Brighton opened her eyes.
Lola cleared her throat. “I mean, New York is a lot. I get that.”
“Yeah.”
“But, baby, it’s only been six months,” Lola went on. “That’s not nearly long enough to get used to a place, especially Manhattan. You just need some time. It’ll be amazing, just give it some time. You’ll find your place, and it’ll be everything we always dreamed of. You and me.”
Brighton felt herself nodding, even as tears swelled behind her lids. She looked away, because right then, she felt like she was showing as much of herself as she could, and Lola wasn’t seeing what Brighton needed her to see.
Either that or Lola didn’t want to see it.
“Yeah,” Brighton said. “You’re right.” There was a quiver to her voice she couldn’t have hidden even if she’d tried, and she turned back to look at Lola, because maybe that little quiver, just maybe—
“That’s my girl,” Lola said, her expression relaxing. “You and me, right?”
Brighton could only nod. Lola kissed her neck, then blew a raspberry into her skin, and Brighton laughed. Twenty minutes later, after they’d taken a selfie of themselves curled up in bed together and kissed a bit more, Lola kicked Brighton out so they could both start their morning and get ready for their five o’clock wedding. Brighton sneaked back through the Donovan living room and out the back door, taking deep breath after deep breath, telling herself over and over again that Lola was right.
She just needed time.
Brighton stood in front ofthe full-length mirror on the back of the fancy gender-neutral bathroom door at Simone’s.
She looked perfect.
Her dress fit like a dream, sliding down her body to skim the floor, the lace covering every inch except the open back. Her hair was coiled into a loose bun at the nape of her neck, tendrils framing her face, her bangs freshly trimmed and falling to her brows. Her makeup was subtle, just a little mascara and eye shadow paired with a bold red lip to accent the white-and-red winter wedding theme.
Yes, she looked perfect. Everything was perfect—the winter-blue sky, the snow on the ground outside, the hum of wedding guests in the beautiful, softly lit dining room, stringed music playing as they all took their seats.
Everything was perfect.
“You’re shaking, love,” her mom said as she fastened a pair of pearl dewdrop earrings to Brighton’s ears, smoothing her hair back.
“Am I?” Brighton asked, but even her voice trembled. She gritted her teeth, twisted her fingers together in an attempt to get herself under control, but that only made everything worse, her body tensing until it felt ready to break apart.
“Hey, Rainbow, just breathe,” her mom said, coming to stand in front of her.
But that didn’t help at all. If anything, her mother’s gentle voice and concerned brown eyes only made Brighton’s tears swell, made her throat ache with the effort of holding them back.
“Honey,” her mom said gently. Bonnie Fairbrook looked beautiful too, her curly brown hair pinned back, her ice-blue dress long and elegant. Brighton hadn’t even told her how lovely she looked, hadn’t even thought to yet because she couldn’t stop her pulse from thrumming, her bones from feeling like they were about to crumble to dust.
Her mom took her hands, tucked her hair behind her ear. “Sweetheart, I think you need to talk to Charlotte.”
There was noWhat’s wrong?NoLet’s just slow down for a sec. No probing of any kind. Because Bonnie Fairbrook already knew. She had never been a huge fan of their getting married so young, even though she adored Lola and never questioned that they loved each other.
She had just questioned the timing.
More than once.
Gently and in a way that told Brighton her mother trusted her to do what was right for herself. And so Brighton had alwayssmiled and rolled her eyes and said she and Lola knew what they were doing, knew what they wanted. But now, lately, god, Brighton didn’t know.
She didn’t know anything except that she loved Lola, but if this were enough, if timing didn’t matter, then why was she shaking right now? Why was she struggling not to cry? Why could she not convince herself that this was right, right, right?
“I’ll go get her,” her mom said. “It’s okay if we start late. You two are the stars—everyone else will wait, all right? They’ll wait as long as you need.”
Brighton nodded and watched her mother slip out the thick wooden door, then turned back to the mirror, staring at the bride before her.
She just needed Lola.
Just needed to talk.
