Still, it’s hard to shake the old judgments sometimes, the ones my mother fed me. There’s a time and place for everything. You’ll have a talking-to with your sisters about spending time with those wild kids, won’t you? I don’t want any of you to wind up pregnant. Marriage needs to be your choice, Mary. A careful choice. Mom loved me; I know. She loved all of us, but the judgments she passed on to me…I never really wanted them. And the husband I carefully chose fed those sharp-toothed creatures a buffet feast.
I felt the judgment creatures creeping over my limbs earlier, attempting to pull me under, but isn’t it better to let people be who they are? This place doesn’t need to make me feel comfortable or fit my vision of a wedding—it needs to fit hers. And Damien’s.
It’s nice how Jace backed me off that ledge, all without making me feel bad or small or petty. And the other night, when he came over to make Christmas ornaments with Aidan, I found myself watching them from the kitchen, observing his patience, his kindness, his ability to live in the moment. My son looks at him with adoration, and I can’t deny that’s what I feel too.
I adore this man.
Again, I can hear my sisters asking me what’s holding me back. Molly, telling me she’s never seen me so happy. “You even slouched slightly just now,” she said the other night. “That’s amazing!”
I glance Jace’s way and meet his eyes. He winks, and I feel a rush of heat settle in my core. I can hear him telling me I’m beautiful. Making me feel beautiful. I’ve always told myself it’s better to be treated as competent and capable than beautiful. Until recently, it hadn’t occurred to me that I could be both. But he makes me feel it’s possible.
Nicole takes my arm and shakes it. “Did I break you? You’ve been standing there for a solid two minutes. You look like that chick in Mannequin.”
Nicole is nothing if not surprising. Where’d she come by a knowledge of ’80s movies?
Her gaze shifts to Damien, who clicks his teeth together in an imitation of biting her. Oh dear. Then she looks at Jace, her gaze dipping as if to check out what’s in his suit.
“You were really going to give that man away?” She tsks. “I’ll bet his cock could be used as a mold for dildos.”
“Nicole,” I chide. “It’s your wedding day.”
She laughs. “Damien’s cock could definitely be used as a mold.”
Then she’s dragging me to a flimsy curtain that passes for a changing room. She comes in with me, and it’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her to wait outside, but even though my judgment beasts have scattered, I still want to talk to her, to make sure this is what she wants, and this may be our only chance before the ceremony.
She hands me the outfit, and I ask her to turn around.
“What, you don’t think I’ve seen dozens of boobs before?”
I don’t ask again, just use my hand to mime turning around.
She does, with a sigh.
As I change, feeling very regretful about the whole not-wearing-a-bra thing, I ask, “Are you sure about this, Nicole? You’re only twenty-five. You don’t need to hurry into anything.”
She’s just a little younger than I was the year I got engaged to Glenn.
He asked me at a family dinner with his parents. We were in a fancy restaurant, and the ring was embedded in the frosting on top of my cupcake. It wasn’t the kind of proposal I would have chosen, because (a) I don’t like public scenes, and (b) I absolutely don’t like mixing food items with nonfood items. He knew that too, or at least he’d had ample opportunities to learn it. But Tom and Ruth were there, beaming at us, my own parents gone forever, and part of me was so desperate to make them happy—to have a family again, one that wouldn’t be taken away from me. Later that night, though, after Glenn was asleep, I went to the bathroom and cried for an hour.
I don’t want Nicole to have any regrets.
She swivels around before I’ve fully gotten the blouse on, and I squeal. “Nicole!”
“What,” she says, smiling, “you’re the one who’s trying to talk me out of my wedding five minutes before it’s supposed to start.” This smile isn’t fierce, though—it’s almost fond.
“I’m not!” I say, horrified. “I just want you to be sure, because sometimes a person can get carried away by something and then they find themselves backed into a corner, and they can’t find a way out…” I’m all the more mortified when my voice gets choked up.
“You did stumble your way out, Mary,” she said, her tone almost kind. “It may have taken you ten years, but you did. You’re finding things you like, even if I’m pretty sure you found them all in a catalog for rich, old white ladies, and you’re riding two magic wands. You came to a wedding without knowing where it would be until thirty minutes before the ceremony, and you didn’t even bring a present. I will absolutely continue to give you crap, but you’re doing okay.” Then she laughs. “And you certainly don’t need to worry about me. Damien knows who I am, and he’s the only man who’s never once tried to change me.” She flashes her teeth. “He knows better.”
I expect he does.
I nod, glancing at our ridiculous outfits in the mirror. There’s something almost charming about them, though, about this place that is so far from my comfort zone. “I had to ask. Also, I did bring a present, but I forgot it in the car.”
She snorts. “At least that’s something. Now, before we head out there, has Pencil Dick been bothering you again?”
“Yes,” I say, making a face. I’ve been trying not to dwell on that, and honestly, in the flurry of Jace and I getting here, I almost forgot. “He said he’d back off until after Christmas, but he called me just before Jace arrived.”
“Did you talk to him?” she asks sharply.
“Of course not, but he left a voice message.”
She holds out her hand, and without hesitation I give her my phone. A few clicks later, she presses it to her ear. I know what she’s listening to: “I’d like to see you, Mary. As soon as possible. I’m going to be visiting my parents for a week over Christmas, and I don’t want to miss the opportunity to meet in person. Please call me back as soon as you can.”
“He didn’t once mention Aidan,” I say, because that’s what bothers me most about the message. I’m not surprised he pushed boundaries—he always does, because he thinks he deserves what he wants—but he didn’t even mention the son he’s supposedly eager to see.
“Don’t worry about him.” She waves her hand dismissively, the phone loosely gripped in her fingers. I’m worried my phone will go flying, but instead she tucks it into one of her skirt pockets. Another fierce smile. “No pictures.”
“What?” I ask in horror. “How are you going to remember everything?”
She lifts her eyebrows. “I have a brain in my head, don’t I? Besides, they take one the moment the ceremony is over, like those photos you get at a theme park when you’re on a roller coaster.”
Goodness. I don’t like the sound of that.
“Dottie?” I exclaim. “When did you start doing weddings?”
The last thing I expected to see when I walked into the chapel covered in velvet—velvet chairs, velvet-draped walls, and velvet-draped velvet—was Dottie Hendrickson, wearing a pink crystal necklace so heavy-looking I’m surprised her shoulders aren’t drooping. She, at least, was allowed to choose her own outfit, or I assume as much since I doubt Nicole would have picked out a dress bedecked with smiling cupcakes.
She immediately pulls me into a tight hug, commenting on how my poodle skirt looks just like the one I had in high school, a revelation that fills me with dismay—I had one of these in high school?
“You know I do weddings, dear,” she says with a smile. “I officiated your sister’s wedding. I only fill in here from time to time. Poor Donnall ate one too many cleansing cakes at the shop, and I’m sorry to say he’s stuck on the toilet. But he’ll wake up tomorrow feeling deeply refreshed, and what kismet that I was called in to officiate for your friend!” She gives Nicol
e a fond smile, as if she doesn’t notice the antagonism on her face, her nose piercing, or the way her toe is tapping the floor in impatience. Her gaze moves along to Damien, who is absurdly handsome but looks a bit intimidating, in all honesty, and then stops on Jace. Dressed all in black, he looks…well, let’s just say I know what I’ll be thinking about the next time I pull out my magic wand.
As if Dottie can hear my thoughts—and I have a split-second fear that maybe she can, as she’s always had an uncanny sense about people—she says, “I’m so glad to see you two young people are still enjoying each other’s company.” Then, sweeping her gaze across us all again, she says, “I feel so many happy hearts tonight. My crystals are pulsing with it.”
She makes no comment about our outfits, but then again, she probably doesn’t see anything peculiar about dressing up in ’50s clothes for a wedding at a bar. That’s Dottie for you.
“Can we get on with it?” Nicole asks.
“Oh, yes,” Dottie says, beaming. “You’re probably eager to get to the wedding night. Two young people like you must have a lot of stamina.”
“Dottie!” I sputter.
“Abso-fucking-lutely,” Damien says, giving Nicole a look that suggests he wants to devour her. I glance at Jace and see the corners of his mouth twitching. At least he’s not repulsed, or if he is, he’s also amused.
Dottie claps her hands, her face alight with genuine excitement. “Donnall filled me in on the plans. You’re in store for a wonderful treat, Mary and Jace, and it begins now. The couple has elected to sing their vows.”
What?
Before I can process what she just said, Dottie steps aside, revealing an old-fashioned boom box, and presses play.
Everything becomes clear, or at least the slightest bit clearer, when the music for “Look at Me, Sandra Dee” starts streaming over the boom box.
We’re dressed up like the characters from Grease. They’re having a Grease wedding.
The world already felt like it had been turned on its axis, and now I’m left with the knowledge that Nicole—fierce, volatile Nicole—is a fan of ’70s musicals.
Then again, doesn’t she work at a theater company?
Nicole starts belting out a familiar song in an off-key voice that she doesn’t seem the least bit self-conscious about. “Look at me…”
When she gets to the line about being legally wed, Damien leans forward and grabs one side of her sweater. For a moment, I worry he’s going to rip her clothes off and ravish her in front of everyone—could that be the surprise Dottie was so keen about? Surely even Dottie has her limits—when the outfit tears off of her, revealing a skimpy all-black outfit that is much more suited to the Nicole I know and tolerate. She rips off her wig and throws it to me as if it’s a bouquet.
When I catch it, Dottie exclaims, “Oh, how serendipitous!”
The music has changed, revealing that they have, in fact, put some planning into all of this. The timing is too perfect for it to have been thrown together.
Damien starts singing about his chills multiplying, and my mouth drops open. I knew he was an actor. He and Nicole met and started their relationship at the theater, a foundation of questionable ethics, given she works in HR, but that’s beside the point. It’s a small theater in a town of less than a hundred thousand people. I didn’t think he’d be so good. And then he starts dancing like John Travolta, and Nicole dances with him, belting out her lines as loudly and confidently as he does his, even though her voice is no match.
Neither of them cares. Neither of them has an ounce of self-consciousness.
They look so happy, so free that I feel my mood lifting with them, my worries about Jace, Glenn, and Aidan floating away for the moment.
I’m still watching their performance, mouth gaping with shock, when I feel a large, warm, familiar hand slipping over mine. Jace. He squeezes my hand and nods to the wig that I’m surprised to realize I’m still holding.
“You can probably drop that now,” he whispers. I do, then wipe my hand on the poodle skirt, only to realize it’s a vintage item that probably hasn’t been washed. Oh, goodness, I put it on without even considering that.
He’s grinning at me, as if he knows exactly where my mind has gone, and squeezes my hand again. “I have hand sanitizer in the truck.”
We watch the rest of their show together, sides pressed against each other, and the warmth I feel—from their evident, indisputable love, from Jace, and from Dottie, who looks upon all of us like an approving mother hen.
When the song ends, Damien and Nicole approach Dottie, breathless, and all three of us—Dottie, me, and Jace—break into spontaneous applause.
There’s such joy in the moment, far more than was present at my wedding. My wedding was nothing like this. It was expensive, all white and silver and immaculately clean. But while I worry about the velvet curtains in this room, and I’m both glad and regretful there’s no black light I can use to investigate, Nicole and Damien’s wedding has something mine lacked: heart. I feel a shift within myself, as if a concrete slab is being shoved off my being, freeing me from the things that have held me back, from the fears and inadequacies and those nipping monsters of judgment. The feeling lingers as I hold Jace’s hand and watch Nicole and Damien agree to be each other’s partners.
True to Nicole’s word, Dottie pulls a Polaroid camera out of an ottoman and snaps a photo of them the moment after she declares them partners for life.
We sign the documents, which is the part we came to play after all, and Dottie hums with pleasure as she announces, “Now, I have a special treat for all of you.”
She’s practically buzzing with it, and Jace and I exchange an alarmed look as she slips out of the room.
Seemingly oblivious to Dottie’s antics, Nicole and Damien turn to us.
“Any notes for my performance?” Damien asks. “Notes?” I ask, confused.
“Grease is up next at the theater,” Nicole says, slipping her hand onto his butt. “Damien’s a method actor, so we decided to kill two birds with one stone. He planned the wedding, and I planned the honeymoon.”
I nearly choke on my own spit. They decided to make it a Grease wedding because of a production at the theater?
Damien’s eyes sparkle when he looks at her. “You don’t want to admit it’s your favorite movie, do you?”
“Oh, shut up,” she says, and just like that they’re making out like they’re the only people in not just this room but the galaxy.
Jace and I exchange another look, and I whisper, “I can’t leave. She has my phone.”
Which is when I realize—oh shoot—it was in the clothes he tore off her. I’m bending over the pile of possibly dirty polyester, searching for my phone and hoping the unbreakable case lives up to its name, when Dottie comes in with a tray bearing five champagne glasses, only four of the drinks are a deep red and the fifth is yellow. Finding the phone, I slip it into my pocket without looking at it.
“Young people in love make my heart happy,” Dottie says, not fussed at all when Nicole and Damien still don’t pull apart. She offers the tray to us, and because it’s Dottie, I take one of the red drinks. Jace does the same.
“It’s not blood, is it?” he asks. “We did have a bet going that vampires might be involved in the ceremony.”
“I’m more worried it might be a cleansing tonic,” I say.
Dottie chuckles as she sets the tray down on the one table in the chapel. “Oh no, nothing like that.” It’s only after Jace and I have clinked glasses and taken a sip—the bubbly drink tastes like cherries, with a hint of something herbal—that she says, “Just a mild aphrodisiac.”
I choke, spitting some of the drink, which ends up on Jace’s shirt. I’m mortified, but he just grins and says, “Good thing it’s black.” Turning toward Dottie, he asks, “What’s in the yellow one?”
She lifts it and then takes a sip. “It’s a taste of sunshine to remind me of the happiness I had with my great love. Now, it’s my honor to he
lp all you young people find the same.”
There’s a surprising sadness to her, though, sharp as lemon. It strikes me that even though she’s past eighty, she’s one of the youngest older people I know, one who’s sure to have a decade or two in front of her. Dottie’s the kind of person who thrives in company, a thought that has me saying, “But life’s all about finding second chances…and third chances and fourth chances, Dottie. You of all people know it’s never too late to try again.”
She swats the air. “Oh, I’m too busy and set in my ways for any of that. It’s a rare man who doesn’t want to change you.”
Hadn’t Nicole said the same? They’re both right, and I find myself thinking of the way Jace stood back and let me face off against that asshole (happy, Nicole?) who tried to hurt Cleo. Of the way he’s never once presumed to tell me what to do or how to feel. Even earlier, in the truck, he didn’t tell me not to be judgmental. He just opened my eyes to a different perspective.
Swallowing, I say, “After Glenn left, I thought I’d be alone. I thought I wanted to be, but if you’re with the right person, you know yourself better rather than less.”
I feel Jace watching me, and shame washes over me. Oh God, I’ve said too much.
But he wraps an arm around my waist, his touch as bold as the way Nicole and Damien are still making out in the corner of the room, and again I feel emotion clogging my throat, my very being. But it doesn’t feel bad. It feels good.
“You don’t need to be alone, Dottie. Not if you don’t want to be.”
She sets down the yellow drink. “Don’t you worry about me, dear. I have a beautiful family and several children to dote on. I’m far from alone.” She glances at Damien and Nicole, smiling approvingly. “I suspect the wedding is over.”
“Yes, we should probably head home,” I say, turning to look up at Jace.
It wasn’t my intention to make it sound like it was our home, but I don’t hate the thought. Maybe I’m being a fool again, but having Jace around for the last few weeks has made me realize what it would be like to have a partner who’s really a partner—one who’s there because he wants to be. One who sees me as a woman and as a person.
Jingle Bell Hell (Bad Luck Club) Page 27