Page 22 of Honor

“Paris, France?” I question back as we start a slow trek down the sidewalk.

I’m not sure where in the city Lottie lives, so I’m heading in the direction I need to go to my apartment in Murray Hill.

My limited sleep last night is starting to catch up to me. I’m craving some quiet time in bed for at least the next eight hours.

“Yes,” she answers with a smile. “Have you been?”

“No,” I say honestly and tack on an extra tidbit of information so she doesn’t waste another second of her time asking about other cities I’ve never been to. “The only place I’ve traveled to is Australia. My mom and I went when I graduated college. It was a gift from her and my dad. We had the best time.”

“Australia is phenomenal.” Her smile widens. “So, you have a passport that’s current?”

“For another few years.” I laugh. “I’m sure it’ll expire before I need it again.”

As we slow at the corner to wait for the walk light to change, she brushes her hand against mine. “You might need it sooner than you think.”

I glance at her. “My mom and dad work full-time, and my sister is busy with her family. I’m not the type of person who likes to travel alone, although I guess it could be something I challenge myself with…”

“Come to Paris with me,” she interrupts.

My eyes go wide. “What?”

“I have an appointment next weekend in Paris at a bridal boutique,” she says, ignoring the fact that my jaw must be hanging open. “I’m going to pick a wedding dress. I want you to go with me.”

“Why?” I ask without thinking.

Her smile fades. “This is going to sound bizarre, Evie, and I get that it’s coming out of left field. We only met today, but would you consider being my maid of honor?”

“Your maid of honor?” I repeat, unsure if I heard her correctly.

We’re virtual strangers. I didn’t know her when I got out of bed this morning.

“I don’t have any real friends.” She sighs deeply. “I’m an only child. I don’t even have a cousin I can call on for this. There’s literally no one to take on the role.”

Emotions tug at me as I listen to her. I don’t really know her, but I recognize loneliness when I hear and see it.

“Do you think your mom will want to do it?” I ask softly, even though I know it’s not traditional.

To me, that’s one of the best things about weddings. The bride and groom can make their own rules about every aspect of the ceremony, including who they choose to stand next to them when they marry the person they love.

The best man at my sister’s wedding was the groom’s uncle.

“No,” she answers decisively. “When I told my parents I’m getting married, my mom said it was too quick, and there’s no way he’s the right guy for me.”

Since I have no idea how long she’s known her fiancé, I don’t have an opinion on that, but in my experience, moms are often spot on when it comes to their intuition about matters of the heart.

“My dad is taking her side on this.” She takes a deep breath. “I hope one day they’ll see I’m making the right choice.”

For her sake, I hope they do, too.

“Randall has two sisters,” she says. “I met them briefly. They were each other’s maids of honor, and both said they’d never do it again, so I haven’t asked either of them.”

Still unsure how to respond to any of it, I motion that it’s safe to cross the street since the light has changed.

She seamlessly falls in step beside me. “I feel there’s potential for us to be friends, Evie. I get that it’s wild that I’m asking you to be my maid of honor, but you can run a background check on me if you want.”

I laugh while I seriously contemplate doing just that.

“It might be fun to go to Paris together for the weekend,” she continues trying to sell me on the benefits of agreeing to this as we stroll down the sidewalk. “I could use help with other things,too. Randall has seen enough cakes in his life that he refuses to help me choose a wedding cake.”

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