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For fuck’s sake. Just lift your glass and say congratulations. That’s it. It doesn’t have to be elaborate.
My self-talk never works. I don’t know why I still try it. Habit, I guess. All of those pep talks from friends and family and teachers and counselors trying to help me over my “stage fright”.
But this isn’t just stage fright. And this does have to be elaborate. This is my sister. It’s her wedding. I’m her maid of honor. And she wants me to say something meaningful. And I’m going to speak after Charlie, her matron of honor, does. Articulate, charming Charlie, who always says the perfect thing.
Perfect, wonderful Charlie, who did not make me do a toast at her wedding.
Maybe I can go first. I can just do the obligatory I love you, congratulations and then Charlie can take over and no one will remember what I said. Or didn’t say.
I wrote a speech. It’s pretty great. Writing things isn’t my problem.
But I can not make a speech in front of a roomful of people. Period.
I grip the metal railing that runs down the side of the three cement steps and breathe deep.
What am I going to do?
“Abigail.”
I freeze.
What?
No. It can’t be.
Oh, no.
No, no, no.
But I know that voice. That deep, smooth voice, with just a touch of an Irish accent that gets thicker when he’s being flirtatious.
Not out here of all places.
I’d carefully scanned the church pews for him earlier. I’d seen his name on the guest list lying on my mother’s kitchen table about a month ago. I’d been shocked by the way my heart had tripped just reading his name on a piece of paper. I’d felt butterflies in the last few days thinking about seeing him again.
And then…I hadn’t. Torin O’Grady had not been at the wedding.
I’d been disappointed. And a bit relieved.
But now…he’s here.
Out here. During the worst time for me to be around anyone.
“Abigail?”
I feel him move closer.
“Are you okay?”
So, very not okay.
“I’m…uh….”
I haven’t turned around. I’ve got a death grip on the railing and my eyes closed and I’m working hard on not bolting down these steps, across the street, up to the bedroom on the second floor of my grandmother’s house, and under the covers on the bed.
I feel his hand on my upper arm, and I suck in a breath.
“Abigail?”
