Sniff.
“Not just because Jillian’s expecting you, but because you have to see him eventually and—”
Angry honk!
“Do you want to come over? I made chocolate chip cookies last night.”
Jingle jangle. This was the sound of Simon’s pants being buckled as he blazed a trail into the kitchen.
“No, I’ll be okay. God, this just sucks, though!” she finally said, blowing her nose again loudly.
“It totally sucks, sweetie, but you’re going to be fine. You’re a badass—I’m actually scared of you,” I said.
“That’s because you know I could kick your ass.” She snorted. “Is he bringing someone?”
“Yes.”
“Shit. I totally need to go, don’t I?”
“You totally do,” I responded, biting down on my lip. Did I dare? “Besides, think how disappointed Barry Derry would be.”
Silence.
Then peals of laughter broke across the line. In between, she told me she loved me and would see me tomorrow. Then she hung up, still laughing.
I made my way into the kitchen to see Simon with his hands in the cookie jar. I shook my head, then poured him a glass of milk.
“It’s criminal how much I love you right now,” he said, his mouth full of cookie and smile.
I stood next to him while he finished his midnight snack, and as soon as he was done, I opened his arms and wrapped them around me. Cuddling me into his chest, he kissed the top of my head as I held on as tightly as I could.
The next day would bring all sorts of excitement, but tonight I had my Wallbanger in my bed. And that was all I needed.
? ? ?
Text from Caroline to Mimi:
You gotta watch our girl today—she’ll tell you she’s fine, but she’s not.
Oh boy, what happened?
Just watch her.
Done. How’s Jillian?
Radiant.
Naturally.
We’re heading over to the church in a few hours.
I’ll watch our girl, you go be a bridesmaid.
Text from Mimi to Sophia:
Hey, pretty girl, you still want to ride with us to the wedding?
Yep, just pick us up on your way.
You’re still bringing Barry, right?
Yep, just pick us up on your way.
How’re you feeling?
Mimi.
Yes?
Just pick us up on your way.
Ooookaaaaay.
Text from Simon to Neil:
You still down for windsurfing tomorrow?
Dude! It’s gonna be freezing, no way.
Pussy.
Dude. It’s gonna be freezing.
Pussy. See you at the wedding.
Hey, about that, should I bring my gift there or what?
We have to get them a gift? Hang on . . .
Text from Simon to Caroline:
Did we get them a gift?
Of course we got them a gift. I signed your name.
Are we bringing it to the wedding?
No, it’s already been sent. I always send them ahead; last thing a bride needs to worry about is making sure her gifts are wrangled during her wedding.
So if someone didn’t send it ahead of time, he shouldn’t bring it?
From an etiquette standpoint, it’s fine to bring it. People always do; I just like to take care of it ahead of time—wait, why are you asking?
Text from Simon to Neil:
Dude, you’re fine, you can bring it with you.
Cool. See you there.
Text from Caroline to Simon:
Hey, mister. Why were you asking me about bringing a gift?
No reason.
Seriously, what’s up?
Neil wanted to know if he should bring his gift with him or not, that’s all.
Tell him to call me, I’ll tell him where his gift can go.
Did I tell you how pretty you look in your bridesmaid dress?
You haven’t even seen me yet . . .
Safe to assume.
You’re good, Wallbanger.
Text from Neil to Sophia:
Hey. Just wanted to say hey. You’re going today, right?
Ah. Still not talking to me, I see.
So anyway, I just wanted to tell you that I’ll be glad to see you. I think it’s time we talked. Still can’t believe you hang up every time I call, but I don’t want to get into that today. I’ll just be glad to see you; I’d like a chance to explain.
Sophia?
Soph?
Eat me.
chapter seven
The anteroom at the Swedenborgian Church in Pacific Heights was full to bursting with shades of maple, copper, champagne gold, and cheddar goldfish. Crinolines crackled and swished, nervous giggles spilled from delicately painted lips, and a proud father stood straight and tall.
A bride stepped forward to take his arm as her ladies gathered before her, their hands full of peaches-and-cream dahlias. She was tall and regal, blushing and not at all bashful. Draped in ivory silk and century-old Italian lace, the solitary spot of color was a four-karat canary diamond on the fourth finger of her left hand.
The oaken doors opened.
Her eyes danced.