Page 131 of Hate You, Maybe
“Late,” I say. “I know. I’m leaving right now.” I slide my jacket from the hanger and grab my keys.
“I probably won’t be able to talk to you until the reception,” she warns. “I’ll be busy with my mom before then. Maid of honor and all.”
“Then I’ll be extra ready for that first dance with you,” I tell her. “And Sayla?”
“What?”
“You look absolutely stunning.”
She lets out a giggle. “You haven’t even seen me yet.”
“Call it a hunch.”
I’m just climbing into my truck when Larry Wilford calls. No offense to my well-intentioned boss, but he’s the last person I want to talk to on any Saturday night, let alone the first one over winter break. In fact, Sayla could make one of her famous lists of all the people whose calls I’d be willing to take, and Wilford wouldn’t make the top one hundred. So I let the call go to voicemail. I’ll deal with work later.
On time is late.
At The Clumsy Goat, I follow the signs through the main dining area into a large room at the far end of the restaurant. There’s a stage at the back with a flower arch and a podium. Some guests are already seated facing the stage in rows of chairs split down the center by a red-carpet aisle. Round tables fill the rest of the space. They’re decorated with white tablecloths, gleaming place settings, and festive Christmas centerpieces. For the reception, we’ll be moving the chairs back around the tables to make room for dancing. For now, though, I take a seat in the last row and check my phone.
The ceremony won’t start for several more minutes, and I don’t know a soul here. Well, I know Sayla. And I’ve met Eugene and Colleen twice. But I won’t get to hang out with them until the reception. For a guy who’s used to being friends with almost everyone else in the room, this is a new experience for me. And I won’t lie, it’s a little awkward. So I open my voicemail as a distraction.
I’m not actually going to play Wilford’s message out loud. That would be rude in these last minutes before the wedding. But I can read the transcript.
Hello, Dexter. Larry Wilford, here. I know this is your first weekend of winter break, but I have some big news you’re going to want to hear. I wish I could tell you in person, but school won’t be back in sessionfor two weeks, and I didn’t want to wait. You and Sayla must have some kind of guardian angel looking out for you, because Dr. Dewey just called to say Stony Peak High received a large donation from an anonymous donor specifically earmarked for renovations on the gym and theater. When we add that to the insurance settlement, we can afford everything on the wish lists for both projects, and we don’t even need the FRIG. Heh heh heh. Actually, scratch that. The more money, the more good we can do. So we still need the FRIG. The theater needs the FRIG. The gym needs the FRIG. I love the FRIG. Please forget that I keep saying FRIG. Okay. Bye now.
Chapter Forty-Two
Sayla
“Have you seen my date?” Dexter comes up behind me, wrapping his arms around my body. I spin around to face him, looking up into his dark eyes.
“Maybe.” I flutter my lashes. “What does she look like?”
His lips curve. “She’s a beautiful blonde with sparkling eyes and a killer smile. She’s also incredibly smart, and kind, and generous. Just an overall superior human being.” He glances around the room. “I thought she might be around here somewhere, dressed like a sexy elf. Think you could help me out?”
I take a step back, and he twirls me around, admiring the view. In lieu of the elf costume my mom originally proposed, I’m wearing a floor-length dress in emerald satin with a plunging back. As for Dex, he’s in a dark tailored suit in an athletic cut, naturally. His hair is just the right amount of mussed. Beard recently trimmed. And he smells like expensive cologne.
“You know what? You’re pretty cute.” I arch a brow. “I’ll be your date.”
“Nice.” He offers me a dapper bow. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
Resting his hand at the small of my back, he sweeps me out onto the dance floor. My mom’s already there with Eugene, swaying to “The Lady in Red.” The two of them sidle up next to Dex and me, and the four of us dance side by side for the rest of the song.
I can’t remember ever being happier.
Not that life is perfect. Nothing is ever one hundred percent blemish-free. But as of today, Colleen Kroft is married for the first (and hopefully only) time, and I honestly think she and Eugene might just be the lids for each other's pots.
Then there’s the fact that plans for our new theater are already underway, and the whole school’s excited about the prospect. I even have a couple of football players who claim they want to try out for the spring musical. Since the theater probably won’t be ready yet, we’ll repeat the routine we established for the fall play and use the auditorium at city hall. You can add this to my Nothing’s Perfect list. But improvisation has always been a part of theater life. And these days, I’m leaning into spontaneity.
Dexter pulls me in close, swaying with me to the music. “So how was it?” he asks. “Being a maid of honor, I mean.”
“This is my first time in a wedding party,” I tell him, as he glides me across the floor. “I’ve never even been a bridesmaid before. I was supposed to be Loren’s maid of honor but …”
“Yeah. Right.”
That’s another number on my Nothing’s Perfect list.
Still, Loren’s finally getting over the worst of the heartbreak, and I think she’s going to be all right. Oreos and ice cream help a lot. So doesnotwatchingThe Proposal.
