being a fashion designer. So far, Dad had said about all she’d done was blow through his money and kiss foreign boys. I didn’t know if that was true, but I did know three things for sure.
One, she would have loved this wedding stuff more than I do. And she would have known what decision to make, what colors to choose, where to sit who at what table.
Two, I envied her a bit, that she got away from this town, from her responsibility as a Barnett daughter.
And three, she wasn’t here — and even if she was, she could never save me from the mile-long wedding to-do list I was faced with.
I sighed, letting my head fall back against my door. I was supposed to be excited about all of this, wasn’t I? Shouldn’t I want to plan the seating chart, and care about the color of the flowers, and get excited about the photographs and the cake cutting and the first dance? It was my wedding. It would only happen once, and it felt more like a chore to me than the big day I’d dreamed of since I was a little girl.
I loved the man I was marrying, and I loved the town we were getting married in.
I had the dress of my dreams, my best friend to stand by my side, and the honeymoon of a lifetime planned in the Bahamas.
Everything was perfect, and if you asked any of my friends, they’d say I was the luckiest girl in Tennessee.
So then why did it feel like I was drowning?
“Why, that can’t possibly be the Miss Ruby Grace, can it?”
My best friend, Annie, flourished her thickest Tennessee accent from behind the front desk at Stratford’s only nursing home, her gap-toothed smile wide and welcoming as I let the door shut behind me. When I unwrapped the mint spring scarf from around my neck, she gasped, pressing her hand to her chest.
“Why, it is. Oh, heavens. Someone give old Mr. Buchanon his blood pressure medicine before she walks through the halls.”
I chuckled, hanging my purse and scarf behind the desk before I lifted a brow. “Haven’t seen you since Christmas, and that’s the welcome I get?”
“Well, I’d jump up and hug you, but it’s a little more difficult these days,” Annie said, gesturing to the watermelon of a belly she had blooming under her oversized scrubs.
“How about I assist?”
I reached down, and when Annie’s hands were in mine, I pulled her up, both of us laughing as she leaned back to balance out the weight of her belly. It was hard to believe she was the same girl I’d road tripped to North Carolina with just two summers ago, the same blonde, giggly girl I’d stayed up too late with on countless nights, laughing and dreaming and making plans for our future husbands, our future families. I was so sure we’d room together at UNC, or chase our dreams of traveling the country and helping others in AmeriCorps. It didn’t matter what we did — I just knew we’d do it together.
But when Annie fell in love with Travis, everything changed.
It wasn’t out of place for a nineteen-year-old to be pregnant in Stratford. Half my graduating class was already married and popping out babies. But, seeing my best friend with a stomach the size of Texas was new for me. It was proof that we were older now, that life had changed, that all those dreams we’d had on the days we’d played house as kids were coming true.
She was a wife. Soon, she’d be a mother.
And I wasn’t far behind her.
“Annie, you look…”
“Fat? Sweaty? Like I did our freshman year with all this acne?”
I laughed. “You look beautiful. You’re glowing.”
“Why does everyone say that?” she asked, hugging me as best she could with her belly between us. “There is positively no glow going on here. Unless the fluorescent light is hitting my sweat sheen in some magical way.”
That sent both of us into a fit of laughter, and when it settled, Annie shook her head, eyes sweeping over me. They widened a little when they took in the kitten heels Mama had insisted I wear, even though I’d be on my feet all day. “You look incredible. I swear, I’m going to blink and have your mother as a best friend one day.”
I grimaced. “Please don’t say that.”
She chuckled, waddling back into her chair. “I didn’t think I’d see you here so soon. Didn’t you just get into