CHAPTER ONE
“Sara, where are you?” Aimee snapped her fingers and waved a hand in front of my face
“Huh?” I blinked in surprise at being caught, distracted, meeting her eyes in the mirror. I stopped picking little bits of baby’s breath off the bouquet in my lap, wiping them off the satin of my dress and onto the carpeted floor. “What? I’m here. Right here.”
Where are you? That was the question.
Where are you, Dale Diamond?
“Liar.” Aimee gave her a knowing smirk. “He’ll be here. He promised.”
“I wasn’t even thinking about Dale,” I lied.
Of course he’d promised. I’d talked to him on the phone late last night. He was already supposed to be in my arms by then, but there had been more excuses.
I know, I know, but they had us booked to tape some show and there was nothing I could do. I’ll catch the redeye. Don’t worry, sweetheart, I promise. I’ll be home tomorrow.
“I was thinking about you.” I changed the subject, getting up from my perch on the edge of the counter, putting my bouquet down—pink roses, white ribbons and baby’s breath—to join Aimee in front of the full length mirror where she stood in her wedding gown like something out of a fairy tale. “I still can’t believe you’re actually getting married.”
“More like finally!” Aimee rolled her eyes, leaning in to check her make-up. “I’ve only been planning for two years!”
“I know, I know.” I laughed. “I was the one who helped you pick out the dress, remember?”
“Gorgeous isn’t it?” Aimee sighed happily, eyes shining, as she ran her hands down the ivory satin brocade front of her gown. “What will Matt think when he sees me?”
Of course Matt hadn’t seen her in her wedding gown, according to tradition. He was somewhere in the church with his bridegrooms, probably already starting in on the night’s drinking, just to take the edge off the nerves.
“He’s going to think he’s the luckiest man in the world.” I leaned over and let my lips lightly brush my best friend’s cheek, not wanting to leave a trace of lipstick or gloss. “And he is.”
Aimee sniffed, her eyes welling up and mine did too and then we were both hugging and laughing and crying a little, digging in our little clutches for Kleenex.
“Okay you two, break it up!” Wendy insisted as she slipped into the room. Carrie followed, not far behind. They were both wearing the same dress I had on—blush satin, ruched bodice, full skirts that swept the floor when they walked. “There’s no crying before the wedding pictures!”
I felt my heart sink when I saw the two of them—not that I didn’t love them both dearly. Next to Aimee, they had become my closest friends since we’d all managed to finally graduate from Iselin Academy, an alternative school for “non-traditional students.” The latter just meant we were dropouts, for various reasons, and had to do our time. We’d all managed to put in our hours and get our GEDs. Aimee called us the “four musketeers.” No, it wasn’t that I didn’t want to see Wendy and Carrie—it was that I’d been hoping it would be Dale.
Aimee’s eyes brightened when the door opened, meeting Carrie’s dark, heavily made-up eyes. She still managed to look a little punk, even though she’d dyed all the pink streaks out of her hair and it was piled up in short pin-curls on top of her head. Wendy, too, had cleaned up for the wedding, her longer dark hair pulled back and up into a gorgeous, intricate bun, tendrils trailing down beside her pretty, round face. They both looked like goddesses sailing in, fresh and bright with their flower bouquets clutched in their hands.
“Is it time?” Aimee’s shiny blue eyes widened. It was the first time I thought she looked really nervous.
“Not quite.” Wendy threw herself ungracefully into one of the chairs, tossing her bouquet onto the counter. “They’re still directing people to sides—his and hers.”
“Think if we got married, it would be hers and hers?” Carrie put her bouquet next to Wendy’s, edging up to sit on the edge of the counter where I had been seated moments before.
Wendy gave a short bark of a laugh. “We couldn’t get married in Vegas, let alone in a Catholic church. They’d burn it to the ground first.”
“Catholics are stupid.” I made a face, glancing at Aimee. “No offense.”
“Matt’s the Catholic, not me.” Aimee tucked her Kleenex back into her little satin clutch. “I just converted for the wine.”
“You mean my mom is the Catholic,” Carrie interjected. Matt was her older brother, one of five—Carrie was the lone girl, and her very strict, Catholic mother had no idea her only daughter was a lesbian. “Unless it’s blessed by a priest, it didn’t happen.”
“Oh it’s happening.” Aimee leaned in to the mirror, rubbing a finger under one eye, getting rid of a slight mascara smudge. “I’m marrying your brother and we’re going to live happily ever after.”
“Someone’s gotta live the fairy tale.” Wendy grinned. “Do you have something for all your superstitions? Old, new, borrowed, blue?”
“Of course!” Aimee scoffed. “I’ve got all the bases covered.”
Aimee proceeded to show Wendy how she intended to assure her happily ever after by appeasing some ridiculous superstition with handkerchiefs, jewelry and garters.