The Bridesmaid (20 page)

Abby shrank away from his touch, then tried to ignore the hurt look on his face. Maybe her parents weren’t going to let her in on what was going on, but she wasn’t going to hide her own feelings anymore. She already had enough to keep inside.

• 13 •

Impediments

Abby loaded the CD into the burner, waited for it to copy, slapped on the label and then slipped it into the jewel box. She had dozens and dozens and dozens of CDs to make for Carol’s wedding. And she was only on number eight. The work was mindless, and as she carried on she couldn’t stop her brain from racing on to other things.

This wedding is actually going to happen. How did I let
it get this far?
Abby pulled another finished CD, warm and fresh from the CD-ROM tray. In three days’ time, her sister would be Mrs. Tucker Robb, never having known that Tucker was fooling around behind her back. Maybe.

How can I let this happen?

But the questions were pointless, because she already knew. She’d been hoping for some kind of divine intervention. She’d hoped Carol would figure it out on her own or that someone else would figure it out and tell her. Abby didn’t want to be the one to break her sister’s heart, so she’d opted for the easy way out—avoidance.

I suck,
Abby thought as she looked down at the CD label. Carol and Tucker’s names were intertwined in an elaborate script against a blue backdrop.
I totally
suck as a sister.

Just then the front door slammed. Startled, Abby pushed herself up off the floor and looked out the window. There was Tucker stomping across the front yard toward his truck. Clearly he was all riled up about something.

Suddenly a thought popped into Abby’s head.
Maybe this is it.
The something big she’d been waiting for. Maybe Carol had found out what Tucker was up to and had finally broken it off.

Please,
Abby thought.
Please, please, please . . . What?
What did she want? For Tucker to be innocent and everything to be okay or for Carol to have found out Tucker was a sleaze and broken it off?

She had no idea what to hope for.

Abby rounded the corner at the bottom of the stairs. She paused when she saw Carol’s tiny form, huddled at the kitchen table, her face in her hands. Her back was shaking and she was clearly crying. Abby felt as if her heart were breaking wide open.

“Carol? What’s wrong?”

With a loud sniffle, Carol lifted her head. Her face was streaked with tears and her nose was all red. She looked just like she had the first time she saw footage of animals stuck in an oil slick.

“Tucker. He . . . he . . .”

Is a lying, cheating scum sucker?
Abby thought.

“He thinks I’m a Bridezilla!” Carol finished. She grabbed a tissue out of the box in the middle of the table and blew her nose noisily. “He says all I’ve talked about for the last month is the wedding. He says that I’ve become totally obsessed. But it’s not true, right?”

Carol looked at Abby hopefully. The last thing Abby wanted to do was agree with the scum sucker at the moment, but she hesitated. There was some truth to what he was saying.

“It’s not true,” Carol said again. “Is it?”

“No,” Abby said finally. “No, Carol. You’re fine.”

Carol looked so miserable Abby didn’t know what to do. So Abby did what her mom did when Abby was upset—she sat down next to Carol and she rubbed her back. It was always comforting when her mom did it. She hoped she could have the same effect.

“He said I’ve forgotten what this whole thing is really about—him and me and the rest of our lives.” Carol was crumpling and uncrumpling her napkin. “Like I could really forget about that. All
he
ever talks about is Colorado and how much I’ll love it and how our bedroom faces the sunset over the mountains. . . .”

“Well, that sounds nice,” Abby said.

“Yeah, I know,” Carol replied, nodding. “But do you know what else he said?”

“What?”

“He said that if I need an illustration of what wedding-obsessing can do to people, I should just look at my parents,” Carol said, her jaw dropping a bit. “I mean, I’m upset enough already that Mom and Dad are practically divorced—did he really have to rub it in?”

“Don’t say that,” Abby said quickly. The very thought sent a wave of a nausea right through her. “They’re not practically divorced.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” Carol said. “I’m just upset.”

“Well . . . see? People say things they don’t mean when they’re upset. Maybe Tucker didn’t mean to say that.”

“You think?” Carol asked with a sniffle.

Why am I defending him?
Abby wondered. But as she looked into her sister’s big wet eyes, she knew. She was defending him because Carol loved him. In that moment, it was that simple.

“Don’t worry. I’m sure he’ll be coming through that door with a big bouquet of I’m-sorry flowers any minute. Where did he go, anyway?”

“To Andrew’s hotel,” Carol said. “So, you don’t think I’m wedding-obsessed?”

“Nah.” Abby pushed her sister’s hair behind her shoulder, reached her arm around her and gave her a little squeeze. “You’re fine.”

The doorbell rang and Abby got up to answer it. She opened the door to find a guy about her age standing on the doorstep with a large box.

“Delivery for Carol Beaumont,” he said.

Abby looked over at her sister, who dried her eyes and got up from the table. She signed the guy’s clipboard and took the box.

“Oh!” she said, suddenly sounding bright and cheery. “It’s the menus!” Carol lifted the lid of the box and pulled out a white card with a ribbon tied at the top. The wedding menu was printed down the center.

“Oh . . . pretty,” Abby said, trying to sound as peppy as her sister. “Wow. You guys didn’t go for simple when it came to the food, huh?”

Abby looked at Carol, whose face had suddenly crumpled. “This is all wrong!” she wailed.

“Is there a problem?” the guy asked, paling slightly.

“Yes! Yes there’s a problem,” Carol said, shoving the box at Abby. She held the menu up with both hands in front of the guy’s face. “See this ribbon? What color would you say this ribbon is? Huh? What color?”

“Blue?” the guy asked, glancing desperately at Abby.

“Um, Carol? Let’s just—”

“Well
duh,
Mr. Rhodes Scholar, but what
shade
of blue?” Carol practically screeched.

“I—I don’t—” the guy stammered.

“Don’t you do this for a living?” Carol shouted. She walked forward and the guy retreated a couple of steps. “This ribbon is
supposed
to be
violet
blue. I don’t know what
this
color is, but it is
not
violet blue!”

“Carol,” Abby said cautiously. “Calm down—”

“Don’t ‘calm down’ me, Abby. My invitations had a violet blue ribbon!” Carol’s eyes grew wide. Her hand was flailing around wildly and the delivery guy kept a close eye on it like it was some kind of weapon. “They’re supposed to match! Is that too much to ask? I mean, I didn’t want much, but I figured I could at least have that!”

Carol dissolved into sobs again, holding the menu over her face.

“I—I’m sorry,” the guy said, swallowing nervously. “Of course we’ll reprint them for you at no extra charge.”

“Oh yeah? When?” Carol demanded, throwing her arms down again. “The wedding is this weekend! How are you going to do it before
Saturday
?”

The poor delivery guy stumbled back a few more steps and Abby realized it was about time to defuse the situation. She stepped in front of her sister.

“Carol, you need to chill,” she said.

“But this is my wedding!” Carol blubbered.

“Yes, Carol,” Abby said, forcing herself to sound calm. “The fact that this is your wedding is not something that I haven’t noticed. Trust me.” Then Abby turned to the delivery guy and gave him a sympathetic smile. “These are fine, thank you.” The delivery guy just nodded, then promptly turned and ran. Abby pulled Carol back inside and closed the door before she could say anything else. She walked by her and dropped the box on the kitchen table. “Okay, Carol. Deep breaths. Come on. It’s gonna be okay.”

Carol sucked wind, bracing her hands against the counter. “I’m okay . . . I’m . . . I’m okay,” she said.

Abby took a deep breath and pushed her hair back from her face. “What the heck
was
that?” she asked.

“I know! You’d think they could get one little thing like a ribbon color right!” Carol exclaimed, grabbing a tissue and dabbing at her eyes.

“Not that!” Abby cried. “That!” She pointed toward the window, behind which the sound of squealing tires could now be heard. “You scared the crap out of him because of a ribbon, which, by the way, looks
exactly
the same as your invitations!”

Carol looked down at the tearstained menu in her hands as if she’d never seen it before. “It’s . . . it’s not. It’s a different shade of . . .”

Her hand reached out shakily and she grasped the top of the chair at the head of the table. The menu card fluttered to the tabletop and Carol closed her eyes.

“Oh my God. Tucker’s right,” she said. “I am a Bridezilla.”

“It’s okay,” Abby said after a long pause. “The first step is acceptance.”

Carol’s eyes popped open. “This isn’t funny, Abby,” she said. “I’m exactly what we always despised. I’m exactly what we always promised we’d never be.”

“Carol...”

“I need to get out of here,” Carol said, grabbing her purse from the kitchen counter. “I need to be alone for a while.”

Before Abby could say anything else, her sister was out the door.

Menu

Cold Vodka and Honeydew Melon Soup

Garden Salad with Pine Nuts
and Raspberry Vinaigrette

Tricolor Farfalle with Capers, Black Olives,
Olive Oil, Garlic and Fresh Basil

Roast Rack of Lamb with
Rosemary Mashed Potatoes
Or
Red Snapper Provençale
with Fresh Vegetables

Wedding Cake
Viennese Display
Rice Pudding
Chocolate-Covered Strawberries

“Thanks for doing this with me,” Abby said as Noah turned his car into the dry cleaner’s parking lot. “When Carol bailed with the van I had no idea what to do.”

“Well, you called the right guy,” Noah said. He yanked up the parking brake. “Just call me Wedding Man.”

“Okay, that may be the dorkiest thing you’ve ever said.” Abby laughed.

“Yeah. That was pretty bad,” Noah said.

They got out of the car together and headed inside. Carol and Abby had planned a whole afternoon of errand running. When Carol had disappeared, Abby had realized it was time to flip into true maid of honor mode. It was her responsibility to pull off this wedding no matter
how
she felt about it.

Inside, Abby handed the pink claim ticket to the man behind the counter. He disappeared into the back. Abby turned around to find her father walking through the door.

“Dad!” she said, surprised.

“Abby!” he replied.

“Hey, Mr. Beaumont,” Noah said.

“Oh, hello.” He seemed confused to find them there. Abby’s father handed his ticket to the counter person and then turned to Abby. “How’s your mother doing?” he asked.

“You still haven’t talked to her?”

“Not yet. Things are—”

“Complicated. I know,” Abby said. Her father’s eyes looked so sad she could barely stand it. “Actually, Dad, she’s a mess. Kind of like you.”

“I’m not a mess,” her father said, pulling out his wallet.

A ton of change, lint and crumpled pieces of paper came with it and scattered all over the floor. Noah dropped down to pick them up and Abby’s father flushed. He rubbed his hand over his face—hard—as if he were trying to keep himself awake.

“All I was trying to do was give Phoebe a wedding she would always remember,” he said. “That’s all I wanted.”

Noah stood up, his hands full, and exchanged a glance with Abby.

“You mean Carol,” Abby said, her heart racing.

“What?” her father asked.

“You mean you wanted to give Carol a wedding to remember,” Abby said. “You said Phoebe.”

Her father’s brow furrowed. “I did?”

The guy who had taken her father’s ticket came back and hung his tux on the rod between the registers. Noah handed her dad his things.

“Thanks, Noah,” her father said. He counted out the money he owed the cleaner. Abby watched him as her mind slowly put everything into place.

A candy store wedding was totally her father’s kitschy style. And at the stationery store he’d told them that if
he
were getting married, he would use those modern invitations from the red book. Red was, in fact,
his
favorite color, and he tried to push nouvelle cuisine on every VIC that walked through the Dove’s Roost door.

Her dad hadn’t been planning Carol’s dream wedding. He’d been planning the wedding of
his
dreams. The one he wished he could have had for himself and his wife. For Phoebe.

“Where do you want this?” Noah asked, holding up a box full of light blue votive candles.

“I think my mom’s showing a VIC around the Roost so let’s just bring it to my room for now,” Abby said.

As they trudged up the stairs, all Abby could think about was crashing on her bed and taking a nap. This had been one long, emotionally draining, wedding-intensive day. Her brain couldn’t stop going over her revelation about her dad. Her back hurt from all the lifting and lugging and packing and unpacking. Wasn’t back pain something only old people complained about?

The second Abby dropped the dry-cleaning bag full of linens on her bed, the doorbell rang. She sighed heavily, casting a longing look at her pillows.

“That’s probably another delivery. I’ll be right back.”

She trotted down the stairs, through the kitchen, and opened the door.

“Hey! Ready to go?” Christopher asked brightly.