We signed the prenup last week and while I’m glad we did it, part of me is sad too. Because it means there’s an element of distrust between us that goes both ways.
“Stop all that deep, dark thinking,” she admonishes. “Seriously, lighten up, Summer. It’s not perfect, but he seems to care about you. He’s been sending flowers and gifts and has bent over backwards to make you feel good. Why do you have to overthink it?”
“Because I’m a pregnant, hormonal mess?”
“Well, okay. I’ll give you that.” She pats my arm as I put the Mustang in gear.
“I told Mom about the wedding,” I tell her. “She asked me why I was marrying Patrick when he’s such a whiny little shithead.”
Dolly throws back her head and laughs. “You know, your mom’s in there somewhere. The disease is trying to silence her, but she still finds a way to come out.”
“She does. Yesterday when I was there, I did a FaceTime call with Tate and she immediately recognized him and asked when he was coming to visit. It’s weird the bond they have, in spite of everything.”
“Your mom would know if something was off. I don’t care about the Alzheimer’s, I firmly believe she knows the difference between good and bad. One of many reasons I think he’s a good guy.”
I smile.
He is a good guy.
I know I’m being a little neurotic about everything, but these pregnancy hormones are no joke.
“I wish she could be at the wedding but it’s not a real wedding so?—”
“Would you stop that?” Dolly sounds exasperated. “For heaven’s sake, it’s as real a marriage as any other. It’s not as fancy of a wedding, but the wedding and the marriage are two separate things. You are legally marrying Tate Jeffries, which is the only thing that matters. And there’s nothing fake about it. You’re not in love, I get that, but you’re in like. Come on—admit it.”
“I am in like,” I say softly. “And I’m halfway in love too. That’s why it’s so scary.”
“If it wasn’t scary, it wouldn’t be worthwhile. You hear me?”
“I hear you.”
She’s right. I know she is, but my heart is at war with my brain and it’s a pain in the ass.
“Now go home and call your man,” she says when I drop her off at the diner. “And bake me some pies!”
“Yes, ma’am!” I laugh and wave, pulling onto the street.
I can’t wait to call Tate and tell him I found a dress. And shoes. I’ve also got my borrowed, blue, and old items. Diamond earrings borrowed from Dolly. A blue garter to wear under my dress. And the gold bracelet my mother got from her mother on her wedding day. The only thing missing was the something new, and now I have that too.
And I’m getting married in two weeks.
Crimson Edge has a gig in Erie, Pennsylvania tonight and I’m surprising Tate by flying in. The flight was dirt-cheap for some reason and Dolly graciously offered to be on call in case Mom needs anything. So now I’m on my way to the club and humming with nervous energy. I’d hoped to meet the band at a hotel because I have half a dozen pies with me, but according to the schedule he sent me, they’re heading for Pittsburgh tonight right after the show.
Meanwhile, I tried on a pair of jeans to wear tonight and couldn’t button them without feeling like a sausage about to explode out of its skin. It’s the end of August, and I’m twelve weeks now, so my body is starting to change. Luckily, I have a really cute black skort with an elastic waist that still looks good on me, but the time is coming that I’m going to start to show, and like everything else lately, it makes me nervous.
Will Tate still find me attractive when I have a baby belly? If I have stretchmarks? Swollen ankles? The more I read about pregnancy the less I like what’s coming but I remind myself that it’s natural. Women have been getting pregnant and having babies for thousands of years—I’ll get through it.
Tate gave me a special All Access pass that only family and significant others get, so I put it around my neck when I get to the venue and it’s nice to breeze right past security at the front. Now I have to find the band, and I’ve missed soundcheck so they’re already backstage somewhere.
I make my way backstage, and there’s a lot of activity, the crew running around and equipment everywhere.
“Hey, Summer.” Tate and Sam’s guitar tech smiles at me. “I think Tate’s out back taking some pictures.”
“Thanks!”
“Where are you going with that pie?” he yells after me.
I laugh. “I’ll give you custody if you promise to save some for everyone else.”
