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I look at the clock on the wall. Five after the hour. We’re still within the realm of respectable lateness. Weddings never startexactly on time. My mother, queen of organizing events, told me this.
Aliz runs a finger along her hairline like she’s mopping up perspiration. Come to think of it, she is looking a little shiny. “Look, Petal. My brother is an asshole. You need to know this.”
She’s joking right? I mean, Andy’s her brother. Of course, she thinks he’s an asshole from time to time.
“Why are you telling me this now?” I ask in a quiet voice.
With a sigh, she leans closer, even though everyone in the room can hear her just fine. “What I mean, Petal, is that I’m pretty sure my brother’s sleeping with Jessica. You know, his friend from college.”
I can smell the mint on her breath, clean and fresh and pretty, just like she is, an excruciating contrast to the words she just uttered.
Which were just ridiculous, anyway. A loud guffaw, not at all bridal or even ladylike, explodes from my throat, and I wave my hand like there’s a fly in my face.
“Aliz, I love your sense of humor, but now is not the time to fuck around. Let’s go, girls. People are waiting on us.” I step toward Lucy, where she’s holding the door for me.
The church music starts again, from the top, like it’s on a loop. Except I know it’s not. They are replaying the processional music because no bride’s walked down the aisle yet.
“I saw them together, Andy and Jessica. I did,” she says apologetically. “They’re playing hide the… bouquet. If you know what I mean.”
I roll my eyes. “Aliz, this is not cool.”
Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous, pulling something like this on a woman about to get married.
And Jessica stick-up-her-ass Lynch? No way. Andy even told me once how uptight she is, and that he can only take her in small doses. I questioned inviting her to our wedding, but hesaid it wouldn’t be right to leave her out when the rest of his college gang would be there.
I elbow my way out of the bridal room in my ballet flats, chosen for comfort, and march up to the doors where I will start my walk down the aisle. Lucy, Gilly, and Aliz, who gives me one last sad smile, step in front of me. One by one, they lead the way toward the altar and my soon-to-be-husband, just as we rehearsed the night before.
I have no father, so am walking solo. My mother wasn’t crazy about the idea and offered to walk me herself, but when I said no, she grumbled about how independent I’ve always been, the downside of being an only child.
My bridal procession, tackled alone, is somewhat of a blur. I nod and smile at the guests, a real who’s-who of San Francisco. But in spite of my comfy shoes, I walk stiffly, like my flats are suddenly two sizes too small, causing me great pain, and forcing me into an awkward gait. At the same time, a stabbing pain stretches across my lower back, like someone just kicked me there. No matter how hard I try, I can’t move gracefully, Aliz’s words bouncing around in my head, despite my trying to chase them away. From the faces of a couple of my longtime friends in the pews, they know something is up. The folks who don’t know me as well? They have no idea. At least I’m fooling someone.
I see from the corner of my eye the bridesmaids taking their spots to the left of the altar. I don’t look directly at them for obvious reasons, and in moments, I’m standing there in front of my handsome Andy. When I look for a sign, any sign, that will reassure me Aliz is full of shit, playing a joke, or just being mean—although she’s really nice and would do none of those things—he beams back at me.
Relief washes over me. I’m ready. Ready for this wedding, ready to be married, ready to be Andy Stackhouse’s wife, and for him to be my husband.
And then I see it.
His gaze shifts, only for a moment, to Jessica, sitting in the second row. It’s brief and I might have missed it if I hadn’t been looking, but I see something in his eyes reserved for her and only her. It’s the kind of look he’s never given me, like a private conversation or something. I feel like I should look away to grant them some privacy but for cripe’s sake, this man’s about to bemyhusband and if he’s going to look at anyone that way, it shouldfucking be me. He’s not even trying to be slick.
Aliz was right, the man is an asshole.
I read somewhere that all jumbotron proposers are assholes. I should have paid attention.
I’m a cliché. A goddamn cliché. Like the dummy on a reality show who has no idea what’s going on around her until it’s too late.
My heart shatters right there because, while I’m so not a wedding girl, I really did want to marry Andy Stackhouse, and while I never counted on this to be the best day of my life, I also didn’t count on it being the worst.
1
PETAL
Three months later…
My mother accostsme with her two-kiss cheek thing, something she picked up on a recent vacation to France.
“It’s about time, Petal,” she hisses in my ear while maintaining her radiant smile.
She’s a consummate performer, especially when all eyes are on her, which they are because this is her big event, her charity fundraiser for the city’s beleaguered Cable Car Museum, a B-list tourist attraction that gets little attention and even less funding from the city government. It’s been a constant struggle for the tiny place to stay open, and my mother loves nothing more than an underdog. It’s given new purpose to her days. After her last divorce, she glommed onto the sad museum like some people take in an abandoned cat or dog, immediately pouring all her energy into saving this obscure piece of San Francisco history.
