rolled off the couch, got sick, and rushed to the bathroom.
I didn’t make it to the toilet, but the bathtub worked. I hardly had the energy to sit up, but I did have the motivation to cry. The first blubbering tears stole my breath. Frustration smacked me over the head.
This wasn’t fair.
I had no idea how to do this on my own anymore—and it wasn’t just the wedding scaring the bejesus out of me. I hauled myself to my feet and brushed my teeth. It helped, but only a little.
The stress was too much.
Even if I didn’t tell him about the baby, Nate had said he wanted to help. He promised he’d be there for me.
He said he wanted me.
So maybe he’d help me now?
Why was I so terrified to dial his number? My lip trembled before he answered. I sniffled as the call connected, and as soon as I heard his voice, I whimpered.
Nate laughed.
“That’s a great Lindsey impression,” he said. “Sounds real.”
I had a bad habit when I cried—I forgot to breathe, some sort of subconscious attempt to not actually make a sound. It never worked. Inevitably I’d huffed some choked gasp that sounded like a cross between a gasp and a sick, orgasmic ostrich.
It wasn’t sexy, and it wasn’t quiet.
Nate stopped laughing. “Oh, damn. You’re really upset. What’s wrong? Bryce didn’t get cold feet again did he?”
Warning bells clanged in my head. “What?”
“Shit. Never mind. Forget I said anything.”
Great. I reminded myself to add note sixteen to the to-do list—chase down the groom. He used to be a linebacker. That wouldn’t be easy.
I choked up again.
“Mandy, what’s wrong?”
Everything.
Where to start? I couldn’t breathe, and the damn tears frustrated me more. I put the phone down to grunt out the breath lost in my chest. It did nothing. I coughed it out, more humiliated that I called Nate and could only cry.
The words came, but not in the right order.
“It’s all mushrooms!”
Tears rolled over my cheeks. Something told me the baby wouldn’t like mushrooms. The wedding would be ruined, my family destroyed, the baby would hate everything I tried to feed it, and I’d be the world’s worst Maid of Honor and mother because I didn’t check on the meat.
“What’s all mushrooms?” Nate talked slowly. “You gotta give me a little bit more.”
“Dinner. The wedding. All vegetarian. We all have to eat mushrooms.”
“Oh…I don’t like mushrooms.”
He sliced the final cut straight through my heart. I collapsed onto the floor.
“Hey, fine. I’ll eat mushrooms. Before, during, or after the wedding. As many as you want. I promise. Just tell me what the hell is happening.”
“The caterers are making vegetarian-only meals.”
“Why?”
“Lindsey scared them! She ordered her dinner and said she’d rather skin them alive for getting the dinner wrong than hurt one chicken.”
“Sounds about right.”
“I don’t know how I’m supposed to get my nails done and put up the decorations and help the caterers and organize the string quartet and hire the other DJ…” The tears came back. “I haven’t even learned how to nae nae.”
“How to what?”
“Mom’s dress isn’t done—she wants to wear that red hoochie-momma outfit, and Lindsey is flipping out. Dad doesn’t have the money right now to pay half the people we need to pay. There’s no cake—we’re ordering cupcakes from this place called Sweet Nibbles, but we’re probably going to have to bake cookies too—”
“Mandy, take a breath.”
“Half the family is ecstatic they can do the funeral and wedding in the same weekend, but my cousins are pissed because they said it's disrespectful, but that’s only because they’ve always wanted Great Aunt Mildred’s jewelry collection, and Lindsey had already asked to wear the rings and necklace for the wedding—”
“Mandy.”
“I haven’t eaten all day. My dress doesn’t fit right. Mom and Dad are fighting again—they can’t even be in the same room. We terrified your dad today. Again. We wanted to make sure the ceremony was good to go, and some very blasphemous things were said when my dad suggested Lindsey and Bryce get some counseling after the wedding to help the marriage…”
“It’s okay. What else?”
Why did it feel so good to tell him all this? I sniffled. I think I ranted everything. I pouted.
“My socks are on the wrong feet.”
“How do you know?”
“I can tell.”
“Okay. Here’s what’s going to happen.” Nate’s voice became to a gentle command. “You lay down and take a nap.”
“What? I can’t!”
“I’ll be over in two hours. You relax until then, try to stay calm, and we’re going to solve the