1
“Crap,”Olive St. Claire mumbled under her breath as she leaned over trying to reach the bottom of her bag. Her fingertips grazed the device that was vibrating. She shifted her weight and was finally able to grasp it and pull it out. Her unearned sense of victory was slightly dampened when she saw who was calling. She took a deep breath before answering, “Hey, how’s—"
“Where are you?!” Rasha cut off her best friend’s greeting. Her accusatory tone made it clear that she had a pretty good idea of exactly where her bestie was.
Liv glanced out the windshield at the bucolic scenery. It was a stark difference from the crowded cityscape she’d left four hours before. All she could see were rolling green pastures, trees blowing in the wind, bright blue skies dotted with fluffy white clouds.
“I’m in the car.”
“What car? Your car has a boot.”
It was true, Liv’s car did have a boot. It had been put there by the city due to unpaid parking tickets. For the most part she was a good, upstanding citizen who paid her fines, but this past year, money had been tight due to medical expenses and those parking tickets hadn’t made the cut.
“I’m in the Chevy.”
Liv rarely drove her grandad’s ’57 Chevy Bel Air Coupe, but desperate times and all that. It was a classic and his pride and joy. He’d spent years restoring and upgrading it. Most of the work he’d done she didn’t understand, but the two things she was grateful for were the air conditioning and power steering. Especially considering the several-hour trip she’d taken in the middle of July.
“Please tell me you are not going where I think you’re going!” her friend’s voice bellowed through the speakerphone.
“I am not going where you think I’m going,” Liv responded even though she was pretty sure the request was rhetorical.
“Please, please, please tell me you are not going to your see-you-next-Tuesday cousin’s wedding.”
The corners of Liv’s mouth tilted in a grin. If that sentence had come out of her friend’s mouth two years ago, she would not have used the euphemism for the derogatory slang word. But now that Rasha was a mom to Tierra, a very verbal three-year-old and she was attempting what Liv would have thought was the impossible; keeping her language G, or at least PG, rated.
“I am not going to Bridgette’s wedding,” she replied to Rasha’s request.
The line was quiet for a moment before Liv heard a long, dramatic sigh of resignation. “You’re going to that effing wedding, aren’t you?” Rasha stated flatly.
“Yes,” Liv admitted.
“Why, Liv? Why would you subject yourself to that?”
“She’s my cousin.”
“She’s also a witch with a b in front of it.”
Liv could not argue that point. Bridgette was a bitch. But growing up as an only child, she was also the closest thing Liv had to a sister. And even more importantly, Liv loved her Aunt Faye and Uncle Gene and she didn’t want them to think that she was upset about the not-so-traditional circumstances of their daughter’s nuptials.
“Bitchette"—Rasha used the not-so-clever nickname that she’d given Liv’s cousin when they were in middle school—“stole your wedding and now you’re going to attend as if nothing happened?”
When Liv’s fiancé dumped her six months ago, her cousin swooped in and took advantage of the cancelations by booking Liv’s venue, photographer, caterer, wedding planner, and baker. Oh, and she’d even purchased her wedding dress off of eBay.
“We were supposed to go out tonight. I got a sitter. I had a whole thing planned for us,” Rasha whined.
“This is the first I’m hearing about any plans.”
“That’s because I was going to kidnap you for your single lady party.”
“Single lady party?”
“Yes,” Rasha confirmed. “Instead of your bachelorette party, we’re celebrating your independence.”
“Soooo, you just didn’t cancel my bachelorette?” Liv concluded.
“Have you ever known me to cancel a party?”
Touché.