At Wits' End - Kenzie Reed Page 0,4

my head. “Negative. Aceto has been missing for weeks, and Aunt Fernanda was devastated. He jumped into my car right as I was leaving. I’m not letting him out of my sight until we get back home.”

Aunt Fernanda suffered a stroke two weeks ago, and she’s just been moved from the hospital to a rehab facility where she’s going to spend the summer learning how to walk again. I am not going to risk upsetting her.

“A black cat at your wedding? Are you trying to sabotage it on purpose?”

“Since when are you superstitious? Since never.” My mother’s the least superstitious and sentimental person I’ve ever met. “It’s a marriage in front of a rent-a-pastor. It will be legal. It’s fine.”

“I’m just afraid that the buyers aren’t going to…well, buy it.” Her brows pinch together, but her smooth, Botoxed forehead barely moves.

My lovely mother is forty-seven, but she doesn’t look a day over thirty. When we’re in public together, she insists I call her Linda, in the hopes that people will mistake us for sisters. And with her movie-star makeup and body-hugging, fashionable dresses, she draws male attention like a magnet.

“I mean, it’s so rushed and all. If this were a real marriage, we’d have invited hundreds of people and held it at a much fancier place.”

“If this were a real marriage, my groom wouldn’t be Jonathon Witlocke.”

My voice rises on a slightly hysterical note as I say his name. Jonathon Witlocke, the vacant pretty-boy voted “most likely to mis-spell his own name” in high school. Jonathon Witlocke, the reason they have to print instructions on shampoo. Jonathon Witlocke, whose favorite pickup line is, “Hey, I lost my phone number. Can I borrow yours?” I kid you not. He’s tried it on me more than once.

“I honestly don’t know what you’re making such a big deal about. I’ve had much worse husbands than Jonathon.”

I wince. Not many people brag that they’ve been married more times than they can count on one hand. At least my dad was her first.

“No offense, Mom, but you’re hardly my inspiration when it comes to matrimonial advice.”

“What are you talking about?” Her eyes widen in surprise. “I’ve walked down the aisle six times. I’m an expert.” She does a quick check in my car window’s reflection, as if to remind herself that she’s still a primo piece of husband-bait. Then she returns her attention to me, beaming her famous smile. Despite everything I know about her, I still want to bask in its warmth. “Anyway, it might not be so bad. You might decide you really like Jonathon, once you get to know him.”

As we’re talking, a red Jeep screeches into the parking lot, spraying gravel everywhere. Jonathon leaps out of the driver’s side, and a friend of his jumps out of the passenger side. Jonathon’s wearing shorts, sandals, and an eye-searing neon blue polo shirt. His friend’s wearing a Salt Life shirt, and his hair is piled up in a man-bun.

“Dude! It’s my wedding!” Jonathon yells to his friend.

“Wedding high-five!” his friend yells back. They hold up their hands to high-five, and Jonathan’s friend snatches his hand away right as Jonathon tries to smack his palm.

“Classic!” his friend shouts, and doubles over with laughter.

I look at my mother. She looks at me.

I raise my right eyebrow, which is a special talent I have. “Say what now?”

“Right. I’ll see you inside,” she says brightly. She spins on her heel and powerwalks to the chapel.

Jonathon leaps in front of the Wine Knot sign, which shows a married couple toasting each other with wine glasses.

“Dude!” he yells. “Wedding selfie!”

“Dude!” his friend shouts back.

“Say dude one more time…” I mutter, clenching my fists. From deep within my purse, Aceto hisses.

I left a very good CPA job at a liquor wholesalers, a nice apartment in Seattle, and my entire life there…for this. And I’m going to marry him. He will be my husband. I will be looking at that over the breakfast table every day for the entire summer.

My stomach squeezes hard, and I regret my breakfast burrito. I regret a lot of things.

Jonathon and his friend snap selfies front of the Wine Knot sign, and I sit and wait, because I don’t want him to see me yet. All morning long I’ve been fighting the temptation to head for the border, change my name and start a new life as a fruit vendor in Mexico, and one single word from Jonathon’s liable to push me over the edge. Especially