“No way,” Robbi mutters. “Cooke will kick our asses.”
“What hairstyle did he choose?” This ought to be good.
“A complicated braided updo with soft pink flowers.” Patsy smirks. “His words.” She holds up her phone. “He sent photos.”
Saffie snorts. “My brother’s lost his bleedin’ marbles.”
That cracks the group up even though she’s right. Hehaslost his “bleedin’ marbles.”
“I’m fine with whatever you want, girls. I really am.”
“We’re sticking to the plan,” Robbi cuts in.
“Okay.” I search the room. “Now, where is that fake champagne.” I wish it was the real stuff, but I’ve got to nurse again before I put my dress on.
“Red or white?” Susanna asks, holding up two bottles of nonalcoholic champagne.
“White.”
With a glass in hand, I sit in the middle chair with my bridesmaids split in half on either side of me. I’m about to tear up again thinking about this being our last time together when Robbi snaps, “No more crying.”
“Fine.” I wipe my cheek. “I just love you guys.”
“Oh.” Patsy reaches out and takes my hand. I watch as her eyes get shiny. “We love you too.” I wish Patsy would find a good guy. The last one she was with was sort of a drip. I know she brought a date to the wedding, a guy she really likes named Matt. I hope it works out the way she wants.
“Promise me you’ll keep in touch,” I say after a sniffle.
Susanna chirps, “Of course we will, silly goose.”
I feel Kat’s arms wrap around me then from behind. “Our friendship. This group is special. We’ll always be important to each other.”
That’s all it takes for a big sob to come out of my mouth.
“Oh,Jesus,” Robbi mutters. “Here we go.”
She’s right. The rest of the room is in tears. Even Saffie has a few rolling down her cheeks. I think she’ll miss everyone too. She’s spent a lot of time here in Ames and has bonded with my girls. Not only that, but she’s been playing a cat-and-mouse game with Dan. In case you were wondering,she’sthe cat. Dan doesn’t seem to mind, though.
When the stylists enter the room, each one stands next to one of my friends. When my stylist approaches me, she simply states, “I’m Stacy.”
“Hi, Stacy.” I give her my best smile. “Okay.” I reach for my phone. “I think I want—”
Stacy shakes her head. “I’ve got orders. Here.” She reaches into her apron pocket and pulls out her own phone. I watch as she opens her photos. When she finds the image she wants, she holds it up. “This.”
I stare at an over-the-top updo. It’s big and tall and wide. “Uh, no.” I shake my head. “No way.”
“What?” The woman looks and sounds shocked. Her mouth is agape as she sputters, “B-But Mr. Thompson said—”
“I don’t care.” I shake my head again. “I refuse to look like Dolly Parton from the 1970s.”
That gets a cackle out of Robbi. Finally, she laughs.
“Okaaaaay.” Stacy looks to her right. One of the other stylists shrugs. “Then will you please tell him—”
“I will. No need to be afraid. I’ll take full responsibility. He’s a teddy bear.”
Saffie snorts again. “Fecking Groomzilla.”
Snickering, I grasp my own phone and pull up the image of the styleIhad in mind. “I want it down with big curls.”
