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“That bouquet is mine. Touch it and I’ll cry,” she hisses at me. She doesn’t mean a cute, little, boo-hoo, sad cry. Jessica will throw a literal tear-soaked tantrum to get her way.
Of course, that only makes me want that stupid bouquet more than my next breath.
I’m standing up to Nikki, not letting Paisley intimidate me, not letting Mom get into my head, and Jessica can sit all the way down. At the kids’ table where she belongs!
I’ve had enough. That ribbon-wrapped bundle of blue roses and baby’s breath has an entirely new meaning, like it’s a trophy for me telling my family to fuck off, something I’ve never had the guts to do.
Paisley scans the group, likely looking for a preferred bridesmaid to catch her precious flowers, but little does she know, they’re mine. All mine.
With a smile, she turns around. The photographer has her do a couple of practice tosses with overly exaggerated, fake looks of excitement while she clicks away, and then the count starts...
“One... two... three!”
Paisley tosses the bouquet over her shoulder, and everyone scrambles. Dozens of arms reach high, fighting to catch it, and I’m pretty sure I accidentally drop-elbow Jessica in the head, but somehow, the flowers land roses-down right into my hand and I grip them tightly.
Someone tries to wrestle it away from me, but I jerk it into my body like a wayward football and rush out of the group. Once I’m clear, I hold it up victoriously, rose petals falling loose from the rough handling, and shout, “I got it!”
There’s a round of polite applause and Paisley whirls around angrily. “No, it wasn’t supposed to be you! That’s Hannah’s! Give it to her!”
The photographer is clicking away, taking shots of me with the now wilted bouquet but then turning to take a burst of shots of Paisley, who’s definitely not looking her best. If looks could kill, I’d be a puddle of Janey Juice at her feet.
Doubt that’s going to be in the wedding album!
“Nope, rules are rules. I caught it, it’s mine,” I shoot back, suddenly ready to throw down over this bouquet. If Paisley’s expecting me to give in and hand it over to Hannah, she’s dead wrong. Not this time.
Something’s changed from last night till tonight.
It’s me.
Even with the distance we’ve had, I think I was holding on to a thread of hope that my family would eventually be decent, and that’s why those habits were so easy to fall back into. But I’m finally fully realizing that my family won’t ever change, so I need to quit giving in to them, worrying about their reactions, and caring what they think.
There’s a clarity in my mind and heart that I’ve never felt before, and the weight of all of their drama is simply gone. At least for the moment.
I just need to be Janey. The best Janey Williams I can be, I remember Cole saying.
And they can take it or leave it, and honestly, there are several who don’t get the choice. I’m choosing to leave them... starting with my biggest childhood bully, Paisley Roberts. Oops, I mean Paisley McMahan since she’s taking Max’s last name.
People say standing up to a bully will make them leave you alone, and maybe that works if the bully is coming from a place of insecurity, but Paisley’s sitting on a throne of entitlement, so challenging her, particularly in a time that’s already emotionally charged, isn’t gonna be that easy. She’s not backing down.
No, she lets loose with a harpy shriek, running toward me with outstretched hands, her long, French-manicured nails looking like claws. She grabs at the bouquet but also gets a handful of my hair, which she yanks hard.
“Give. It. To. Hannah!” she orders.
Verbal warfare? Not my forte. Physical? Even less so, despite my telling Cole that I know karate. But I flail about, doing my best to get Paisley off me. It looks and feels more like bad grappling, and we fall to the floor, brawling around like drunk girls at a mud-wrestling competition. Only there’s no mud, just a supposed-to-be-classy, monogrammed dance floor.
I kick out a leg, which Paisley counters by wrapping her own giraffe length leg around it. I manage to get an arm out—not the one holding the bouquet which I’m still holding tightly—and push at Paisley’s chest, getting a little space between us. But it’s not enough. She must be part honey badger or something because where she was mean before, she’s now essentially feral.
“Let go!” I scream. “Help!”
The next thing I know, Paisley is being physically lifted off me. Cole has had quite enough of my family’s shenanigans and has literally lifted the bride with one hand by the back of her dress, prying her fingers from the mess of my curls with his other. It doesn’t escape my notice that not a single one of my family tried to stop Paisley. Max’s family I can probably excuse because they’re in shock, but my family has seen this before.
“Ow! You’re hurting me!” Paisley whines loudly. “Daddy, he’s breaking my nails!”
“Then let go,” Cole roars. He sounds pissed. I feel Paisley’s hand finally relax as she releases my curls from her fist, and she’s lifted fully clear of me.
Instead of throwing her across the floor, Cole sets Paisley down with a modicum of restraint. She in return stomps her foot in full on tantrum mode. “You ruined my wedding! You ruin everything!” she screeches at me like I’m the one who attacked her.
“What did I do?” I ask as Cole helps pull me to my feet. “Catch the bouquet you threw?”
