Cara
Today’s my wedding day.
I blink at the ceiling fan, waiting for my mind to start spinning in time with the fan’s blades. Today is the day I’m going to stand up in front of my family, friends, and neighbors, vowing to love and cherish Hayden Reilly until death do us part.
There should definitely be spinning. Instead, I’m strangely calm.
Maybe it’s because the last two weeks have been an emotional whirlwind, whipping up more chaos than my personal life has seen in years. By late this afternoon, it’ll be over. Even though there are more items to check off the master list, the outrageous fake marriage plan will have been executed.
Of course, I’ll have a husband at that point, which should be triggering some kind of panic. A buzz of anxiety, at the very least. Knots in my stomach. Butterflies. Anything.
Numb. That’s what this is—not a sense of calm, but numbness. I’ve been on a wild rollercoaster since Hayden came back to town, and the idea of becoming his wife today has finally short-circuited all of my emotions.
That’s the only rational explanation for why I’m not freaking out.
I close my eyes, trying to picture a big, fenced-in yard behind a cute little building housing Pampered Pets Grooming. I’ve been practicing, learning to imagine a future I’ll have a chance to make for myself.
A little house of my own, where I don’t have to strip in the garage and the hot water heater works. My business, flourishing once I have the space to handle more than one dog at a time, with grooming stations and maybe even an assistant. Plus, I won’t have to pay rent in the Gamble Block. There are several dogs running around my imaginary yard—fosters that I’m getting to know so I can help them find forever homes.
Then, in my daydream, I turn to look at my house and I see Hayden and Penny sitting in the shade of the deep front porch, watching me.
I open my eyes because the butterflies are definitely dancing now. Hayden and his dog can’t be in my imaginary future because they won’t be a part of my actual future.
I’m saved from the fluttering escalating into full-blown panic by the sound of two car doors slamming in my driveway.
Georgia’s here.
Crap.
I throw myself out of bed and I’m halfway to the stairs when I remember the tank top I’m wearing with no bra is so old and many times washed, it barely exists.
After turning around to throw a baggy sweatshirt over my threadbare tank and boxer shorts, I sprint down the stairs. Seconds later, my arms are wrapped around my sister and she’s squeezing me so hard, I can hardly breathe.
“You came.”
“Of course I did,” she says, easing the embrace enough so I can breathe, but not letting me go.
We look enough alike so a stranger could probably place us as sisters, though Georgia’s taller and less curvy. It broke my heart when she left Sumac Falls for college, even while I was happy for her because she’d gotten away.
“Shouldn’t you be getting ready?” she asks when she finally steps back, looking me up and down. “We hit some traffic because of an accident, which means we’re running behind. And that means you’re really running behind.”
I look at my wrist, which makes no sense because I haven’t worn a watch for years. And then I pat the sides of my sleep shorts for my phone, which is also ridiculous because they don’t have pockets.
“It’s almost noon,” Tony says, and I jump because I’d been so focused on Georgia, I’d forgotten about my brother-in-law.
I give him a hug, but then his words sink in and I gasp. “Wait. Noon?”
That explains how I tossed and turned for what felt like the entire night, and yet still woke up feeling fairly rested.
“We’re going to head to the town square,” Georgia says. “You need to go do something with that hair.”
“Did you see Mom already?”
“She came out and said hello, and then muttered about finding something and then about her shoes before turning around and going back inside. We’re sitting with her, of course, so we’ll have time to catch up while we wait for the bride to get ready and arrive.”
I laugh, but it’s high-pitched, and I see the look that passes between Georgia and Tony as they walk back to their car. They don’t think I can do it, but when your forty-gallon hot water heater coughs up maybe a gallon and a half of hot water, you learn to shower fast.
My hair takes the longest. I blow dry it for longer than usual, mostly because my scalp is hypothermic after my cold shower. Then I pull up the sides and clip them in a floral barrette. It’s simple, but more elegant than my usual ponytail. And I keep my makeup simple, hoping I won’t sweat and make it run down my face. I’m putting the makeup back in the drawer when my phone chimes.
