The Bridesmaid (22 page)

Staring at the Elvis impersonator on the front of the brochure, Abby realized that she didn’t have time to deal with Noah. She didn’t have time to think about herself right now. At that very moment her sister could be walking down the aisle, arm linked to a fat man with fake ’burns, about to marry a guy who was cheating on her. She had to do something—now. It was time to cut her losses.

“You know what, Noah? Call me when you’re off the pacifier.”

She hung up. Noah really wasn’t turning out to be the person she thought he was. Apparently she was on her own.

Feeling sick to her stomach, Abby trudged downstairs. She wasn’t even sure of where she was going or why. All she could think about was the fact that she had let her sister down. She had put off doing anything constructive about the Tucker situation, and now her sister was off in Sin City, pledging to be his forever. She
was
the worst maid of honor ever.

The kitchen was deserted so Abby wandered into the Roost toward her mother’s office. She paused when she saw Becky behind the desk chatting on the phone.

“All right, honey. We’ll see you on Saturday, then,” Becky said. “Okay, Carol.”

“That’s Carol?” Abby exploded, racing into the room.

“Okay! Bye!” Becky said, oblivious, then clicked off.

“Becky! I need to talk to her! Where is she? What’s she doing?” Abby cried, her heart pounding.

“Abby, calm down,” Becky said. “She just said that she and Tucker needed a couple of days off from the wedding insanity. They’ll be back Saturday morning.”

“Did she say where they were? Where they’re staying?” Abby asked, her mouth dry.

“No,” Becky said, confused. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” Abby said, her shoulders slumping. She knew that if she told Becky the wedding was off she would be looking at the business end of a major meltdown. Becky’s reaction would be almost as bad as her parents’ was going to be. “I’ll see you later, Becky. I’m gonna go do something . . . maid-of-honor-ly.”

“Oh, Abby. You’re so cute,” Becky said. “You’ve always been so antiwedding, but this one’s really gotten to you, hasn’t it?”

“You have no idea,” Abby said.

Saturday morning arrived and Abby was a ball of frayed nerves. Her eyes were dry and tired from an entire night spent online, looking up Vegas wedding chapels. She’d called every last one, searching for some record of Carol and Tucker. Unfortunately she’d come up with nothing. She wandered downstairs, knowing that she had to tell her parents something, but she was afraid to even open her mouth.

Abby’s mother was seated at the kitchen table in her silk robe, her hair pulled back in a tasteful chignon, her makeup perfectly applied. She sipped a cup of coffee as she stared into space. Already things didn’t look good. The woman may have been coiffed, but on the morning of a wedding she was usually running about frantically, making sure everything was in place. Here it was, the day of her own daughter’s wedding—supposedly—and she was catatonic.

“Hey, Mom,” Abby said, pouring herself a cup of coffee. “Have you heard from Carol?”

“No, sweetie,” her mother said, blinking a few times. “But she said she’d be back in plenty of time.” She checked her watch and frowned. “The photographer will be here at one. As long as she’s home by twelve. . . .”

Abby heard her father’s muffled voice coming from outside as he directed some delivery people toward the backyard. Both she and her mother looked at the wall in the direction his voice was coming from, then returned to their coffee.

“Have you talked to him?” Abby asked, her stomach churning.

“Not today,” her mother said. Then she sighed. “Oh, Abby, this whole thing is so stupid.”

Yes! Finally!
Abby thought, hope searing through her.

“You mean you and Dad?” she asked.

“Yes! Fighting over Carol’s wedding?” her mother said, shaking her head. She placed her chin in her hand and gazed at Abby sadly. “How did we get here?”

“Have you asked him that?”

Her mother shrugged. “No. I just . . . I don’t know where to start. We’ve both said some ugly things over the past few weeks, Abby, things I’m sure neither one of us is proud of.”

Abby stood up, filled with a new sense of purpose. Maybe if she could get her parents talking—get them to work things out—she could then sit them down together and tell them what Carol had done. Then they could all figure it out together.

“Where’re you going?” her mother asked.

“I’ve gotta check on something,” Abby said. “I’ll be right back.”

Abby headed outside and around the house to the backyard, where Liam and his flower crew were hard at work. There was no trace of her father. Abby hoped he hadn’t already gotten away.

“Hey, Liam!” she called out. “Where’s my dad?”

“He went back to his office!” Liam called back.

“Thanks!” Abby replied.

She walked into the ballroom by the back door and stopped dead in the center of the room. “Whoooaaaa . . . ,” she said, turning slowly in place as she looked around.

“It’s good, right? Not hideous?” Becky asked, clutching her clipboard to her chest.

“Becky, it’s . . . wow,” Abby said.

The room had never looked so beautiful. Classic white china plates gleamed next to wine and champagne glasses in every color of the rainbow. The all-white rose centerpieces were placed atop candy-striped ribbon bows that trailed out from the middle of the tables and down to the floor. Cascading flower arrangements lined the walls, while more colorful ribbons draped from every corner of the ceiling to the center, transforming the air above into strips of licorice and peppermint. Along one wall was an old-fashioned candy display where guests could put together their own bags of candy favors. The ballroom looked like Wonka’s candy factory . . . except it was perfectly elegant.

“I went with all-white flowers and china like we discussed and added the colorful accents,” Becky explained, looking around. “If we’d had the centerpieces your dad wanted—”

“It would’ve been too much,” Abby finished.

“Exactly, but if we hadn’t added the color, it would’ve looked like a hospital,” Becky said. “So . . . you think I did good?”

“Becky, I think you did great,” Abby said sincerely.

“So neither one of them is going to fire me?” Becky asked.

“No one’s gonna fire you,” Abby said, smiling at Becky. “There may be no wedding, but they’re not gonna fire you.”

Becky’s grin went from huge to nonexistent in record time.

“No wedding? What are you talking about?”

“Wow! This place looks incredible!”

Abby turned around to find Carol standing in the back doorway of the ballroom. She was slightly tan and wore a pair of low-rise jeans and a tank top. She looked glowingly happy.

“You’re here!” Abby shouted, running into her sister’s arms. “Are you married? Tell me you’re not married!”

“What? I’m not married!”

“Oh thank God,” Becky said, gripping a chair for support. “But you’re getting married, right?”

Carol pressed her teeth together and grimaced. “Well . . .”

“What?” Abby half screamed. “You’re not getting married?”

“Um . . . Becky? Could you excuse us for a sec?” Carol asked.

“Sure,” Becky said, her hand to her forehead. “I think I need to go faint anyway.”

Becky walked off and Carol led Abby over to one of the cushioned chairs. Abby sat down and turned toward her sister.

“Carol, listen, I have to talk to you. I don’t really know how to tell you this but—” Abby took a deep breath and pressed her lips together. “Tucker is cheating on you.”

At that moment Tucker stepped through the back door, tan and grinning. Both his and Carol’s faces dropped. “What?” they said in unison.

Then Carol cracked up laughing. This was not the reaction she had anticipated.

“He’s not having an affair,” Carol said, looking at Tucker, who walked over to stand by her side.

“Yes he is!” Abby replied. “I saw him! He met up with some girl named Margery the other night at the Seascape and he brought her wine! And they kissed! And not only that, but he’s been having secret conversations with another one named Melissa . . . begging her not to give up on him and all this stuff!”

As Abby continued to babble, Carol gradually stopped smiling. She eyed Tucker warily, as if she weren’t quite sure she knew him. Meanwhile, Abby didn’t hear him denying anything. He just stood there, taking it all in, while clenching and unclenching his jaw.

“Go ahead, tell her!” Abby said, feeling triumphant. “You know I’m right.”

Tucker’s eyes were full of hurt, which just made Abby want to heave. What was she supposed to do? Feel guilty that she’d called him out on betraying her sister?

“Tucker?” Carol said.

“Look . . . they’re just . . . friends,” Tucker said, turning to Carol.

“You don’t have any friends named Melissa and Margery,” Carol said.

“Yeah, I do . . . now,” Tucker said, clearly searching for words.

“Now? Now when? Since when?” Carol asked.

“It’s not what you think,” Tucker said. He broke off and looked at the floor, his hands on his hips. Then he slowly shook his head and sighed. “All right, forget it. I’m bad at lying.”

He looked down at Carol, who looked petrified. “Melissa teaches a vegetarian cooking class and she owns the Seascape. It’s all vegetarian and it’s really good. You’d love it,” he said.

Carol tilted her head and stared at him. Tucker cleared his throat.

“Anyway, I’ve been taking Melissa’s class, you know, as a wedding present for you,” he said. “So I could cook for you once we were married.”

Abby’s mouth dropped open. Carol placed her hand over her heart and stood up, looking like she was about to cry. “Really?” she said.

“Yeah,” Tucker said. “Margery’s in my class and we went to the Seascape to sort of support Melissa. A bunch of people from class were there, actually. All over the restaurant.” He turned to Abby at this point. “And if you overheard me pleading with Melissa it was probably because I was asking for private classes. I kept . . . screwing up the spinach quiche,” he said sheepishly, scratching at the back of his head. “It kept coming out like spinach
soup
.”

Oh, God. If this is true, then I’m an idiot,
Abby thought.
I’m the biggest idiot in Idiotville.

“Wait! I even have her card!” Tucker announced. He pulled out his wallet and sifted though it, finally producing a business card. Carol looked down at it, her eyes gleaming. “I wanted it to be a surprise, so . . . surprise.”

“Tucker! This is the sweetest . . .” Carol reached up and threw her arms around Tucker, who hugged her back tightly.

“But . . . you brought . . . wine,” Abby said feebly. “You kissed her.”

“The Seascape doesn’t have a liquor license, so it’s bring your own,” Tucker said. “And yeah, that whole kiss thing was totally embarrassing. I went for her cheek and missed. It was mortifying. Especially considering her husband was just coming back from the bathroom.”

“Oh.”

Abby wished more than anything that she could turn time back to that night on the wharf when she and Tucker had started to get to know each other. If she could go back to that moment and take a completely different trajectory, she would. Because now, standing there with him, she realized she had never bothered to know him at all. She had overheard a couple of conversations and made up an entire persona for him that didn’t exist. He wasn’t the fake, scheming, cheating jerk she had conjured. He was the man she had thought he was that night—a sincere, funny, kind, thoughtful guy who clearly loved her sister. All this time she’d been suspicious of him and all this time he’d just been working on a gift for Carol. A very cool, thoughtful gift. If only she’d just talked to him after that first phone call like Noah had suggested. It would have made the last few weeks a lot easier.

“Tucker, I’m so sorry,” Abby said. She felt sick. “I feel awful. I just—”

“You were just looking out for Carol. I get it,” Tucker said. “But I hope you trust me now.”

“Yeah. Of course,” Abby said. Her mind was still reeling, but she was able to realize that it was time to let go. Time to back off and let her sister be happy. She was even relieved.

“Okay, um . . . not to abruptly change the subject, but I’m confused. Did you or did you not go to Vegas?” Abby asked.

“We almost went to Vegas,” Carol said, lacing her fingers through Tucker’s. “But by the time we got to the airport we’d changed our minds and ended up in Cancún.”

“Cancún! But I found this brochure for quickie weddings!”

“Yeah, we thought about eloping,” Carol explained. “But in the end we realized it didn’t make sense. That none of this makes sense, actually,” she said, looking around at the decorations. “I’ve been dreaming about that internship my entire college career. I don’t want to give that up.”

“And I don’t want her to,” Tucker put in. “I didn’t want her to end up resenting me years from now. I mean, you hear all these stories about people giving up on their dreams and then realizing it so much later. . . .”

“Hello! Haven’t I been saying this all along?” Abby asked.

“You really never miss an ‘I told you so,’ do you?” Carol replied.

“Never,” Abby said. “But didn’t you turn down the internship?”

“I called them from Cancún and they said they had been hoping I’d change my mind,” Carol said. “They hadn’t offered the job to anyone else yet.”

“Wow. They must really want you,” Abby said.

“She is just that good,” Tucker put in, kissing Carol on the cheek. For the first time witnessing their intimacy didn’t make Abby physically ill. Tucker wasn’t kissing anyone else on the side! Whoo-hoo!

“So . . . what are you two going to do?” Abby said, glancing at their clutched hands. “You obviously didn’t break up.”

“Oh, no,” Tucker said. “We’re still engaged. It’s just gonna be a long engagement. We’re going to get married after we’ve had some time to figure some more stuff out. Like where we both want to live and what we both want to do. We’re not in the right places in our lives yet, but we will be.”

“Look! We even got these tattoos on our ring fingers as a sign of our commitment,” Carol said.