Page 98 of Make Me Want it Too

The morning sun streams in through the wall of windows overlooking the east lawn. The room is filled with round tables covered in white and peach table clothes. Bunches of white and pink flowers are shoved in every corner, on the tables, and around the buffet table—which is abounding with every breakfast food imaginable, complete with an ice sculpture.

Two swans wander across the grass.

I was initially relieved that Spencer, Margot, and their parents were seated at another table. We’re sitting with Bex, Jake, Livvy, and Noah. And Bex’s parents. Her very divorced parents.

This may be worse.

There hasn’t been a polite word between them all morning.

I focus on my plate, poking at my scrambled eggs and breaking off pieces of my blueberry muffin, and try to tune them out. I already ate all my bacon.

“It makes just as much sense that I should walk her down the aisle,” Bex’s mother says, her eyelids peeled back.

“Stop getting emotional. It’s already been decided.” Bex’s father is gripping the fork in his meaty hand so tight he might bend it in half.

“You left before the divorce was even finalized and hardly had anything to do with her after that. A birthday card, a Christmas present in the mail—sometimes. You certainly weren’t around for the hard years. When Rebecca was sneaking out of the house in the middle of the night to do god-knows-what and getting expelled from school.”

Bex chugs her mimosa.

“Well, I’m still her father. And it’s tradition that the father walks the bride down the aisle.”

“It’s also tradition that the bride’s family pays for the wedding, but I didn’t see you stepping up to contribute to her day.”

“She’s marrying into a rich family. They ought to have paid for it anyway. What do I look like, I’m made of money?”

Wood slips two slices of bacon to my plate.

Jake chimes in, looking between his future in-laws with pleading eyes. “Maybe you two could both walk her down the aisle? It’s a pretty common thing nowadays.”

“Absolutely not,” her father says.

Bex tips her head back, draining every last drop of her mimosa then slams the empty glass down on the table. “How about neither of you walk with me. I’ll just walk myself down the aisle and we can stop pretending that either of you gave a shit about me growing up or give a shit about me now.”

“Rebecca!” Her mother gasps, her hand going to her chest.

Bex stands, her chair screeching against the tile floor, and rushes out of the room, the clicks of her heels echoing through the now silent sunroom as everyone watches.

Jake looks around with a pained smile. “Everything’s fine. You know how stressed brides can be on their wedding day.” He lowers his voice as he slides in his chair and reassures her parents and his mother, who has marched herself over as well. “I’ll go talk to her.”

Wood moves on to his pancakes.

“This is just like you, Richard. Always so selfish and stubborn. Making everything about you. You’ve ruined the day for me.” Bex’s mother gets up from the table, almost taking the tablecloth with her, and leaves in a huff.

Mr. Bishop throws down his napkin, every part of his face not covered in beard a cherry red. “If I’m not walking her down the aisle, why the hell did I even fly all the way out here for?”

“How about to see your daughter get married and support her?” Noah says dryly.

Livvy’s dad turns to her, somehow even redder. “You, young lady, I expected better than this from you.” He points at Noah. “If you two get married, don’t bother sending an invite. I won’t be there.”

Livvy looks pale.

“No worries Mr. B,” Noah chimes in. His expression is neutral, almost smiling, but his arm around the back of Livvy’s chair is flexed, hand fisted. “We’ll probably just run off and elope without telling anyone.”

Mr. Bishop’s eyes narrow, bushy eyebrows surely impeding on his vision, almost shaking with rage.

Noah sits up straighter, easily having several inches on him. Calm. Not looking away.

I sip my mimosa. Wood lays a warm hand on my leg under the table and gives a gentle squeeze.

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