“The parking down here!” she groaned, plopping in a chair across from me. I chose a table on the deck in the sunshine. It was late September. The sizzling August heat had rolled through and disappeared out to sea. Now it was just warm with a hint of fall breeze.
I told her to meet me at Dockside, a casual seafood restaurant located on the Intracoastal Waterway in Wrightsville Beach. I liked watching the boats come in, imagining one day I’d own a yacht and travel the world with my lover who, at the moment, looked a lot like Reece Powell.
It had been a week since our breakfast date, and we made plans to visit an antique fair tomorrow. I concluded that antiquing for Reece was more about discovering me than finding cool stuff for his apartment.
“Nicki, you live on the beach. You know about the parking,” I said patiently, sipping my margarita.
“Yeah, but the parking here is just ugh,” she went on.
She liked to compare our beaches. Carolina Beach was far superior to Wrightsville in every way. Why? Because she lived there.
“I ordered you a drink,” I said.
“Oh, well, you’ll have to drink it because I’m not consuming alcohol right now. I’m doing a cleanse,” she replied.
“This early before the wedding?” I asked.
“It’s not for the wedding. It’s for me,” she replied. “I mean, do I look like I need to start getting into shape for my wedding? Exercise is a part of my lifestyle, Bailey.”
I slurped my drink.
“You’re gonna lose a little weight before my wedding, though, right?” she asked, perusing the menu. She mumbled to herself, “Everything here is fried.”
“What did you just say?” I asked slowly.
She snapped her head up, and I watched as her silver earrings jangled, catching the light of the sun and shooting bright darts in my eyes. I squinted then fished around in my purse for my sunglasses.
“What’d I say?” she asked.
“Something really offensive,” I replied, shoving the glasses on my face. “I don’t need to lose weight for your wedding. I’m a size 2.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean you were fat,” Nicki (Size 0 and much taller than I am) said. “I just meant that the camera adds ten pounds. That’s all.”
I glared at her behind my shades. The waitress came back and placed the margarita I bought for Nicki in front of her. She was gracious enough to say “thank you” and wait until the waitress left before sliding the drink my way.
“You’re gonna have to forgo those a few months before the big day,” she said.
“I’m. Not. Fat.”
“But you will be if you keep drinking.” Nicki looked back down at the menu and sighed, muttering, “I guess I’ll just have a salad.”
I wasn’t having a salad. Fuck that. I was having a big plate of fried seafood, and she could kiss my “fat” ass.
Nicki clicked her tongue when I ordered. That was a thing she did—clicking her tongue in disapproval. That was worse than when she’d just come right out and say it.
“So here’s the basic outline for now,” she said, sitting back in her chair. She glanced at the sky. “I really should have brought my sunhat. How come you didn’t tell me we’d be sitting in the sun?”
“The outline?” I asked, redirecting her.
“Okay. So I’m getting married on the beach.” She looked out onto the water. “Here.”
I furrowed my brows. “Here, as in here in Wrightsville Beach?”
She nodded.
“But why not Carolina Beach? I mean, you complain about this place all the time,” I said.
“It has its nice spots,” she countered.
“Huh?”
“Look, I’m getting married here because I want a home base. My apartment is too small, and I don’t want Mom and Dad traveling back and forth every day. I decided to stay with them the week before my wedding, and that way we’re all just minutes from the venues and can drive back and forth easily if we forget stuff.”
Well, that made sense, actually. A home base. Of course, she didn’t even consider my house. No surprise there.
“So you want to get married right on the beach?” I asked.
“Uh huh. An arbor and tulle and the whole works,” she replied. “And I’ve already put a deposit down on Lumina Hall.”
“Oh, that’s a nice venue,” I said.
“We can walk to it from the ceremony,” Nicki added.
“Have you thought about your color scheme?” I asked. The waitress delivered our meals, and I dug in.
“Ivory and fuchsia with pops of lime green,” she replied, pushing her salad around with her fork.
That sounded like Nicki. I always imagined my wedding colors would be ivory, bright white, and soft creamy yellow. Subdued but happy.
“I like it,” I said. And I did. While those colors weren’t me, they matched my sister perfectly, and they would make for one really fun reception hall. “So what do you need from me right now?”
“Well, I want to get started straight away on finding the perfect wedding dress and bridesmaids dresses,” she said. She pulled a stack of magazines from her oversized purse and dumped them on the table. “I tabbed a bunch of stuff.”
“Yes, you did,” I noted.
“And I want you to take these home, look through all of them, pick out your favorites, and then report back to me in three days,” Nicki instructed.
“You’re giving me three days to go through all these?” I asked.
She nodded.
“I do have a job you know,” I said.
She nodded again.
“And when is your wedding?” I asked.
“June 6,” she said.
“And it’s September.”
“What’s your point?” she asked.
I sighed. “Okay, Nicki. I’ll report back to you in three days.”
“Good! We’ll meet for dinner next week.”
“I’m not driving to Carolina Beach,” I said.
“You act like it’s a world away! It’s just down the road.”
“I’m not driving to Carolina Beach,” I repeated.
Nicki huffed. “Fine. Where?”
I smiled. “Front Street Brewery.”
Nicki pouted. “Don’t make me go downtown. Can’t you pick a restaurant off College Road?”
“Fine,” I replied. “How about Wagoner Hall?”