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Eden
“You did bring them,didn’t you?” Kate says.
“Yes. Of course!”
“Something old, something new?” she says. “Something borrowed, something blue?”
I nod and smile. When she told me this was my sole responsibility for her wedding, I thought she was joking. Apparently not. “They’re in my car,” I say, “I’ll just go and grab them.”
Kate frowns. “Okay.”
We’ve been friends so long, she can always tell when I’m lying. The only thing to do is keep talking and turn the attention back on her.
“Don’t worry,” I say, hugging her. “You’re just nervous, that’s all. It’s your big day. It’s understandable.”
“But, I’m not nervous,” she says, smiling from ear to ear. “I’m excited. I’m marrying the man of my dreams. I can’t wait to stand up there and say my vows.”
Bitch.
I pat her head, lost for words. Why do I have to be best friends with the only bride in the world who doesn’t feel nervous before her wedding?
Yeah, her fiancé is a total dreamboat and any woman in their right mind would be over the moon to marry him. But does that give her the right to be so damn happy?
“You just wait here,” I say, “let me take care of everything. Put your feet up. Try to relax. You don’t want to mess up your hair.”
Immediately, she starts to pat her head and check for imperfections in the mirror.
Before she has a chance to say another word, I sneak out the door.
The ceremony starts in under an hour. I don’t know where the heck I’m going to find all these stupid, superstitious trinkets.
There’s a Big Mac wrapper in my car that’s been there for at least a week.
Does that count?
Technically it’s borrowed and old. Two birds with one stone. But I’m not sure Kate will see it that way.
“Fuck.”
I walk outside the church and look around for someone who can help me.
Kate’s fiancé grew up in a small town called Big Crow Springs. So obviously, that’s where they’re getting married.
Unfortunately, it means there isn’t a decent store for miles.
In fact, the only thing I can see is a bunch of trucks and trees and a large group of people standing around chatting and laughing and wearing their Sunday best.
An old man waves at me. I could ask him. But I spoke to him earlier and his eyes were glued on my chest the whole time.
It wasn’t the worst conversation I’ve ever had. In fact, it was kind of nice to receive a bit of male attention for a change, even it was from a wrinkly old man with tobacco stains in his beard and hardly any teeth.
But the thought of getting in a car with him or even spending any time alone with him sends a shiver down my spine.
He’ll probably end up brushing his arm against my breasts. Squeezing my ass. Calling me doll, or sweetcheeks.
I’d rather face the wrath of an angry bride than go through that.
