Once Upon A Half-Time: A Sports Romance - Sosie Frost Page 0,118

window like this wedding’s underground railroad.” Mandy groaned. “And somehow this is my fault because I bought a turkey sandwich ring instead of the ham. If I could just get a simple dinner order right, hell, maybe Mom would be renewing her vows with Dad at this very moment.”

I wasn’t sure I liked how her eye twitched. It was time to get her the hell out of here.

“I’m taking you out,” I said. “Let’s go.”

“Are you listening? I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. Let your sister and parents sort out her wedding. You don’t need to be so involved.”

“Yes, I do. I have to keep everyone happy.”

“Says who?”

Mandy didn’t have an answer. “It’s…someone should play peace-keeper.”

“So send in the UN. You don’t have to be in the middle of this.”

She distracted herself by smacking the coffeepot, teasing the last few drops out. “I’m always in the middle, Nate.”

“By choice.”

“And what would you know about it?” She moved too quick and coffee grounds flew everywhere. “Not all of us can leave home, open a brewery, and fall out of the family tree.”

I offered her the towel and grinned when she grabbed it. I tugged it and her close. “You should take a lesson from me. I’m getting out of Thanksgiving this year. If I have it my way, I’ll only visit for Easter and Christmas.”

“Are you trying to make me jealous?”

Mandy pulled away and poured two mugs of coffee. She loaded the tray with creamer and sugar, but swore. She turned to brew a pot of tea as well. I shifted out of her way as she headed into the living room.

Mandy was a gallon of crazy in a pint-sized container, but that was nothing compared to the psych ward convening in the living room.

Lindsey cradled a box of tissues and forced Bryce to fan her forehead. She rested on the couch, feet up and head nestled against a bag of frozen peas. Sandra sniffled and held my mom’s hand, crying into a handkerchief. Conrad frantically apologized to his wife, his daughter, and baby Jesus.

The radio blared gospel music, the TV blasted pre-recorded wedding-themed reality shows, and Bryce’s iPad had been commandeered to slideshow different floral arrangements, decorations, and color schemes.

If we caged a lion and featured a trio of trapeze artists with spandex creeping up their asses, the Prescotts could have charged admission for this circus and paid for the honeymoon.

In the corner, Bryce’s parents huddled on a loveseat. Darla clutched her coat, prepared to bolt. Pretty sure Marcus was listening to a college football game through the earbud he tried to conceal.

Mandy set the tray on the table and offered my parents their coffee. She knelt at her mom’s side, handing her the tea.

“Made your favorite,” she said. “Can I get you another tissue?”

Sandra glanced at her mug and the cups of coffee in my parents’ hands. She made a face. “You’re supposed to serve what the guests are drinking.”

“But—”

“Mandy, I have no idea where you learned your manners.” Sandra glared at Conrad. “But I have a good idea.”

“Okay, enough,” Conrad said. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m not saying I don’t want centerpieces—”

“Yes, you are, Daddy!” Lindsey kicked. The iPad flew from Bryce’s lap. He dove to catch it, nearly crashing head first into the television. “You didn’t like any of the vases I picked out!”

“They were crystal.”

The music blared. “Our God…is an awesome God, he reigns…”

“You hated the flowers!” Lindsey yelled.

Conrad tried to calm her down. “They weren’t in season.”

“And you hated the whole arrangement!”

Mandy tried her hardest to mute the television. Instead she replayed the last show. “…And on this episode of Wedding Hunters, we sent Brett and Donna to a tropical paradise, but when the groom catches malaria, Donna might have to cancel her pre-wedding manicure—”

“Those centerpieces were five hundred dollars a pop!” Conrad waved at his ex-wife. “Sandra, we agreed on twenty tables of eight. That’d be ten grand alone on centerpieces.”

Lindsey bolted upright. Bryce avoided her swinging arm, but he howled as her three inch heel cracked down against his toe.

“Twenty tables?” She pitched the frozen peas into the wall. The bag exploded.

The song continued. “—With wisdom and love…”

Lindsey growled. “Are you kidding me? Mom!”

“Conrad, I told you.” Sandra took her daughter’s hand. “It’s thirty tables of eight.”

“Thirty?”

“Yes.”

The TV crackled. “But when Brett refuses to get married in the ICU, Donna realizes she won’t compromise on love and finds a new groom for her tropical honeymoon—”

“That’s eighty more people!” Conrad shouted.

Lindsey and Sandra