Page 2 of Bridesmaid to Bride

My fingers take control.

Me: I want to kiss your face off.

After I hit send, I squeeze my eyes shut and get into crash position, a waste of time, I know, since we’re probably about to explode into a ball of fire. But the aircraft safety card gave these instructions, and come heaven or hell, Eva Steinberg follows instructions. I’m ready. I’m bracing. I’m waiting. Pre-death is feeling peaceful, smoother, as if—

I crack an eye and realize the plane has leveled off. What the…?

Hope hangs in the tension-filled air, everyone frozen, as if moving a muscle will break the spell.

The wheels touch the ground like the tarmac is made of butter. We decelerate at a pleasant pace before coming to a gentle stop. Claps and cheers roar out.

So I’m not going to die.

“Dammit,” I mumble under my breath. I just told my BFF that I want to kiss his face off. This is bad. Very bad! Feverishly, I type “bro” to West and add a tongue-hanging-out emoji to kick in some extra friend-zone vibes. Why did I send that text?

I shouldn’t panic. I mean, friends tell friends they want to kiss each other all the time, right?

2

Hug Re-Do

EVA

It takes forever to deplane, but once we do, a crowd behind the corded rope at baggage claim anxiously awaits the arrival of their lucky-to-be-alive loved ones. No one is picking me up, so I need to bust through the bodies and book an Uber. But I’m trapped behind a crowd who’s laughing and pointing at someone holding a sign that says, Stay calm, I brought Imodium.

I smile. That’s exactly like the antics West would do, and I miss that. But then I squint and… holy crap.

That is West.

My stomach drops, and I need another hit of my inhaler. This time, I can’t blame turbulence because I’m standing on solid ground.

West looks different, better. Definitely better. He’s ditched the glasses, his hair is gelled in a funky style, and he’s way more muscular and fit. The dimpled, million-watt smile he’s flashing is all him.

And that ridiculous sign is for me.

West is here… and making a diarrhea joke. So he got my text? Oh, God! And that’s just like him—his sense of humor is off-the-wall. He loves making an ass of himself—and me—in public for shits and giggles. No pun intended.

According to Paige’s wedding itinerary, West is supposed to be getting ready for his golf game with the groom this afternoon, but he came to pick me up anyway. He’s so sweet.

Does this mean we’re past the weirdness? I laugh nervously and say, “You’re such a bonehead.”

The text.

Should I pretend I didn’t send it? Or say I don’t remember sending it because I was in a state of panic? Tell him it was a joke?

As I approach him, he runs a hand through his wavy brown hair. I can’t get over how different he looks since I saw him last, but I’m glad he’s still wearing his standard vintage T-shirt and indigo jeans, which isn’t a fashion statement. He dressed like that long before it was en vogue. West isn’t like the guys I grew up with. He listens to the beat of his own drum and doesn’t follow everyone else, even after taking shit for it. Riley, West’s cousin and one of my best friends, told me all about how West landed a software engineering job on his own merit, not because his father pulled strings. Unlike mine, who told me where I was going—Columbia, his alma mater—then helped me get in and damn near walked me to the door. I was happy to escape New York so my dad could only mildly puppeteer my life.

Tanned and all smiles, West seems happy. Maybe he’s glad about the text? Or what if he’s trying to let me down easy? He’d never be rude.

But look at his face, that smile. He’s here to pick me up…with that ridiculous sign! God, I’ve missed this guy. Apparently, staring down my own fragile mortality has made it worse. By West’s expression, he’s missed me too. I mean, come on.

The text.

We’re now face to face, and West shifts on his feet. “Hey. A little birdie who wears muumuus and chants to the moon might’ve told me what time your flight was coming.”

He’s talking about my ex-stepmom, Skye, knower of everything. “I’ll have to thank her because this is awesome.” I blow out a whoosh of air. “And, phew, I’m alive.” I study his expression to see if he knows what I’m talking about. He looks confused, so maybe he didn’t get the text? I say, “You came to pick me up. Thank you.”

“Of course. Paige was going to send a driver, so Skye and I volunteered to come. We figured you wouldn’t be up for small talk with a random dude after flying.”

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