exhale, a heavy weight lifting off my chest as that text flies into space (or wherever texts go; I don’t know, I’m a baker/businesswoman, not a scientist). I’m allowed to forgive my mom and stop carrying so much hatred toward her, but that doesn’t mean I have to forget what she did or pretend that everything’s okay.
Maybe that’s not a perfect, tied-up-in-a-bow rom-com ending, but it has to be enough.
But speaking of rom-coms . . .
If I’m going to convince Nick that I’m head-over-sparkly-flats in love with him, then I’ve gotta go big. This isn’t the kind of problem that a simple apology can fix. I need to show him that I mean what I say, that I’ve changed, that I understand how wrong I was.
I need a grand gesture.
I tap out a text to Annie. If I’m going to re-create a rom-com scene, I’ll go to the master.
Chapter Thirty
The night before the wedding, Annie and I stay up late to finish the millions of little details that even a small wedding requires. We fall asleep in her old room, her on the twin bed and me on the trundle bed that pulls out underneath it. It’s sort of like being in high school again, except this time one of us is marrying a movie star and the other one of us is about to barf at the thought of being publicly rejected by the man she’s finally admitted she loves.
But, you know, no big deal.
After a few hours of stress-nightmare-filled sleep (for me, anyway), we round up all of our stuff and get ready to drive the couple of blocks over to the wedding space. Since it’s a pretty huge loft, we’re having both the ceremony and the reception there. As soon as Annie and Drew say their vows, the bridal party will get pictures taken while everyone else gets to eat appetizers. While we’re gone, Tyler and the D&D guys (minus Don, who’s going to be in the pictures) will pull out some folded tables and rearrange the chairs from the ceremony, then decorate the tables with simple bouquets and battery-operated twinkle lights. Everyone will drink cocktails from the bartender (Nick), and then the wedding party will be back and it will be time for dinner. And dancing. And toasts. And me embarrassing myself.
The shop is closed today, on account of all the employees and most of the patrons will be at the wedding, so we get ready in Nick’s office. It’s almost painful to think of him sitting at that desk, all the times I’ve insulted him and poked at him until he was forced to banter back. I run my fingers over the keyboard, imagining that his fingers have touched it.
“Hey, creep, stop lovingly caressing Nick’s keyboard,” Annie says, then puts a hand on her face. “Sorry. Wedding stress is turning me into a bitch.”
I laugh. “If this is your idea of being a bitch, then I think you’re all good.”
Since Annie didn’t do the traditional wedding party thing, it’s just me back here. Tyler’s popped in a few times to give us updates from Don, and she’ll let us know when we need to walk a few buildings down the sidewalk. I did Annie’s makeup (impeccably, I might add . . . thanks, YouTube tutorials from talented thirteen-year-olds!) and she looks stunning in her dress. It has lace sleeves to her elbows and an extremely low neckline, which manages to not be overly distracting on her because she has no boobs (we’ve often joked that I got all the boobs in our friendship). The dress cuts in right at her tiny waist (it’s so early in her pregnancy that she’s not even showing yet), then flares out into a relaxed but glamorous skirt. Basically, she looks like if Kate Middleton and Meghan Markle combined their styles, then made it even more romantic. Her curly hair is pinned into a loose updo, and my style mirrors hers. A few artfully natural waves spring free, and the rest of my hair is twisted up.
And while I know that all eyes will be on Annie . . . I love my dress. If I wanted to get married, I’d get married in this dress. The sparkliness, the fluttery sleeves, the blush pink color that makes me feel ultra-feminine.
“You look so pretty,” Annie says, and I look up to see her staring at me, her eyes welling with tears.