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After finding her fiancé with his mouth on the best man minutes before her wedding, June is in need of a drink. And maybe a few orgasms from the hunky football player occupying the bar to make her forget her horrible day. Can Prince Charming pull out all the stops or will his Cinderella disappear forever?
For the readers who don’t know their worth
One
June
“Umm, June. We have a slight problem,” Poppy says in a soft voice.
“What do you mean?” I turn around, the ridiculous layers upon layers of white tulle swishing around my legs.
With a huff, I try to smooth the skirt down to no avail. Poppy was the one who fell in love with this damn dress, not me. I tried it on as a joke, but then she was all, Oh, June, you look like a fairy princess.
Maybe if you dipped Cinderella in a vat of glittery white cotton candy. I look like something a clown threw up after a three-day sugar binge. But Poppy was going through chemo at the time, and I’d have done anything to put a smile on her face. After all, she’s not only my sister, she’s my best friend. So I bought the fluffiest wedding dress in existence.
“Well…” She twists her hands in front of her frilly candy pink dress—another Poppy pick. She’s digging at her French manicure which is never a good sign, and she’s already chewed the lipstick off her lower lip.
I feel like she’s stalling because she doesn’t want me to panic, but on the inside things are already going haywire. Did Uncle Frank decide to have an early sample of the wedding cake like he did at our cousin Muriel’s wedding? Were the live flowers homing a colony of bees that are now attacking the guests? Is my mom drunk already? She’s probably drunk and yelling at my dad aka her ex-husband. Oh, fuck… Wait. Can I think the word ‘fuck’ in a church? Fuck, I should have learned all the Catholic rules. Shit, I thought it again. Shit, now I’m thinking ‘shit,’ too.
I’m getting married in a church because it makes Paul’s family happy, and now I’m going to get… smited?...is that the word?... all because my mother-in- law wanted a church wedding for her little boy.
“Poppy, you’re freaking me out. What is it?”
“Paul’s missing.”
“What?” I shriek.
Poppy looks at the ground. The ceiling. Around the small church bridal suite. Everywhere but back at me. “According to Teddy,” that’s her idiot of a boyfriend, “Paul ran off as soon as he got his tux on and no one’s seen him since.”
“What?” I repeat, this time whipping around the room—opening drawers, digging through my bags, glancing in the trash—looking for… Well, I don’t exactly know what I’m looking for since my phone and my purse were taken away and put who knows where. A sheet. A bag. A pillowcase. An old Halloween mask. There was one I had of Bill Clinton I bought for a party a few years ago. I know, not exactly helpful right now. I need to hide my face. Or my whole body. Or do I? If you can’t find the groom does it even matter if he’s not supposed to see me before the wedding?
Oh, God. What if he decided he doesn’t want to get married to me? What if he just left? My mom would love that. She’s always been against the institution of marriage. And love. And happiness in general.
Crap on a cracker, here I am thinking about my mom when I should be focused on Paul. I hope he’s okay. And if he’s not okay, I’m gonna slap him for scaring everyone. Paul doesn’t cause drama, he’s not an attention seeker. He doesn’t get excited about… well, anything. He’s just Paul. Which I know makes him sound like a glorified cat, but he’s always been there for me. He’s been my rock all the way through college, and we love each other. I love him.
Poppy grabs my arms and swivels me around to face her, keeping me from emptying the trash can like a rabid—but also sparkly—raccoon. “I need you to stop, June. Take a breath.” She inhales dramatically. “Now let it out.”
“I know how to breathe.”
“Of course you do. I need you to calm your fucking tits before you jump on the crazy train and take it all the way to Brentwood Sanitorium. What are you looking for? I don’t think Paul is in this room.”
I take in a deep breath, this time on my own, and glance around the room anyway. “I know he’s not here. I was looking for something to cover my face so I can go look for him.”
Her lips twitch like she’s trying not to laugh at me, confirming my ridiculousness. A pillowcase is a stupid idea. “You could put your old shirt over your head and peer out the arm hole, but I think that might ruin your hair.”
With a gasp, my hands fly up to my hair and I pat it carefully. There are so many curls, twists, braids and bobby pins and no way would I be able to fix it. If there even is still a wedding. “Maybe he’s in the bathroom? He’ll sometimes eat Thai food that’s a little too spicy and that gives him the… you know.”
“Gross. I didn’t want to know that about Paul. Come on, we need to meet up with the rest of the wedding party.”
Right. The wedding party. My two youngest sisters and Paul’s golf buddies from college who will all be looking at me and wondering what I did to scare off the groom.
Which by the way, is a big fat nothing.
Maybe he needs a breather. It’s normal to get cold feet. He’s probably escaped to a bathroom for a few minutes to clear his head. It’ll all be fine. We’ll find him, and the wedding will go off without a hitch. Easy peasy. Next week I’ll be laughing about this.
Poppy grabs my hand and we sneak out of the bridal suite and past the alcove leading to the main part of the church. The room where all of our friends and family are waiting patiently while listening to the string quartet. We sneak past the front entrance where the door appears tightly closed. But as we pass the coat closet, I hear a thump followed by a muted curse. I stop dead in my tracks and drop Poppy’s hand. Silence fills the air once again, but I can’t drop my gaze from the brass doorknob. I don’t know if I’m waiting for it to turn from the other side or if it’s waiting for me to find the courage within myself to open the door and find what or who is on the other side.
It could be nothing.
