“Do you need coffee?” I ask, moving my hand to block the blinding light that’s refracting off the pond.
“Harlow made me some already. That beautiful baby angel of a woman.”
I lower my own shades. “Still drunk?”
She shakes her head. “Feeling sappy on my wedding day.”
The wedding.
All at once, I realize thatthisis it. We’re alone. Her guard is down. This might be my last chance.
“You don’t have to get married today if you don’t feel well,” I tell her. Hardly my final thesis statement, but it’s an inoffensive start.
She swats away my concern with the flick of her wrist and settles deeper into her camp chair. “No, if we don’t do it today, it’ll be this thing on our to-do list forever. I’d rather do it now while it still feels right.”
“That makes it sound like it’ll feelwronglater.”
Before Laurel can respond, Harlow bounces in with that Russell guy, whom she apparently shared her tent with after he socked me in the face with his scrotum.
“We’re going to hunt for Wi-Fi before the ceremony,” she informs me. “Do you need to call into the office again?”
“Uh, maybe later,” I respond. “I’m kind of hoping Bob’ll find a way to survive a single workday without me.”
“Way to set a boundary, Char.” Laurel’s tone is sharp, and it stings me a little.
My voice falters. “It’s better than nothing.”
“Do you know what you’re wearing?” Harlow asks us.
I point to my boxer shorts and band tee. “This.”
“You’re not wearing that,” Laurel objects.
I tug at my outfit. “What’s wrong with it?” It’s not themostfunctional camping ensemble. There’s a disconcerting breeze coming through the cotton boxers, and my denim baseball cap with “Ciao” embroidered over the bill costs more than is appropriate for attire I’ll be wearing to poop in a hole, but otherwise, I’ve done pretty well given the circumstances.
“It’s a T-shirt, and it’swhite. I’m not even wearing white.”
I look down at my shirt. “It’s more of a cream,” I argue weakly.
“What else did you pack?” She wrestles the bag off my shoulder.
“My clothes had a run-in at a truck stop.”
Fabric falls onto the nylon chair as she rummages. “Why didn’t you pack anything nice?”
“I packed clothes appropriate for camping.”
“ ‘SEXY MOTHER TRUCKER’? Is that supposed to be a reference to Petey’s upper-thigh tattoo?”
A derisive laugh spews from my mouth. I try to cover it with a cough but it’s too late. “No,” I say honestly. “I didn’t know about that one. I swear.”
“Is this funny to you? This is my wedding. Youinvited yourselfto my wedding and didn’t bring anything to wear.”
“I didn’t think…”That it wasactuallyhappening.I stop myself from saying it, but she sees the words written all over my face.
“I knew it.” My bag shakes in her hands. “I wanted to think I was being crazy, and that maybe, for once, you could support me without needing to control everything. But no. You’ve been trying to corner me since the second you showed up here, because you don’t want me to be happy.”
“Of course I want you to be happy! But are you sure this wedding’s a good idea?” I hate myself for the way her face falls. “It’s just that…you don’t exactly have the best track record with guys.”
