Page 1 of The Runaway Bride of Blitzen Bay (Blitzen Bay)

Chapter One

NOELLE

December 20

Los Angeles, California

“What time does your mom get in?”

Lola looks at me as she sinks deeper into Downward Dog. She’s been my yoga partner for almost a year. We get to class early, so we can grab the skinny part of the room that only fits two mats. For us, it’s as much a social hour as it is a yoga class. We need our privacy.

“In one hour, twelve minutes, and about eighteen seconds,” I say as I transition into Child’s Pose. “I guess my prayers for a national ban on flying weren’t answered.”

It’s Thursday. I’m getting married Saturday. Mom’s coming in today to be ‘hands-on’ with the wedding preparation. Although she planned most of it from Georgia with very little input from me, she still feels like she needs to be here early to ensure every one of her commands is carried out perfectly.

“Are you picking her up at the airport?” Lola’s long braids block her face as she tries to look at me under her arm.

“Yeah. She doesn’t do Uber. She’s convinced the driver will kidnap her.”

Lola snorts. Our yoga instructor shushes her from across the room. “Your mom gets crazier with every detail you tell me about her.”

“You have no idea.” I sigh and then look over to make sure our instructor didn’t hear me. “I wish you were coming to the wedding. I need your calm energy there.”

“Sorry, babe. Howard would kill me if I missed his parents’ fiftieth-anniversary party.”

“But you hate his parents,” I whine. “You love me.”

“I do love you, but I love Howie more. You’ll see when you’re married. It’s a lot of compromising.” She reaches over and puts her hand on top of mine. “Did you call the Buddhist monk I told you about? Maybe he could add some Zen to the day.”

“Lo, really?” I roll my eyes at her. “Steve’s family is Catholic and mine is Southern Baptist. That’s enough of a clash already. If I invite a Buddhist, I think the room would self-combust.”

“Maybe that would be good. Then you could elope like I’ve been telling you to do for months. Your parents are way too involved. It stresses me out and I’m not even going to the wedding.”

“We’re both only children. Our parents haven’t stopped being ‘way too involved’ since we were born. We decided to let them go crazy for the wedding and then decompress on our honeymoon.”

“Okay,” she says, biting her lip. “It’s just—you’ve established your own way of living these last four years. Don’t let them come into town and blow everything up. I understand not wanting to fight with them, but you have to establish boundaries. It’s your wedding and more importantly, it’s your life. Let them know early what your boundaries are and then reinforce them with steel because they’re going to keep trying to bust through them for the rest of your life if you don’t.”

“I understand,” I say, nodding. “I’m not letting anyone bust up this little Mecca we’ve created. As soon as they leave, we’re back to being Southern California hippies.”

“Is that what you think you are? A hippie?” She laughs as she falls out of her pose and rolls over on her back. “You’re a country club girl from Atlanta who’s spent four years at UCLA—one of the most expensive public schools in the country.”

“Okay, okay. I’m an aspiring hippie. I want to be like you one day.”

“Really? You want to be broke?”

“I want to be happy and peaceful like you and Howie.”

She smiles as she takes my hand again. “We are that. I hope you and Steve are as happy as we are. Just remember, the two of you are a team and your team comes first. Don’t let anyone separate that nucleus—including your parents.”

“We’ll be fine once they leave and it’s just us. I promise.”

“All right,” she says, closing her eyes. “Here’s my best advice: program your phone to play soothing music once an hour. When the music starts, close your eyes and take a few deep breaths. It’s how I get through weekends with my in-laws. Every time the alarm goes off, I know I’m an hour closer to freedom.”

“It’s worth a try.” I take a cleansing breath as our instructor announces Shavasana. As he turns the lights off, I lie on my back and close my eyes. This is usually the most relaxing part of the hour, but today, my mind’s racing.

As if normal wedding stress wasn’t enough, it’s only five days before Christmas. I begged Steve to wait until next year to get married, but he wanted to set the date for right after we graduated, and my mom agreed with him. They never agree on anything, so when it happened, I gave in and let them pick the date. I’ve regretted it every day since.

My mom hates Christmas. She acts like she likes it. Actually, she acts like she loves it, but no one could treat Christmas the way she does without absolutely hating it. From the time she drops the last miniature-sized Snickers into a Halloween bag to when the clock strikes midnight on New Year’s Eve, Christmas is her job. And she’s going to do that job better than anyone has ever done it—every year for the rest of her life—until it kills her.

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