A Thin Line (9 page)

Thousands of women on the verge of becoming Mrs. Somebody, plus the accompanying required entourage, have converged upon the downtown Hyatt Regency, practically frothing at the mouth at the display of decadence that could be applied to the wedding of their dreams. Dresses–bride, bridesmaid and mother of the bride, tuxes, flowers, invitations, and decorations from regal and understated to comically overblown are packed into 3,000 square feet of event space.

Morgan intends to walk every inch of it, clutching a binder that we lovingly refer to as The Wedding Bible. This book is sacred. All of her notes, business cards, quotes, ideas, random thoughts like
I think my colors should be blush and bashful
go into the Bible. 

We start at one end of a room that looks like Barbie's wedding on speed and move slowly from table to table, collecting cards and samples, checking out wedding couture fashion shows, looking at invitation designers. I glance around, slightly dizzy from the view and realize I am clearly in the wrong business.

Halfway through the room, we are toting cute bags full of swag and our feet are aching. We take a seat in the refreshment area and I buy us each a Coke.

"Are you getting good ideas?" I pop the top on my can of soda and slurp down a mouthful. I want to moan at how refreshing it is after talking for an hour.

She nods, opening her can as well but daintily sipping.  "A few. I don't want it to be overdone, you know? Enough to be classy and fun but not too much."

"I would never let you have a wedding that was too much."

Morgan beams a smile at me as she sips her drink. "That's why I had to have you as my Maid of Honor."

"Oh really? Cause I'm so skilled at wedding planning? Not the fact that you're my oldest friend?"

"I'm not your oldest friend. Preston is. But good luck dragging him to one of these things right?"

I roll my eyes at the mention of Preston. I can't go a day without someone bringing him up. "He'd spend the whole time telling everyone we're the happy couple and trying to get free stuff."

We chuckle and sip and people watch –frantic brides barking orders and trailing assistants dragging bags and taking notes.

"I never told you that you did a good job smoothing things over with him."

I nod. "Yep. I can grovel with the best of them."

"I didn't mean for you to have to grovel. Whatever you said worked like a charm."

"I said we needed to get this done or you were going to call him every day and cry."

She laughs. Then stops. "Wait. You didn't really say that, did you?"

I glare. "Like you wouldn't. You dramatic, cunty bitch."

Morgan shrugs a shoulder and sips her can of Coke, her eyebrows lifted in an innocent arch. "I would do what I had to do," she finally says. "Including calling him and crying. It worked on you."

I cut my eyes at her, twisting my lips in a scowl. "I'm onto you. And so is Preston. We know what you guys are doing."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Morgan suddenly finds the new additions to the Bible to be really interesting. She opens it, flipping through pages she already knows by heart and studying the brochures and cards we've picked up.

"It won't work, Morgan."

"Mmmmm...." She hums, flipping pages. "We'll see."

"That's what I'm saying. We won't see. We both know you and Nate are trying to force us back together. Don't you think we'll try extra hard to not fall in love again?"

She snickers, and then says, "You looked nice getting out of his car when ya'll showed up at brunch."

I huff a sharp breath and down the rest of my Coke. In my vigor, I spill half of it down the front of my shirt, which was a pristine white until now. I'm pissed. She laughs.

I grab a napkin from the steel holder at the next table and dab at the caramel colored mess decorating my chest. "Would you look at this shit? I’m a slob."

"You could buy one of those t-shirts I see people wearing." She points at girls walking around with shirts that have quirky sayings like
‘Bride to Be'
and
‘Because I'm the Bride, That's Why'
.  I groan, imagining myself flitting about that room looking like a ridiculously giddy woman on the way down the aisle. I consider the alternative while staring down at the dark spot on my chest.

"Let's go look at them. I can't take this."

I spend the rest of the day in a t-shirt that says
BrideZilla, BITCH!
  I'm actually amused by it.

***

I forget about the t-shirt fiasco until I run into Preston at Prime later that evening. "Something we need to talk about? We could do a double wedding, you know. Nate's paying."

"Don't even joke about that," I say to him, before waving the waitress down. She takes my order, Morgan's order and asks if anyone needs a refill. Preston orders a Stella. I lean toward him and mutter under my breath. "Where's Stripper Name Girl tonight?"

"Jade.” He straightens to full height and sweeps his eyes across the darkening bar. "I don't know. Not working tonight, I guess."

He rolls the nearly empty bottle between two hands and then begins to peel the wrapper away. The paper gathers in a pile on the table.

My left eyebrow lifts curiously. "You guess?"

"Yeah, I guess. I don't keep tabs on her."

"Oh.” I nod, holding back a laugh.  “Okay."

"Where's your boyfriend tonight? In a drawer somewhere?”

"Hahaha. Very funny, Mr. Reid."

The waitress comes by with a tray and drops Preston's beer, Nate's Southern Comfort, Morgan's Shiraz and my favorite drink at Prime, a Redhead in Bed, made with strawberries and vodka.

"I think I’m a pretty funny guy," he says, and taking a few long gulps as I sip my drink and savor the sweet, fruity flavor.

“Let me know when to start laughing.”

Morgan and Nate are across the table watching us. From their expressions, I can tell they don't know if we're fighting or playing around.  

"You didn't think we were going to be syrupy sweet to each other, did you?"

Morgan doesn't say anything, just takes a dainty sip of her drink.  Nate seems amused but doesn't say a word either.

"We're getting along," Preston says. "Aren't we?" He elbows me as I bring the drink to my lips. I just miss getting a very berry drink spilled all over myself.

"We were until you couldn't keep your elbows to yourself. I already ruined one change of clothing today."

"Sorry about that. I'd buy you another shirt."

"No thanks. Anything you buy will be see-through and low cut."

He grins at Nate, who can't help but grin back. "What can I say? I'm a man."

"You're a pig."

"Guilty. Let's stop flirting before these two freak out."

"You first," I say, taking another gulp of my drink and setting it down. "What did you guys do today? I bet it doesn't top wedding-palooza."

"We had a tee time at 9:30," says Nate. "Played eighteen holes." He glances at Preston, who nods. "Had lunch at the Marina."

"They have a new waitress. I think she needs my phone number." I bite my lip to keep from commenting.

"Guys have it easy when it comes to weddings,” Morgan grumbles.  “Did you do anything I asked you to do?"

"We went to the tux shop," Preston says. "We picked out some nice stuff."

"Do I get to see what the
stuff
looks like?" Nate and Preston's idea of nice and our idea of nice could be on separate continents.

Nate coos at her, gathering her to him and giving her a sweet kiss on her temple. "Don't worry about it, baby," he says. "We worked with the manager. He said we were the most handsome guys he's ever seen."

He pauses and looks at Preston with one eye narrowed. "Hey, he wouldn't lie to get our business, would he?"

"Nah," says Preston, gulping more of his beer. He sets the bottle down and adds, "I mean, probably not. We wanted the purple crushed velvet, right?"

"With the Crown Royal logo down the sleeve? And the leopard print lapel? I thought that looked great on you, man."

"It's a bold choice, but I believe in making a statement in wedding fashion."

"You guys are hysterical," Morgan says.

"Aren't we?" Preston pushes back from the table and stands. "Got to go drain the snake. Want to come help?"

I don't give him the benefit of even looking at him.  "You'd better be talking to Nate."

"Worth a shot." He ambles away from the table. I watch him work his way around the room and down the hall to the restrooms.

"So you two are getting along pretty well," Nate remarks.

"We're doing the best we can."

"I noticed you rode with him to the brunch. That’s a good sign."

"A good sign that he manhandled his way into giving me a ride."

“Okay, but–”

“But nothing. Please don't get your hopes up. We both know that you guys think this is going to be a romantic catalyst and maybe if we didn't have a deep, dark past–"

"Maybe the deep dark past doesn't need to be so deep. Or dark," Morgan says. "Is it really that big of a deal? You two should... lighten up."

I dip my head, carefully considering my words. These are my oldest, best friends who have no idea what they're meddling in. I raise my head and strengthen my resolve. "I think you guys need to let me and Preston live like we need to live to get through life. I think you guys don't understand the situation. You think it’s petty bickering, but it’s not.

"And you should know that Preston and I agreed that we're taking you up on your offer that we never have to see each other again after your wedding. So whatever you think is going to happen? It isn't. And if this is the only reason you're getting married, you might want to reconsider. It's a lot of money to spend, to gamble on something that's not going to happen."

Morgan's eyes are wide and wet with tears. Nate stares, slack jawed but hasn't said a word. Preston takes that moment to come back to the table and drops into his seat. Sensing discomfort, he asks, "What? What's up?"

I reach for my purse, which I'd hung on the back of my chair when I came in. I sling it over my shoulder as I stand. "I have to go. I have some work I've been avoiding. And I want to take off this t-shirt. People keep giving me thumbs up."

I wind my way through the crowd and exit the bar into the parking lot. I'm almost at my car when I hear my name. I stop and turn around to face Preston, who is jogging across the pavement toward me.

"So, real quick," he says, panting from that short run.  "You're still hurt behind what happened a lifetime ago, and you think you're being the bigger person by being nice to me, and not that I don't appreciate it, but you're not doing this for me. You're doing this for them."

He points toward the building and the bright purple and indigo blue fluorescent sign. "We're happy for them. We're enduring each other for them. Morgan gets her dream wedding, right? That's the speech you gave me?"

I fold my arms across my chest and glare up at him. "Yeah. So?"

"So, how about you let go of your shitty attitude and try to keep the politics between us away from them. You didn't have to tell them about our agreement. We could have kept that between us."

"Preston, you saw them! They're giddy that you drove me to brunch a few weeks ago. They see everything as a sign that we're getting back together."

"So what! Let them have their fantasy. Won't they eventually pick up that it isn't going to happen?"

"Let's see... we broke up in high school. They haven't picked it up so far, have they? They're still holding a flame. Also? It's not only
their
fantasy, is it?"

He stands in front of me, hands on his hips. "What are you talking about?"

"They aren't the only ones that want us to get back together. You would love that, wouldn't you?"

“Girl…” Preston rolls his eyes and begins to laugh. A long, hearty, but sarcastic laugh. "If I wanted you back, I would have you back."

"Boy... same here."

We reach an impasse, casing each other in the parking lot like an animal with its prey. I break my gaze and step backward, toward my car.

"I'd love to stand here and stare at you all night, but I have shit to do.

"Angie...wait." I reach my car and shove the key into the lock. I lift the handle, swinging the driver side door open. Preston steps between me and the door. "Evangeline."

"What, Preston?”

"All I wanted to say is... I want to spare their feelings.  You're still hurt and still mad and I get that. But it was almost twenty years ago and you need to let it go. Fuck, whatever, but your best friend is in there in tears. You didn't have to do that to her so you can stay hurt."

I glare at him, sending red hot lasers from my eyes to his. Eventually he gets the point, and with a frustrated puff of air from his lips, he backs off, unblocking entry to my car.  I step forward but am interrupted by a shrill triple ring. I recognize it as the ring I assigned to my mother.