The Wedding War

by Talley, Liz

  Yet even though she was upset with Tennyson, she understood. Because had their roles been reversed, she would have a hard time giving up Kit, too.

  Everyone had told her she was insane, but she’d sent a wedding invitation to the last address she’d had for Tennyson in Manhattan and hoped time had softened her friend’s heart. Because she wanted, no, needed Tennyson to forgive her and see that Melanie and Kit were meant to be. Surely, her friend could search her heart and find some generosity. Tennyson could be a pill, but she wouldn’t miss Melanie’s wedding.

  Hillary moved so she was beside her. “Hey, you okay? You look upset.”

  Melanie smiled and ran a finger under her lashes. “I’m sad that Teeny isn’t here. She should be here. We’re . . . or rather, we were best friends. She promised we’d always be besties no matter what.”

  Hillary smiled. “I know, but you’re kinda marrying her ex-boyfriend. That’s hard for some girls. Especially girls like Tennyson.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she doesn’t have much confidence.”

  “Teeny?” Melanie turned to her sister, her mouth dropping open. “You’ve met her, right? She breathes fire and never sweats. I’ve seen her stare down a police officer who was going to give her a ticket, but somehow ended up apologizing to her for pulling her over. She can’t possibly have more confidence than she has now.”

  “That’s all bluster. Underneath all that bravado is someone who believes she’s not good enough. She’s a total fraud on many levels.”

  Melanie shook her head. “No.”

  “Yes.” Hillary smiled, twisted one of the curls around Melanie’s face, and tucked it into place. “I swear this hair doesn’t want to behave today. But you look beautiful, anyway.”

  Hillary air-kissed her cheek and moved over to where their mother stood with the wedding planner. Anne Brevard, no doubt, was going over all the details one final time. Beyond the door, Melanie could hear the organ swelling and the muffled chatter of guests arriving. After listening to their mother for a few seconds, Hillary slipped outside the room.

  Melanie tried to quell the butterflies rising in her stomach. Nerves? Yeah, but mostly she was excited. In thirty minutes she and Kit would climb into the back of the limo as man and wife. Then they would be whisked away to the country club to cut the three-tiered wedding cake and debut their practiced waltz for their first dance. They’d netted Betty Lewis & the Executives for the band, and Daddy had sprung for an open bar and a sit-down dinner. Their reception with their friends would be exactly as she planned—fun and memorable.

  “She came,” she heard her sister whisper to their mother.

  “Who came?” Melanie asked.

  “Teeny’s here,” Hillary said.

  “She’s here. She actually came to the wedding?” Melanie asked, moving toward the door.

  Hillary stepped in front of her. “You’re not going out there.”

  “I’m not. I wanted to peek. Is she standing in the foyer?” Melanie tried to sidestep her sister. She was so relieved Tennyson had come. Did this mean her friend had finally accepted Melanie and Kit together? Maybe they could get past this, laugh about it one day.

  “No. She’s already inside. She sat right behind Kit’s mom and dad.” Hillary shot a look toward their mother. “I really wish you hadn’t invited her, Melly bean.”

  “I had to. It’s Teeny. I mean, I know she’s mad, but maybe this is a peace offering. Maybe she wants to—”

  The entire time Hillary had been shaking her head, so Melanie stopped talking. Hillary made a strange face. “I don’t think that’s why she’s here, Melly. She looks . . . well, she looks like trouble.”

  Melanie shook her head. “No. I know she’s crazy dramatic, but Teeny has a big heart. Really. I’ve known her forever, and she’s just upholding the promise we both made to each other—that we would both be there for each other for all the important things. She wasn’t going to miss my wedding. She’s loyal to a fault. And we pinkie swore on it.”

  Hillary didn’t look so certain, but Melanie didn’t have a chance to convince her sister because the planner started lining them up and going through a checklist to make sure all the wedding party remembered their marks, had her bouquet, and no one had lipstick on their teeth.

  A minute later, Melanie was looping her arm through her father’s and trying to keep her bouquet from shaking in her trembling fingers.

  “You ready, dumplin’?” her father said, beaming down at her with twinkling hazel eyes. Albert Brevard was still such a handsome man with his dark hair, smooth skin, and cleft chin. His silver temples made him look distinguished, and he smelled like the peppermints he always had in his pocket right beside the soft handkerchief he was quick to pull out for bloody noses or sad movies.

  “I guess I have to be,” she said, giving him a smile.

  “You’re one of the best things I’ve ever done, Melly bean. If this fella gives you any problems, I keep my granddaddy’s gun well oiled.”

  “Daddy,” Melanie groaned.

  He gave her a tender smile. “I’m not afraid to pull that trigger.”

  Then it was time. The doors swooshed open, and everyone in the church rose, staring at her in her Italian lace gown with the cathedral-length train. She wore a circlet of silk flowers in her hair with a veil that trailed past her fingertips, so her view of the groom and the church filled with their friends and family was absolutely unobstructed.

  Her first thought was that Kit looked nervous and ready to bolt.

  However, when she got halfway down the aisle, her future husband smiled so sweetly at her that her heart swelled, and tears threatened to mar the elaborate makeup Hillary had so painstakingly applied. That smile was like sun breaking through dark clouds, and all was right with her world.

  But then she saw Tennyson.

  Melanie actually stutter-stepped when she saw the tight black dress and hat with the black netting swathing half her face. Tennyson had painted her lips a dark red . . . and she wasn’t smiling. The veil obscured her eyes, but Melanie could only imagine the fury in the glacial depths. The whole mourning ensemble was dramatic, ridiculous, and so very much what Tennyson would do that Melanie almost started laughing.

  But she didn’t because her mother would turn up her toes and die if she did something so irreverent in the middle of a holy sacrament.

  Several hours later, after taking more pictures than anyone could fathom and enduring the best man’s long-winded wedding toast, Melanie finally had a chance to take a breath. The country club ballroom had been turned into an elegant reception with sparkling crystal, white tablecloths, and vases of roses in shades of blush and bashful because she was a southern girl who had watched Steel Magnolias a good thirty or forty times and knew what her colors must be. She and Kit sat in the middle of the head table, and she felt like a queen next to her king. They drank Dom Pérignon from Waterford glasses and took quick bites in between the copious well wishes that came their way. She had just taken a bite of her coconut cream wedding cake when she noticed Tennyson.

  The veil had vanished, but the tight dress displayed a good portion of her former friend. Unlike Melanie, Tennyson had a lot of goods. More than Melanie remembered, in fact. Her former friend held a half-filled martini glass and stared at them, taking little sips of the dirty martini, never letting her eyes stray. The table where she sat was empty, and Melanie could only imagine why.

  Who wanted to sit with the ex-girlfriend of the groom . . . oh, who happened to be dressed to kill? Like, perhaps, literally to kill?

  Obviously, no one.

  But then one of Kit’s fraternity brothers plonked down and whispered something in her ear. He grinned like a jackanapes.

  She saw Tennyson’s lips move.

  The guy’s smile ran away as he rose and left.

  “What are you looking at?” Kit said, dropping a kiss on her neck. The move was romantic, designed to make the guests swoon at the love between the two. Any other time,
she would have enjoyed it, but the affectionate gesture had made Tennyson’s nostrils flare. Tennyson tossed back her drink and slammed the empty glass on the table.

  Kit followed her line of vision. “I saw her earlier. We shouldn’t have invited her, you know.”

  “I know that now. Lord, she’s dressed for a funeral. Or a whorehouse. Both?” Melanie tried to joke, pulling her attention from Tennyson and putting it on Kit. “She’s really angry. Do you think she’ll cause a scene?”

  Kit gave her a smile. And a kiss on the nose. So adorable. “Nah. You know Tennyson. She loves drama, and this ‘statement’ is something everyone will be talking about. Bet she’s gone before the band strikes up.”

  But that didn’t prove to be true. They had their first dance and then spent the next hour or so dancing with their college friends, Uncle James, and a few of the flower girls who seemed to enjoy the dance floor more than anyone else. In between it all, she caught glimpses of her former friend, always with a cocktail in hand and a frown affixed to her pretty face. Soon it was time for their send-off.

  First, Melanie tossed her bouquet. Her second cousin Lydia caught it after shoving aside her own sister Deidre. Everyone laughed at the silly antics. Melanie noticed afterward that Tennyson hadn’t stood with the single women. She’d been off to the side, looking aloof and bothered by something so trivial as the tossing of the bouquet.

  Then someone fetched a chair for Kit and handed him the microphone.

  “Okay, fellas. Gather round. You know what all this means, right? The guy that catches the garter gets laid tonight? Oh, no. Wait, that’s me.” He laughed and pulled Melanie onto his lap, angling her legs to the side. She rolled her eyes, laughing along with him. Her mother was going to be upset about Kit saying something so inappropriate in front of their friends. But, hey, it was accurate. He was getting laid that night.

  Kit pulled up the hem of her dress, revealing her legs. He did an eyebrow waggle thing that elicited more laughter from the crowd. “Here, hold this, honey.” He handed her the microphone as the band started playing something that sounded like a burlesque tune.

  Her new husband played it up, snagging the satin garter and popping it against her thigh. He slowly started sliding it down, pretending to fan himself and wipe his brow. His fraternity brothers whistled catcalls, and Melanie turned the appropriate shade of vermillion. Kit leaned over and said into the microphone, “I’m a lucky, lucky man.”

  Finally, he slipped her satin heel off and pulled the garter free.

  Melanie made a face and said into the microphone, “Finally, I almost took a nap.”

  Everyone hooted, and she thought at that very moment with her groom looking adoringly up at her and her friends and family radiating joy around them that she had never been happier in her entire life.

  “Okay, off my lap, I gotta get this hot little number off my hands,” Kit joked.

  Melanie leaned down, kissed him, and then slid from his lap. It was at that moment she felt someone behind her.

  She turned.

  Tennyson pushed her backward and grabbed the microphone.

  “Tenn—” Kit started to say, but Tennyson pressed him back down into the chair. Then she hiked up her dress, straddled him, and sat in his lap.

  Angling his head, she kissed him.

  Like she was punishing him.

  Kit’s arms flailed. Everyone around them gasped, and several people made to move toward them but stopped because they didn’t really know what to do. Melanie understood because she stood beside them, stunned and . . . stunned.

  After one second, two seconds, three, Tennyson broke the kiss and said, “I just wanted you to remember what you’ll be missing tonight.”

  Then she stood, took the microphone, and said, “By the way, Melanie’s dad is a gay porn star named Thorn Bighorn. You should check out his movies. I’d personally recommend Cowboy Up.” Then she tossed the microphone into Kit’s lap and stalked away.

  Melanie felt like Tennyson had hit her in the head with a tire iron.

  She told everyone. The secret Tennyson had pinkie sworn to never tell after they’d watched that video on that afternoon so long ago, the secret her father had guarded for more than twenty years, the shame her sweet-natured father had carried like a load of bricks, had just rolled off Tennyson’s lips like it was nothing.

  Melanie turned to the videographer, who was still filming. “Stop!”

  Around her she could feel everyone’s shock. She turned and watched Tennyson’s backside disappear, and then she saw her daddy’s face.

  He looked as if he might actually vomit.

  Melanie only knew about what her father had done because she and Tennyson had accidently discovered his secret career after opening a box she thought contained their stickers. She and Tennyson had watched the video because they couldn’t not watch something that looked that titillating. What two children had seen that early September day had scarred them, and the two girls had both cried when they realized Melanie’s father had been in the movie. They’d put the video back in the packaging, taped up the box, and placed it back on the porch. They’d sworn to never speak of it again.

  Later, when Melanie was in college, her father had told her and Hillary what he’d done. He’d been destitute, having eaten the last of the bologna and saltines he’d bought from the deli down the street. With only thirty-six cents in his pocket, he’d decided to use his handsome face and runner’s body to make enough money to live on and send to his family. His own father had left when he was a child, and his mother struggled to pay the mortgage on the farm and feed his brothers and sisters. He hadn’t liked what he’d done, but he couldn’t turn down the money. Once he’d become a successful surgeon and family man, he’d spent a lot of money and time tracking down and destroying the copies of the old seventies porn tapes. Thorn Bighorn, a.k.a. Albert Brevard, had done five movies, playing a Native American in campy western pornos, and while there were a few sites dedicated to vintage porn movies that still mentioned him, that desperate twenty-two-year-old was gone. Hardly anyone would recognize the long-haired, lanky youth as their distinguished surgeon.

  It was their family secret, he’d said, but he’d wanted them to know once they were old enough. He never knew that Melanie already knew his secret.

  But now . . . now . . . oh God.

  Melanie covered her mouth as her father left the room. All the guests were looking at each other, voicing their shock and outrage at Tennyson’s display of absolute lunacy. But also, in their eyes was a question.

  Was it true?

  Kit picked up the microphone, shoving the garter belt into his jacket pocket, and cued the band. They started playing a decade-old Chicago tune, and Melanie rushed over to her mother and sister.

  Anne Brevard was the color of ash. She grabbed Melanie’s arms and hissed, “How did she know?”

  Melanie opened her mouth, then shut it. Hillary had tears in her eyes.

  “Melanie?” her mother said, voice dripping with ice.

  “She’s known since we were kids. We opened a box we thought had the stickers we’d been waiting on, but instead inside we found a VHS tape. We were children. We didn’t understand what it was, and then we watched it . . . Mother, I’m so sorry. Tennyson swore she would never tell. She promised.”

  Anne clutched her pearls and wove a bit as if she might pass out. Hillary took her arm, but Anne shrugged her off. “Don’t touch me.”

  “Mother, I think—”

  “We have to act as if it’s not true,” Anne whispered vehemently. “We must pull ourselves together and persevere. Someone find your father. He cannot disappear and look guilty.”

  Melanie could feel the eyes of the guests on them, so she issued a laugh and then hugged her sister. In her ear, she whispered, “Go find Daddy. Bring him back.”

  She felt Hillary nod, and then she walked back to Kit. So that everyone could hear, she said, “I knew she would cause trouble. Can you believe the lengths some people go
to ruin other people’s fun?”

  Kit made a confused face as their friends gathered around, everyone looking concerned. “What was all that about? Gay porn?”

  He truly had to ask in front of everyone? Couldn’t he have sensed that it was something that should be ignored? Melanie rolled her eyes. “It’s just crap Tennyson makes up. My father looks like some goofy porn star from the seventies. We found a tape when we were kids, and you know Tennyson. I think the car’s here. We should probably say our goodbyes.”

  Kit nodded. “I’m sorry this happened, sweetheart.”

  Their friends joined in on the apologies, but Melanie knew everyone would be talking about what Tennyson did. Not to mention looking up Thorn Bighorn as soon as they got home to their computers. Some people would realize that what Tennyson had revealed was true. Some people would talk. Her father could be potentially ruined because Tennyson had to be Tennyson. Because she couldn’t accept the one thing Melanie had that she didn’t.

  Her new husband took her hand, and she realized that the joy that had danced inside her had taken a seat. Dread filled her because everything had changed that night. When they thought of their wedding day, they would remember how Tennyson had taken something so precious and blown it up.

  They would remember it as the day the Brevard family lost a piece of itself.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  When the doctor entered the ICU waiting room, Melanie didn’t need to hear the words that would come from his mouth. She knew already.

  Her sister was dead.

  “Mrs. Layton?” the doctor queried softly from the door.

  “Right here,” she managed, closing her eyes and wishing she didn’t have to go through what was coming next.

  The doctor had kind eyes, and she knew by the way he knotted his dark hands at his sides that he dreaded walking into the waiting room and saying the thing he did not want to say. He glanced around at the mostly empty waiting room. “Is your mother available?”

  Dr. Williams had met with both her mother and her several hours ago and given them a truthful account of what Hillary was up against—she was unstable, her organs failing. Her mother had asked for other doctors, men and women she’d known once upon a time when her husband had worked in this very hospital. Dr. Williams had endured her mother’s rather rude queries, his dark eyes showing nothing but sympathy and weariness. He’d agreed to call one name he recognized, but so far, that had amounted to nothing.