C holds up his phone.
‘Vil looks at it, then at the clock and scowls. “Fuck’s sake. We gotta move.” His eyes cut to me accusingly.
“Plenty of time.”
“That’s what you always say and then you’re late.” Anvil shakes his head and walks out, calling over his shoulder, “You best get your suit on and get over there, so she doesn’t have extra time to come to her senses.”
I smirk, but inside, my muscles knot. “What do you say, C? One game?”
“Sure.”
I grab a cue stick, relieved to burn through a few more minutes.
* * *
Laurel
The week is unbelievable. My heart nearly stops a dozen times over the increasingly elaborate plans and their exorbitant price tags. Distant relatives on both sides are flown in on chartered planes. A week of festivities commences to keep everyone entertained. And this morning, a chaotic parade of people turns me into Cinderella and photographs me accordingly. I feel pretty shell-shocked and am thankful for Zoe, Rachel, and Kathleen who become an army of wit and calm amidst a sea of high-strung people swirling around me.
Monet and Trick’s younger sister, Ash, are giddy with excitement, and their enthusiasm is infectious, which sends the flower girl and her friends into a frenzy of giggles and races to see who can skip the fastest. Kathleen, God bless her, wrangles the girls who are not in the bridal party and turns them over to an usher to return to their parents.
My phone is weirdly silent. All today’s details are routed through Zoe, so I don’t have to deal with them. Trick does send me a wedding meme at three a.m., making me wonder why he’s still up. This morning, I send him an engagement ring emoji, and he sends back a beating heart one. Otherwise, we haven’t communicated. I picture him joking and having coffee at C’s house and wish I was there with him.
“All right,” Zoe says, clapping her hands to get everyone’s attention. “It’s time for the bride to have a few minutes alone. Everyone out now, and line up in order. Let’s have one last look.”
“What are these colors again? My aunt wants to know,” Monet calls out.
“Mediterranean blue and sea glass green. And here we go out into the hall,” Zoe says with a soothing singsong voice she must use backstage right before a show starts. She swishes everyone out, and I check my phone once more. Nothing from him. My fingers start to type him a message, but then stop. I’ll see him in a few minutes.
“Okay,” I whisper to myself. Taking slow deep breaths, I fight for calm. Then I hear my dad’s voice through the heavy door, knowing I shouldn’t. My father has been great for the past week, an absolute rock every night as parties rage out of control, but I know Trick worries him.
Among throngs of people, Trick has shown himself to be a force of nature. He makes everyone from babies to grandmothers swoon. He tells wild stories and stays until the last toast of the night is over. Raucous laughter keeps the neighbors up until they come out to join the parties. One night, at two a.m., he buys a fishing boat and what he calls a lakeside cottage to give my parents as a gift for hosting so many people. The pictures of the enormous lake house make my breath catch. I tell him the gesture is too big, that they’ll be embarrassed by it, but he brushes off those concerns. They’ll see it’s practical, he says, for having family come to stay. He makes me see a life of waterskiing and barbecues because persuasion is one of his gifts. I do wonder though whether it’s in him to really settle down.
There is dancing in the Coynston streets as block parties erupt because he encourages everyone in the city to celebrate and infuses cash into local business to hold after-hours parties. He is never drunk. Nor is he sober. But he is unequivocally the prince of the city and, at some moments, it feels like the whole world has noticed as billionaires and celebrities tweet well wishes and some even arrive. I know him well enough to understand that something is driving him, and it’s more than just wanting to leave bachelorhood with a bang. But I also trust that when it counts, he’ll come back down to Earth, at least for a day.
I open the door and find the women are still milling about when some should be preparing to walk. Raising my brows at Rachel, I mouth, “What’s happening?”
“Everything’s fine,” Zoe says in a gentle tone. “Nothing begins without you and Trick.”
“Is he not in the church?” I ask, startled. Glancing at my dad’s grim expression, I have to concentrate on not frowning myself.
“The guys are on their way. All fine.” Zoe’s nod is emphatic.
Monet bites her thumbnail, looking pensive. Apparently word has spread that the groom has not shown up. A little flush of embarrassment hits me, making me doubt him for a second. But then I think about the way he was in high school, always strolling through classroom doors with the second bell ringing, always driving up a minute or two before a track meet started. The one time he came early to a debate, it was to lure me into a secluded spot to make out with him.
My father walks over, leans close, and asks me the same question he’s asked a few times since I told him about the wedding. “Are you sure?”
My throaty laughter makes heads turn my way. “I guess we’ll see.”
Zoe’s brows shoot up, and she bends over her phone and sends a text. Her phone buzzes back, and she glances at it. “And they’re here. They just pulled in.” Zoe moves behind me and straightens out my train. “We’re ready. I’m taking everyone else to line up near the doors.” She turns and looks at me, stunning in her shimmery green dress. “You look incredible, Laurelyn.”
“Good,” I whisper. “Considering the fortune he spent on Operation Cinderella, I hope at least today of all days I’m as beautiful as he is when he rolls out of bed.”
The corners of Zoe’s mouth curve up. “You are. Definitely. And what’s more, you’re not crazy and out of control, so you bring that to the marriage.”
Laughing softly, I squeeze her arm. “Thank you for everything this week, especially this morning.”
“Glad to.” She takes everyone away, except my dad.
