A Toast to Starry Nights (35 page)

With precision of movement, Jet closed
the laptop and looked at me. “Um, yes, you could say I kissed him. And stuff.”

Oh. Em. Gee.

“But you hated him... Screamed at him!
Explain this to me because I am so totally not understanding this wishy-washy
attitude from you concerning Wiley. His apology couldn't have been that good.”

“How generous of you to plagiarize my
own words.”

“It's apt.”

“Look, I fucked the guy, okay? We ran
away from your engagement party to bone each other like mad. It was awesome,
and not going to happen again. He and I have an understanding. That's all you
need to know.”

I couldn't resist making Jet a little
more flustered. Sometimes, I swear she rubs off on me. “So are you sure you
weren't picking those wedding magazines up with Wiley in mind? You make a
striking couple. All handcuffs and tattoos.”

Jet went full on body flush. “Grow up a
little, Kaylis. We talked and bonded.”

“Bonded at the hip and lip.” It took
much effort not to smile.

“Fuck you, Kaykay.
Whoop-dee-doo,
Jet got some. Now the peasants can fucking rejoice, yea, oh merrily, yea.”

I couldn't resist laughing. “It's not
often that I can get you worked up. Forgive me for enjoying this minor
victory.”

“Seriously Kaylis, I would appreciate
you not mentioning this to Dmitri. Or anyone. It was a one-time thing with
him.” Jet's massive feline, Humperdink, made his appearance. The cat worked
himself up onto the top of a wing-back chair and began his purring.

”What did Master Humperdink think of
Wiley?” This infamous cat happened to be protective of his human counterpart.
Once, defecating in the shoe of one ex, pissing on the leather jacket of
another. Half-Manx, half skunk, Humperdink came equipped with his own brand of
Mustard Gas, which has been deployed twice on Dmitri, when he stroked the cat's
fur in the wrong direction. According to Dmitri, the resting cat got up, turned
around so his ass was in my hunny's face and then deployed the stink bomb with
a twitch of his bunny butt.

That cat is Jet's baby, her one and
only, and any man interested in her best make friends with the kitty. They are
a package deal, no exceptions.

“At least he didn't blow a scented kiss
in Wiley's face. But Humphrey-Sweetie-Kins was all loving on him. Had to kick
the cat out of the bedroom because he'd snuggle between us.“

“Wow.“ My perception in reality took a
drastic beating between brain rape and Jet revealing she a) hooked up with
Wiley, when I was almost positive her anger and dislike of him shone like a
star going supernova in the night sky and b) her cat who hates men tolerated
the man who probably smelled like his dog. And that thought had me on a
tangent. “Wiley came back for his truck and dog. Did he go home after that?”

“Nope.”

My jaw dropped.

“Shut your mouth, Kaylis. You look like
a nimrod.”

“My mind is just dancing in wonderment
at the thought of his dog and your cat being cozy with one another, in the same
way you two were.”

“The dog chilled on the floor and my
sweetie-beetie-keettykins was atop his throne, like he is now. No blood or
flying fur.” Every time Jet referenced her cat, her tone would revert to one
reserved for infants. It's kinda funny, in a way, especially coming from her.

“Why only once? You let Wiley
grudge-fuck you?”

“No. I felt bad for him.”

Again with the cold water shock of how
she operates. “Oh, so it was a pity fuck.”

“Can we change the topic from my bedroom
adventure back to your wedding? By the way, we left because we didn't want to
screw in your house and have someone walk in on us.”

“I want to know this, why?”

“It wasn't planned. We messed up the
party already. Last thing your engagement party needed was a big reveal behind
door number two.”

Oh. Okay then.

“So thank you for not having a sex show
at my house. Much appreciated. Glad you guys 'made up' from your prior
argument. Yay team estrogen. Back to non-sex adventures. Attire and invites
done. What else?” Oh, we won't talk about it now, but it'll be fodder in the
future.

After picking up the notebook, Jet said,
“What about the reception?”

“If it's on Halloween, I'm loving the
idea of Venetian Carnival Masques. Kinda like a freaky Halloween Ball, give or
take the dancing.”

“That sounds interesting. What kind of
grubbage?”

“Wine and cheese. Nothing heavy if it's
after midnight.”

“And if it's not a Halloween festivity?
What's your contingency plan?”

“I'm down for a backyard barbeque.”

“All or nothing, then?”

“Not really. To be honest, I'm looking
forward to the marriage, not the wedding. The more I think about it, the less
important the wedding seems-- it's only one day in a lifetime together with
someone. I'd give up that expectation of a grand white wedding that society
says I need to fixate on, and just relish the marriage itself. I'd trade in the
fancy wedding if it were a guarantee of a long life of contentment with him.”

“That's not an option. You've put me in
charge of your wedding, and by the Honor of Greyskull, you will be married amid
festivity. After your wedding night, you can go ahead and revel in your new
status of wifey and hubby. But there will be festivities, oh yes.” Green eyes
gleamed with scheming.

“Is that a threat?”

“Fuck no. It's a promise.”

I smiled. “I really appreciate you
taking over the planning of such things. It's like I have two constant thoughts
in my mind... the past life thing and how thinking about it makes me not want
to have a wedding.”

“Don't phrase it to Dmitri like that, he
may think you're against marriage with him in general.”

“I don't like this mixed feeling. Yay,
he and I together. Boo, wedding day trepidation.” Maybe a couple days of
mellowing out will remove the permanent yucky feeling stewing in my brain.

“Yeah, well, do what you have to in
order to process that shit. Then have your wedding. It's just a day to
celebrate your mutual affection, publicly. Not like you're going to be flogged
or hung from a gallows.”

No. But it feels like it. The more I
think about Ona's marriage, the more I am hesitant about my own nuptials. Not
even married one day before her world fell apart. In one regard, it's profound.
On the other hand, it's upsetting.

And then the more worked up I get
because I shouldn't feel this way because I'm
not
living Ona's life, her
fate isn't mine.... I should be all giggly and trying on dresses by now. More
resolute about what it is I want. Instead, I wished it was already over and
done with and things go back to normal – aka not wedding related. I am
perfectly comfortable with how things are between Dmitri and I, domestically.
What if getting married changes that dynamic? I mean, it shouldn't... but what
if?

Deep breath. “Okay, Jet. I've come to a
huge decision. Since you know how my tastes run, I'm leaving you full on
Charles in Charge of this all. Tell me what you need from me, and make it so.
Your hands are much more capable than mine of planning this out.” Without
inciting panic attacks, that is. “Get what info you need from Dmitri. And
provided it doesn't involve Star Trek extras, I'm down for it. Do what you
will. Please keep in mind that his parents will be there and they have not met
me yet... so nothing mortifying.”

“I'm appalled you think I'd stoop to
such antics on one of the most important days of your life where cameras will
be present to document my awesome taste in planning the aesthetics of said
day.”

“You are fond of saying you are mean.
Generally, I take what you say at face value because of that personality perk.
However, you are also known to take things past an acceptable line when the
mood strikes, thus I'm asking for a full-on brake check before you get all mad scientist
with the wedding.”

“Can I borrow your elbow length black
rubber gloves for this?”

“You plan on digging that deep?”

“Not really. But knowing you and how
stubborn you get, there'll be plenty of mud to be avoided from those heels of
yours digging in. I have a manicure to protect, after all.”

“If you really need the gloves, they are
yours. But you have to use protective eye wear with them. It's the rules.”

“Rules, schmooles. I'll give you a
badass wedding. You just get over your aversion to reciting vows, and it'll all
be kosher. So, this Halloween, or next? Because we've got enough time to make
it this year.”

My heart began to beat fast. This year
or next? Might as well treat it like ripping a band-aid off a wound. Just get
it over and done with. “This year.” It's the middle of July right now. That's a
little over three months. Could it be done? If anyone could pull off an awesome
miracle, it'd be the Great Jetnia.

“This year. Okay. I need measurements.
Yours and your cousin's. I need to order the dresses a-sap. And you are
seriously okay with whatever venue I choose?”

“Provided it isn't open to the public
for gawking, is safe for walking in heels and can be decorated tastefully, then
yes. I will be fine with what you choose. If in doubt, hound Dmitri about it.”
He's more into wedding planning than I am, anyhow.

“Full disclosure time, I'm going to rope
your mom into helping.”

“Please make sure nothing reeks of pot
smoke.”

“Very well. Hey, wait a minute, I'm
going to go grab something.” Jet handed me the laptop and skipped up the
staircase across the room. I could hear her footfalls above me, then the slam
of a door or drawer. Then the pitter-patter of her feet coming back down the
stairs. She stopped at the bottom step and held a tape measure in her hand as a
prize. “Stand up. Let's measure you now. Then measure me. Oh! Before that, text
Nita, have her get measured, and tell her not to measure herself. It won't be
accurate if she does.”

I whipped out my cell to pass on Jet's
message, then stood up so my Maid of Honor could wrap her tape around me.

“Okay, your basics are 38-30-43. Let's
see what specific measurements we need for that dress.” She went back to the
laptop and pulled up the website again. After a moment, she came back, measured
my height and added two inches to account for the heels I'd wear. Then another
measurement, this one from the hollow of my throat to the floor. Easy peasy.

We switched places, and I took Jet's
measurements. “32-26-32. That's a legitimate hourglass figure, isn't it?”

“Damn skippy, it is. If I thought I
could pull off a more hoochie dress, I would. So I'll settle for showing off my
legs. I may order the hem an inch or three too short, though.”

“Nothing mortifying, please.” My cell
phone chimed with a message from Nita. “Okay, have her measurements now.” I
forwarded the text to Jet's phone.

“It's already eight o'clock... any other
topics we need to cover before I head home?” I have a journal I need to taint
with things I'd rather not think about.

“I need to work on the venue, but once I
get that figured out, I will order whatever invites you guys choose. Actually,
I'll do both the invites and just remove the one you don't want from the
shopping cart. It'll be faster that way.” Jet tucked the pen she held behind
her ear. “Ummmm... no I don't think there's any other things to discuss, aside
from guest list. You will do that much, else I go by who your mother invites.”

“Now that's a dire threat. Aye aye,
captain.” I saluted her. “I will obey.”

“So... you are totally okay with that dress?”

“Yep. Love it.”

“Okay. Now go home and flash your man
some tits. And by tits, I mean invitations. After he picks one, I want to know
as soon as possible. Then the rest of the evening is yours to do what you crazy
kids will do.”

“Kicking me out already? Gonna give
Wiley a booty call as soon as I drive off?” I teased.

“I won't say you are a bitch, Kaylis...
but your catty claws do make an appearance from time to time.”

“Just messin' with you. So rarely do I
get to make you all fidgety.”

“I know. I deserve it too. Means my
corruption of your once pure soul is complete. Muh hahahaha! This is so 'Luke,
you are my son,' ya know.”

Humperdink raised his head and meowed in
reply.

“That's kinda neat and creepy at the
same time.” I gestured to the cat. “I realize you have long, drawn out
conversations with Mr. McFuzzlekins when no one is around, but does he reply
all the time like that?”

“My sweetie-mister-Humperdinky-doodles
and I understand each other, don't we, honey-cat?”

Again, the twenty-something pound feline
trilled a reply that sounded like it could almost be a sentence.

“I'll take that as a yes.” I reached
over and petted the tailless wonder. “He's a super soft kit-cat for certain.”

“And he loves his mommy.” I could feel
the cat's rumbling purr intensify beneath my hand.