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“He would have gone to that fight. Keaton Hall would have caught on fire …”
“Adam was trying to keep a low profile because the fight had already been rolled once. They used the lanterns to not draw attention because the cops showed up at the last one. The cops came because a fight broke out, the fight broke out because that douche attacked me. If we hadn’t come, maybe the fire would have never happened.”
America arched an eyebrow. “Abby, if they weren’t conducting illegal fights in old buildings with too many people and just a few exits, no one would have been there to start the fire. No one would have been there to die. We all make our choices. And don’t let Travis hear you talking like that. He feels guilty enough without you blaming yourself.”
“I’m not talking to Travis about it. That’s why I’m talking to my best friend.”
“And your best friend is telling you you’re being a dumb bitch. Quit it. Anyway, we didn’t meet here to talk about the fire or Jesse or throwing up. We’re talking about your wedding.”
“Hey blondie, wanna come sit on my lap?” a Becker boy yelled.
America lifted her fist and proudly displayed her middle finger.
“Mare!” I scolded.
She smiled with her fist still in the air, then put it down, satisfied.
I climbed onto my stomach again, trying not to slip from all the oil and sweat. “Please, no wedding talk today.”
“We’ve already talked about everything else, school, plans, my date with Shep, Lexi’s pregnancy scare, and your in-depth conversation with Travis about his boss and how it would be best for everyone if you avoided him. Now, we can talk about the wedding.”
“I told you we could do it. But this is for you. I don’t want another wedding, remember?”
America pulled a notebook and pen out of her pool bag. “So, I was thinking St. Thomas. Why, you ask? Because we don’t need passports, it’s beautiful, not your average destination wedding, and the Ritz-Carlton has a beautiful venue with a wedding package.”
“Sounds great,” I said.
America made a check next to her scribbles and then dropped the pen on her mid-section, clapping. “I was hoping you’d say yes! It’s going to be perfect! Okay. Second question. Colors. I was thinking aqua, coral, pink, sea foam, and cream. Or we can go a little bolder and do purple and orange, but I prefer the first swatch.”
“First swatch it is.”
“Really? Because the orange and purple with the sand and ocean …”
“That’s fine.”
She clapped again. “Obviously, I’m the maid of honor. I would suggest Finch, but his dad’s birthday is the same day, you know.”
“Kara … Cami …”
“Excuse me?” America said, her face screwing into disgust. “Cami I get but … Kara?”
“She went through a lot when we were roommates. And she sent me a card. It was sweet. We had lunch; it was nice.”
America looked like she’d smelled something rancid.
“Kara,” I said, pointing to her notebook. “Put her down.”
“Ugh, fine.”
“I’d tap that,” a Becker boy yelled. “Twice.”
America sucked in a breath through her nose, desperately trying to ignore them.
“Now, for the reception. The Ritz has a great outdoor restaurant called Sails. There are these huge tarps they pull out that function as a ceiling. And because it’s the Caribbean it tends to rain, so they can roll down the sides like a tent enclosure to protect us from any passing showers. We could also move the wedding ceremony there if needed.”
“Great.”
She squealed. “I know you’re not into this, Abby, but it’s going to be beautiful, we’ll all get to be there, and I’m going to be a gorgeous maid of honor.”
