How to Ruin a Wedding(95)

“Why are you here?” I shout without meaning to, then suffer three sneezes back-to-back.

“Why are you so wet?” he asks, moving forward, then immediately moving back. “You’re going to get a cold; you should go inside.”

“But you’re outside,” I point out, “at my place—how did you know it was my place? What are you doing here? Why are you here? You have the worst timing ever.”

“Will you get inside and change?” he snaps.

“Will you answer any of my questions?”

“Once you’re dry.”

“What if I like being wet?”

At that, we both pause, and his expression wavers as his eyes flicker, and I slam a hand to my mouth twice in punishment for being the most idiotic thing about me.

“Oh my God.” I move around him, fumble with my keys, and take three tries before being able to actually unlock the door. “Pretend you never saw me,” I call out to him, gripping the door. “Erase this from your memory. I don’t look like this. And I didn’t say that.”

He opens his mouth, and I slam the door and lock it.

I’ve wanted to see Anders again so badly, it’s ruined my critical thinking skills. I’ve lost track of thoughts, dozed off mid-conversations, because I thought of him somehow and have had to actively reposition myself into reality.

And, of course, he sees me looking insane, saying insane things, while being vastly underprepared.

Too much luck.

Yeah, right.

I take over an hour to get ready. I shower twice. Shave three times. Drench myself in lotion and body oils. I start my makeup, hate the base, wash it all off, and start again. I flatten my hair too perfectly, then curl the roots for volume, but it gives it a weird lump at the top, so I straighten it all over again.

I exhaust myself until I become an annoyingly beautiful version of myself and make it to the museum with only five minutes to spare.

This is how I wanted to see Anders again. I make my way into the venue, hurry past the entryway and into the largest hall with enough room to fill the fifty guests coming tomorrow along with the bridal party and groomsmen.

And somehow, I’m still earlier than everyone aside from Bethany, Olive, Taina, John, and Valerie.

“There she is,” Bethany says when she hears my heels clicking on the floor.

Olive waves at me. “I knew you weren’t going to chicken out.” She points a thumb toward the group sitting on one of the benches wound with flowers and hand painted by Anders with floral designs Valerie picked out. “They bet one hundred dollars you’d pretend to be sick to get out of it.”

I hold out a hand as I approach. “Well, I hope I get a hundred dollars for the embarrassment.”

Taina stands. “Great timing, I have to use the bathroom.” She links her arm through mine and leads me away.

“You needed my company to go potty?” I ask as we move. “This brings me back to the good old days.”

When we exit the hall, she lets me go and blocks my path, her arms crossed against her chest. “I overheard—”

“You snooped.”

“—Valerie on the phone with Anders. He said he had a migraine and wasn’t coming to the rehearsal. What happened?”

I keep my features blank. “What do you mean? You answered your own question. He has a migraine.” Then something clicks into place. “You little rat, you gave him my address.”

“Duh.” She shoves me. “He asked me for it months ago, and I’ve been waiting for him to do something about it forever. Valerie said he mentioned trying to see you before the wedding, that it might make you feel less awkward.”

I rub my eyes. “And now he didn’t come because I shouted at him to erase me from his memory.”

“What?”

“A misunderstanding.” I slap a hand on her mouth to quiet her down. “I wanted him to erase the way I looked then. And restart now. Not that I didn’t want to see him at all.”

“I really can’t stand you sometimes.”

“You and me both.” I sigh.

“Well”—Taina links her arm with mine again—“let’s go out tonight. Can’t waste how hot you look on nobody.”

“Me drinking before a wedding?” I ask. “Bad omen. Let’s keep it sober.”

“Booo.” She thumbs me down.

And that’s the image I play in my head all night. The sound of a sitcom’s booing track echoing in my skull over and over.

Hopefully, I find my luck again.





31.


As much as my gaze travels to Anders throughout the wedding, and how much he always takes up space in my head, I finally have enough of a distraction to think of something else.

Valerie, as she promised, with her makeup and hair done—half up, half down—looks radiant as she listens to John’s shaky, nervous but genuine vows. Even when she cries at them and her cheeks become speckled with mascara, the happiness in her eyes—made brighter when John wipes the tears away—makes her an ethereal being.

I pat my own cheeks dry as the officiant, Bethany, pronounces them wife and husband, and I let out a half sob when they kiss.

Officially married.

How it was meant to be, always, even when I thought differently.