This Is So Not Happening (31 page)

“Omigod! Are we getting back together with Jake?” Faith squealed, clasping her pink pen between both hands.

“Shhhhh!” we all admonished her. I looked around quickly, but no one seemed to have noticed her outburst.

“No one is getting back together with anyone,” I whispered.

Annie cracked open a can of Pringles and popped one into her mouth with a smirk. She muttered something under her breath that sounded a lot like “Or so you think,” but she was too far away and her mouth was too full for me to be sure.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing,” she said with a shrug.

Then Faith dragged Chloe and me down into Springtime in Paris hell, and by the time the bell rang, Annie was long gone.

On the morning of the wedding, I woke up facing the bay window at the back of the house. The sun was predictably shining, the sky a perfect, cloudless blue. I could only imagine the pure
insanity that had taken over the first floor, but I couldn’t make myself move. I just lay there, gazing out that window, motionless, until my eyes started to sting.

My mother was getting married. Today. To someone who was not my father. My family was officially over.

And Jake wasn’t even going to be there.

I sat up straight the second I thought about him. Why couldn’t I stop thinking about him? He’d barely even blinked when I’d broken up with him, and that had been months ago now. He hadn’t bothered to tell me he had a change of heart and had apologized to Chloe. He hadn’t called me, hadn’t texted, had barely looked at me in the halls. And everyone was talking about the slutty sophomore he was apparently taking to the prom. So why did I care? Why could I not stop caring?

Sometimes I wished Chloe had never told me that Jake had finally said he was sorry. Maybe then I could still be so mad at him I wouldn’t care what he was doing. Or who he was doing it with.

I looked over at my laptop, the screen playing my slideshow screen saver. At least I’d finally finished my speech last night. Ironically, thanks to Jake and his advice.

“Ally? Are you up?” Quinn shouted from down the hall. “Our stylists are here!”

“I’ll be down in a few minutes!” I shouted back.

I took a deep breath and held it. This was not about Jake. This was not about my dad and our former life as a family. It was about my mom. And as heavy as my heart and head and limbs felt at that very moment, I was going to put on a happy—no, a jubilant, ecstatic, blissful face—and be the best maid of honor ever. I flung the covers off my legs and hit the showers.

As I lathered my hair and scrubbed my face, I recited my speech over and over again in my mind. It was short and sweet, per Jake’s tips, and I had it down—flawless—but even so, I felt panicked every time I thought about getting up there in front of the crowd. One more reason to wish Jake was going to be there.

I groaned and yanked on my hair extra hard as I rinsed it. Suddenly I remembered that song Quinn had spent half of last summer practicing, getting ready for this year’s musical auditions: “I’m Gonna Wash That Man Right Out of My Hair.” If only that were possible.

Twenty minutes later, I was sitting in an actual salon chair set up in front of a huge mirror in the middle of the room that used to be Quinn’s mom’s gift-wrapping room. Quinn, at least, didn’t seem to care that my mother had taken over the space. She sat at a manicurist station behind me, wearing a short pink robe, her blond hair already styled into a classic bun. Some dude with a Mohawk worked on the nails of her left hand while she chatted on her cell phone in her right.

“So, you want it exactly like we did your other daughter’s?” my mom’s stylist, Marta, asked her.

My heart sort of stopped. My eyes met my mom’s in the mirror. Her hair was long and natural down her back and her makeup had yet to be applied, as Marta insisted that the bride should have the last turn in the chair. There were little frown lines around her mouth, and I could tell she was waiting for me to correct Marta about Quinn’s status.

“Whatever my mom wants,” I said with a smile.

I felt her sigh of relief on the back of my neck. “You can wear it down if you want to, Ally,” she said. “Or in a ponytail.” She looked at Marta. “She practically lives in ponytails.”

“No, it’s fine,” I told Marta. “Do it like Quinn’s. It’ll look better in pictures.”

My mom gave me a proud look and kneaded my shoulders. Then she grabbed a chocolate croissant off a tray of food near the door and handed it to me. We exchanged a smile, and as Marta began to tug and yank and curl I chomped into my breakfast.

“Hang on, Lindsey. I just got a text,” Quinn said.

As she turned her phone to look at it, it slipped from her palm and bounced along the carpet toward my feet. I couldn’t move to get it, since half my head of hair was clutched in Marta’s iron fist grip, but I looked down. The screen read:

ANNIE J.

I blinked as Quinn pounced on her phone. I couldn’t have just seen that right. There may have been some odd relationships popping up over the last year, but Quinn and Annie? I was pretty sure they’d never even occupied the same airspace.

“Who’s that?” I asked as she perched onto her chair again.

“Just a friend. Someone from ballet,” she said, texting back quickly.

When Quinn was done, she told Lindsey she had to go and she set the phone aside, giving her manicurist both hands. She didn’t meet my eyes again, but that was nothing new. But the longer I looked at her, the harder she started to blush. What was going on here? Were Quinn and Annie talking? And if so, why?

“Face forward, please,” Marta said, giving my hair a yank.

“Ow!” I complained with a wince.

“Price of beauty, hon!” she trilled.

Once Marta was done making my scalp feel so tight I thought it might start to tear off, she affixed Quinn’s pillbox hat to her head. I cringed, just watching the thing go on. I was going to
look ridiculous in that. Like, Halloween-costume ridiculous. As Marta removed the white tissue paper from my own hat, I caught my mom’s eye in the mirror. She was chewing on her lip like she hadn’t eaten in days.

The hat floated down toward my head. I closed my eyes and told myself it was just one day. Just a few hours …

“Stop!”

Everyone jumped. I turned and looked at my mom. “No. I can’t do it to you, Ally. You don’t have to wear that.”

“But, Mom—”

“No.” She turned around and plucked a couple of yellow gardenias from one of the flower arrangements decorating the room, then handed them off to Marta. “Use these,” she said. “They’re more her.”

I was touched, but still. I didn’t want her to change her wedding just for me. “Mom, it’s okay,” I said. “I’ll wear the hat.”

“Yeah. What about the pictures?” Quinn put in, turning in her chair.

“Ten years from now when I look at the wedding album, I’m not going to care what you girls were wearing,” my mom said, looking into my eyes. “All that’s going to matter is that you were there.”

I smiled up at her, my eyes filling with tears. Maybe this day wouldn’t be so bad after all.

I was so nervous walking up to the church, you’d think I was trying to crash an NFL draft party or something. There were
tons of people milling around outside. My eyes darted to anyone wearing a dark suit. Were any of them bouncers? Was there a guest list? If there was, I bet the words “Keep Jake Graydon Out” were written across the top.

My shoes crunched on the brick steps. Some guy who looked a lot like Dr. Nathanson, but wasn’t, gave me the stink eye. I attempted to smile and somehow tripped myself in the process.

“There you are.”

Annie grabbed my arm. She was wearing a dark blue dress with a wide neck, black fishnet stockings, and high heels. With her hair back from her face, she actually looked kind of … pretty.

“Get inside. They’re gonna be here any minute.”

Pretty but WWE-wrestler strong. She yanked me through the double, arched door and shoved me into a corner. The church was small and white with lots of stained-glass windows and a ton of flowers. She pushed me half behind a tall vase with sticks and blooms coming out of it in every direction.

“Stay there until they’re pronounced man and wife. Then go out that door right there, get in your car, and wait until Quinn gives you the signal. Got it?”

“Yeah! Yes. Got it,” I whispered, smoothing my suit jacket. She was so intense there was no point questioning her.

“And do
not
let her or her mother see you,” she ordered, lifting a finger at me.

“I won’t.” I raised my hands in surrender.

“Good.” Annie turned to walk away.

“Hey, Annie,” I said, stopping her in her tracks.

She gave me this exasperated sigh as she faced me again. “What? Do you need me to write it down for you?”

I shook my head. “No, I just wanted to tell you … you look really nice.”

Annie’s mouth fell open slightly. Her face turned pink. “Um. Thanks?”

“You’re welcome,” I said.

She turned and slowly walked away, and I swear she swung her hips a little bit. I laughed to myself. Over the past couple of weeks I’d finally sort of started to get why she and Ally were friends. Even I kind of liked hanging out with her. Which maybe I’d get to do more. If everything went like it was supposed to.

Please let it go like it’s supposed to.

Suddenly people started filing into the church in a crowd. My heart started to pound and I ducked in farther behind the flowers. Before long, the music started and Dr. Nathanson walked down the aisle with two people who must’ve been his parents. Next up was Quinn. She totally milked it, walking as slowly as possible, giving little flirtatious smiles to the people in the pews. She got to the front. I held my breath.

And there she was. Ally looked gorgeous. She was wearing more makeup than I was used to, but in a good way. Her lips were red and shimmery and her eyes looked huge. The dress was black, and she wore yellow flowers in her hair. On her feet were these red high heels—pretty much the sexiest shoes ever.

She paused inside the door, right across from me. She was, like, ten feet away, and for a split second I was terrified that she was going to turn and look right at me. But instead, she lifted her chin and walked down the aisle with a smile on. I knew that part of her was sad about this. That her heart was breaking right now, knowing her parents were never going to
get back together. But you never would have known it.

And in that moment I felt this whole new respect for her. I felt proud. I felt unworthy. Like maybe I didn’t even deserve to be here. Like maybe she was way too good for me.

I glanced at the doors as the pastor welcomed everyone to the wedding of Melanie and Gray, my toes itching inside my socks. What if I ruined her day just by being here? What if she said, “no”? What if this whole thing was just one giant mistake?

Annie sat near the front, her back to me. Quinn stood next to Ally, watching the pastor. Before I could double-think it, I walked quietly to the door and slipped out.

So that was it. My mom was married. And she had such a smile of pure joy on her face as she and Gray walked up the aisle together, I was, shockingly, almost happy. Quinn and I trailed after our parents along the velvet runner as the people in the pews clapped and tossed rose petals and cheered. Before long even I was smiling.

Then we got to the door. Quinn looked outside and threw her arm across the opening, blocking my way.

“What’re you doing?” I asked.

Behind us, the guests were starting to crowd the aisle, headed toward the exit. I could feel them starting to clump up behind me.

“Um, your mom! She left her makeup bag in the dressing room. You should go get it,” Quinn said.

“And you can’t go get it because …?” I asked.

The guests were starting to breathe down my neck or angle to try to get around us. My fingers were slick as they clutched my bouquet. Quinn glanced over her shoulder at the street, then rolled her eyes.

“Fine.” She grabbed my gloved hand. “We’ll both go.”

Before I could point out that it made no sense whatsoever for us both to go retrieve a tiny bag, she had dragged me back into the church and toward one of the side aisles. We twisted through the laughing, chatting throng, headed for the door that led to the church’s offices and the bridal dressing room. Everything back here smelled dusty and waxy, like the scent of the two million candles that had been lit in the church over the years was clinging to the carpet and drapes. Quinn opened the door to the dressing room and practically shoved me inside, her bouquet crunching against my back.

“Ow.” I craned my neck trying to check down my back for scratch marks. “Do they have you doing weights at cheerleading practice now?”

I dropped my bouquet on the coffee table and started to search the room, beginning with the vanity table and its drawers. There were a couple of half-drunk glasses of champagne, a crumpled tissue, and a bit of spilled powder, but no bag.

“We’ve
always
done weights,” Quinn groused. “Do you ever listen to anything I say?”

She walked to the window facing the front of the church and pushed the drapes aside to glance out. Then she placed her own flowers aside, whipped her phone from her tiny purse, and quickly sent a text.

“I don’t see a makeup bag,” I told her, checking the couch
cushions and the chair. “Are you sure she left it in here?”

Quinn stared down at her phone.

“Quinn?”

She looked at me, startled, like she’d forgotten I was there. Then someone knocked on the door and Annie stuck her head inside.

“Did you find your mom’s purse?” she asked.

“It’s not her purse,” Quinn said through her teeth. “It’s her makeup bag.”

“No. It was her purse,” Annie shot back through her teeth, shoving the door open wide and crossing her arms over her chest.

“Okay.
What
is going on?” I demanded.

“Nothing!” Quinn replied shrilly. She brought her hands to her head and her pillbox hat shifted to the side. “I just— I can’t—”

She grabbed her flowers, pulled Annie out into the hall, and slammed the door behind them. I groaned in frustration. This was ridiculous. Whatever was going on, I was missing my mom and Gray drive off, and Quinn and I had to get in our Town Car and get our asses over to the country club, stat. We were in the wedding party. We had pictures to take and we were supposed to be announced at the beginning of the reception. If we weren’t there when we were supposed to be, my mom would freak. I was about to yank the door open when I heard Annie whispering furtively.