It’s not normal for me to care this much.
Being so self-absorbed on Greg and Deirdre’s special day sucks, too, but Greg’s less-than-sympathetic reaction last night to the news that Jet wouldn’t be here today makes me feel justified in my selfishness. As if I’m not dealing with enough, he chewed me out at the rehearsal dinner, going on and on about “Deirdre’s numbers” and the stress of both of their houses selling at once (serves him right!) and having to move as soon as they get back from their honeymoon. Since I can’t do anything about most of his beefs, I focused on what I could control and reassured him the seating chart would be fine, because Colin agreed to step in as my date, in Jet’s stead.
Nobody could take Jet’s place, though. (Duh. As if I didn’t already know that.) Away from the other attendees, Greg hissed, “The city’s most eligible bachelor asks you to marry him, and you turn him down? What the hell is wrong with you?”
It’s a valid question. I’ve had a lot of time to contemplate it—or any number of closely related queries. I think I’ve figured it out, too, and it has very little to do with a million-dollar ring that needs its own bodyguard or any of that other stuff I spewed at Jet when he shoved that thing under my nose. Sure, those things matter and contribute to a larger whole, but they’re also surface. After a week of tearful soul-searching, I have a much better handle on the deeper problem. Problems.
Now, I need to work up the nerve to call him and explain.
The blaring organ startles me from my deep introspection. I’ve missed The Kiss (I’m okay with that), and it’s time to reverse process and take our places in the receiving line. Joy. I make a private bet with myself that I’ll hear no fewer than a dozen instances of, “Your turn next!” from well-meaning relatives who have no idea what else to say to me.
As I turn to inch my way toward the center aisle, where I’ll have to take the sweaty arm of Deirdre’s nerdy cousin, Kevin, I catch sight of Colin, who gives me a campy wink and thumbs-up from his seat in the same row as my parents. I smile at his encouragement.
I’m still smiling, in spite of the sweaty arm under my hand, when, making my way toward the back of the church with Sweat Hog, I see him. Standing in the third-to-last row, on the aisle. In his big-and-tall suit and the green tie that matches his eyes so perfectly. With his carefully combed hair and his clean-shaven face. Wearing a sheepish smile. Mouthing, “Love you.”
I drop Kevin’s arm like I’ve been caught cheating. He glances over at me and utters something I can’t hear, but I wave him on without me and stop at Jet’s row.
“You came,” I blurt, standing in front of him like a simpleton.
He laughs, then glances toward the rest of the wedding party. “Yeah. Uh, you better get in line there, Richards, before Coach D notices you’re out of formation.”
“But you showed up.” I fling my arms around his neck and hug him, then quickly let go. “Don’t go anywhere!” I point at him with my fussy bouquet as I short-step away in my tight dress, toward the receiving line. “I’ll be right back.”
“Right back” turns out to be nearly thirty minutes later, by the time every wedding guest has gone through the line and I’ve told my family I’ll catch up to them at the hotel that’s hosting the reception.
Exactly where I left him, as commanded, Jet slides down the now-empty pew to make room for me and my swooshing taffeta.
“Hey there, Beautiful,” he greets me. “You look amazing.”
“Thanks. I’m miserable. But better now that I’ve seen you. Were you here the whole time?”
“Yep. Saw you walk down the aisle and everything.”
I press my hand to my forehead. “I’ve been so out of it. I can’t believe I didn’t see you!”
He pulls my hand to his lips. “Maura, I’m sorry,” he says against my knuckles. Lowering our hands to his lap, he continues, “About everything. About yelling at you; about pressuring you; about pouting when you didn’t say ‘yes’; about giving you the silent treatment all week. About that ridiculous ring. What was I thinking?”
I chuckle through my sniffles.
He looks up at me. “Aw, man. Don’t cry. I… I let my disappointment and hurt pride get the better of me, and I completely ignored the fact that you were hurt, too, and I was being a selfish jerk.”
“I’m okay.”
“And I’m so sorry my reaction to what you told me was to break commitments—and dishes.”
I wipe under my eyes before my makeup slides down my face. “Yeah. I may have heard that last thing.”
He winces. “It was mega-childish. And messy.”
“I’m sorry, too. Some of the things I said were horrible.”
“I was baiting you. You didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know.”
“The way I said it was inexcusable, though.”
“I forgive you. Do you forgive me?”
Nodding, I rasp, “Of course. I’m sorry I’m not ready.”
“You can’t
