Well, almost no recollection. I haven’t told Pres this, but every once in a while, I’ll get a tiny flashback—a glimpse—and then it’s gone.
I’m hoping this means that eventually I’ll be able to piece it together and have at least a roadmap for how we ended up at a wedding chapel in the middle of the night.
I’m not sure it will solve anything, but at least we’ll know.
“And, um…am I allowed to ask what happened with Jace? Last I heard, he was still working at the bar?” Tilly’s mood has been light, happy even, since we broke the news. Now she’s hanging on our every word as we gather plates and napkins. Lance is tracking the Uber Eats driver like a hawk. I’ve never seen him act more his age than when he jumped up to announce, “He’s just down the street!” and then raced toward the front door.
Pres scoffs, handing me the bottled water I asked for. “I fired him. He was never on time and seriously unprofessional.”
Her mom simply nods. They obviously already know she broke up with him, but Pres clearly expected a comment or two about how they always knew he was bad for business or a horrible person.
But neither of them says a word.
Maybe our plan of distraction is working after all.
We all head into the dining room, and I try not to gape when my eyes land on the massive new table they’ve put in here. It’s got to be maple or some sort of birch. It’s easily twice the length of a normal table and must seat over a dozen people.
“It’s ridiculous, I know.” Tilly motions with her hand. “But the family’s grown a bit since you’ve been gone, and you know us. We always have room for a few more.”
“A few? Pretty sure you could fit half of Malibu in here,” I joke.
“At least a football team or two,” Presley chimes in. “And hey, if you need a side gig, you could always rent it out for parties or formal events.”
“You could host a state dinner,” I offer.
“Maybe extend an invitation to the king?” Pres snickers.
“What about a wedding reception?” Lance interrupts her as he enters the room with two large bags in his arms. He sets the food on the table and looks up at us.
“A wedding reception?” Pres parrots back to him. “For who?”
“You two, of course.”
Presley’s eyes widen. “Why? We’re already married.”
“Doesn’t mean you can’t celebrate,” Lance tells her. “That’s what a wedding reception is for, after all.”
“Oh, I love that idea!” Tilly places a dramatic hand on her chest like she’s got a serious case of the feels.
“We wouldn’t want to cause a fuss.” I try to derail this idea before it gets away from us. “And wedding receptions are expensive. We can’t ask that of you.”
Lance dismisses my concerns with a wave of his hand. “It’s no trouble, and it will be ages before we’ll have the opportunity to do something like this for one of our daughters, since Mercury is still so young. Please—it’s the least we can do.
“I…”Shit. My mind goes blank as I try to come up with another excuse.
“Listen,” Tilly says as Lance starts to pull the food out of the bags and set it on the table in front of us. “I don’t mind that your wedding was spontaneous. In fact, I find it incredibly romantic, and anyone can see you two are meant for each other.” They can? “But I can’t deny the fact that I’m devastated we weren’t all there to celebrate with you.”
“I know you hate crowds, kiddo,” Lance says to Pres, who looks just as shocked as I am. This is not something we planned for. Questions about how we fell in love so quickly, sure. Howwe’re adjusting to married life, of course. But this? Totally left field. “So we could keep it small. Just close family and friends.”
“But we’d have to wait until everyone gets back from tour,” Tilly chimes in.
“True.” Lance nods as he and Tilly eye each other. “Very true.”
“And when is that?” I ask, feeling nervous. Our deadline is supposed to be the beginning of November. It would be bad form to have a wedding reception right before I’m supposed to leave my wife and skip town.
“September,” Tilly answers. “But we’re going to need some time to plan. Right, Pres?”
My wife is currently sporting a deer-in-the-headlights look, but manages to glance over at her mom and say, “Um…right?”
