle, prepared to charge after him, but the fact that he’d left his phone behind made me reconsider. He didn’t want to talk.

  Forty minutes later, Gray came back. He’d cooled off, all right. We drove back toward his apartment in chilly silence. Between road work, accidents, and a natural gas leak at a business on 78, every route was slowed to a crawl. Thanks to one of Atlanta’s epic traffic jams, we were stuck together for two miserable hours.

  I didn’t know if we were still engaged or not. He’d never given me a ring, so he couldn’t take one back.

  It was eight thirty and the sun was setting when he parked a few spaces from my car. We climbed out and faced each other over the roof of his.

  “Well,” I said, “after all your talk about the importance of communication, you haven’t communicated a thing for two solid hours.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “That makes two of us.” I ran to my car, climbed in, and slammed the door.

  I’d never made the short trip home in such a terrible, brakes-squealing hurry. Home again, I ran inside and slammed that door too, wishing Gray could hear it from blocks away. Then I whispered an apology to my neighbors and threw myself down on the couch for a good long cry.

  It was three in the morning and I was on my second box of tissues when it hit me. Plan A had crashed and burned, but Plan B might fly.

  Gray thought he’d fallen to the bottom of my priority list, so I had to put him at the very top. Except I needed to run the idea past him first. I certainly couldn’t do it without him.

  It wasn’t a conversation I could entrust to a phone call. I wasn’t even sure he would take a call from me, anyway.

  I brushed my teeth, scrubbed my face, and put on my prettiest shirt, and then I grabbed a jacket and drove back to his apartment. No lights shone from behind his blinds. I didn’t want to wake him.

  I couldn’t find a parking space near his car, so I parked as close as I could and walked back in the spooky darkness.

  Sometimes he was careless about locking up his shiny black BMW. Sure enough, the passenger door was unlocked. I settled into the familiar seat and hit the lock button.

  The car wasn’t a threshing floor, and Gray wasn’t there anyway, and we weren’t Boaz and Ruth. Besides, we were already betrothed—or at least I hoped we still were. But Pastor Michael would have understood what I was trying to do.

  Do you love him? It doesn’t need to be complicated, dear.

  I wiped my eyes. I didn’t have time for more tears. I had to flesh out Plan B, fast. With almost no money.

 
; I loved Gray. He needed to know how much.

  I woke to the sound of Gray’s key unlocking the car door. He slid behind the wheel, scowling, with shadows under his eyes and stubble on his chin.

  He jumped when he saw me. “What did you do? Sleep in my car?”

  “Sort of. We have to talk.”

  He nodded. His grim expression didn’t change.

  I blew out a breath and prayed for courage. “You’re usually so laid-back and lighthearted, so it’s extra scary when you get upset.”

  “I think I had good reason to be upset,” he said quietly.

  “You did, and I want to change the way I handle problems with Mom and Alexa. I love them, but I won’t put them ahead of you again. I can’t go back on my word about the money, though. It’s too late for that.”

  “I know.” He shook his head. “I don’t want to come between you and your sister or your mom.”

  “I know you don’t. What’s more important is that we can’t let them come between us.”

  His expression softened but his eyes were still wary. “I like the sound of that.”

  “We need to stand up to Mom. Together. We can stand up to the GAWM while we’re at it.”

  “Sounds interesting.”

  “You have no idea how interesting.” With my fingertip, I touched the divot in his chin. Then I slid my finger up to his lips and held my breath.

  He kissed my finger, and I started breathing again. I could ask him.

  “Are you doing anything on Saturday, Mr. Whitby? You want to get married?”

  He blinked. “What?”

  “You’re supposed to say ‘yes,’ not ‘what.’ Will you marry me? On Saturday?”

  “This Saturday? The day after tomorrow?”

  “We can have a guerrilla wedding, sort of. We don’t need the frills. What’s important is that we’ll promise to love each other from this day forward. That’s all we need. Oh, and a marriage license. And a preacher and a place. And of course we’ll want some friends and family there.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Are you the same woman who complained that two days wasn’t enough warning for a trail ride?”

  “Yes, but I’m learning to fly by the seat of my pants. My mom will say we’re doing something rash—”

  “Of course she will,” he grumbled. “She thinks we’ve been engaged for less than twenty-four hours.” His dimple was trying to surface, though.

  I gave him an innocent look. “Are we still engaged? Last night I wasn’t quite sure.”

  “Be sure, baby. Be very sure. But we won’t be engaged long, because I intend to marry you ASAP.”

  The front seat of his car wasn’t especially comfortable for a celebratory embrace, but we managed. For quite a while. Then we got back to business.

  I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to recover the long to-do list I’d been engraving on my brain through the wee hours. “Are you okay with Pastor Michael’s church? In the garden, I mean?”

  “Sure, if he’ll have us.”

  “I know he will. But where can we have a reception, spur of the moment?”

  “For how many people?”

  “I don’t know. Twenty? Maybe thirty?”

  “My parents’ backyard, then. A picnic.”

  “Brilliant.”

  “Can we serve Publix subs?” he asked hopefully. “In honor of our first date?”

  “Why not? We can get a cake there too. Publix has the best cakes. We’ll invite people by phone or text or email. Whatever works. I’ll ask Lex and Eric to help. Can we draft your folks too?”

  “Sure. They’ll roll with it.” Gray leaned over and gave me a long, delicious kiss that made my head reel. “Do I have to wear a tux?” he murmured.

  “Did you kiss me like that just to make me dizzy so I’ll say you don’t have to wear a tux?”

  “Yes,” he said, deadpan, and did it again. Longer.

  “Wear your favorite suit.” My imagination jumped to a hotel room somewhere. I would enjoy the privilege of making that suit come off.

  “Can I wear my boots?”

  “Of course you can. You’re my Mr. Boots.”

  “That sounds like something you’d call a cat. Never mind. What else do we need?”

  “Not much. We don’t need attendants. We can ask friends to take pictures and video. I haven’t even thought about music.”

  “My brother plays guitar,” Gray said. “Much better than I do.”

  “That’ll work. And we don’t need a florist. The church’s flower beds are in full bloom.”

  “Isn’t the groom supposed to provide the bride’s bouquet?”

  “Yes, but I’d like to ask my mom to bring a bouquet from her garden.”

  “In her current frame of mind, do you think she will?”

  “If she won’t, I’ll carry a handful of dandelions.” I made myself smile. “We’ll still be just as married.”

  “We’ll need to arrange a few days off work. How about a short honeymoon now and a long one later?”

  “Works for me. And then which apartment will we come home to? Yours or mine?”

  He laughed. “What a dilemma. As long as we’re together, I won’t care.” He lifted my left hand to his lips. “This hand needs a ring on it. A couple of rings.”

  “They can wait. They’re only tokens.”

  “I’ll take care of the tokens,” he said with a mischievous smile.

  “Perfect. Thanks.” I’d hardly heard him, though. My mind was already on other problems.

  Gray had several handsome suits to choose from, but I had nothing that even resembled a wedding dress. Worse, I couldn’t expect Mom to make my bouquet. Most likely, she wouldn’t even show up.

  Thursday and Friday had passed in a blur that included my mother’s horrified reaction. “This Saturday?” she’d yelled. “Are you pregnant?”

  She tuned out my protestations of innocence. She wasn’t amenable to my request for a bouquet from her garden either, but I was still holding out hope that she would soften—in the next few minutes. We were nearly out of time.

  My wedding day had started at a mad pace at dawn. At five minutes to eleven, I stood on a rise overlooking the secret garden, bright now with roses, hydrangeas, and peonies. Maybe it wasn’t too late to ask Gray to pick a few blooms for me—if he had something to cut the stems with.

  But when I turned around to see where he’d disappeared to, he was walking toward me with a nosegay of miniature white roses, about the right size for a flower girl to carry.

  “I picked these in my mother’s yard and stashed ’em in my car,” he said. “Just in case.”

  My eyes watered in gratitude for his thoughtfulness and in sorrow over my mother’s absence. “Thanks, Gray. It was sweet of you. It’s not quite time yet, though.”

  “But your mom missed her ride with Eric and Alexa—”

  “Deliberately. I know. Maybe she’s taking a cab.”

  I was whistling Dixie, though. Mom must have decided to boycott my wedding.

  “Come on,” he coaxed. “It’s tradition. Carry the roses from your groom.”

  I took the nosegay. I wanted flowers from my mother, though. I wanted her there.

  She would have approved of the pure white fabric of the street-length frock I’d found at a thrift store, but she wouldn’t have approved of the style. Strapless. A little bit low cut. I wasn’t crazy about it myself, but it didn’t matter. I would only wear it for a few hours, and then I would get on with life. With my husband. The word made my heart flutter with excitement that almost banished the sorrow.

  Gray was scrumptious in his gray suit and sage-green shirt. His mother had pinned a pink rosebud on his lapel. She’d tried to talk him out of wearing his brown boots, saying they didn’t go with the gray, but he’d stuck to his guns.

  I leaned around the shrubbery to spy on our friends and relatives. Like the guests at the wedding back in February, they’d assembled in a loose semicircle on the lawn. Gray’s parents were there with his br
others and their families. Alexa and Eric, holding hands. My favorite cousin, all the way from Savannah with his wife. Betty, chic in a pale blue suit. And Gray had invited his friends, the guerrilla couple. Her baby bump showed now, and they were still smiling.

  Ours wasn’t quite a guerrilla wedding because we had permission to use the church grounds. The garden I’d invested in for years, like I’d invested in my wedding fund, never dreaming I would turn it over to my sister.

  Pastor Michael stood in front of the flower bed that had once been my hiding place. He’d donned a more respectable black suit today, and he was bare-headed. He looked like an amiable cherub. An angel. He’d said we didn’t have to pay a cent, but Gray had already taken care of a generous stipend for him.

  When Pastor Michael caught me peeking, he grinned. I gave him a quick wave and stepped back so no one else would see me.

  Taking a deep breath, I studied the simple but beautiful engagement ring Gray had put on my finger the night before. Its short solo run was nearly over already. He had wedding bands in his pocket, ready to go.

  He pulled out his phone and turned it on.

  “Turn that thing off, please,” I said.

  “It’s on mute. I was just checking the time. It’s eleven, El.”

  About to cry, I turned my back on him—and there was Mom, trotting across the grass in a pink dress I’d never seen before. She clutched her keys in one hand and a bright mix of flowers in the other—pink and white and yellow. I could hardly see the bouquet through my tears.

  “Mom! You drove?”

  “I drove.” She gave my dress a sharp glance. “Sorry to cut it so close—oh!” She stopped short. With stricken eyes, she regarded the white nosegay. “I’m too late.”

  “No, you’re not. Thank you. What a gorgeous bunch of flowers.”

  Hesitantly, she held them out to me, and I took them. Fragrant roses. Peonies. A few late daffodils. The pale, freckled green of Lenten roses, not roses at all but a lovely accent. She’d even included a few jade-green hens-and-chicks.

  “I notice you made a little space between the hen and the chicks,” I said.

  “I did. Just a little.” She smiled. Our eyes met and held for a long moment.