STACY: *GIF of old lady dancing in the kitchen*
June: *GIF of a couple French kissing*
STACY: Hey, do you have my green jumper? I need it for the honeymoon.
June: Why? You don’t need clothes on your honeymoon.
STACY: June…bring the jumper. You’ve had it for like six months.
June: CRACKLE CRACKLE CRACKLE. Bad service. Can’t hear you. Sorry!!
Stacy’s out of her mind if she thinks she’s ever getting that jumper back. My phone buzzes again, but it’s not Stacy this time.
Ryan: Want to get an early lunch later before we have to go to the church?
I throw my phone on my bed and avoid it for the next ten minutes. I brush my teeth. I throw on my running clothes and tennis shoes. I tie my hair in a ponytail and fill up my water bottle, all while avoiding the phone on my bed at all cost. I’m Frodo Baggins, though, because I swear I can hear that thing calling for me from the other room even though the volume is not on.
By now, I’ve formulated a very eloquent piece of literature in my brain, explaining all the reasons why I can’t go with him to lunch. It centers around my heart and my hurts and my fears. I lay it all out in a way that will help Ryan see and understand me better.
And then when that thought scares me too much, I shoot him this little gem.
June: Can’t. Sorry.
He doesn’t respond. And I jog for twice as long as I normally would, forcing myself to go until my lungs squeeze as painfully as my heart at the thought of losing Ryan again.
—
It’s go time.
I expect “Eye of the Tiger” to start playing when I step into the bridal suite at the church, loaded down with all the essentials for a best friend’s wedding day. There’s a box of Darlin’ Donuts in my hand, a bottle of white wine under my arm, a portable steamer draped over my shoulder, and a pair of new fluffy white house slippers in my other hand for Stacy to wear through the day. Right now, I am the epitome of what every bride wants in a maid of honor.
I am prepared to risk my life to keep away anyone Stacy does not want to see on her special day.
I will bodycheck Great-aunt Mildred if she comes within twenty feet of Stacy with her overpowering hibiscus perfume and cheek-pinching fingers. And I plan on telling Logan’s bratty younger sister that the bridal suite is on the opposite end of the church from where it really is.
Most importantly, I will not let Ryan enter my thoughts even once during the hours leading up to the ceremony. Not once. None at all. Nada. SHOOT, I’m picturing him shirtless with his James Dean smile and lifeguard hair.
But not again.
“IT’S YOUR WEDDING DAY!” I yell as soon as I kick the door open and step into the bridal suite, finding my best friend lounging on the couch in her adorable white silk robe.
Stacy’s pretty blue eyes light up, and she jumps onto a chair, raises her glass of champagne into the air, and repeats my battle cry. “IT’S MY WEDDING DAY!” We will paint our faces in the traditional wedding war paint of soft-pink lips, smoky eyes, and softly penciled-in brows.
The rest of the bridal party hoots and hollers, and it’s then that I realize the bottle of wine under my arm was not at all necessary. I should have brought coffee instead. Empty shot glasses are lying haphazardly around the room, and these wild bridesmaids are hammered already. How? I thought I was early!
Stacy notices my concerned look and crinkles her nose, hops down from the chair, and comes to help me unload my wedding day ammunition. “Yeah, they apparently got here at, like, eight o’clock this morning and have been partying this whole time.”
“You’re kidding.”
She shakes her head. “Drunk as skunks.”
I immediately start making my way around the room and extracting the various alcoholic beverages from everyone’s hands. They are wearing pink silk robes, and because of the way they are all gaping open, I wonder why they even bothered putting them on in the first place.
Stacy’s expression says she regrets having these girls in her wedding party. She’s barely seen them since graduating from college but thought it would be a nice idea to have her old sorority sisters stand up with her on her wedding day. Now, it looks like they’ll be doing well to be able to stand on their feet at all.
They all groan and call me eighteen different versions of Fun Sucker when I confiscate their beverages, but I don’t care. My goal is to protect Stacy today, and if that means babysitting seven drunk party girls all day, then so be it.
We’re going to need reinforcements, though. As much as I don’t want to, I know what I have to do. Or rather, who I have to text.
June: Hi. Sooooo any chance you don’t hate me too much and would be willing to bring copious amounts of coffee up to the church? I have seven sorority sisters to sober up in five hours.
I wait for a response, not entirely expecting one, but then my phone buzzes.
Ryan: You damn well know I don’t hate you. I’ll be there in a few minutes.
My heart flutters, and I tell it to chill out.
“Coffee is on the way,” I say to Stacy, hoping to ease the worry lines from around her eyes a little.
She wraps me up in one of her famous hugs that I will miss more than the green jumper I brought to stuff in her luggage. “Thanks, Junie.”
I squeeze her back and tell my tear ducts they better get themselves under control because there is no time for meltdowns.
“Oh! I have something for you.” She lets go of me to reach into an oversize tote bag, pulling out a manila envelope. I secretly hope it’s a scrapbook filled with all our best memories, but I don’t tell her because I’m cool and supposed to think scrapbooks are corny. Disappointment floods me when I open it and find a stack of businessy-looking papers.
She taps the envelope, and all the sounds of the rowdy room fade away. “These are all the offers for the bakery. They all seem like good candidates, but I’m leaving it completely up to you to choose since you’re the one who will be stuck with them.”
“And because you’ll be in Mexico for the next two weeks before moving to California.”
