When Conner carried me over the threshold, Schnickerdoodle yapping crazily and jumping up onto Conner’s legs, I knew my fairytale had come true.
Then when Schnickerdoodle didn’t heed Conner’s “sit!” command and made him tumble a few shaky steps forward, nearly falling to the floor with a thud and taking me with him, I realized that my fairytale was definitely my fairytale. The Conner and Claire love story, a twisted comedy of sorts. Hey, at least Conner caught his balance and I won’t have another bandage or cast or brace to sport at our public wedding. Goodness!
That night Conner and I make the most passionate love, and I’m pretty sure it’s not just because we’ve had a rough patch recently and are so enamored of one another now that things are back to normal. We’re husband and wife—the day I’ve been dreaming about since that scraggly-haired, confident fraternity boy took a seat across from me at the cafeteria booth. Conner Whitley stole a small piece of my heart that day, and today I officially gave him the rest of it. And his heart? Well, he said I’ve had that sucker since the beginning.
“I still can’t believe you did this,” I tell Conner, after the second wave of post-coital bliss. I carefully trace the black lines of his new tattoo.
“Drunk. What can I say?” he says teasingly.
I slightly depress the tender flesh, and he winces. “Ow, Claire.” He playfully tries to bat my hand away.
“You were not,” I say. “Chad told me that the guy at the tattoo parlor asked you what you wanted and all you could say was that you knew I’d rip you a new one for doing this, but that you wanted to anyway.”
I can see Conner flush slightly in the golden glow of the bedside lamp. “What can I say? I love ya, Claire.”
I softly kiss the top of his shoulder. “You know what they say about getting people’s names tattooed on you, don’t you?” I raise my eyebrows. “That it’s, like, the dumbest thing you could ever do?”
He shrugs. “I guess we just have to stay together forever then, eh?”
I trace the last letter—an E—in the name that’s freshly tattooed on his shoulder blade.
“Wouldn’t that nifty piece of paper we signed tonight indicate we should stay together?” I say, and lean in for a kiss, careful not to rest too much weight on my wrist, and careful not to push Conner too far against the headboard, lest his tender tattoo ache. Goodness. Talk about two peas in a pod.
“Oh!” Conner says, causing me to flinch.
“What? Is it your tat? Did I hurt it?” I crane my neck to see if I’ve wounded the pink flesh.
“No.” He pulls himself upright and leaps from the bed. “If not now, then when?”
I rest on my back, propped up on my elbows, and curiously watch him dart from the room. “Babe?” No response. “What’s going on?”
“Here,” he says, rushing back over. He practically jumps onto the bed, his laptop in hand. “We’ve delayed this long enough. It’s finished now.”
He gives me a toothy grin, and when all I can do is give him a clueless glance, he adds, “Well, almost finished. Still need to add…” counting with his fingers and muttering under his breath “…six words.” He quickly opens the laptop. “The last six words.”
“Okay, what is this?” I ask in a probing tone. “What is going on Conner?”
“Ta Da!” After clicking the mouse pad a few times, he turns the laptop to me.
“Conner!” I gasp. I roll over onto my stomach and pull myself nearer to the screen. “No way!”
It’s absolutely… It’s—It’s—
“Speechless, eh?” Conner jests.
Mouth agape, eyes wide, I can’t help but tear up at the colorful sight before me. I bite down on my lower lip and turn to look at my husband. He’s glowing and looks like he’s eagerly awaiting my response. He nods towards the screen, as if saying, “And? And?”
“Your comic,” I wheeze out in between a small flow of fresh tears. I brush them off, but another stream begins to flow right away. “I can’t believe—” I brush away the new stream. “I…Conner…”
“Here,” he says cheerily. He scoots closer and starts to point and explain the storyline. “Here’s where it starts.”
I let out a teary chortle. I still have trouble figuring out how to read these things. I mean, it’s not always clear, left to right, up a little or dart down.
Of course, it’s not like I need to be an experienced comic book reader to understand this story. Conner’s created the most touching comic. It’s called The Fairytale Adventures. The heroine is, naturally, Claire Whitley née Linley, also known as the Bridal Queen, and the leading man, who evidently needs saving from the doomed life of bachelorhood, is none other than Conner Whitley, or the Groom King. It’s the adventures of…well, us!
“Groom King?” I guffaw.
He shrugs. “It was either that or Groom God or Captain Conner.”
“Captain?” I pull a funny face. “You have a secret dream of being a naval officer or something? Too much Call of Duty?”
“No, silly. You know? Captain America? Captain Conner?”
I raise one eyebrow. “I don’t get it.”
He chuckles. “You goofball.” He points back at the screen. “Come on, let’s read this together.”
I situate myself comfortably on one forearm, careful to keep pressure off of my injured wrist, resting it on top of Conner’s strong arm. “The adventure,” I say in a mock seductive voice, “begins when the Groom King—ahem, ahem, or Captain Conner—” I glance at Conner from the corner of my eye and he flushes pink. “When Captain Conner spies the Bridal Queen. He leads an empty and meaningless life. In search of romance? Maybe. In search of true love? Never. Not, that is, until he saw her.” I abruptly stop. “Conner!” I say. “This is adorable! It starts from the very beginning, when we met at UDub—”
“Yeah, yeah,” he says, motioning to the screen. “There’s more.” He’s so eager to share his story. I’m touched.
“Conner, I love you.” I give him a peck on the cheek, and he nods once again towards the laptop.
“Love you, too, babe. Come on, look at this next part.” Still radiant, he carries me through the story, from one colorful and animated square to the next.
My tears have dried, and I’m brimming with joy. A smattering of curiosity, too! Conner has done some hard work on our wedding. He’s put together the most touching and personal piece of wedding detail, and he’s spent months on it! The comic basically goes into how we met, fell in love, found our house together—even Schnickerdoodle makes his appearance!
Then comes the wedding. But before the actual wedding, there’s all of the planning. There’s me working madly at the sewing machine, me shopping with what seems to be a pack of large-breasted women (seriously!), me with my wedding dress and veil and all sorts of wedding items flying from the trunk of my car, me with my mountain of bridal magazines. There’s Conner in his suit, too, with a pack of barrel-chested and bulging-biceped men. It’s frickin’ adorable!
“And here,” Conner says in a low voice that I’m finding really sexy and becoming right now. “Here is where we type in our happily-ever-after, Claire.” He slowly chicken-pecks out the words “and they lived happily ever after,” and I all I can do is stare at him. I love this man. I love this man so much.
“Thank you, Conner,” I say softly into his ear. “Thank you for being you.” I kiss his earlobe. “I love you.”
“There you go,” he says with pride. “Not the end, but a happy conclusion to this comic.” He looks into my eyes. “Thank you, Claire, for marrying me.”
“Ha!” I say in a teasing shriek. “Thanks for marrying me, babe. I’ve been like a Bridezilla planning this wedding!”
“Hey! Now there’s a good name for you.” He poises his fingers over the keys and says, “Let me just change the Queen to Bridezilla…”
I give him a shove with my bad hand and immediately feel a shot of hot pain seer through.
“Ohhh,” I moan, rubbing it.
&nb
sp; Conner guffaws. “Claire, I love you, you silly girl. Only you could wind up in a wrist brace the day before our wedding.”
“Yeah, well…” I give a little smirk. “At least we get an Act Two for this whole wedding thing.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Emily throws her long brown hair up into a disorganized bun and secures it with the green newspaper rubber band she nabbed a second ago. “Can you believe your wedding is in two days?” she says, in awe. “Are you, like, freaking out?”
I slip on a pair of navy blue flip-flops as I say, “Nope. I mean, yeah it’s like, wow! This is happening. I mean, almost three hundred people! Crazy.”
“I guess you technically already had a wedding.” She smiles and takes the lead out of my bedroom.
“Shhh.”
“Come on,” Emily says. “We got everything we need?” She pulls open her cloth, patchwork bag and retrieves a piece of paper. “I haven’t been to this place before. Party…” She squints at the print out map she brought along.
“Emporium. I’ve been once. I know where it is.” I toss Schnickerdoodle a rawhide stick and tell him we’ll be back later. “We’ve got wedding stuff to do, Schnicker.” I rub his head while he gnaws on the treat.
“Okay,” Emily says, cramming the paper back into her bag.
“You know maps are a thing of the past.” I jingle the car keys in my hand. “There is such a thing as a GPS these days.”
“Save it,” she says. “Using a GPS totally takes all the fun and adventure out of life.”
“You mean it makes for a great way to end up lost?”
“Exactly.” She walks around to the passenger side of my car. “That’s the true adventure in travel and life, isn’t it? Getting lost, being susceptible to new experiences…meeting new people. A GPS takes all that away.”
“You hippie,” I josh. “I love you, but you’re so quirky.”
I yank on my car door handle as soon as it’s unlocked, and the entire handle is suddenly now in my grasp.
“What the hell?” I raise the broken handle up so Emily can see. “Piece of crap!”
“Didn’t you just get this fixed?” Emily surveys the body of the car.
“For engine trouble or a starter plug or something. I don’t know.” I shake my head briskly. “Something else. Not this.”
I groan and try the back door handle. The moment I reach for it, though, I remember that this door, as of last week, decided to freeze up. For no reason. It only opens from the inside now.
“Argh!” I cry.
“Calm down.” Emily comes to my side and tries the back door, but I tell her it’s no use. “Let’s try my side.”
“Broken, too,” I say with resignation. “Forget it.” I look down at the piece of plastic that’s in my hands, and I laugh. “Screw it.” I remember that I promised Conner I’d take it easy—chill out and not freak out over every little thing that goes awry. Because really, what the hell is the point?
“Where’s your car, Em?”
“Friend dropped me off, remember?” She gives me a dumbfounded look. “Co-worker needed a ride, and I figured—”
“No worries,” I say, brushing my hair behind my shoulders. “No stress. This wedding is stress-free from now on.”
“Glad to hear it.”
I pan around the yard, looking longingly across the street at the shiny BMW in the neighbor’s drive. I pan back around to my own drive and, well…
“There is Conner’s truck,” Emily says, looking quizzical.
I take in a deep breath and exhale slowly, like I was taught in yoga.
“Just what I was thinking,” I say, not taking my eyes off of the monstrous vehicle in the drive.
I chuck the handle piece over my shoulder. “Come on. We’re going on an adventure. You ever drive one of these babies?”
“I don’t think it’s the best idea for me to drive, Claire. Insurance, you know?” Emily says.
I cautiously open the driver’s door of the truck. “Hmph.” I cross my arms over my chest and stare hard at the seat that I’ll have to climb up into, staring as if willing the truck to transform into a compact car.
“Here goes nothin’.” I reach up to the steering wheel and hoist myself up into the driver’s seat. It’s not as high as it seems, really, it’s just no Toyota Corolla, that’s all.
“You sure about this?” Emily asks as she takes the adjacent seat. “Have you ever driven this thing before?” A look of panic starts to wash over her face.
I stick the keys in the ignition. “Only once.” I look at her from the corner of my eye. “Not exactly a great day. Conner still swears he suffered a mild stroke from it.”
“Dear God.” Emily buckles her seatbelt. “Are you sure we can’t wait to pick up these dishes and stuff?”
“Em, the wedding’s in two days! We’ve got to get that stuff in our hands—Allison said she’ll take over the rest once she’s in town, but that’s not for another…” I look at my watch, “six hours. Besides, Party Emporium is counting on me to pick this stuff up today. I need to just buck up and get it done.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and turn the ignition. I don’t know why I’m so scared of starting the engine—as if the ignition is any different from my car.
The truck roars to life, and I exhale the breath I’ve been keeping in.
“Phew,” I sound. “Thank God Conner carpooled with Chad today and left this beast here.” I depress the brake pedal, my hand nervously positioned on the gearshift. “As much as I fear driving this, being carless today would be the worst. The worst ever!”
“No, babe,” Emily says, looking far out her window to check for sudden passersby or darting cars from the rear. “The worst ever would be you wrecking this beast.”
I cast her a nonplussed glance. “Thanks for the boost of confidence, girl.”
Emily tightens her belt, peers once more out the window, craning her neck far and round. “Okay, let’s roll.”
***
We’ve made it! Emily and I went to Party Emporium in one piece! I actually drove the truck all the way there. Not very confidently, but we made it! I didn’t cause any wrecks (that I know of), there are no scratches or serious damage to the truck (does hopping over seven curbs or sidewalks count as damage?), and Emily and I are currently headed back to the house, safe and sound, cruising at a comfortable and cautious twenty-five miles per hour.
I slowly make the last turn before the house, cutting my turn short because of my bound wrist. I’m able to take the brace off tomorrow, right in time before the wedding, and let me tell you, it cannot come off sooner!
I’ve missed so much yoga due to this stupid injury, which isn’t great, since I have found myself at The Cup and the Cake far too many times, eating treats that I really need to stay away from if I’m going to fit into my Vera Wang. Conner’s said if I’m so worried about gaining weight, I could always run. “You don’t need to use your wrist for running,” he said. Yeah, well…
Missing the sharpness of the turn causes the truck to run over another curb, and this time it leaves Emily laughing harder than the other times. “Girl, where did you learn to drive?” she says, effervescent. “This is classic. So wish I had a video camera to film this.”
“Doesn’t your cell have one?” I try really hard not to have the back wheels run over the same curb, so I significantly decrease my speed, my hands white-knuckling the wheel.
“Yeah, right,” Emily spits out. “I’ve got the oldest mobile in the world. You know me, I’m not even a mobile kind of girl. A used, old phone that makes calls and that’s about it is enou— Oh, shit!” Emily immediately bursts out into a fit of hysterics as the truck’s rear launches a bit off the ground. “Claire, you seriously suck as a driver.” She can’t keep from laughing.
“Oh pooey,” I say as I finish hopping the same curb for a second time. “Damn.” I look in the rearview mirror. “I tried really hard not to hit it.”
“Twice!” Tears are springing to Em
ily’s laughing eyes. “Don’t know how you can hit the same curb twice, Claire, but somehow you manage.”
“There,” I say proudly, stopping the truck in front of the house. “Home, safe and sound.”
“And who would have guessed? We’re not in a wreck!”
“I can drive just fine, Em. It’s this damn truck, that’s all.” I scrunch up my face. I’m not even going to attempt parking this hulk in the drive.
I shut off the engine as Emily pops open her door and looks down. “Is five feet close enough to the curb, Claire babe?”
I stick my tongue out at her and hop out. “Let’s take in what we can carry without breaking anything,” I say. “And the boys can get the rest when they’re home from work.”
“You know, all horrible driving skills aside,” Emily kids, “that was pretty fun. I didn’t fear for my life at all.”
“Ha. Ha. Here you go.” I pull down the back door, then toss her the house keys. “See? You can have adventure right here with me and this truck, Em. No need to run to the other side of the world to seek thrills.”
***
I see now why girls have standing appointments at nail salons. I’ve just gotten my bridal manicure, and my nails look so much better. I didn’t want to do any acrylic, fake nails, because knowing me I’d break one off before the ceremony, and the classy look I’m going for would just be flushed down the toilet. Better to get a clean little buff and polish job, with the cutest French-style tips painted on in a pearlescent gloss. It’s very chic! Even got a pedi to match. Yup, I feel like a total princess. Or should I say Bride Queen?
All signs point to there being a humongous wedding in less than forty-eight hours. Allison’s plane has landed, and I’m on my way right now with Lara to meet with her to chat about any last-minute wedding details. Can you believe that? Last-minute details? Wow. Soon I’ll really be Mrs…. Er, wait. Well, soon I’ll be known as Mrs. Conner Whitley!
When Girlfriends Chase Dreams Page 35