Page 18 of The Runaway Bride of Blitzen Bay (Blitzen Bay)

I turn around to see Stevie’s mom, Bitzy, charging across the room to me. She has on a shiny gold dress that would be too short on a toddler. The neckline plunges well below her very augmented chest. She looks like she’s at a Las Vegas club instead of her son’s wedding. She flips her long bleached hair behind her as she throws her body into mine. Her arms wrap too tightly around me as she rubs her cheek against my chest. She always was uncomfortably touchy.

“Mrs. Walker,” I say as I pat her back a few times.

She takes one more squeeze and then pushes me back. “Let me take a look at you. Oh, still as handsome as ever. I thought you might have a crew cut since you just got out of the army, but look how long your hair is, and with the beard, you look downright dangerous.”

She reaches up to touch my beard, but I intercept and squeeze her hand while I gently lower it. “It’s nice to see you, ma’am. Congratulations on the big day. My mom told me Stevie got a good one.”

She puts both of her hands around her mouth like she’s forming a megaphone and whispers, “Well, between me and you, I think she’s the one getting the catch. You know how the girls flock around Steve. He’s always had his pick of the litter, but then you know what that’s like. I’m sure you still have women falling at your feet.”

“I do okay,” I say, trying my best to smile. “Is Mr. Walker around? I’d like to say hi to him.”

“Oh, who knows where he is? He’s always off doing business somewhere. You’d think at his son’s wedding, he could put down the phone for ten minutes, but no, there he is over there with it stuck to his ear.” She flings her arms toward her newly located husband and then winks at me. “Well sweetie, you better find a seat. I’ll find you at the reception. You owe me a dance.”

She pats my butt as she walks away. I’m definitely leaving before that dance has a chance to happen. I’m not even sure I’m going to make it to the reception.

I see a group of people I went to high school with sitting on the left side of the aisle, so I duck my head and head over to the far right side. I take a seat next to an older couple who look like they won’t want to talk. I glance at my watch—still thirty-five minutes until the wedding starts. I curse myself silently for arriving so early.

I think about leaving again. I wait for my brain to resist, but this time, it doesn’t put up much of a fight. I feel like it’s telling me ‘Almost. Not quite, but it’s almost time to go. Get ready.’ I start shifting in my seat like a starter gun’s about to go off. I’m ready to leave, brain, whenever you are. Just give me the signal.

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