Owen is Michael’s cousin and best man. The ushers open the doors and we slowly proceed towards the heliotrope, cream spray rose, and lemon leaf decorated wedding arch. Clear Chiavari chairs line either side of the shimmery purple aisle runner. Overhead, a dazzling chandelier washes the room in a soft yellow hue.At the altar, I turn left, and Owen veers right, taking his place next to Michael. The groomsmenandbridesmaids, flower girl, and ring bearer follow suit.
The pianist switches to Canon in D and everyone stands. Uncle Rob and Mom enter the ballroom. It’s been a long road for her, but she persevered. I can comfortably go off to college knowing she’s settled and happy.
I glance at Michael. The expression on his face speaks volumes. He’ll love my mother unconditionally for the rest of his life. Mom is lucky to have found a second soul mate during her lifetime.
The nuptials go by smoothly. They exchange vows, light the unity candle, and seal their union with a kiss.
After posing for photographs, the wedding party joins the reception. The blissful couple have their first dance, Owen gives a toast, and guests pass around the microphone congratulating the newly married duo.
I’m pensive through it all and sadness creeps in. I’m leaving Los Angeles in less than two weeks.
“Can’t believe you’re dipping tomorrow, chica.” Lo tips the flask of whiskey to her lips.
Lolita, aka Lo, is a five-foot-two Latina lesbian, but despite her petite frame, she packs a punch. Her fuck-you attitude is legendary and has the toughest of men shaking in their boots. I’ve witnessed her knock a guy twice her weight unconscious. The bigger they are, the harder they fall, as my grandma says.
Lo’s mohawk, gauged ears, eyebrow and lip ring, and colorful tattoos add to her bad-girl persona. Though we’re polar opposites, I couldn’t ask for a better sidekick. She’s my ride or die. My A-one since day one. People think it’s odd we’re friends, but I don’t follow the pecking order at school.
My friends are my friends, and the naysayers can kiss my ass.
I avoid hanging with cheerleaders and jocks unless necessary. The former are boy-crazy, catty, back-stabbing bitches. The latter are meatheads on steroids. The exception to the rule is Saint; he’s on the basketball team.
“You should let me taste that pussy before you go,” she announces.
Saint and Micah burst out laughing. The four of us spent the day traipsing across California, visiting my favorite spots. It was fun but bittersweet. We’re at Lo’s house now, lounging on the rickety, old orange couch in the backyard.
“Strictly dickly, bish,” I reply.
“My tongue will have you speaking in tongues.”
“OMG, will you stop it?” The girl is too much.
“Oh, you love it,” Lo says, blowing me a kiss.
“You know I do,” I purr, licking my lips seductively.
“Teasing-ass ho.” She chuckles, lighting a joint.
Lo is an outrageous flirt and woman-whore. She leaves a trail of broken hearts behind her.
“You should accept Lo’s offer, and I’ll watch for scientific purposes.” Micah flashes a toothy grin.
“Wanna get kneed in the nuts?” I arch an eyebrow.
“Dang, no need to get hostile.”
“Scientific purposes? Really?” Saint cackles.
“Oh, and text me pictures of the finest girls you see. Melon-sized titties and a big, round badonkadonk are mandatory.” Micah puffs on his cigarette, then continues, “I need to know what my options are before I come for a visit.”
“Not happening.” I scoff while Lo and Saint snicker.
“This is serious,” he persists. “You know I’m allergic to small breasts and flat asses. My throat closes up, my eyes bulge, and I foam at the mouth. It’s not a pretty sight. Do you want me to die?”
“You’ll regret smoking those cancer sticks one day,” I say, ignoring his question.
“What the fuck you talking about? I’m living forever.”
Micah has a different girl pining after him every week. They can’t resist his hard body, toffee complexion, and undeniable swagger. He and Lo are obviously having a competition to claim the biggest whore title.
