by J. L. Berg
I wish I had been that smart.
I’d started out this second attempt at our wedding day with a clear vision. I’d wanted to be involved. I’d let Sarah take over so much of everything the first time around and I’d thought maybe my un-involvement had led to our eventual parting. This time I would be present. This wedding was going to be all about us.
That was, at least until Ryan’s mother had gotten involved, and everything simple and easy I’d wanted had flown out the window. Since then, my planned centerpieces, tiny glass vases with a single daisy in each, had been replaced with ginormous crystal things that held mile-high floral arrangements.
I didn’t want to know how much each of those cost.
Ryan was now going to wear a tux, rather than a tan suit. No man should be married in something he’d wear to a country club, she’d said.
I didn’t quite understand why it mattered, but Ryan had agreed to it, so of course, so did I.
The whole thing felt like someone else’s affair. But I kept reminding myself it was only one day.
Just one day of our lives and then we would be married.
Married for the rest of our lives…
Pulling a shirt over my head, I headed to the bathroom and quickly brushed my hair and teeth, trying not to notice the dark circles under my eyes. It had been nearly a week since my infamous bachelorette party, which had resulted in my best friends having to nearly wheel my out of the bar and carry me home, and I still hadn’t seemed to recover.
The hangover to end all hangovers had passed, and even though most of the night still remained fuzzy, I couldn’t seem to return to a normal pattern of sleep.
I’d curl up in bed, fall asleep, and an hour later find myself back awake and staring at the ceiling. Other times I’d wake, panicked, my heart racing full speed ahead to a destination unknown while I tried to shake off the nerves that threatened to take over without waking Ryan.
This was why I’d been looking so forward to a morning alone in bed. Maybe I could actually sleep, because right now, I was seriously starting to look more like the bride of Frankenstein than anything else.
“Everly! We have a lot to do! No time to dawdle!” Sophie hollered. That was her name—Sophie. Although I wasn’t supposed to call her that. It was either Mrs. Sparrow or Mom.
Yep. Mom.
That little bomb had been dropped the other night at dinner.
In another world, I would have been overjoyed. I probably would have cried big fat tears of joy. But I didn’t. I felt nothing but pressure and guilt that I didn’t cry and jump up and hug her on the spot, thanking her for her love and support.
Instead, I just sat there awkwardly as Ryan and Mrs. Sparrow stared at me, waiting for some sort of response.
“Thank you so much,” I’d managed to choke out. I’d quickly grabbed my glass of wine like a life preserver.
I’d wanted a mom for as long as I could remember. I used to sit on my borrowed beds with my ratty secondhand sheets, imaging what it would be like to have someone who loved you like that—unconditionally, with no end. I pictured days in the kitchen baking cookies, and hayrides in autumn to find the perfect pumpkin. It would have been wonderful. Me and Mom.
But it was only a dream, and foster kids rarely see the end of the rainbow.
None of it—the sheets or crappy clothes—would have mattered if I’d just had someone to stand up for me, someone to hold me when the kids made fun of my lanky limbs and the scattering of freckles that covered my face.
When I’d first met Ryan and he told me about his childhood and how much his parents had wanted him, I couldn’t wait to meet his mother. I thought, if she wanted him, surely she’d want me as well.
But I don’t think anyone would ever be good enough for her precious little boy.
Wandering out into the living room, I leaned up against the door frame and watched her buzz around the room for a moment, wondering where all that energy came from. She wasn’t in the best of health, having advanced arthritis in several locations and diabetes that constantly gave her issues, but something about this wedding had invigorated her.
I think it was the opportunity to make her son happy. It was what she lived for.
She’d spent most of her life waiting for a child, and when that day finally came, Ryan became the woman’s entire world. So much so that nothing else mattered. She was so blinded by her love for him that sometimes I think she went a little overboard.
Like crazy long to-do lists and mile-high centerpieces crazy.
She meant well, I reminded myself. She really meant well.
“Oh good! You’re back! I thought we’d start by assembling the gifts you’ll be giving the guests, and then we’ll move on to centerpieces.”
We’re giving them gifts?
“Why don’t you take a seat at the table, and I’ll show you what to do?” she suggested, waving her arms in that general direction when I didn’t appear to be moving fast enough.
“Sure, I’ll just grab a cup of coffee—”
“No time! No time! We have too much to do!” she protested.
No time for coffee? Oh God, I might die.
Making the biggest pouty face possible, I slumped down in the chair closest to the kitchen in a desperate attempt to filter caffeine through my system through the scent that had filled the small space alone.
Yes, I was that desperate.
“Okay, here is what we’re going to do,” she said in a chipper tone, sitting down next to me. Reaching into a bag on the floor, she pulled out several medium candles. They were heavily scented, making me scrunch my nose instantly. I quickly turned and pretended to scratch an itch to cover up my dislike.
“I picked these up at a very upscale department store. The sales lady said giving out candles as your wedding favor is very elegant and she even showed me several ways to present them.”
She’d probably enjoyed every penny of her commission too.
“I bought these pretty white boxes, and we’re going to wrap a thick silver bow around each like so…” I watched her demonstrate the elaborate bow.
“And for the final touch, I had these beautiful little cards printed. Just attach it with a bit of wire around the knot of the bow and ta-da! Isn’t it stunning?”
Looked pretty much like something I could pick up at Target, but like hell I’d say otherwise.
“It looks beautiful,” I said with a giant smile. “Can’t wait to start!”
She looked completely pleased with herself as she started pulling out the rest of the supplies and dividing them between us. I waited until she began, unsure I could tackle that bow by myself and followed each step alongside her.
It took a few tries, but after a couple of attempts I finally mastered the giant silver bow and moved on to the final step.
“It looks great!” Mrs. Sparrow said with a note of pride in her voice, as I slowly nodded in agreement. Reaching over to my left, I grabbed a tiny card and piece of wire, ready to finish my very first wedding favor.
One down, a gajillion to go.
The silver foil on the card caught my eye and I realized I hadn’t even read what it said.
Mr. and Mrs. Ryan Sparrow thank you for spending this special day with them and hope that each time you light this candle, you’ll remember true love always burns the brightest.
Everything happened at once. Like a switch on a vacuum, the oxygen in my lungs seemed to vacate my body in one giant pilgrimage, leaving me with a giant void of nothingness while the air around me grew in density, pushing against me until I felt like I might collapse under the pressure.
Mr. and Mrs. Sparrow…
True love always burns the brightest…
Oh God, too much…must get out.
“Everly, are you all right? You look pale.”
“I think I’m going to pass out,” I managed to say a second before I collapsed, bringing the entire stack of silver-foiled cards and perfectly tied bows with me as I hit the floor.
; * * *
After about a hundred vials of blood had been extracted from my body, it was concluded there was nothing medically wrong with me.
As I sat there alone in the emergency room, staring at my bare feet as they poked out of the end of the thin sheet that passed for a blanket around here, I took a deep breath into my lungs, letting it fill every single crevice and shallow space, remembering that staggering, overwhelming feeling of not being able to breathe.
Panic attack.
That’s what had happened to me. I’d seen my married name, printed in bold on beautiful white card stock, and I’d gone bananas.
Like passed-out, had-to-call-an-ambulance bananas.
God, I was so embarrassed.
Ryan’s mother was in the waiting room, avoiding the germs as much as possible. With her age and her long laundry list of health problems, I didn’t blame her. There was no reason for her to be here, anyway.
There wasn’t anything wrong with me, after all.
But she refused to leave.
Someone needed to be at my side—even if it was from the afar.
She definitely had certain quirks about her—from the way she scurried off when you mentioned the Internet or attempted to speak of anything remotely modern. Or her sometimes smothering approach to wedding planning that made me want to crawl out a window rather than face her once more.
But she did care for me. It might not be the fairytale type dream of a mother I’d always envisioned, but it was something. I realized that now.
Which was why this was going to be all the more difficult.
I took another deep breath, lost in my thoughts, when the door pushed slowly open. Hidden behind a mound of flowers was Ryan.
“I’m sorry it took me so long. Traffic was terrible and the parking garage was full. But I bought you flowers!” he added cheerfully, setting them down on the small tray beside me.
“They’re beautiful,” I said, my eyes fixed on the small pink roses. “You didn’t have to, though.”
“Of course I did. You’re in the hospital!”
“I know, but only because of a panic attack. The doctor is going to discharge me soon. I just need to follow up with my primary physician in a couple of days,” I replied, my eyes unable to meet his.
“A panic attack is a big deal, Ev. It means your body became overwhelmed with stress. The wedding plans are too much for you to handle, which is why I’ve taken off the next few days and I think you should, too. I realized it’s not fair to ask you to do all this on your own. It’s our wedding. I should be helping.”
Oh, if it were only that easy.
“It’s not the wedding,” I said in a voice little more than a whisper.
“What?” he asked, suddenly confused.
“It’s not the wedding,” I stated slowly. “It’s us. The panic I’m feeling—it’s because of us.”
My sad gaze traveled up to his and the words settled in.
“Us? What do you mean?” he asked as realization settled. “You don’t want to get married?” His voice shook as he spoke and the sound nearly split my heart in two.
“Do you?” I asked, tears wetting my cheeks.
“Of course I do!” he roared back, the fight in his voice vanishing as quickly as it came. He stumbled to the end of the bed and sat, withering before my eyes.
“Think about it,” I said. “Why do you want to marry me?”
“Because I love you.”
“But, why do you love me?”
His hands threaded his light brown hair, and I heard him blow out a frustrated puff of air. “I don’t know. I don’t know,” he said over and over.
“I don’t know why I love you either,” I answered.
Several minutes passed before his eyes met mine once more. “We should know,” he said finally.
“We should know,” I agreed, a single tear trailing down my cheek.
“I remember my mother giving the eulogy at my father’s funeral,” he began, smoothing the thin white bedsheet beside him as he spoke. “Through her tears, she listed more than half a dozen reasons she loved that man. Some were silly, like the way he always told dirty jokes to cheer her up—that one honestly surprised me. Some were more serious, like the way he never left the house without saying he loved her. When she sat back down, I leaned over and told her what a wonderful job she’d done and glanced down at the sheet of paper she’d been holding. I knew she’d been working on the eulogy for days, but the paper she held her hand? It was blank. Everything she’d said at that podium was from her heart and completely on the spot.”
“You deserve a love like that,” I stated, hating that it wasn’t me. Hating that I wasn’t the woman who would one day fill all the blanks on that sheet of paper he spoke of.
“You do, too,” he replied.
“Maybe someday. But for now, I think I want to focus on just one person.”
“And who’s that?” he asked.
“Me.”
* * *
Mrs. Sparrow’s growing affection toward me turned into white-hot rage when she discovered our impending nuptials had been canceled. I’m not sure what she was more upset about—her grand affair being canceled, or her son.
Either way, I was now the enemy and the reason for everything bad in the world.
Naturally, my red hair was the cause of it. Ryan should have never dated a redhead. They were nothing but trouble. Flighty and unreliable—her words, not mine. She calmed down slightly when Ryan explained our decision to part ways was mutual. Since it had been Ryan’s choice, her hatred toward me then only became more justified.
I couldn’t wait to be out of the apartment.
My new quest for independence was on hold until I could find a place of my own, however. Until then, I was shacking up with Sarah.
Again.
But this time, it wouldn’t be any longer than a few weeks. Because for the first time in my life, I would not be running back to a man.
This time, I was on my own.
Everly the brave. Or whatever.
The breakup was fairly cordial. Besides the snide comments made by Mrs. Sparrow, Ryan and I continued to work well together—proof that we’d become more friends than lovers over the last few months. It was something I think both of us had seen coming, but neither of us had been willing to admit.
Now that it was out in the open, and both of our futures unknown, there was a sense of levity between us. We laughed, joked, and bantered back and forth like grade-school kids.
I felt like a thousand-pound weight had been lifted off my shoulders, and I think Ryan felt the same.
I’d saved us from making a big mistake, and in doing so I think I’d saved something even more precious.
Our friendship.
“Well, I think this is the last of it,” Ryan said, dropping the final stack of boxes in Sarah’s living room.
“I sure hope so, ’cause damn!” Sarah muttered, looking across the floor at the sea of crap that had slowly accumulated over the last few hours.
I gave her a hard stare, hoping she’d get the hint.
“I’m just going to go into my room and um, yeah…’bye,” she said, making a quick beeline to the back of the apartment.
“She’s usually more subtle than that,” Ryan laughed.
“Well, I didn’t give her much of a choice.”
“Ah.”
“Listen, I just wanted to apologize for—”
“Stop,” he said, interrupting me. I looked up at him a second before he engulfed in a large hug.
“Good luck, Everly,” he whispered.
I squeezed him tighter, my head resting comfortably against his warm chest. “Good luck, Ryan.”
We pulled away and I watched him turn, and then pause.
“I almost forgot. I want you to have this,” he said, handing me a manila envelope.
My eyebrow raised in curiosity. “I thought we already decided we were sending all the gifts back?” I asked.
“Would you jus
t open it?” he demanded, a smooth grin pulling at his chin. I did as I was told and undid the flap, pulling out a pile of papers and several brochures. It took me a second to register what I was seeing.
“This is our honeymoon,” I whispered.
“And it’s yours.”
My gaze flew up to his. “I can’t accept this.” I fumbled for words. I kept glancing down as pictures of the Eiffel Tower and Notre Dame filled my head.
“Yes you can,” he encouraged. “It’s non-refundable and believe me when I say this, I do not want to spend a week with my mom in Paris. So please, go. Take Sarah, enjoy yourself and maybe somewhere along the way, you’ll find that one person you’ve been searching for.”
I smiled, remembering my vow to focus on myself for once.
“Vive la France?” I laughed.
“Exactly. Now go break the news to Sarah. I need a head start so I can be a safe distance before the ear-splitting screams begin.”
“Ryan?” I called out before he turned.
His bright smile met me.
“Thank you,” I said.
“No, thank you,” he replied before he disappeared through the door.
I was going to Paris.
I looked down at the tickets, my eyes filling with happy tears.
Holy shit. I was leaving for Paris in two days!
Time to make Sarah’s day.
Chapter Ten
August
I’d no sooner finished pulling on my suit jacket when the doorbell rang downstairs, alerting me that the driver I’d hired for the day had arrived.
My stomach churned in protest. I did not want to do this.
In the matter of an hour or so, I would be meeting Magnolia’s parents, and my plan to win over her father would begin.
I hated myself for even thinking of it. But I knew if I didn’t do this Trent would, and he would take them for everything. My only hope was that by being in charge, I could do as little damage as possible and hopefully explain my reasoning to Magnolia when all the dust settled.
Whenever that might be.
I knew it was a long shot—that she’d never forgive me after she discovered my deceit, but when faced with a rock and a solid wall, one tends to choose the easier path. For now, I was going with the rock.