How to Ruin a Wedding(32)
“You cooked it, so I’ll eat it.” I place the forkful in my mouth and swallow it down. It tastes like charcoal, rubber, and salty potatoes. I don’t flinch as I take another bite, this time strategically mixing it with the salad.
“Olive, close your eyes. I think we might be witnessing a death,” Valerie whispers.
“Awesome,” Olive says.
“It’s really not that bad,” I say. “Trust me, I’ve had worse.” Or, often enough, nothing at all.
Anders puts a hand on my knee, and when I face him, his eyes are warm and soft, with just the slightest touch of heat glistening in them, so the skin behind my ears begins to warm.
“Well,” Bethany says, with a wide smile, “your parents raised you very polite.”
At that, Anders squeezes my thigh. The touch isn’t fake this time but for comfort. I squeeze him back: I’m okay.
“So, Valerie,” I begin as everyone starts digging into their own plates—Anders, too, is eating the burnt pie—“how is the wedding planning? Anders says you’ll be walking down the aisle in three months.”
She frowns, pointing her knife toward Anders. “I’m sure that’s not all he said. Usually, any conversation that starts with ‘wedding’ ends with ‘don’t get married, you idiot.’”
“I have never called you that,” Anders says, aghast.
“No, you only say that it’s foolish for me to. I can read between the lines.”
“You’re one of the smartest, wittiest people I know,” Anders tells his sister. “There are no lines to read between.”
“Oh, shut up—”
“And there’s no need to worry about me disapproving anymore,” Anders interrupts. “Lucinda here has convinced me to let it go, that I should let you make your own decisions and support you along the way. I won’t try to talk you out of it anymore.”
“Shut up!” Valerie drops her knife and snatches my hand across the table. “I love you, you’re amazing. Can I call you my sister-in-law? I’m going to call you my sister-in-law. What are you doing tomorrow? I’m scoping out venues. You have to come.”
“Sure,” I say. “I can tag along. If you don’t mind.”
Valerie shoots up. “Do you like wine? Let’s drink wine.” She scurries off to the kitchen.
“If you can convince Uncle Anders to leave Valerie alone,” Olive begins, “can you convince Mom to buy me a phone?”
“Hush,” Bethany tells her while Valerie comes over with a glass for me. “So, Lucinda—”
“Lucy, please.”
“Lucy,” Bethany says, “Anders tells us you work in a publishing house in New York. How is that going for you? The travel you guys must do to see each other has to be taking a toll on you.”
This is the cover story Anders told me he gave to his family. We met at a book launch, I was marketing the title, and he did the cover for it. After we made small talk, we couldn’t stop thinking of each other. I place a hand on Anders’s arm. “Not at all; every time we reunite, all the exhaustion leaves my body.”
Valerie pours my wine. “Because I love you right now, I’m not going to mention how disgusting I find that statement.”
“So, how often do you guys get to see each other?” Bethany asks.
“Every two weeks,” Anders answers. “We take turns visiting each other.”
“John travels a lot for work, right?” I ask Valerie as she moves back to her seat, wineglass in hand. “As a management consultant. Is he going to settle down for a bit after the wedding?”
“We have a week in Croatia for the honeymoon before he has to travel again.”
“That’s lovely,” I say, sitting up straight, taking a sip of wine. “So, I’ve been dying to know how you two met? How did you know he was the one? Anders has been stingy with the details. All I know is they were best friends in college.”
Valerie sips her wine and smiles. “Okay, so it’s actually crazy. I’m all about signs, you know? They’re everywhere, but most people overlook them or brush them off as coincidences, déjà vu—but not me. I’m not so good at reading them, but I have this psychic I go to, and she has guided my life since I was twelve.”
Anders sighs, and Bethany asks Olive to pass her the wine.
“Boo to both of you,” Valerie says at the reactions. “Anyway, my psychic has always said four is my number. I always check the time and see fours, I ranked four hundred and forty-fourth in school, four times is all it takes for me to ask someone for something and they give it.”
Anders wraps his fingers around mine holding the wineglass. He lifts our hands toward his mouth and drinks, the bottom of his lip pressing against my pointer finger on the glass, sending a lining of fireworks in the pit of my stomach into a violent show. My throat dries as he places the remaining wine on the table and pulls away.
“So, I’m in this relationship with this guy for four months, and we break up on the fourth of April. Then, I ran into John on the fourteenth floor at this party, and we hit it off. We hook up that night—”
“Valerie!”
Valerie pokes Olive’s ear. “Erase that from your memory. Anyway, John was born April fourth, and it felt like fate. My psychic said that my thread of destiny has been pulling me toward him my whole life.”