Page 41 of The Trouble with Runaway Brides

My mom was insistent on the Filipino traditions of arrhae and the yugal cord being a part of our big day. I was foolishly embarrassed to ask Will to trickle coins into my hands for prosperity, especially since he has more than enough money in his bank account. Or let someone wrap a woven silk cord in a figure eight around our heads to signify an eternal bond of fidelity. Until I realized that I had always wanted those things as a part of my wedding and just because I’m marrying someone who isn’t Filipino doesn’t mean we can’t incorporate my traditions into the ceremony, regardless of what his parents think.

Me: I know. I’m just anxious for you to get here.

Mom: I will be there soon. Everything okay?

Me: Perfect. Wait until you see how much has changed but at the same time it all feels the same.

“Kenzie,” a deep voice says from next to me.

I startle and my phone drops right into my coffee.

“Shit,” I say and grab it out right away.

Easton takes a few napkins from the dispenser. “Sorry.”

I take the case off my phone, and he takes that and dries it while I work on my phone, hoping what the manufacturer says is correct and that I don’t need to put it in a bowl of rice for the rest of the day.

After that fiasco, I leave the phone separate from the case to make sure it all dries before I clip it back on.

Easton sits next to me, and I spot the cut straw in his hand. “So, my mom is still the principal of Lake Starlight High, and she’s doing a career day for the seniors. She’d love it if you could come and join us to talk about your podcast. You can bring your partner. Lance said he’s here with you.”

He taps the white plastic straw with red stripes against the counter and flips it over before tapping the other side. He does this over and over because he’s clearly uncomfortable talking to me. He should be. He hasn’t talked to me since that morning of our freshman year. After that, when we ran into one another from time to time, we pretended to be strangers.

“When is it?”

“Two weeks from Friday. You’ll still be here, right?”

I nod. “I was going to return to New York City after I got all the logistics for the wedding figured out, but my parents rented a house to stay through the month, so I decided to stay with them.”

“Okay, so I can tell her you’re in?”

I shrug. “Yeah, sure.”

“Perfect. I’ll text her now. I think you just have to be there by ten, but I’ll have Lance tell you if that changes.”

I almost laugh at that last bit but nod instead. “Okay, thanks.”

God, this is so awkward. Easton was like a brother to me at one point. Well, not a brother, I guess. Another best friend. And now we’re strangers.

“See you,” he says and circles around, taking his straw with him.

I don’t watch him go back to their table but concentrate on my pancakes when they arrive. This was a bad idea because pancakes are my comfort food. I end up dousing it all in syrup, not giving a shit about my diet or looking good in my dress. I finish all three pancakes quickly and wipe my mouth, feeling slightly nauseated.

I pay my bill and grab my purse. Since I want to go to a few shops, I need to use the restroom first, but in order to do that, I have to walk by the Bailey Triplets. After inhaling deeply, I tell myself that I can do this. Shoulders back, chin up, you know what kind of person you are. Who cares what they think? Don’t let them get the better of you.

I straighten my back and my purse hangs off my shoulder. I lift my arm even if my heart is beating out of my chest. “Hi, guys.” I wave as I pass them.

They all say hi back after I’m well past the table, and I disappear into the bathroom. I plop down on the toilet and put my head in my hands.

“I’m such an idiot. I could be getting married in New York, where people love and adore me because I’m marrying Will Asbury,” I whisper. But the words feel hollow because who cares what people who don’t even know me think?

The shame I’m quite familiar with coats my skin like paint, but I dry my eyes and do my business before leaving the stall to fix my makeup.

Straightening my back again, I prepare myself for another awkward interaction, but a flood of relief flows through me when I see that their table is empty. As I pass it, I see three different-sized straws lying there, the same kind Easton was tapping back and forth when he was talking to me.

Nothing’s changed. Those fuckers cut straws to see who had to come up and tell me about career day. We used to cut it in fours, not threes. Those little straws might as well be swords in my chest for how they make me feel.

Fourteen

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