And larger.
He never used his parking brake. He couldn’t roll hisrs. One side of his nose was a different shape from the other.
Not to mention: His favorite ice cream was Rocky Road. Maybe I was a little judgy from that high school job at Baskin-Robbins, butRocky Road? That wasold peopleice cream! What was this—a retirement home?
It was as predictable as geometry. I could have written it like a proof.
Now that I had him, I didn’t want him anymore.
It was like a curse.
But curses were made to be broken.
Today, in the church, I reminded myself what my mother had said:The only way to stop running away is to stop running away.
So here I was:not running away.
Heroically.
Itching like hell—but doing it anyway.
Up by the altar, Pearce looked a little itchy himself. If I’m honest.
But Grandma Dodie kept walking, and so did I.
This was happening. This was nonnegotiable. This was the best solution I could think of—and I’d be marrying Pearce Richmond tonight if it was the dumbest thing I ever did.
AT THE ALTAR,I handed my bouquet to my big sister, Ashley. My little brother, Pete, soon to graduate from college, had agreed to be Pearce’s best man. When Pearce had asked him, Pete’s response had been “Don’t you have anybody better to ask?”
I’d elbowed Pete—hard—in the ribs and then answered for him. “That’s a yes. That’s a grateful and enthusiastic yes.”
But now I found myself wondering, too. Whydidn’tPearce have anybody better to ask? Cooper had never liked him the few times they’d met back in college. Was Pearce one of those guys other guys didn’t like?
Pete crossed his eyes at me when I glanced his way.
I ignored him.Stay focused.
Grandma Dodie pulled me down to kiss me on the cheek and then handed me over to Pearce.
The itching was getting worse. Was it inside my throat now? Had I inhaled some fibers or something? My airway definitely felt tight. Wouldn’t it be lucky if my throat closed up and I really fainted—for real?
Problem solved, huh?
Pearce stood next to me like a statue as the reverend, who’d encouraged us to be casual and call him “Rev,” came to stand before us.
But here’s the thing. I guess the rev felt like this was his momentto shine, because next, he launched into an extended-remix TED Talk about the internet, of all things, and how it was tearing us apart like nothing before in history—and how we needed to stop hating other people online and start loving them in the real world. And I didn’t technically disagree. I mean:Yes. Let’s hurry up and get on that.But my itching situation was ramping up by the second, so I really didn’t have time for some big, long pontification from some old dude with yellow teeth.
Let’s just say I lost focus.
My mind drifted.
Before I knew it, I was thinking about Cooper and trying to overlay the boy I remembered so well with the man who had shown up here today. That overgrownbeard. That scragglyhair. What a waste of a good-looking man.
Hold on. Did I just classifyCooperas a “good-looking man”?
I’d actually given him a haircut once when we were kids, in our clubhouse, with some pinking shears. What were we—ten? Eleven? I remember very confidently explaining to him that the zigzags on the blades would give his hair “body.” He’d been so trusting, sweet thing—and then he went home looking like he’d been electrocuted. It was so bad, my mom made me walk across the street later with a bottle of chardonnay for his mother as a peace offering.
The next time I saw Cooper, he had a buzz cut.
