I tilted my head, taking that in. The accelerated timeline was impulsive, which was something that I loved about her. Lacy’s ability to seize the day, to trust her gut, to grab life by the balls—that was always something I’d tried, and mostly failed, to mimic.
“And you know I’ve always wanted a holiday wedding,” Lacy said, dabbing her scent on her wrist and neck. “I love the cold weather and the evergreens and the coziness. If we waited, it would be another entire year, and I’m almost thirty. Maybe I’m ready to settle down, to start a family.”
“A family? As in two-point-four kids and a picket fence?”
That had never been the future I’d envisioned for my friend, who seemed more like a cosmopolitan traveler than a domestic caregiver.
Then, I remembered something Momma had once told me when she was trying to help me be a less rigid, less set-in-my-ways twenty-year-old:Sometimes we don’t know that we really want something until we try a bunch of other things.
Lacy had dated at least a dozen guys, most of them very short-term relationships. She’d traveled for a year after college before getting an MBA and starting her own already profitable business. Maybe she knew what she really wanted because she’d tried other things, and maybe I should’ve taken that adviceback when Momma had offered it to me, because I still had no idea what I would do next May, after graduating from veterinary school.
At the end of the fall semester, I’d accepted my professor’s nomination for a prestigious fellowship program in San Diego, and the recent interview had gone well. In fact, it had gone so well that at the end of the call, they’d told me I was their top pick and that I would hear from them very soon, adding that they would want an answer fast—within forty-eight hours after the official offer was made. I hadn’t told anyone yet.
Lacy noticed the frown before I realized it was on my face. “What? You think we’re moving too fast?”
“It’s not that,” I said, shaking away thoughts of the uncertainties about my own future. This was Lacy’s weekend. “You’ll be a fantastic wife—and mom, if you want, although last I remember you referred to a summer nannying job as ‘the kidpocalypse.’ You called the two-year-old the ‘Demogorgon,’ and his mom had to explain why you couldn’t leave him in bed and go for a run while he napped.”
“I get the point.” Lacy waved a hand. “But I learned a lot, and besides, people say it’s different if the kid is your own. That has to be true—otherwise, no one would procreate.” She gave me a knowing half-grin. “And I plan to practice a lot of procreating in… Fiji?”
Anton had planned the honeymoon, keeping the location a surprise for Lacy. He’d asked for my input along the way, and I’d accidentally leaked that it was an island destination. I shook my head, adamant that I wouldn’t give away more.
“The Caymans? Hawaii? Thailand? The Amalfi Coast?”
I side-eyed Lacy as I clasped the necklace she’d handed me. “I’ll be sure to tell Anton’s mother that you plan on lots of sex wherever he’s taking you.”
My friend’s face fell, and immediately, I regretted the joke.
“Oh no, Lacy, I was totally kidding.” I wrapped my arms around her and swayed slightly from side to side. Lacy relaxed intome, releasing more tension than I’d realized she’d been carrying. “What’s really wrong? You’re not having cold feet, are you?”
“No, of course not. I mean, not about Anton,” Lacy said, starting to tear up. She wasn’t one to cry easily, but when she let them loose, the tears streamed down her face like she’d turned on a faucet. She blinked rapidly and fanned herself, trying to ward them off before her emotions made her face blotchy.
I handed her a box of Kleenex.
“It’s stupid,” Lacy said, dabbing delicately under her eye with a tissue. “I just have this feeling.”
That put me on alert. “What kind of feeling?”
Lacy wasn’t prone to premonitions, but when she had them, she was often spot on. We’d laughed about the time that she’d dreamed Brandi Lucher would get bangs in seventh grade and the next week the girl had come to school with a new look, but we hadn’t laughed at all when she’d called me right as I was picking up the phone to call her about Momma’s cancer diagnosis. As soon as I’d said hello she’d asked me what was wrong. She’d had a feeling I needed her that day.
Lacy tilted her head. “Yeah, I know it’s weird, but I feel like—or maybe I’m just afraid—that something is going to mess up this weekend; maybe even keep me and Anton from getting married.”
“What could possibly—” I began, before she cut me off with her list of possibilities.
“Maybe one of his exes will show up. Maybe his family will hate me. Maybe Anton will get cold feet. What if he waits until the bridal march is playing before he realizes the terrible mistake he’s made?”
It was nonsensical, which was much more my go-to state of mind. I tried a technique we’d always used when our—or, mostly, my—anxieties veered in a ridiculous direction.
“Okay, let’s play out The Worst,” I said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “What if Anton’s family doesn’t like you and he decides he actually wants to go home and live with his mommy for the rest of his life? Or, what if his ex shows up and it’s actuallyhis cousin and she asks him to run away with her?” I stood up and untwisted the right strap on her dress. “What if your wedding has to be canceled because the Demogorgon shows up and rubs peanut butter and jelly all over your dress?”
As my questions grew stranger, Lacy’s face relaxed more. “That kid is eleven by now, so he’s more likely to show up and shout nonsense gen alpha words during the ceremony,” Lacy said, but with a soft smile rather than potential tears. “But I hear you.”
“The point is that you’re gonna be okay, so don’t think like me, always waiting for the other shoe to drop. My brain is not always a fun place to be.”
Lacy leaned into me again. “Is this what you mean when you say you’re spinning?”
“Yep.”
Lacy tipped her chin back to look up at me. “Your brain is exhausting.”
