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“Yup. All good.” Even with my sunglasses on, I have to squint against the apricot-hued fire that spreads across the water’s rippled surface. I forgot what a show the sunset is on Bald Head. “Sorry, I feel like I should be taking care of you. You’re the one with a good excuse for being queasy.”
She holds up the bag of mini Oreos she’s been munching on since we left Charlotte earlier this afternoon. “I learned the hard way to always come prepared.”
I grin. “Still can’t believe you threw up on your boss.”
Goldie, Cooper, and I all work at the law firm my grandfather founded back in the seventies. The Gibbes Group is now one of the largest and most successful firms in the southeast. Cooper is an attorney, and Goldie and I work in the event planning department, where we met six years ago.
“Good thing he’s also my fiancé.” She grins back. “Did I tell you he threw up too?”
Mom, who’s sitting on my other side, gasps. “He didn’t!”
“Yup. The second he saw me lose my lunch on his suit, he grabbed the trash can and lost his too. Coop is . . . not great with bodily fluids.”
“Bless his heart.” Mom clutches her invisible pearls and leans in, lowering her voice. “How do you think he’ll do in the delivery room?”
Goldie laughs. “Probably not great. Luckily I have a high pain tolerance and a strong stomach. Well, had a strong stomach. Everyone told me the nausea would let up once I hit the second trimester. I keep waiting, but it’s still—”
“Awful.” Mom shakes her head. “I still remember how bad I felt. Luckily it doesn’t last forever. By the time I hit eighteen weeks with Louise I turned a corner. I felt like a new woman! Oh, but I bet y’alls’ parents are thrilled.”
Goldie laughs. “Well, my parents aren’t thrilled about the whole shotgun wedding thing. But yes, they’re very excited about the baby.”
“To get their first grandchild for Christmas? What a gift!”
I look away, my eyes pricking with a fresh wave of tears.
I know Mom doesn’t mean to hurt my feelings. She’s just that lady, the one who flirts with babies in line at the grocery store and loves talking about anything and everything related to motherhood. She gave up her career at The Gibbes Group when she had me and never once looked back. Being a mom is her thing, clearly.
I know she’d love it to be my thing too.
The idea makes my chest feel heavy. Two weeks ago, I was well on my way to following in her footsteps. Like her, I work at Pa’s law firm. Like her, I was going to get married in my twenties (she was twenty-three, I was going to be twenty-eight). And like her, I was marrying an ambitious up-and-comer my grandfather introduced me to.
It was finally my turn to get married and, God willing, start a family.
Patrick and I got engaged six months ago. We’d already picked our venue, a gorgeous five-star resort in the Virginia mountains. I caught him on the Four Seasons website more than once, researching honeymoon spots.
That’s what I thought he was doing, anyway.
But here I am, suddenly single on my way to help my best friend pull off her kinda-sorta-shotgun wedding in four days as her maid of honor. Despite being an event planner herself, Goldie can’t operate at one hundred percent, thanks to her pregnancy, so she recruited me to be her right-hand woman.
We’ve spent the past month in furious wedding prep mode. I scoured every wedding dress shop in Charlotte for just the right gown for her; I counted RSVPs and followed up with guests who did not respond to Goldie’s updated wedding invitation; I ordered bachelorette party swag, made place cards, and found the perfect pair of shimmery Jimmy Choo heels to complete Goldie’s rehearsal dinner outfit.
It’s been pure insanity. But to be honest, I don’t mind it. Being busy keeps me from dwelling on the fact that Goldie and Cooper are getting married on Bald Head Island. Only the place where I fell in love with the first guy who unceremoniously dumped me and wrecked my life ten years ago.
The island I swore I’d never step foot on again.
Talk about history repeating. The universe is one sick son of a bitch.
I never told anyone about Riley and me. Just like I never told anyone other than him about that stupid cookbook I wanted to write. How ridiculous was I, thinking I’d make enough money writing cookbooks to open a restaurant? And how naïve, thinking that restaurant ownership was a dream and not the nightmare I’ve heard it is? I have friends in the industry, and they’ve been brutally honest about how stressful it can be. Long hours. High risk of failure. The large majority of restaurants don’t make it.
