Page 20 of Game Day

Still, according to Clay, they were always supportive of his basketball growing up—almost to a fault. They live on the East Coast and occasionally go to his games if he’s nearby.

Mari’s words come back to me. Being a wife is different from being a girlfriend.

Why should it be? We’ve been together for two years, and in that time, we’ve faced countless challenges and come out stronger.

My gaze focuses on a selfie we took at Red Rocks, Clay holding me and both of us grinning into the camera.

"This stupid bottle…" Brooke's cursing from the kitchen pulls my attention back. She wrestles with the cork.

"Here, pass it to me," Mari says.

They start wrestling with the bottle, and finally I step between them. "Let's try something different… AHHH!"

The cork flies off, and the champagne erupts in a violent stream of bubbly sugar and alcohol. It covers my face, my dress, my hair, and half the kitchen.

Brooke and Mari's expressions slacken in shock.

I pour myself a glass from the half-empty bottle and take a sip. "This is pretty good." I laugh, and they do too.

I pour two more glasses and we toast.

"To my sister," Mari says.

"And my friend," Brooke jumps in.

I push a chunk of sticky hair out of my face as I take a long drink. The doorbell buzzes, and I skip, barefoot, across the marble floor.

“Clay’s shoes!” I toss over my shoulder by way of an explanation.

The doorman would usually call up, but I told him to send wedding stuff up directly to make life easier for him.

Downing the rest of the champagne, I bounce toward the hallway with the empty glass still in one hand. Pale yellow champagne streaks my cream dress, and my pink hair sticks to my face and neck.

The delivery guy will forgive me.

“I know the shoes are huge,” I call through the door, the taste of wine giving me a happy buzz and making everything feel that much better, “but you should see the rest of…"

I yank on the handle, and the door swings wide. Standing in the open doorway are a man and woman. My smile fades as shock replaces the laughter.

“… him,” I finish. My free hand forms a sticky fist as I recognize the peoplefrom the photo on the wall, dressed impeccably and surveying my disheveled state.

Clay's parents.

7

NOVA

"I'm so thrilled you made it to Denver.” I paste on a smile as I look up at Clay's mother. “And so quickly.”

And when I was covered in champagne.

Five minutes ago, I insisted Mari and Brooke could go, promising I had this under control.Now, Clay’s parents are installed on opposite armchairs.

They’re both taller than I expected, probably because I’ve only seen them standing next to him in pictures.

"Let me get you a drink," I say, partly to be a good host and also to give myself a minute to regroup.

When Clay and I sat down with the wedding planner, we talked about the bare minimum of guests. She’d asked about my parents, at which point I said they’d passed. She asked about Clay’s, and he said they might come but not to plan a special role for them.

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