My mother doesn’t let us walk down theaisle. I wave at Cole. In fact, I don’t really hear anything she says. I hopeshe’s being nice to everyone. She says something else and then dismisseseveryone. “Just a reminder to be back here at seven for the rehearsal dinner.”
I turn to my dad. “I thought we decidedagainst a rehearsal dinner.” My dad shrugs, which is his code for staying outof it.
“Annie.” I pull at her shirt as shepasses. “I thought we weren’t having a rehearsal dinner.” She yanks her shirtfree and shrugs, giving me the cold shoulder. Annie and I have talked severaltimes through messenger and text, but not on the phone. I can only think thatshe must still be mad at me over something from Vegas. I sigh, looking at mydad. “I guess she’s still mad at me for something.”
“Still?” he questions.
“She didn’t say goodbye to me when theyleft Las Vegas. We’ve talked wedding stuff, but that’s it.”
“Maybe you should ask her about it.”
“Yes, I should, but I don’t really want to.”I sit down in the chair.
“You don’t want to create a rift betweenyou two.”
“I know. I’ll talk to her.”
CHAPTERTWENTY-EIGHT
My mother isn’t as rude as Annie aboutthe Rehearsal dinner, but she’s just as vague. I finally give up asking why. Weleave the Dodge at the Vineyard, since we unpacked everything. There’s room forme in the Camry. I shower and pull a black dress from my luggage. It’s nothingspecial, but it looks nice. I rummage through my closet, wondering if I haveanything remotely appropriate to wear when I come across a cream-colored calflength pleated skirt. I pull it out, wondering where and when I bought it. I takemy black dress off and slip the skirt on. It’s a little big but sits nicely onmy hips. That’s when it hits me. This is my Grandma William’s skirt. At thetime she passed away, I was still in grad school. Annie and I helped my mom anddad sort through her things and for some odd reason, I kept this skirt. Itseems appropriate to wear it and have a little piece of her with me. I find acoral short-sleeved blouse to pair it with and wear my gray and whiteChanelheels.
“Knock, knock, Cookie,” Cole hollers,coming into the house.
“Back here.” I hear a low whistle andturn to find Cole leaning on the door frame.
“Hey baby,” he says with a wink. He looksdashing in his navy suit and white shirt.
“Hey, back.” I take one last look in themirror. “Okay, I’m as ready as I will ever be.”
Cole helps me into the front seat of therental car and then climbs in the driver’s side. I give a little laugh, shakingmy head.
“What?” he drawls.
“It feels weird sitting in the front seatof the SUV, and you’re driving.”
“Someday it won’t feel weird.”
I give him a funny look. “What do youmean?”
“Someday, the back will be filled withkids.”
“Uh—filled with kids?”
“Yeah, at least seven, maybe eight.”
“Se—seven kids,” I stutter. “You reallywant…” I can’t even say the number again. “You want that many kids?”
Cole tries to keep a straight face, buthis beautiful smile breaks through. “Oh, you.” I slap his arm playfully. “Notfunny.”
“We’ve never talked about it. How manykids do you want?”
Oh sheesh, he wants to have the kid conversationnow? “At least two, maybe three.”
“What about you?” I eye him cautiously.We’ve only ever talked vaguely about it and that was when we thought we mightsoon become parents.
“That sounds about right.”
“That’s good, because I have something I needto tell you.” Cole’s hands tighten around the steering wheel and some of thecolor drains from his face.
