Page 8 of Fighting

“River said that if he knows, then you get to know. So now I told you. Okay?” I roll my head against the wall and sigh. “This means he can leave me alone with the wholehe’s over keeping secretsthing.”

In fairness to River, he did just unburden a pretty big one from Lily’s ex-husband. Holding onto a secret for ten years would make me hate them too.

“But you are going to tell Delia and Stef too, right?” Her eyes widen in a silent plea.

“Yes, but later. It’s Stef’s wedding day. Can you text your man? Let him know you know?”

She pulls out her phone, taps out a text, then looks up at me. “Done.” As she slips her phone back into the pocket of her black joggers, she steps over to the in-bathroom sink. Wet washcloth in hand, she wipes the sweat from my brow.

“Let’s get some carbs in you. Maybe some electrolytes?”

It’s so weird, the way our roles have reversed.

There’s a light knock on the door, and Delia slides inside, giving a soft smile. “I forgot how little you’ve been drinking these days. I should have stopped you sooner. But…” Her lips tick upon one side. “It seemed like you were having fun. You okay? What can I do?”

My upchuck reflexes kick back in, and I turn to say hello to the porcelain gods. Lily holds my hair and rubs circles on my back while instructing Delia to go down to the lobby for medicine and a sports drink.

Delia holds up the oversized tote I hauled up here with me. “No need. Knowing Nessa, there’s a hangover kit in here. Which of the many little bags in here is designated for a situation like this?”

“The bright pink one,” I groan as I wipe my mouth with the washcloth.

“Hang tight.” She digs through the bag, pulling out cubes for sewing kits, headaches, bumps and bruises, and extra cards for gifts in the event that someone forgets. “Good lord, Nessa. What do you have in case of a nuclear attack?”

“That’s the shiny one,” I joke. “Zombie apocalypse is neon green.” I hang my head and heave a sigh. “Fuck it.” Glasses on again, I pull my shoulders back. “Don’t tell Stef because today’s not about me, but?—”

The door creaks open, cutting off my confession, and the bride-to-be appears.

“Don’t tell Stef what? That you and Matty drunk giggled at the bar, then stumbled into his room together? Or what happened after that?” she says, one brow arched.

All I can do is blink at her.

She huffs. “I’m a middle school teacher who’s marrying another teacher. You think we don’t notice things?”

Shrugging, I say, “Welp, now River doesn’t have to whine about keeping it a secret, I guess. We can discuss this another time. Like never. Now go relax.” I wave a dismissive hand. “Today is for you. It’s your wedding day.”

“True, and I also have no interest in hearing about my brother’s sex life. Just, please tell me you know what you’re getting into with him.” Her tone is sweet, but her mouth is turned down in a concerned frown. “I love him, but he’s an idiot. I don’t think he takes anything seriously.”

My head pounds, making it hard to keep up with the conversation.

“I don’t want her to get her hopes up,” Delia says. “Caleb really messed with her head. I don’t want to see her heart get broken again.”

“Please, we don’t use the devil’s name,” I say, eyes closed. “As for your brother, I want to take a bath in bleach, then drink it. This will not be happening again.” Head lowered into my hands, I tune them out and wait for the room to stop spinning.

“Fucking flawless.”I nod, looking one last time at the work Delia did to make it look like I slept. “Damn, girl. When are you quitting your job at the bar? You need to do hair and makeup professionally. You have talent.”

“As soon as the Salvatores are willing to hire me, I guess? I won’t compete with the mob,” she teases.

We huddle together with bouquets in hand—tiny sprays of white roses to complement Stef’s dress. Her larger bouquet is full of blues and purples that coordinate perfectly with our dusty blue dresses, each a different cut to flatter our individual figures.

Thank god she didn’t force me to wear something more fitting for Delia’s tall, lithe figure or Lily’s toned feminine curves.

The bride’s American style ballgown is gorgeous, but her Maria Clara terno—the traditional Filipino sleeved bolero—is the star of the show.

In minutes, she’ll head down the aisle to Lee Carter, a dead ringer for her teen TV crush. The four of us stand together for the last time as a group of single women.

I soak in the moment, so appreciative of the love these friends show me.

Stef’s tan skin, the same golden-brown shade as her brothers, causes my mind to flash back to last night. But I shake the image away, determined to be present in this moment. Her deep brown eyes glow with soft tears, her hand in mine, with Delia’s and Lily’s joining. Somewhere in the distance, a slight click suggests the cameras are capturing our huddle.

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