Page 62 of Aisle Come Back to You

“Sort of.” She shrugs as she seems to carefully figure out how to answer my question, which honestly can’t be a good sign. This shouldn’t be one of those things you have to think about. “I mean, we have fun. He loves to golf, and taught me how, so usually on weekends we do that, or occasionally we meet with his college buddies for dinner or barbecues,” she adds, her voice an octave too high as she tries to assure me.

I wrinkle my nose, but quickly stop once I realize what I’m doing. Sure, dinner with friends sounds like fun, but what aboutherfriends? What about doing the thingsshelikes to do?

“What about going out dancing like we did the other night? What about going to nearby towns to see art exhibits or visit museums? What about going to concerts?” I can’t help but push, since those were all the things we did together that I know without a doubt bring her actual joy.

“Well, no, not together, but I can do those things on my own, or with Ford, or obviously with you whenever you come to visit, so it’s really not that big of a deal.” She shrugs before taking what looks like a much-needed sip of her wine, and I’m not too sure if she’s trying to convince me or herself.

“But you go golfing with him?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. “What does he do with you that you want to do?”

“Blair,” she whines, tossing her head back as it falls against the couch before she moves to set her glass on the coffee table. “I don’t get why you’re making this into some big thing. I like golfing. It’s fun, or at least it’s not as bad as I thought it’d be. Is it my activity of choice? Of course not, but there are worse ways to spend your time.”

“I’m sorry,” I apologize, and I mean it. “I’m not trying to ruin this for you,” I say, lifting my leg on the couch as I tuck it underneath me and angle my body to face her. “I want tomorrow to be the best day possible, if not the best day of your life, but I’m worried. You deserve everything, and as your best friend and platonic soulmate, I sort of feel like it’s not only my responsibility but also my duty to make sure your husband is the best one in the entire world and is going to take care of you in the way that you deserve.”

“He is going to take care of me. He takes care of me now,” she assures me. “I mean, look at the house I’m going to be moving into. It’s stunning, right?”

“It is a beautiful house,” I agree with a nod. “But as of right now, it doesn’t even feel like something that’s yours. It’s missing something, and it doesn’t feel like you at all.”

She rolls her eyes. “Of course it doesn’t. I haven’t even moved in yet. His family is one of those super old-fashioned ones who thought it best that we wait until after we get married to move in together.”

“So when you move your stuff out of your place, he’s going to let you decorate and add your flair to things?” I ask, especially since being here, in her apartment, it has a completely different and warm feel than his cold and sterile house. While her lease may have prohibited her from painting the walls, which are currently a light gray, the room we’re in is a vivid explosion of color. It’s not only the artwork that catches your eye, but also the attention to detail in the furnishings and decorations. Everything is colorful and unique, even down to the yellow couch that we’re currently snuggled up on with an orange fluffy blanket draped over us.

“Come on Blair,” she says, tilting her head to the side as she lets out a breath of air. “Of course I’m going to be adding my flair to things. Obviously we’re going to keep most of his furniture and decorations since they’re already there and he already paid a professional stylist to come in, but it’s not like I’m going to be getting rid of my stuff or putting it all in storage. I’m allowed to bring some of it with me.”

I hate the way my mouth falls open, especially as my eyes soften. I hate this for her. “You’re having to get rid of your stuff? And he got a stylist? Are you serious? Look at your place, Ronnie,” I say, motioning around the room. “You’re an artist and a visionary. Your entire apartment looks like a Pinterest board with a style that most people would kill for. Why didn’t he ask you to decorate it, especially when you’re going to be living there, too?”

Ronnie pushes up from the couch. “Why are you doing this?”

“I told you. Because I care about you, and honestly, I’m worried,” I confess as I move forward to the edge of the couch.

“Well, stop worrying. I’m fine,” she snaps, folding her arms.

I purse my lips together as I do my best to center myself. I still have so much to say, but maybe she’s right. This is her life, and her decisions and as much as I want her to see things from my point of view, in the end, it really is her choice and her choice alone to make. It’s not like I ever let her make my decisions; if she had, I never would’ve left Evergreen Grove in the first place.

“I’m sorry,” I apologize again. Standing up, I wrap my arms around her and pull her close. It takes a few moments, but she eventually relaxes and returns the hug, unfolding her arms to fully embrace me back. “I’m done, and I mean it this time,” I say, pulling back enough to look at her so she can see the sincerity in my face. “Especially since I’m pretty sure as your best friend and maid of honor it’s also my responsibility to make sure you’re happy, and if you’re telling me you truly are, then who am I to say otherwise?”

She attempts to smile, even if it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Thank you, because as much as I appreciate your concern, I’ve got this. I know what I’m doing, and I need you to trust that I know what’s right for me.”

“You’re one hundred percent right,” I agree. “Plus,” I say, glancing back toward the television that’s still playingMy Best Friend’s Wedding, “we’re missing the juicy stuff.” I nod just as the ring gets stuck on Julia’s finger.

“Actually,” she begins, stepping back as she reaches down for her glass. “I think I might head to bed.”

“Oh,” I say, slightly taken aback, especially since it’s only ten o’clock and we’ve barely made it through the assortment of candy and treats spread out across her coffee table.

“Yeah, it’s getting late, and I’m starting to get tired, and since tomorrow is going to be a busy day, I should probably get my beauty rest.”

“Yeah, of course.” I nod vigorously. Obviously I’d love it if we did what we used to do in the past when we stayed up way too late watching movies and giggling endlessly, but I can understand the need to want to wake up ready and refreshed for one of the biggest days of her life. “We’re okay, though, right?” I clarify. The last thing I want is for her to feel like she needs to get away from me. “Because I meant it. No more talking about that kind of stuff. I’m done.”

“Of course we’re good. We’re always going to be good. You’re my best friend, Blair, and you always will be,” she assures me. “And hey, feel free to stay up watching movies, especially since we never even made it toBride Wars.”

“Yeah, okay.” I nod once more as I watch her retreat to the kitchen where she puts her glass in the sink. “And hey,” I call one last time as she turns around to look at me. “You’re going to make the most beautiful bride in the world, and I can’t wait to celebrate with you.”

“Thanks, Blair.” She weakly smiles before heading into her bedroom and shutting the door behind her.

Turning back toward the television, I reach for my wine and down the rest of it. Unfortunately, I have a feeling she’s right. Tomorrow is going to be a long day, and while I’m still trying to be supportive, I can’t shake the feeling of inevitability that it’s going to be so damn hard having to watch my best friend marry someone who isn’t right for her. Pete West is not the man for Veronica Prescott, and now more than ever, I know that’s true.

33

Ford

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