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I shook my head, pressing my lips together.
When she looked away, Jake clicked his tongue. “She’s a tough one. I never put a toe out of line again at church, but she still warns me every time she sees me. As though I’d try something at my best friend’s wedding…”
I raised my eyebrows. “Are you saying you wouldn’t?”
He frowned. “We’ve established that you think I’m immature… but no. I’d never intentionally do anything that would upset my friend or his bride.”
I was properly chastised at his words. I squeezed his arm slightly. “I don’t think you’re immature.”
He shrugged. “Sure you do, but that’s okay. Maybe I am. Maybe I just find laughter good medicine.”
“It is,” I said quietly. “You know, I don’t think I gave you enough credit for my recovery. You made me laugh when I otherwise probably would have cried.”
He shrugged again. “I’m glad I could help.”
I studied his profile as he kept his eyes on Paula, who was lecturing us about how high to hold our bouquets.
“I’m sorry I hurt you, Jake,” I said quietly, trying to convey my sincerity.
Finally, he glanced at me, and I saw the little wrinkle on his brow, the smallest sign that his carefree demeanor was hiding something deeper. “I’m sorry too. I wish I could have been the guy you need.”
Paula clapped her hands twice, and I was reminded of a cheerleader. “Go, go, go. They’re halfway down the aisle. That’s your cue!” Perhaps a drill instructor was a more apt description.
We stepped forward, heading down the aisle to the front of the church where my brother waited for his bride. I heard the flower girl, Hannah, start to protest loudly behind us.
“I don’t want to!”
Her mother tried to calm her down.
But as I clasped Jake’s elbow tightly and held my bouquet–a toilet paper bouquet from the bridal shower games last weekend–I imagined for a moment that it was Jake at the end of the aisle, waiting eagerly for me.
A tear slid down my cheek. I swiped at it with my toilet paper monstrosity and ignored Jake’s questioning look.
It was better if he thought I was just emotional about Bryce getting married. Otherwise, he might think I was changing my mind. I couldn’t give him that false hope.
Because that’s all it would be–false.
JAKE
Three times. That’s how many times Paula made us practice walking up and back to the front of the church. Each time, it got harder to ignore the feeling of Monica on my arm and the way her laughter made me feel.
I was torn. I wanted to crack jokes as we strolled down the aisle, anything to hear her laugh again like she had when I told her about the crickets. At the same time, I wanted her to see that I could take things seriously when I needed to.
Not that it would matter.
She was being perfectly cordial. Infuriatingly so, in fact.
Krystal and Bryce were standing across from each other, holding hands and gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes, laughing as Pastor Justin joked about not saying the wrong name.
It was enough to make any man want to cry. Or crack a joke to let everyone know just how much he was unaffected.
Which was exactly what I couldn’t do.
I bit my tongue and tried not to stare at Monica holding two ridiculous toilet paper fluff balls in her hands. I wasn’t sure what that was all about, but I was too scared to ask at this point.
When Paula finally dismissed us, I jogged out of the church. I needed space between us to gather my thoughts before the rest of the evening. Up next was the rehearsal dinner, and that meant I had to go back in there and pretend I was okay. I had to convince everyone that being around Monica wasn’t tearing me apart inside.
I leaned against the white church building, listening to the cicadas in the quiet of the evening. I pressed my head back into the wall, looking up at the barely darkening sky.
