“Hi, Wills,” I called.
“Hi!” she answered. “Can’t wait to see your dress!”
“Me, too,” I muttered.
Rather hoping that this moment wouldn’t come to pass, I’d bought my dress in Boston about two hours before my flight. It looked pretty on the mannequin, and it was the requisite purple…well, lavender. I slid out of my other clothes, pulled the dress off the hanger and tried it on. Oh, crotch.
The gown fit well enough, but the neckline was…low. Not just low, not just cleavage, but…well…lots of boob, okay? Lots. I looked slutty. Were I a nursing mother, this dress would be quite convenient. Does that paint the right picture? I gave the bodice a tug northward; it didn’t move. Hello, world, I’d like you to meet the girls. Nothing to be done for it now, unless my father had a little duct tape.
Well. Whatever. No one would be looking at me except for Dennis. And, sure, maybe Nick. Who’d never stopped loving me but also now hated me, due to said love.
And people wondered why I did what I did.
“Oh, my Lord, don’t you look wonderful!” BeverLee crooned as I came out. “It’s about time you showed off your assets!”
“Very pretty!” Willa said, clapping her hands.
“Come over here, darlin’, let me give you a little spritz,” BeverLee said, holding up her can of hair spray like a weapon.
“I’m good, actually, Bev,” I said. “Willa, you look…wow.”
Now, granted, I’d seen my sister in wedding regalia before, but even so, it came as a little bit of a shock. Little Willa, getting married.
“Shoot, I forgot to give the caterer the flowers for the top of the cake,” BeverLee said. “Harper, can you finish your sister’s hair, sweetie? Thanks. Just tease it up a little in the back, ’cause it’s lookin’ flatter than a griddle cake.”
“Will do.” BeverLee flew out of the room, her orange church-lady suit flapping.
“Don’t tease my hair,” Willa said the second the door closed behind her mother.
“I won’t,” I smiled. BeverLee had always had a heavy hand with the Jhirmack, determined that her bouffant would stand up to the winds of Martha’s Vineyard. Back in the day, I’d taken it upon myself to do Willa’s hair every day for school, braiding it, brushing it into a ponytail. Now, I picked up a tiny white flower and pinned it in Willa’s smooth blond hair. Just like old times.
Looking at her reflection in the mirror, I could see that her expression was…somber. “So how are you doing, honey?” I asked. This wasn’t exactly breaking my promise to Nick, I told myself. No infecting going on. Not a crime to ask one’s sister how she felt on her wedding day, though I’m sure Nick could find a way to convict me.
She looked up at me, frowning. “Did you want to back out on your wedding day?”
I took another flower and secured it near Willa’s temple. “Actually, I did,” I said quietly. “I was scared. Everything had happened really fast. I thought we were too young. Looking back, too, it was clear we had…I don’t know. Different ideas about what being married meant.”
“But you loved him, right?”
I swallowed, looked down, grabbed another bobby pin. “Sure. But loving someone doesn’t necessarily mean you can be happily married. And even on our wedding day, I guess I knew that.” I paused, then sat down next to my sister and took her hand. “Willa, it would be completely okay if you called this off, honey.”
The door to the room banged open, and I jumped. Nick. Of course.
“All set downstairs, Willa,” he said cheerfully, then turned to me. “I thought we had an agreement,” he muttered, scowling like Zeus with PMS. Zeus with PMS but wearing a tux, which wasn’t quite fair. Then again, I had the boobage. So there.
“And we did. Which I’ve honored.” I got back up and resumed my hairstyling duties.
“Hi, Nick,” Willa said, smiling up at him.
“So,” he said, kneeling next to her. “You nervous?” he asked. As I had a moment earlier, he took her hand.
She gave a pretty grimace. “Well…yeah. A little.”
“Excuse me, I need a flower,” I said to Nick, nudging him a bit ungently with a knee to the ribs.
“Here.” He slapped a blossom into my hand and didn’t bother moving. “Willa, I think everyone has a few doubts on their wedding day. Your mind runs through the worst-case scenarios. What if we’re making a mistake, what if she doesn’t love me enough, what if I love her too much?”
I snorted and slid another bobby pin into my sister’s hair. Willa, alas, was rapt.
“Do you regret marrying Harper?” she asked.
“I’m standing right here,” I said.
“I know,” she said, smiling up at me. “I just always wondered.”
Nick still didn’t look at me. “No,” he said, and my stunted, cynical heart gave a twist. “But I do regret that she didn’t have the same faith in me that I had in her.”
Heart untwisted quite fast. “Oh, sac up, Nick. That’s a lot of crap. Faith, my ass. Willa, I regret not foreseeing how fast Nick would dump me in the middle—”
“Willa, the thing is,” Nick interrupted, “you have to listen to what’s in your heart. Your heart knows what’s right.”
Willa smiled and gave a tiny nod.
“Or you could listen to your brain, which tends to be more reliable,” I interjected. “Or, here’s an idea, you can simply take a few months to get to know each—”
“If you really don’t think you should marry my brother, Willa, don’t. Call it off. Take some time. But…” here he gave her hand a squeeze, “if you really love him, go ahead. Marry him. Be happy. Take care of each other. Make some beautiful nieces and nephews for me to spoil.” He grinned, and that was it. Willa was sold. Her little smile blossomed into full-fledged glory.
“Wills,” I said quickly, “I want to spoil beautiful nieces and nephews, too. It’s just that I don’t want to have you rush into something when there are some very good arguments to be made for waiting. Let your big sister be an example to you. Nick and I also loved each other, and we were done before we’d hit six months. Maybe we could’ve avoided that if we’d taken, oh, I don’t know, a year, two—”
“Your sister and I didn’t divorce because we were young, Willa. We divorced because—”
“You know what?” Willa said. “I’m good, you two. I’m all set. I love Chris and we’ll get married and sure, have some babies and live happily ever after.”
“Great,” Nick said.
I glared at him. “Or not great. Willa, listen. If you want to marry Chris, I think that’s fine. I’m sure he has some very nice qualities. But there are things you need to know first. Money. Work ethic. A five-year plan. Marriage takes work.”“We can figure it out as we go along,” she answered, standing up.
“That’s what Nick said to me, interestingly,” I answered. “I’m just pointing that out.”
“Well, we’re not you and Nick.” She stood up and gave me a quick hug. “Thanks for doing my hair,” she said sweetly. “Now or never, I guess.”
“I’ll get Chris,” Nick said, giving me an evil glance as he left.
“He’s really great,” Willa said, checking out her reflection once again.
“So great,” I replied through gritted teeth.
“Angel baby, y’all ready?” BeverLee was back, along with my father. “Oh, my land! Look at your hair! Harper, you did a bee-yoo-tee-ful job! Just look at you!” My stepmother enveloped her only child in a huge hug. “Oh, this is such a happy day!”
I looked at my father, who was waiting in the doorway, a small smile on his face.
“Dad? Maybe some paternal advice?” I suggested. “Willa’s about to marry a man she met four weeks ago.”
“Six, actually,” Willa corrected.
“Are you having second thoughts, Wildaberry?” he asked, tilting his head.
The slash of jealousy that cut across my heart took me by absolute surprise. Would that Dad had asked me that same question on my wedding day. Would that he had a nickname for me. Then it was gone, and I was just grateful that he’d asked.
“I’m sure, Daddy,” Willa said, gliding over to give him a hug.
“You look very pretty,” he said. He glanced at me. “You too, Harper.”
“Thanks, Dad.” I grabbed the two bouquets off the bed and forced a smile onto my face. “Well, if you’re gonna do this, let’s get going.”
It wasn’t that I didn’t want Willa marrying Christopher Lowery. I just didn’t want her to end up divorced again, heartbroken again, confused and lost and full of self-doubt again. My advice was sound. Crikey, this is what I did for a living! And when the shit hit the fan, I’d be cleaning it up, just as I had after every one of Willa’s ill-fated moves in the past.
I traipsed down the stairs to the first-floor landing, checked behind me to make sure Willa, BeverLee and Dad were ready, then looked down at the guests.
The main room of the lodge had been transformed into a chapel of sorts…some sort of trellised archway brought in from the yard, buckets of Montana wildflowers here and there. Someone had found some white crepey material and draped it over the arch, and it would’ve all been very pretty, had it not been such a hugely bad idea. Country music played—something about being in love with your best friend. Right. Willa and Chris were virtual strangers, not best friends.
I could practically feel scales break out on my body as I walked down the stairs and up the makeshift aisle. Nick stared at me, his gypsy eyes narrowed. Jerk. I narrowed my own eyes back, then looked away. Oh, much better—there was Dennis, smiling appreciatively. “You look smokin’, dude,” he murmured as I walked past.
“Thanks,” I muttered.
“And oh, we just get closer,” the singer crooned—well, that wasn’t hard, given that the bride and groom hadn’t been together for two months yet. “You believe in me like nobody ever has…” Does she, Chris? Does she believe in the Thumbie? Christopher gave me a shy little nod and a half smile. Sure, he was sweet. All of Willa’s husbands had been sweet.
There. I arrived at the makeshift altar and turned to watch my sister approach. Didn’t look at Nick.
“I thought I asked you not to infect them,” he murmured. “What were you doing? Giving closing arguments?”
“I was trying to infuse some common sense into the proceedings,” I ground out through gritted teeth.
“You make me sad,” he said.
“And you make me feel like kicking you in the shins,” I returned. Christopher gave us an odd look. Nick smiled at him and punched him on the arm.
And here came the bride. Well, she was beautiful, that much was true. Beaming, radiant, yadda yadda. Against all expectations, a lump came to my cynical throat.
“Who gives this woman in marriage?” The justice of the peace, who appeared to have been dug out of his grave for the occasion, gave a phlegmy cough.
“Her daddy and me,” BeverLee said with a hitching sob, her peacock-blue mascara running à la Tammy Faye. As Dad and Bev took their seats, Willa handed me her flowers, then stepped up onto the little dais with Christopher.
Given the small space, Nick and I had to stand very close to each other. He looked calm and wise, but I could feel the irritation crackling off him. He glanced at me, then dropped his gaze to my low-cut dress, where the boobage was generously displayed. “Thanks for the show,” he murmured. He pulled back a little and checked out my ass. “I have to wonder, though…where do you hide your leathery tail?”
“Bite me, Nick,” I muttered. The justice of the peace gave me a look. His eyebrows would put Andy Rooney’s to shame. I returned the look sharply. What? He frowned, then cleared his throat.
“Dearly beloved,” he said, then broke into another coughing spell.
“One could almost say it’s a sign,” I murmured to Nick, flashing a smile at my sister.
“Did I mention I like the extra weight on you?” he whispered, staring straight ahead now. “Most women couldn’t pull off fifteen extra pounds, but I like you chunky.”
“Please, Nick. Sacred vows and all that,” I bit out. “We both know how much those mean. And it’s eight pounds. Not fifteen.”
“Will you two shut up?” Chris asked amiably, grinning at his bride.
“Your brother has cramps,” I said. “But yes. I’ll shut up.”
“At last,” Nick grunted.
I mouthed an obscenity at my ex, then clenched my teeth and turned to watch the proceedings. But.
Here’s the thing.
As I stood on the altar, next to Nick…well, it obviously brought up some memories. Despite my fears and doubts on my own wedding day, despite the fact that I felt like we’d been making a huge mistake, I had…well.
I had loved Nick with all my heart, damn it.
“I, Willa, take you, Christopher, to be my husband. To have and to hold from this day forth…”
I swallowed. I was so not the type to cry at weddings (or divorces, or funerals, or Iams commercials), but those words…I saw that my sister gripped Christopher’s hands a little harder.
“…in sickness and in health, for richer and for poorer…”