"I'm going to run Sarah home, mom."
"We are discussing this," she looks at me, "when you get home."
Chapter 11
Present
I lay in bed, trying to find some inner strength to actually go downstairs. Yesterday had pretty much been a disaster, what with embarrassing myself at lunch and then crying over old photos in front of Will. My uncle Chip then proceeded to call me out on all of my bullshit. He knows better than anyone else what I might be going through. He had witnessed it first hand when I showed up a broken-hearted mess on his doorstep all those years ago. No, I never actually told him what had happened that night, but he was smart enough to figure out that it had to do something with Will.
The last thing he had said to me the day before was, "Kiddo, there seems to be some unfinished business between you two. You going to deal with it this time, or are you going to run away again?"
The answer to that question was easy. Run. I talked to Sawyer for a while last night. I wish there was some way I could fly her out for moral support. It's not like she doesn’t know my family. Well, everyone but Brian, and seeing as how it is his wedding, I can not think of an excuse. I should have plus one'd from the beginning. She is still certain that I can do this, is even encouraging me to talk to Will. Pretty sure that isn’t going to happen. Really, what would be the point? It’s ancient history.
I only have four more days to go. My thoughts are interrupted by my stomach. I skipped dinner the night before, and my sub can only hold me over for so long. I glance at the alarm clock. It is just after eight. I check work email on my phone and answer any questions I know off-hand and forward the others to my assistant. I have an out of office auto-reply set up for incoming messages but feel better knowing nothing is blowing up in my absence. When I’m done, I pit stop in the bathroom before heading downstairs. My mom is in the living room reading. She asks if I'm feeling better as I pass. I nod. I had to fake a migraine the night before as an excuse to stay in my room. My dad is at the kitchen table drinking what I assume is his second cup of the day.
He looks up as I walk in. "How's the head?"
"Better." I strain some orange juice and sit down across from him, happy to see there are still a couple of muffins.
I pick at my food, enjoying the quiet. My dad pushes the paper towards me, and smiling at him, I take it and start flipping through it. Out of habit, I go right to the horoscopes. Mine is all mumbo jumbo about Saturn lining up with Venus and investing. I roll my eyes. Will's is less planetary and talks about obstacles to overcome. My dad gets up to pour himself another cup. When he offers me one, I shake my head. My dad has always been so laid back. I wonder how, considering all of the caffeine he ingests on a daily basis. When I'm done with my muffin, I head upstairs to shower, passing Chip on the stairs.
"Hiding under your blanket last night?"
"No comment," I mumble.
Today I am supposed to help my mom wrap ribbons around these sprays of faux flowers that will hang at the end of each pew at the church. After that, I plan to borrow her car and go into town. I have been so busy with work I still need to buy a wedding present. Worst case, if I can’t find anything I like on their registry, I can always just write them a check. Once I'm showered and dressed, I head downstairs. My mom has already separated the flowers by color so we can put them together assembly-style. We need to make forty of them.
I pick up a spray of irises. "These match the dresses perfectly."
"Christine looked everywhere for the right color. Once she found these, she bought the whole store out." It was clear my mom was a fan. "Sarah, speaking of your dress. Do you need me to steam it?"
I slap my forehead. "I haven’t even taken it out of my bag."
I race upstairs with my mother on my heels. Once in my room, I pull the plastic garment bag it is in from my suitcase. I untie the knot at the bottom and pull the plastic off. My dress is one sky blue wrinkle. I cringe and hold it up so my mom can see it too. She tsks at me as she takes it from me. I don’t own many wrinkle-resistant articles of clothing. I follow her to my parents’ bedroom and watch as she hangs it in their bathroom.
"Sorry, mom."
She swats my butt as she walks past and tells me not to worry. I follow her back downstairs, and she walks me through how Christine wants the flower sprays to look. By my fourth, I have it down. I look down at the first and second one I made, contemplating taking them apart and redoing them. For each one, we take three pale blue irises, one spray of baby's breath and two green leaves. The irises go in the back, then the leaves and the baby's breath in front. We secure the bundle with a rubber band before twisting pale blue and white ribbons around the stems. Just below the flowers goes a big
