I tried not to glare. I don’t think I succeeded. Other than gaining about ten pounds… okay, fifteen, I hadn’t changed that much.
“Wow, it’s been forever.” She flashed a fake grin. “I’m surprised to see you here.”
“Well, it is a party for my dad,” I forced through a tight-lipped smile.
Her mouth parted as if she planned to say something else but then changed her mind. Then her lips curved in a ridiculous, exaggerated smile. “It’s so nice to see you again.”
Now there was a bold-faced lie if I’ve ever heard one, but she didn’t give me a chance to respond. Turning to her date, she murmured something I couldn’t understand and moved into the reception hall. Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Handsome tipped his head in my direction and followed Ashley.
If I hadn’t driven all the way here, and agreed to come to this wretched event, I would have left. I was seriously considering it. The door opened behind me again, and I heard a familiar voice call my name.
“Charlee! My favorite girl! I’m so glad you made it!” My Aunt Fern waved her hands in the air before I found myself swallowed in a fierce hug.
“I told you I was coming.” I stepped back from her embrace and smoothed my skirt.
“Well, I know, but this wouldn’t be the first time work stopped you from making it.” Fern gave my shoulder an affectionate squeeze. “Since you are the most talented wedding cake decorator on the West Coast!”
In that moment, I didn’t regret coming. Aunt Fern was by far my favorite person on this earth. And she always knew how to make me feel loved, even if it meant exaggerating my culinary talents. Today I’d take it.
“Oh boy.” Fern leaned in and lowered her voice. “Your mother is coming this way, and by the look on her face, I’d say she doesn’t like my outfit.”
I turned to see my mom waving us over, wearing an anxious frown that I had to agree probably had something to do with my hippie aunt’s peacock print tunic over lime green leggings. Not to mention the colorful tail feather sticking out of her headband, reminiscent of something from the 1920s. I’m sure my mother worried her sister-in-law’s ensemble would ruin the family photo. As I said, to my mom, everything is a big deal.
“Lead the way, hon,” Fern motioned. As she followed behind me, I heard her whisper. “Charlee, you’ve lost weight. Good thing you’re staying with me. I hear your mother is on another one of her carb-free kicks again. We Amazon women have to stick together.”
I smiled, in spite of her fib, since last I’d checked I’d gained three pounds. My aunt just wanted me to make French crepes for breakfast. Fern was my dad’s younger sister, and with those electric blue pumps she had on, was pushing 6’ 2”.
I didn’t have the confidence to wear something so bold that would have me towering over every female and most of the men, but I loved Fern for it. She’d always celebrated her height, and mine too, getting me through my adolescence, when my mom became frustrated that we couldn’t find appropriate feminine clothes for me to wear.
The cute girly shoes never came in a size 12, and skirts, pants, and shirts were always too short. It’s not my fault I was tall, and while my mother would bemoan the retailers for not making clothes in larger sizes, I overheard her on the phone on more than one occasion telling her sister how she wished I were shorter.
At least she didn’t tell me I was fat back then. Then again, that may have changed now.
“Hurry, Charlee, Fern,” my mother waved her hand impatiently. “Everyone is waiting.”
Sure enough, my entire family stood facing the photographer, arranged in typical King family fashion. My dad stood in the center with my two older brothers on each side. Their wives cozied up next to them, touching the shoulders of their children standing in front of them. It was all very picture-perfect.
And then there was me. The younger, single sister. Oh, and my Aunt Fern, but it wouldn’t shock me if my mom excluded her from this family photo. Peacock feathers and lime green pants aren’t “tastefully appropriate” attire. Not according to my mother.
“Hey, Charlee,” my brother Caleb waved. “Why don’t you come stand by me?”
I scrambled over to his side before my mom suggested I kneel in front with the kids.
I watched my mom whisper something to Fern before stepping into place by my dad. Fern stood off to the side while the photographer snapped several shots. She didn’t seem bothered by being left out, and I admired her thick skin to not let my mother’s slights offend her.
When the pictures were done, I greeted the rest of my family and was met with hugs and smiles. As the party got underway and my family dispersed to mingle, I lingered near the wall, scanning the room for the person I was most anxious about seeing.
Kenny Miller.
The other half of my pretty good reason for not wanting to come. Relieved not to see him, I blew out a deep breath, only to spot the back of a man with dark blonde hair and a thin build, wearing a striped long-sleeve shirt, tucked into jeans.
My insides twisted into knots. Maybe it wasn’t him, I tried to lie to myself. But it was, and I wasn’t ready to see him. It didn’t matter that it had been ten years; it still felt like a knife through my heart.
And then he turned around. Our eyes locked. The smile on his face vanished as he stared at me, and the knots in my stomach tightened. I couldn’t do this. Not today. Maybe not ever.
I bent down to pick up my bag from the floor, and began weaving my way around the tables toward the exit.
Don’t follow me.
