The Worst Wedding Date

There are not dark enough sunglasses in the world to erase everything that happened in the last twelve hours or so.

Or to block out the sun effectively enough.

“I’m so sorry I made such a fool of myself during your wedding week,” I tell Emma as we get settled at a cute little beach bistro overlooking the ocean for a late breakfast. The open windows let in a soft ocean breeze, and beach paintings line the walls behind us. The table’s a little wobbly, but there’s a pretty fishbowl in the center with more of those knitted hearts in it. Must be a resort theme.

She laughs. “Laney. Seeing you having fun was a gift. I’m just sorry you’re hurting today.”

I grimace.

It was fun.

But I feel like an absolute idiot.

“Did Theo behave himself?” Sabrina asks.

She, too, is in dark sunglasses. A lot about last night is relatively hazy, but I remember she had to go. Something about her Aunt Brenda.

And I’d rather think about that than about how much of a mess I was last night. And how understanding Theo was about it this morning.

“Theo’s a pro at handling hangovers,” Emma says. “I’m guessing he brought donuts, French fries, fried poi balls because they’re handy here and he’s always curious, coffee, Diet Coke, and…”

“Fresh-baked cookies,” I supply.

Sabrina gasp-moans. “Fresh-baked cookies? How fresh?”

“They were still warm.”

“Oh, god. Were they amazing?”

“Soo good.” Like let me rethink all of my life choices so that I can now make choices that result in Theo bringing me chocolate chip cookies good.

Which, naturally, I didn’t say to him.

Not that he gave me much of a chance.

He showed up with cookies, dropped three on the bed, and before I could take a single bite, he told me he was going to check on the kittens and disappeared.

Leaving me alone with the knowledge that my moment of rebellion last night led to him having zero interest now, despite my growing crush on him.

Growing?

Renewed?

I’m a disaster.

Emma blinks at me. “Fresh-baked cookies?”

“Unless I’m still having drunken hallucinations.”

She’s frowning. “Chocolate chip?”

“With a dusting of salt on top. And they tasted like melted caramel.”

Her frown goes deeper as she reaches for her phone, then shakes her head and drops it back into her purse.

“What’s your beef with chocolate chip cookies?” Sabrina asks.

Emma shakes her head. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

Sabrina and I share a look.

Clearly not nothing.

“You think he robbed a bakery?” Sabrina asks.

Emma chokes on her water. “Stop. He didn’t rob a bakery. Laney, I need to hear more about this pig incident yesterday. You didn’t make a lot of sense last night.”

I reach into my own bag, desperate to move on from talking about Theo.

Do I like him?

Yes.

Do I like him enough that I want to get to know him more?

Yes.

Can I handle that right now?

No. No, I cannot. Because I feel like an idiot. Like a failure at having fun. Like I’m the trouble. Like I’m high-maintenance.

Whereas he was nothing but sweet and kind and gentle in ways I didn’t expect and can’t help craving. “No stories until we’re drinking right.”

I plop three iridescent insulated wine tumblers onto the table and wait.

And the reaction is worth it.

“You didn’t!” Emma squeals, which honestly hurts my head a little, but I don’t care.

Sabrina bursts out laughing. “Oh my god, you did.”

“Seemed appropriate,” I say with a grin.

Emma picks up the nearest insulated wine tumbler and lifts it into the sunlight to examine the logo more clearly. “Remember our Ugly Heiress Society clubhouse?”

Not long after Theo dubbed us the ugly heiresses of the Tooth—Sabrina as an heiress to Bean & Nugget, me to Kingston Photo Gifts, and Emma to Rocky Roadkill—Sabrina found an old treehouse on her grandparents’ property within walking distance from the school. The three of us decided we’d own the crap out of the nickname, make ourselves a fancy club with our rickety new clubhouse, and we’d go there all the time after the bell rang and before we had to get home.

I nod. “We were so lucky that thing didn’t fall apart.”

“Hey, we don’t do rickety treehouses in my family unless we know they’re sturdy,” Sabrina says.

“Is it still there?” Emma asks.

Sabrina shakes her head. “Aunt Lisa had it torn down after Grandma couldn’t make it out to the yard to see if it was still there anymore.”

Emma wrinkles her nose, but she doesn’t say a bad word about her future mother-in-law. “I guess that was probably the safe choice.”

Sabrina grabs her mug and inspects the inscription too. “I can’t believe you remembered and did this.”

“I can,” Emma says softly.

My cheeks get hot. Also, here I go again, fixating on the one man I am absolutely positive has been cured of whatever crush he might’ve ever had on me. “In retrospect, I shouldn’t have taken it so personally when Theo called us that. There’s a solid chance one of us—probably me—upset him and he was lashing back, and just based on everything I remember from childhood, it most likely came right on the heels of my mother telling me I needed to learn to dress because my face would never be what found me the right man.”

“Oh, honey,” Emma whispers.

I wave a hand. “I know she meant well. Like, tempering my expectations, you know?”

“Except you’re gorgeous,” Sabrina says.

“Not next to you two.”

“Are you serious right now?” Emma points to her arm. “Do you see the freckles? And that’s with seven thousand gallons of SPF 100 applied hourly. And let’s not talk about how I look like a walking stick with a pointy nose and a pointy chin and elf ears. I look sick. No matter how much I eat.”

“You are also gorgeous,” Sabrina tells her.

“You have to say that because I’m the bride.”

“I choose to say that because I’m your friend who sees all of your beauty. And also who knows you eat all the good things, see your doctor regularly, that your metabolism isn’t your fault, and that your face is utterly charming and captivating and you rock it.”

“And you’re easily the most beautiful of the three of us on the inside,” I chime in.

“Agreed. I’m a total bitch on the inside.” Sabrina grins.

“Me too,” I say.

My two best friends find that hilarious.

“I really think I am,” I insist. “At least…to some people.”

“Those people have provoked you your entire life,” Sabrina says dryly.

“But that doesn’t mean I have to rise to the occasion and provoke back.” I wave my hand. “And back to Emma. How’s your wedding week? Is it everything you hoped it would be? What’s missing? What else do you need?”

She smiles.

It’s one of those glowy smiles that makes her eyes light up, even if they’re pinched at the edges. “It’s a good week. I have my family. I have my friends. I have my groom. We’re in paradise. I have everything.”

“But…?” Sabrina says.

“No buts.”

There are totally buts. “C’mon, Em. What’s wrong?” I prod.

She opens her mouth. Closes it again. Then glances around the bistro like she’s afraid someone’s going to overhear her. “Have you noticed that everything’s really…slow?”

“Like island time slow?” Sabrina says, which is complete and total baloney.

“No, like…even slower. Like half the staff isn’t here or something. I thought that first day was a glitch, but now I’m getting worried. Chandler was complaining last night that there’s only been one day when the bar was open at the pool, and it was thirty minutes past his tee time yesterday before the clubhouse opened so he could get his golf cart. And like…we’re almost the only party here, but they still don’t have a room for you, Laney. And—”

“Aw, Em, a few staff shortages won’t ruin your wedding. You still get to be Mrs. Sullivan by the end of the week.” I reach over to squeeze her hand. When I asked what she needed, I thought I’d be calling a cab to run out to a store and pick up a load of candles for her wedding night.

Not that she’d be stressing that the resort isn’t living up to expectations.

And did I hear—

I cut off my own thoughts as Sabrina glares at me with the do not say what I’m afraid you’re about to say look.

Right.

I was drunk last night.

Even if I heard what I think I heard about open bungalows, I don’t have the full story.

And honestly?

I don’t know that I want to move rooms.

Nothing to do with Theo, I tell myself, though even I think I’m lying. But I’m not lying about the sadness that would happen if I had less kitten time.

I feel very complicated right now.

“It’s just so different to dream about your wedding and have these expectations than it is to live it,” Emma says. “Like, I thought meeting my perfect man would be a fairytale, but being in a relationship is a lot of work. And I thought I’d feel this magical sense of being a princess all week, but instead, I’m worrying about if my dad and uncle are getting along okay with all of Chandler’s family, and why there aren’t enough rooms, and if there will be enough food at all the meals, and if Chandler’s really having a good time or if he’s lying to me for my sake, and if Theo’s having fun or if he’s starting to feel…well, just if he’s enjoying this week too.”

“You are officially off worrying duty and hereby ordered to spend the rest of the day at the beach,” Sabrina says. “No relatives. No future in-laws. I mean, except me, but I was yours before Chandler was yours, so I don’t count as a future in-law, and who counts cousins-in-law anyway? We’ve already been family forever.”

“I’ll check in again with the desk about extra rooms,” I offer. “And I’ll follow up with catering too.”

“But you have too much else to do because you’re babysitting my brother.” Emma cringes. “That came out wrong.”

“No, no, that came out right,” Sabrina says with a smile.

None of us laugh though.

Me chiefly because I have no idea what my face is about to do. “Em, you know I’ve never been Theo’s biggest fan, so when I say I don’t think he’s causing trouble on purpose, or even that it would be trouble if it wasn’t your wedding week, that has to count for something, right? Things just happen when he’s around. Let’s be real here. Who sneezes at just the right time to prompt himself getting caught on fire? And who has a collision with a feral pig and then has to hide in the car and wait for a local to rescue you because the one pig on the entire island that’s rabid is the one pig that you hit?”

And who liked it?

This girl.

This good girl right here who had an orgasm that she is not telling her best friends about because she’s still processing that too.

Along with processing that it was fun.

Nobody died. Not even the pig.

My parents’ business didn’t fall apart.

Thunderclouds didn’t gather and strike us with lightning, and I didn’t get pregnant by having a solo orgasm caused by a rocking car and Theo’s incredible erection.

If anything, I got a glimpse at what’s possible when I let myself go and have fun.

Which has to be the lamest fun Theo and his penis have ever had in their lives.

Emma frowns. “Do you think they’ll catch it and put it down?”

I start.

The pig, Laney. She’s not talking about putting Theo’s penis down.

“I hope so,” Sabrina says. “And then I hope they send it to your dad so the stuffed feral pig can be a first-anniversary gift to Chandler if he doesn’t do everything in his power to make you the happiest wife in the whole entire world.”

Emma smiles and rolls her eyes. “He’s never taxidermied a Hawaiian pig. And he does love checking new animals off his list.”

“Theo said the same thing while he was taking pictures of it last night,” I report, hoping they can’t tell I’m thinking about his penis.

She grins. “Did he ask you to help him put it in the trunk?”

“Yes.”

“Did you say no?” Sabrina asks.

“There was literally no other answer. And can you imagine if we’d put it in the trunk before it came to?”

Before it came.

I came.

Sabrina giggles.

Emma tries to stifle a laugh and ends up snorting.

“I was trying to be fun, but even fun has its limits,” I tell them.

I’m sweating. They don’t know I’m sweating because I’m thinking about coming on Theo’s penis, right?

Sabrina giggles harder.

Emma snorts twice more.

“You wouldn’t be laughing if we’d been murdered by an angry pig,” I mutter, hoping my brain is tracking the out-loud conversation right. “Hey, where is the staff? We need water.”

“Coffee and mimosas,” Sabrina corrects, still giggling.

“I need water. You can have a mimosa and all the coffee your caffeinated heart desires.”

“We’re not taking joy in your suffering, Laney, I promise,” Emma says. “It’s just the image of the pig chasing Theo all over the inside of that convertible…”

“The glow of happiness at the idea of him shrieking for his life…” Sabrina agrees.

“Nowhere in that equation is you getting hurt.”

“Or needing to drink that heavily over anything else the rest of the week.”

I wave them both off as I rise. “I’m going in search of beverages to fill our cups. It’s fine. All good. If it makes you happy, Em, then that’s what I’m here for.”

“You both make me happy,” she tells us.

But as I head away, I hear her whisper to Sabrina, “You don’t think there’s any chance he’s pulling his charm routine on Laney, do you?”

“Absolutely not,” Sabrina whispers back. “He wouldn’t cross that line.”

I stiffen, but I keep walking like I didn’t hear.

I do feel like Theo’s more than I gave him credit for.

And after what happened in the car last night—which I will definitely not be discussing with them now, for sure, or possibly ever—and then how he took care of me while I was drunk, and then waking up plastered all over him, I thought maybe we were finding some common ground.

Especially after his confession that he’s always had to live down to expectations as much as I’ve had to live up to expectations.

But once he left and took forever to come back, and then disappeared to play with the kittens when I didn’t have time to do much more than throw on clothes to come meet Emma for the first event of her wedding that I’ve been to?

I think he’s giving me space to get back to being me.

Or whoever it is I’m trying to become.

Weird stuff happens on vacation.

That’s all.

When we get home, everything will go back to normal.

But I don’t think that’s honestly what I want.

I think what I want is to ask Theo to show me how to have more fun.

And I don’t know yet how to handle that.

Or ask for it.