The Shippers(11)

“Oh, god,” she said, and then she dropped to a whisper and said, “Did you fake it?”

I looked down. “I’m sorry.”

“Josephine,” my mother sighed—the word and the breath sailing out together. “You were two minutes from the finish line.”

“It was Cooper’s idea.”

“Cooper,” my mother scolded, like she was very disappointed.

But now it was hitting me—what I’d just done. How humiliating it would be for us to send all those guests home. How much money I had just wasted. How thoughtlessly I had just reduced all my plans for the future to rubble.

“I’m sorry,” I said as tears appeared from nowhere and spilled over. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

My mom, who always had more faith in me than I had in myself, patted my back and said, “There’s nothing wrong with you, sweetie. He must not have been the right one.”

But honestly, if Pearce Richmond—clean-shaven, competent, tux-owning, trust-fund-wielding Pearce Richmond—wasn’t the right one, then who the hell was?

I stared at my lap as the tears splatted onto Mrs. Richmond’s gown—until Cooper reached over to hand me what looked like a wad of toilet paper.

I looked at it. “What’s this?”

“A tissue,” Cooper said.

“Is it—used?”

“Naw. It’s just crumpled.”

I examined it. “Where did it come from?”

“My pocket.”

“What am I supposed to do with it?”

Cooper frowned at me. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’re crying.”

I regarded the tissue.

“It’s clean enough to blow your nose into, at least,” Cooper said, giving me a look. “Don’t be fussy.”

I went ahead and blew—just as the rev approached my mom to say, “They’re getting restless out there. What’s the verdict?”

My mom gave the rev a tiny headshake, like Not happening.

“Got it,” he said, all business. “We should make an announcement.”

“I’ll do it,” Grandma Dodie volunteered. “You can’t argue with a grandmother.”

She took Pete’s arm and held on to it until he got the message and escorted her out.

As they left, my mom called, “Tell them the reception’s still on. They should all go.”

Pete turned back. “To the reception?”

“We’ve already paid for everything,” my mom said. “Might as well.”

Pete still seemed lost. “But what are we celebrating now?”

My mom winced, like she wasn’t quite sure.

“What are we celebrating?” Grandma Dodie said, like the question was preposterous. “We’re celebrating life! And the courage to follow your own compass! And the freedom to make your own choices!”

Pete shrugged, like Sure. Why not?

“Plus, it’s free food,” Grandma Dodie added. “And free booze. And a DJ named Mr. Beat Feet.”

“Ouch,” Pete said.

My mom and I weren’t taking the fall for that. “Mrs. Richmond hired him,” we said at the same time.

Once they were gone, my mother turned to me. “You don’t look very relieved.”

“It’s the dress,” I said, pulling at the collar. “It’s like it’s made of poison ivy.”

“Okay,” she said. “Let’s get you out of it.”

“Can’t,” I said. “The zipper broke. There’s no way out.”

But that’s when my mom put her hand to my jaw and looked right at me. “There’s always a way out, Jo. Remember that.”

Did that start a fresh wave of tears for me?

It did.

But now she was in to-do-list mode. She stood behind me and tilted my head forward to start working on the zipper. “First, we’ll get you changed. Next, you’ll need to have a talk with Pearce. Then I’ll take you home and come back here to deal with … everything else.”

“Thank you, Mom,” I said, head tilted forward while she worked, holding still like I used to when she did my braids.

“Everybody needs a little help sometimes, sweetheart,” she said.

I was nodding in agreement when the bridal room door opened and Mrs. Richmond, Mr. Richmond, Pearce Richmond, and Grandmother and Grandfather Richmond all walked in with total country club squad energy. Looking equal parts regal and outraged.

“Did you fake that faint?” Mrs. Richmond demanded. “Are you calling off the wedding?”

I stood up a little straighter. “That’s something maybe Pearce and I should discuss in private.”

But Mrs. Richmond wasn’t interested in my suggestions. Ever, but especially now. “I heard from Mrs. Allen that a hobo told you to faint at the altar.”

At that, Cooper raised his hand. “Hobo present,” he said.

“He’s not a hobo,” I said, giving Cooper a look. “He’s just in a fashion crisis.”

Mrs. Richmond looked back and forth between us. “What is going on, Josephine?”

A fair question.

I turned to Pearce. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m calling off the wedding.”