11. Darcy
ELEVEN
DARCY
I’m walking down the aisle, my dad on my arm. I don’t remember picking out a veil, but there’s one over my eyes.
Everyone’s here. Maggie. My pack of aunties. Peepaw somehow, with a broad smile.
But wait, is that Goofy? Like Goofy, the dog cow thing that says “gawrsh”? Mom must have invited him. He’s sitting with her anyway. Are Mom and Goofy dating? Is Goofy in a throuple with my parents?
I get to the end of the aisle and Dad hugs me. I turn to Rob and my dad says the classic, “Be good to my little girl.” Rob hugs him too.
It’s happening. I’m getting married. The man of my dreams stands before me, the familiar feel of his warm hands filling mine. But it’s not at the farm, and all I’ve wanted since I was a little girl was to get married on the farm. A gray wash falls over the scene before me. A heavy weight presses down on my chest. Is this a heart attack symptom?
But it doesn’t matter. It’s too late. I’m getting married right now.
Rob lifts my veil, his green and blue eyes earnest as he says, “Dee, did you go to the gym today?”
I sit up, pouring sweat and disturbing Stormy, who was apparently the source of my chest pressure. My face is wet at the temples from sweat, and on my cheeks from crying.
I’m in my bed. I’m safe. I’m in Paint. It was a dream. A nightmare. At least that explains the Goofy-as-my-stepdad part of the dream.
Then why can’t I breathe?
I focus, sucking air through my nose for three counts, holding it for three, then releasing it for three. The releasing part lets out a fresh sob.
“You’re safe,” I say to myself out loud. I hug my own arms, a thing my therapist in Raleigh taught me. Self-compassionate touch, she called it. I squeeze my own biceps and shut my eyes. “You don’t answer to Rob anymore.”
I’ve had some variation on this dream since I left Raleigh: getting married, not getting married and disappointing my family, wearing sneakers and racing through the wedding venue in my dress. I feel like that last one was from a Julia Roberts movie romanticizing this moment, but hey, maybe this wild time in my life could use some whimsy.
But this dream was the most intense. I feel like when I’ve come off steroids, where the withdrawal symptoms get worse before they get better. And now, the drug that was Rob is leaving my system, and wreaking havoc on its way out. It happens both slowly and all at once. Sometimes I get buried in the farm work and forget why I’m here. Other times, it hits me like a bolt of lightning from a clear blue sky.
What do you mean you’re writing tonight? When are you going to give that up? You have a job.
What hardship could you possibly have to write about? You take things too seriously, Dee. Who’s going to read your emo little journal entries?
You’re talking to Brianna again? You like her more than me.
I scoff at that last memory. I’d have certainly been within my rights to like my best friend more than my fiancé. Brianna supported my creative pursuits, even acting as my fanfic co-author. Rob suppressed my creativity.
Brianna. I need her. There’s a farmers market today, so that means I’ll be in Paint with a phone signal. I’ll call my best friend when the market’s done. The closer my wedding got, the more I lost touch with her. The irony is I probably needed her more than ever in the last year.
Guilt twists my gut. I hate needing someone. I know what value other people bring into my life, but I’ve lost sight of what I give back. All I’ve been lately is bitter, and snappy, and hostile.
Stormy meows, pressing her face against me, and I cuss out loud to her as the realization hits me.
I need to cancel all those wedding vendors.
* * *
“Hang on, check out this one.” Becca’s eyes widen as she slowly blows pink bubble gum between her lips, making a massive bubble. We’re sitting on the open tailgate of the farm truck at the Wednesday evening farmers market in Paint. She grunts to get my attention and points at it, waiting for a reaction. With a loud smack, she pops it and sucks the gum back into her mouth. I haven’t reacted enough for her taste.
“You alright, boss? That was a big one. I deserved at least an ‘ooh’ or an ‘ahh.’” Becca leans to get in my line of vision.
I force a weak smile. “Yeah. Just tired. I’ve got a few phone calls to make before I go back to the farm tonight.”
Becca gestures to the market in front of us, where only one customer mills around. That customer has already been to our booth, so it’s not likely we’re seeing traffic anytime soon. “You want to get started? I don’t think you’re going to miss a mad rush.”
I sigh. “I’d rather procrastinate, thanks.”
“Take some gum,” she says, holding out the pack. “Bet your bubbles aren’t as big as mine.”
I sigh. “Fine.” I slide it open and pull out a piece of gum. “I’m taking two. Better chance at bubbles.”
“That’s the spirit,” she says, then studies me. “I can’t quite figure you out. Bill and Dustin didn’t say anything about you being here this summer, but when I showed up to work you were here.”
I shrug. “How would you have known? We never met before last week.”
“True,” she says. “But Dustin talked about you. You’re Bill’s straight-laced niece. The big achiever. Surely I’d have heard if the prodigal niece was coming home.”
I guffaw and restack our peach muffins for the dozenth time this hour. “Prodigal niece. It was never that serious.”
She lifts a brow. “I think you’re on the run. That’s why you’re here, going off the grid.”
I just shake my head and laugh.
“Who’d you kill? Did you pull a ‘Goodbye, Earl?’” she asks, her eyes lighting up. “I think that guy down there’s got black-eyed peas if you need to finish the job.”
I swat her arm with the back of my hand. “You have too vivid an imagination.” I need a subject change because I’m not ready to spill why I’m here yet. I’m too shaken up from this morning’s dream to talk about it. Instead, I ask about her brother. “You and Dustin close?”
I blow a sad little bubble that collapses way too soon.
She purses her lips, but allows me to shift the topic. “Yeah. Used to fight like cats and dogs, only two years apart and all. It’s probably better that I moved in with Stone. We were both living with Mamaw, and once his Ronnie moved in, we were cramped and cranky.”
I step up to our display table, slowly starting to put excess baked goods away as the market winds down. “I always thought you were tight. Dustin talks about you a lot, or at least he did when we worked together last.”
“He started being protective big bubby when I got my CDL and started trucking. I think he worried I was going to get killed by some deranged trucker or hitchhiker or something. Break down somewhere and get taken advantage of.”
I wince. “Anybody give you trouble?”
She shakes her head. “Not in the four years I did it. I just dressed like a boy and kept my head down. Carried a knife and mace and stuff. But I got tired of it. It’s too many hours of thinking and staring at the road.”
“Bill said you want a farm?”
Her face brightens. “I want a place for my little niece to run around when she’s big enough, Dusty’s girl. And at least a hundred chickens. Them ones that lay the green eggs that snobs like you pay extra for.”
“Hey!” I object. “I’m not a snob.”
She plants me with a look. “You went to college. You’re probably a doctor of taxidermy or something.”
I cackle, trying not to choke on the wad of gum in my mouth. “I am not a doctor of stuffing dead animals.”
She giggles too. “Well, you should be.”
“I’d probably make more as a doctor of taxidermy. Creative writing never made me a damn thing.”
Becca pats my leg. “Well, I think you’re a smartypants all the same.” She looks out over the market. “I’ll see about getting you a taxidermy apprenticeship, though. I know a guy. And my mamaw’s got this opossum she got done, but his eyes have never been right. Need you to fix him.”
I turn to her and she’s holding back a fit of laughter.
I throw my arm around her shoulder, a few strands of her long blond ponytail sticking to my sweaty cheek. “Don’t tell Dustin, but I’m glad I got you this summer instead of him. You’re something else.”
She returns my hug. “Aw, likewise, boss. But next time you come to the bar, no wimping out after one drink. I gotta get your secrets out of you somehow.”
* * *
My throat’s dry. I called the three most important wedding vendors. I tried to call Brianna, but she didn’t pick up. I really need to get home to get the horses out, so I can’t afford to wait here for her to call me back.
I fire off a text to tell her I’ll try to call again later this week and that I love her. Even if we keep missing each other, I know we’ll be okay. She’s my best friend because she’s also my easiest friend. We don’t hold grudges if we’re both MIA for a while. We just pick up right where we left off, and it’s the best comfort. She’ll be here later this summer for our family’s annual Fourth of July blowout, and I may or may not be counting the days until then.
The next text I have to send has my hands shaking and my chest feeling tight. I need to tell Rob which vendors I canceled. If I’m really brave, I’ll ask him to cancel a few more.
Do I tell him I hope he’s well? I do hope he’s okay. He’s probably great. I saw our team is up in the Eastern Conference playoff series. I’m not sure I can keep checking the scores without breaking my own heart. If this is the year we win the Cup after everything I followed this team through . . . I just can’t bear the thought. I want them to win, of course, but I want to be there. But I don’t want to be there if Rob’s there. He tainted everything.
My arms tingle when I type out the message to Rob just before putting the farm truck in gear.
Canceled with the caterer, venue, and planner. Just thought I’d let you know
I throw my phone into the seat next to me like it’s a bug I batted away and take a cleansing breath as I start to drive.
When I crest the hill with the last spot of cell service, my phone starts to ring. I don’t stop shaking all the way home.