by Mila Nicks
“You mixed up a couple buttons. Here, let me.” Her fingers brushed his, taking over at the helm. She slowly corrected the buttons error, working her way up toward the collar. Preston stood and let her, strangely silent. It wasn’t until she reached the top button that a sudden shift in tone struck her. Her eyes rose off the buttons, up his neck and jawline, the pink lips to his mouth and, finally, to meet his gaze.
The moment overwhelmed. What had started out so innocent felt like a real snapshot of a couple dressing for an event. She struggled to break the eye contact, eventually cutting away and turning her back. Nerves took flight as a thousand fluttering butterflies in her stomach, but she ignored each one.
“We should probably head down,” she said, throat strained. “Listen, I meant to bring it up earlier. My parents aren’t a fan of P.D.A., but I think some handholding should be enough. If you’re…you’re okay with that.”
“Handholding is fine. Whatever it takes to convince them.”
“Exactly. We can go with the flow. Do what feels right.”
“Sounds good to me. Babe.”
The moment that had once flustered her washed away like sand at a shore. She braved a peek at him from over her shoulder. He was kidding. Trying to lighten the mood. Ease whatever that other moment had been. She smiled wide out of relief as they headed for the door.
“Is that the pet name you’ve settled on? Babe?”
“Look on the bright side. It’s better than pookie.”
4
Giselle and the small gaggle of bridesmaids made it home first. Coming home from an afternoon spent laying in the sun and drinking, the group giggled and wavered on their introductions with Preston and Juliette.
“Gigi’s been best friends with Elena and Mellie since high school. She met Tabitha in college.”
“Got it. You can tell they’ve been friends for a long time.”
Next, Dominic and the groomsmen arrived. The men were also warm from spending a day outside, dressed in pricey golf attire. Dominic Brosman looked exactly like his photos. He took care of himself, almost as put together and coiffed as his fiancé, Giselle. From his thick but clean brows to his radiant bronze skin, it wouldn’t surprise Preston if he spent his free time in a terry cloth robe at spas. Nevertheless, he welcomed them both, repeating what Gigi had: don’t lift a finger while you’re here. That’s what the waitstaff was for.
Preston and Juliette lounged in the family room waiting on the parents. Juliette's Mom and Dad and Mr. and Mrs. Brosman would walk through the door any second. Preston wiped his palms on his pant legs, surprised by how the prospect of meeting Juliette's parents had him nervous. He rarely got nervous for anyone. Considering he had no friends and worked as an outcast in Vice, he thrived off the bare bone expectation from other people. He never had to be nervous, because he was never given a reason. But this? This was a reason.
It was important to make this work for the Lowry's. To make this work for Juliette.
“They’re home,” Juliette muttered, jumping to her feet.
For the first few seconds home, the Lowrys swallowed up Juliette in hugs. Her Mom hogged the most time, followed by Gram Babes. Last Mr. Lowry opened his arms for Juliette to walk into. Preston hung in the background, a fly on the wall witnessing the touching familial reunion.
Briefly he shook the hands of the Brosman’s, but though polite, the couple seemed short on patience. They excused themselves upstairs to relax in the hours between dinner.
“Everyone, this is Preston Brooker,” said Juliette happily. She picked up on her parents and grandmother’s confused faces and elaborated about his name. “So Winston is his middle name,” she finished with little misstep. “I didn’t want you being nosy and googling.”
“Googling?” repeated Gram Babes in a suppressed chortle. “What in tarnation is that? Another dating app you kids are using?”
“It’s nice to meet you Preston—err, or Winston?” Mrs. Lowry stuttered.
“Either are fine, Mrs. Lowry. I’m pleased to meet you as well. I’ve been excited about it since Juliette told me about the wedding.” Preston presented both Mrs. Lowry and Gram Babes with a bouquet of flowers. For Gram Babes, he also gifted a box of her favorite cherry cordials. For Mrs. Lowry, a book he believed she’d like. Juliette's Mom squealed with delight, reeling him into a mother’s signature hug.
“Call me Brandy. And you are thoughtful! These flowers match my blouse. How’d you know?”
Preston showed off what he’d been told was his handsomest grin. “Lucky guess. But I’m sure any flower would complement you. Now I see what Juliette means when she says she looks like her mother.”
“Oh, you’re as sweet as honey.” Brandy gushed, cheeks round like apples from smiling so hard. Her gaze lowered to the inspirational book he’d gifted. “And nothing like a Denise Cloyd empowerment book to lift the spirits! I’m a huge fan. I forgot my book at home, but look at you…I haven’t even read this one. You’re a lifesaver!”
“I couldn’t put it down. I think you’ll enjoy it. The affirmations work wonders,” said Preston sagely.
Brandy’s eyes lit up. “Preston, honestly, you’re not what I expected. But you’re a sweet surprise. I can see what Juliette sees, and I’m a fan of that twanged accent of yours. Nothing like southern manners.”
For another minute, Brandy praised him much to his blushing. He had been complimented by girlfriend’s mothers before, usually winning them over with his quiet thoughtfulness and acute listening skills, but Brandy’s praise meant more than he anticipated. The more she talked him up, hypothesizing about his considerate nature, the more he wondered what Juliette was thinking. Did she agree? Was she impressed? Had he made her happy?
“I should go upstairs and change out of these dang shoes. They’re pinching my toes.”
“While we’re at it, I’m gonna go take off this wig. My cap’s on too tight,” Gram Babes said. She retraced Brandy’s steps to the staircase and then stopped. Her eyes crinkled along with her lips, focusing on Preston. “You’ll get to know me enough in the next week. I’ll let you decide if that’s a good thing.”
“Gram! You’re a treasure.” Juliette gave a laugh.
With Juliette's Mama and Grandmama disappearing out of sight, a newfound tension rose in the air. It dawned on Preston that he was left behind with Juliette and Mr. Lowry, who had been noticeably quiet since the introductions began. The portly, gray bearded father had removed his extra set of eyes and began polishing them on the hem of his shirt.
And there it was—that clamminess moistening Preston's palms in time for the fatherly handshake. He wanted to curse aloud at his bad luck, but instead he inhaled and kept his posture straight, jaw squared, and held out his hand for Mr. Lowry. Why did it feel like he was really meeting his father-in-law for the first time?
“Hello, sir,” he said, exerting maximum effort for a respectable handshake. “It’s great to finally have a chance to meet you. It’s an honor to be a part of your family’s special celebration. Thanks for having me.”
Juliette's bated breath was palpable as was the weight of Mr. Lowry's stare. Seconds ticked by on the clock as Mr. Lowry appraised him, finishing off his thorough wipe of his glasses. He fixed his specs back onto his face, hiking them up the bridge of his flat nose, and then at last accepted the handshake.
“Hello, Winston—or Preston—or whatever you go by today,” he said icily. “I appreciate your kind words to my wife. I appreciate you making sure my daughter got here safely and that you know she’s wonderful enough to ask for her hand in marriage. But I don’t appreciate the fact that you feel comfortable enough sharing a bed with my daughter before your wedding day.”
Oh. Fuck.
Preston stopped breathing. The disastrous turn of the conversation stole the breath from his lungs and he failed to hide the deer in the headlights look on his face. His eyes widened and he paled, cutting his gaze to meet Juliette's for assistance. She sobered up herself, parting her lips to explai
n. Mr. Lowry burst into thunderous laughter, saving them from their horror.
“Kidding!” he boomed, mirth shining on his tear ducts. “I’m kidding, you two. I pulled the same jerk routine on Gigi and Dom. I made it a full minute last time. Had Dom stuttering like a nincompoop. He couldn’t look me in the eye for a whole day.”
“Dad!” Juliette gasped. “That’s wrong and you know it!”
“A little wrong but a lot of fun! They’re always nervous. I know because I was there thirty years ago. I can’t help having fun with it.”
Preston's ears glowed red as he conceded Mr. Lowry's point. Take two, Juliette's father shook his hand for real this time, introducing himself and thanking him for attending his daughter’s wedding. Juliette had told him about her Father’s gentle nature, but what she had not told him was that Mr. Lowry liked to laugh and play a good prank or two.
“Preston, the other fellas and I meet up in the den after dinner for drinks. Would you like to join us?”
“That sounds great. I’ll be there.”
“Excellent. We can sit down and talk man-to-man.”
Mr. Lowry kissed his daughter on the forehead to bid her a temporary goodbye and trailed in the long-disappeared wake of his wife up the stairs. The huge open space that once occupied a solid dozen people had emptied to no one else but Preston and Juliette. She hardly hesitated before she grabbed hold of his hand, steering him toward the exit leading to the terrace.
There, amongst the splash of water on the nearby shoreline, they spoke in privacy. Standing beyond the lounge chairs and on the edge facing the beach, the friends replayed the family introductions.
“They like you.”
Preston tilted his head. “You think?”
“Are you kidding? My mom already seems over the moon. And my Dad wouldn’t pull a joke like that if he had a bad feeling about you.”
“I’m glad,” he said, breathing deep.
“You were really nervous, weren’t you?”
“Nah…that’s not…I wasn’t…”
“Preston Brooker,” she continued, facing him with a lip bitten smile, “you were. A little.”
“Just a little. Maybe.”
“Well, you were great. Thank you.”
“I wanted to make sure things are good for you and everyone else. I don’t wanna screw anything up.”
“You won’t. You can’t. You’re more likable than you give yourself credit for, even with your Mama and Grandmama talk,” Juliette flattered in earnest. “Winston would’ve never brought flowers. He probably would’ve started a fight with me over my Dad’s prank. But you? You’re going out of your way to be amazing.”
“Already told you—whatever you need. That’s why I’m here.”
Juliette rose on slight tip toe and kissed his cheek. The brush of her lips was faint and swift, like the scuttle of a light breeze, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t experience the absolute extent of it. From the achingly soft feel of her lips on his scruffy cheek to the subdued fruity note of her perfume and the small, puffed intake of breath she took in a millisecond before. The kiss on the cheek warmed his skin over, making him pray against the red liable to appear.
“I’m going to head inside and catch up with my Mom and Gram. Are you okay without me?”
He nodded, voice choked from that kiss. “Yeah. Sure. Go ahead.”
“Why don’t you go and chat with Dom and his best man? I think I saw them in the den.”
“That’s alright. I’m fine hanging out here for a while.”
Juliette's expression brightened. “Preston, you can’t be on your own forever. Meet some of the guys. They’re pretty low-key. You’ll probably get along.”
Preston stood on the terrace and let Juliette disappear inside. He probably wouldn’t take her advice and head inside to hang out with Dominic and his groomsmen. Truthfully, as a lone wolf, he didn’t do well in groups. But more than that, he wanted time to collect himself. Process the moments he’d shared with not only Brandy and Thomas Lowry, but with their daughter. His fingers rose to his cheek, tracing over the spot Juliette's lips once touched. The special mark lingered on his skin as if an invisible tattoo. Juliette was happy and he played a major part in that.
In that moment, standing alone on the terrace yards away from the crystal waters and white sands, he needed nothing else.
“A white boy,” said Babes sans wig. She had taken it off for a breather, setting it carefully on the dresser. “Never expected that out of you. Giselle’s bougie behind? Yes. You? Nope.”
“Gram. It’s not about color. I love him.”
“And I’m happy for you. But I’m not gonna lie. I expected this ‘Winston’ to be a tall glass of chocolate milk. You brought us skim. It’s still good. Just a surprise. He’s a cutie who seems like he’s got heart.”
Juliette rolled her eyes at her Grandmother’s explanation. “He’s a great guy. I wouldn’t bring him if he wasn’t.”
“Chile, I hope you wouldn’t be engaged to him if he wasn’t.”
“Babes,” scolded Mom, walking into the bedroom with her bathrobe on. She’d excused herself earlier for a long, hot shower. Now it was time to dress for tonight’s dinner. “Leave her alone. She’s always had great taste. And he clearly has great taste too if he’s in love with our Jules.”
“That ring is a stunner. Looks vintage.” Babes readjusted her glasses, grabbing hold of Juliette's hand.
Juliette had forgotten about the Brooker family heirloom. The classic princess cut diamond ring had survived generations, superstitiously guaranteeing a long and fruitful marriage. As the only child of Jacob and Martha Brooker, Preston inherited the piece of jewelry, along with a few other family treasures, at the age of eighteen. When he presented it to her for their ruse, she protested, aware of its high market value. They could pretend to be a new age couple who forewent a ring, but he insisted.
“Even if it’s fake, I won’t let my fiancée not have a ring,” he’d told her, slipping the diamond band on her finger.
She’d been paranoid about losing the precious heirloom ever since. Standing by with Babes studying the ring, her throat thickened and mouth dried. The ring gleamed up at her like the most beautiful lie. The deception she wore on her finger would never be true. No amount of lovey-dovey stories and goo-goo eyes would change that. Someday—one day soon—she was going to have to come clean.
It was all nothing but a lie.
“How’s Dad?” she asked in an abrupt change of subject. She hid her hand behind her back, arms twisted.
“He has a check up tomorrow. Luckily we found a specialist on the island thanks to Dom.”
“I don’t like that he’s still drinking.”
“Stubborn like a rock, that son of mine,” Babes chimed in.
“Your father thinks he can have one last hurrah on this wedding trip,” explained Mom, undoing her curlers. “You saw him downstairs being a prankster. He’s in high spirits. Even more now that you and Preston are here. He really wants to get to know his future son-in-law.”
Juliette humored Mom with a slight smile. That guilt scuttled in again. She grossly underestimated how difficult it’d be to buckle down and bear her deceit for seven long days. Hours in, she already questioned her decision. If Mom, Dad and everyone else came to love Preston, would it be any easier to tell them about their inevitable break up than it would’ve been to be honest from the get-go?
They would be devastated either way…
She shoved that from her mind, deciding to concentrate on the here and now. The wedding was most important, keeping true to her promise to make it perfect for Gigi and Dad. The rest? She’d sort out later.
Hours into the evening, the Lowry's, Brosman’s and their closest guests gathered on the terrace for night one’s celebratory dinner. The Brosman’s chef Trey and his colorful team whipped up a feast that covered the massive dinner table end-to-end with mouthwatering Caribbean-inspired dishes. Everyone loaded their plates with food and filled the
ir glasses with fruity drinks and proceeded to eat until their bellies ached.
Preston had started off feeling out-of-place. He had never been to such a large feast. He marveled at the long stretch of people laughing and bonding over food and drink with the tropical paradise as their setting. The reality that he sat on the crisp white sands and crystal waters and let the night’s breeze cool over his skin, by the side of his closest friend felt surreal. More than once or twice he caught himself sneaking a little lopsided smile at Juliette, who was fully enthralled in the dozen-odd conversations going on at the table.
“You two are adorable!” Elena proclaimed. She nursed Pina Colada number three in her hands, talking louder than necessary. “I see you sneaking smiles like you’re teenagers. It’s too cute.”
Juliette looked at Preston and he stared back. For a second, the awkwardness had them both tongue-tied, but luckily Juliette thought fast. She reached for Preston's hand and flashed him the most adoring look he’d probably ever received from a woman. He tried his best to keep up, finding that charm from the deep corners of his loner being; the very same he used on mamas and grandmamas. He confirmed Elena's suspicions with a husky laugh, making a joke about being crazy for Juliette. Elena ate it up.
“Okay, that’s it. I need to know. How’d you guys meet?”
Unfortunately, both rushed to answer, blurting out, “over coffee,” and “at work,” at the same exact time.
Elena's brows squished together. Preston and Juliette recognized their amateur flub by laughing it off. Preston put his arm around her shoulders and urged Juliette to take the lead.
“There I go being too eager. You tell her, babe.”
Juliette smiled. “Both are technically correct. It was over coffee at work. Literally, I spilled hot coffee on him.”
By the end of the story, in which Juliette regaled Elena and anyone else listening with the details of how she’d run into Preston outside the Atlanta courthouse, the minor misstep was long forgotten. Elena followed up with even more questions.