one
FRANCESCA
Three weeks until Wedding Day
“Ido.”
“I DO.”
“I doooo--”
“What are you doing?”
“Oh!” I screech and gasp, clutching my chest while my heart beats fast. “You scared me!”
“Are you practicing?” Britt asks me slowly, as she leans against the door jamb of my bathroom door.
I throw my hands up. “Yes! I’m trying to see how my face moves and how I sound. Actually, will you record me? I want to hear myself.”
“Oh my god, girl you need to breathe. You’re going to be fine. No one is going to talk about the way yousaid, ‘I do’. “
“What if I forget the words?”
“What if you forget … I do?” She speaks slowly to me as if I’m a five-year-old. “It’s two words, Chess. Seriously. And the priest is there to remind you. Literally, it’s his job. He speaks and you repeat.”
Letting out a breath, I slide past Britt in the doorway and move into my bedroom flopping down on mine and Jackson’s bed, grabbing a pillow and scrunching it under me. “No, Jackson wants us to recite our own vows. What if I forget what I want to say and I just stand there staring at him?”
“So, tape a note card to his forehead. Or just keep practicing in the mirror.” She laughs.
"Don’t make fun of me!”
“Girl! I’m not!” She laughs again and joins me on the bed, grabbing another pillow and propping herself up, just like we used to do when we were kids and would talk and talk for hours together. “I’m trying to loosen you up. All I’m saying is there are so many other things to worry about that day.”
“Oh great! What else is there to think about?”
She points at me. “The fact that you just asked that leads me to believe I should just keep quiet.” I give her the look. “Good news? You’re putting together a wedding in just three weeks, so there’s no time to linger on your decisions. Bad News? You’re putting together a wedding in just three weeks and those three weeks are going to be a shitshow.” She grins at my shellshocked face. “Good thing you have me!”
“And us!” Farrah and CJ pop into my bedroom, and begin jumping up and down on the bed, shaking Britt and I around.
“Let’s go! Get up! Get dressed. We’re going out!”
“No I can’t. I have too much—"
“Nope! We are kidnapping you. Don’t worry, your husband-to-be is aware. The guys are taking him out, too.” They begin pulling clothes out of a big duffel bag while Britt starts rummaging in my closet. “Welcome to your bachelorette party!”
two
JACKSON
I’m in my office, feet kicked up on the desk, pen in my hand, remote in the other while I replay the last 22 seconds of our last game. Over and over. Something isn’t working and I can’t pick it out. The handoff is clean, footwork looks right, but there’s a hole and I don’t know why we left it open when we’ve run this play a thousand times in practice. They got the jump on us, and I don’t know how they got tipped off.
My phone buzzes on the desk and I notice it’s already after seven.
“Shit.”
I didn’t call Chess.
Chess: I’m being kidnapped.
