“Gretchen! I knew I’d see you here.” Her voice drawing closer snaps me out of my thoughts.
Shoulders squared and tear ducts in check, I meet her gaze.
“Alexis,” I say flatly before unabashedly pinning Connor with a stare, his face stricken with confusion. I look back to my former best friend. “It’s my brother’s wedding, it’d be a shock if I wasn’t here.”
She knew exactly what she was doing by coming here. Alexis Adams may play dumb for attention, but she’s not stupid. She plots. She schemes. She conspires. And she doesn’t do anything by accident.
Be it desperation to not look weak or the need to compete with my friend-turned-enemy for dominance, I cross my arms, pop out one hip and let my thigh-high slit have its shining moment. What she did hurt me, but I’ve refused to let it break me.
Connor steps forward on cautious feet. “You guys know each other?”
“Duh!” She throws a look to Connor and then back at me, those familiar green eyes out for blood. “We graduated together.”
The sour look on Connor’s face is my cue to exit because I’m not in the mood to explain my history with Alexis Adams. I never used her name and I may have glossed over the specifics, but he already knows the bird’s eye view of what happened in my last semester of high school because I told him. Iconfidedin him.
“You said you were twenty-one,” Connor says and I hold back my nasty retort. Alexis lying about her age is not the least bit surprising.
With that, I excuse myself and march toward my mom who’s greeting guests at the entrance.
Mom notices my approach. “Did I see Alexis Adams pass through here?”
I take in a deep, leveling breath. I am unaffected. If only my heart and my face could get the message. “Yeah, Connor brought her. I guess they met somewhere in town a while back.”
Mom’s lips fall into a grim line. “You never did tell me what happened between you two, but for what it’s worth, I never much cared for the girl.”
Before I can stop it, a tear falls. People press in all around and I drop my chin to my chest to hide the emotion rushing to the surface. Mom hauls me into her chest. I cry for reasons she doesn’t understand, but she holds me anyway.
Stepping back, I swipe under my eyes. “Dammit. I need to fix my mascara.”
She digs through her clutch and offers me her room key. “Ceremony starts in twenty minutes. Go upstairs, cry, breathe, do whatever you need to do. I’ll be right here when you get back.”
I couldn’t tellyou what song was playing when Drew and Reagan were pronounced man and wife.
I couldn’t tell you what Connor said in his best man speech or what I ate for dinner or what flavor the cake was.
I’ve plastered on so many fake smiles, I couldn’t begin to count them.
What I can tell you is how many times I’ve left Mom’s side: zero.
How many times my traitorous eyes drifted to the head table where Alexis’ hands were all over Connor in one obscene way or another: seventeen.
How many votive candles are on this table: six.
I can say with confidence that a three-hundred guest wedding reception makes it easy to hide, but it doesn’t make it any easier to breathe.
It’s not all terrible—there are glimpses of fun, like polaroids capturing moments in time. Drew and I dancing wildly to Walk on the Moon’s “Shut Up and Dance” like we did when we were kids. Dad spinning me on the dance floor to “My Girl” right after the cake was cut. Taking a turn in the photo booth with my grandparents.
I’m in a mad dash to my mom on my way back from the bathroom, when Mav steps into my path. “Hey, Mav. You having fun?” My smile is forced but he doesn’t notice for how loud I have to speak to be heard over the music.
He leans in close, nearly shouting, “Obviously, my little Drew got married! What I would love, though, is if you would dance with me.”
He pulls back, rueful grin on display, as the song changes to something slow and soft. I arch a brow. “Did you plan that?”
I see the appeal in the boyish smile that spreads over his face—Mav isn’t bad to look at. He’s loud, boisterous, a total goofball, and so not my type, but I recognize that irresistible charm thing he has going for him.
He smirks. “I really wish I could take credit for that, but no.” He holds out a hand. “What do you say?”
My eyes bounce from his hand to his face. I see no harm in dancing with the guy, but it’s fun to make him squirm a bit.
