Chapter 8
CHAPTER
EIGHT
Markie
“Are you coming or not?” I ask, driving around a giant pothole in the road.
Nettie sighs on the other end of the phone. “No. I can’t. Ginny Edwards offered me two hundred dollars to alter her wedding dress by six in the morning because they fly to Cancun tomorrow afternoon. And I don’t know about you, but your girl isn’t turning down two hundred bucks.”
Can’t blame her there.
“Tell Auddie that I’m sorry I missed the planning party,” she says. “But I’m willing to do whatever she needs. Give me a job, and I’ll do it … probably with a smile on my face, but I can’t guarantee that.”
I laugh. “Okay. Fine. We’ll miss you, though.”
“You better. And don’t let any of those bitches start calling you their bestie in my absence or I’ll fight ’em.”
“Stop it. You’re my best friend, and no one will ever take that title away.”
“Oh, I’m not worried about it. You can’t replace me.” She laughs, too. “All right. I gotta run to Mom’s and dig through her thread box because I just ran out of white.”
“Good luck. I’ll be out of here in a couple of hours if you want me to come by and hang out.”
“Nada. If you come over, we’ll end up watching Suits, and I’ll never get this done.”
That’s exactly what would happen. “Okay. That’s fair. Love you.”
“Love you. Bye.”
I end the call, shoving my visor out of the way as I pull beneath the Blackbird Ranch sign.
The ranch is one of the prettiest places in Sugar County. I don’t know how, but it’s magical. The way the light filters through the trees and the grass is an exceptional shade of green—the way the fireflies light up in the evenings is different from anywhere else in the world.
Lolly always says that this part of the state is where God rested. That it’s so perfect that even he took a moment to appreciate his work. Of course, she owns the ranch next door, so she’s probably biased.
I pass the main house and the barn that holds my niece, Pigasso, and then proceed down the driveway until I reach Astrid’s cabin.
“Hey,” I say, poking my head inside after knocking once.
“Hey, you,” Astrid says from the kitchen.
I enter the cozy entryway that’s like a giant hug. With the living room and fireplace on the left and the eat-in kitchen to the right, it reminds me a lot of the house that Mira and I grew up in with Mom and Dad.
Gosh, what I wouldn’t give to have that house now.
The cabin is full of chatter from my friends and the scents of something delicious. I place two bottles of wine on the table, then give Audrey a big hug.
“I’m so glad you could come,” she says, smiling as she pulls away. “Where’s Nettie?”
“She had a last-minute sewing job, or whatever you’d call it. She said to tell you she’s sorry she couldn’t make it and that she’s happy to do whatever we need from her for the wedding.”
Her brows pull together. “I don’t want her to stress about it.”
“Let her stress.” I wink. “It’s good for her blood pressure to spike a little from time to time.”
“Markie, make a plate,” Astrid says. “We have a ton of food thanks to Cathy.”
Mira sighs. “I asked her for cookies, and she made crockpot barbecue chicken sandwiches, potato salad, and coleslaw.” She gazes across the spread on the counter. “And chocolate chip cookies and snickerdoodles, and the rest of the blondies that the guys didn’t eat today.”
“Cathy’s too good to us,” I say, grabbing a plate and loading it up.
“You’re telling me,” Mira says, opening the wine and pouring us each a glass. “And if I tell her she doesn’t have to do all of that, her feelings are hurt. I told her one time—only once—that she didn’t have to do our laundry, and she nearly cried.”
Gianna laughs. “Don’t let her cry. I hate doing laundry. And cooking. And vacuuming. And washing dishes. She can always come to my house.”
We all join in the laughter and get situated around the table. Astrid comes around with small clipboards with pencils and a light-pink piece of paper fastened to the top.
“What’s this?” I ask, scanning the list.
Whimsy List: Wedding Edition
Basics:
Head count
Colors / theme
Flower choice and source
Bridal party
Pre-Event:
Coordinator - ___________
Bachelorette party
Rehearsal details
Wedding:
Coordinator - ___________
Ring bearer is Trent. He needs a tux.
Otis needs a tie.
Confirm arch details with Gianna.
Music
Pastor
Reception:
Coordinator - ___________
Food and beverages
Cake
Music / DJ
Astrid sits, placing her clipboard beside her plate. “I just thought we could use a little starting point for discussions so we didn’t get too far off track.”
Gianna and I glance at each other, trying not to grin. This is the most Astrid shit ever.
“I love the pink paper,” Audrey says. “And you named it the Whimsy List.”
She, Gianna, and Astrid exchange a smile. Mira and I are clearly confused, but neither of us asks for clarification. It’s okay for the three of them to share something special. And whatever this is, it’s one of those special things.
“Since we’re on a tight schedule,” Astrid says, “I thought it would be easier to assign each one of us a portion of the wedding to manage—with Audrey’s input, of course.”
“This chicken is amazing,” I say, swallowing a bite.
Audrey places her wineglass on the table. Her cheeks are flushed, and her eyes sparkle. I’ve never seen her this happy.
“I can answer a few of these things now,” she says. “The color is pink. If we need two shades, let’s do two pinks.” She giggles. “Blush and bashful.”
“Nice Steel Magnolias reference,” Gianna says.
“I would love carnations because I think they’re such a throwback, and no one uses them anymore,” Audrey says.
“And Brooks is working on his part of the guest list. I’ll go over it when I get home and let you guys know the final count.
But it’s not going to be a big deal. My parents, his mom, you guys, some people from church, and some guys from the gym. I’d say fifty, tops.”
Gianna holds up a hand. “Let’s get to the good stuff—meaning, what do you want to do for the bachelorette party, or do you want me to use my creative skills?”
Audrey winces. “I don’t want one.”
“Boo!” Mira says.
“I know, but we don’t have a ton of time, and we all have stuff we’re doing,” she says, looking around the table at each of us. “Gianna’s buying a house. Astrid’s still getting settled here.”
“And should be planning her own wedding,” Gianna says before taking an elbow from Astrid.
“Markie has the pickleball tournament a week after the wedding,” Audrey says. “I don’t need a party. Let’s skip it, okay?”
I sit back in my seat and smile across the table at her. With her blond hair and pink ribbon holding it back from her face, she looks like the angel she is.
“Fine,” Gianna says, growling. “But I want it on the record that I don’t love this.”
“How’s the pickleball going?” Audrey asks me. “The last time we talked, you were still searching for a teammate.”
“Oh, by the way,” Gianna says. “I’m making shirts for the tournament. We need a good slogan for Team Markie, so hit me up if you have any zingers.”
I take another bite before answering Audrey.
Gosh, this is so good. But the pause also gives me a second to let my heart stop swelling.
I love how serious they take my competitiveness.
It can get a little excessive, I know, but it is important to me—especially this year.
I wouldn’t blame them if they rolled their eyes when it came up in conversation. But, instead, they’re making shirts.
How’d I get so lucky?
“I found a great guy named Adam,” I say, returning my sandwich to the plate.
“We have our first official practice on Saturday.” My stomach tightens.
“I do hate that we essentially lost a week because he worked overtime and couldn’t practice all week, but he’s good.
I’ll have to carry him a little, but don’t I always? ”
“You are a beast,” Mira says. “Jasper won’t know what hit him.”
“Hopefully a pickleball to the nuts.” Gianna’s eyes narrow. “He tried to talk to Drake the other night at Patsy’s while they were both ordering a beer, and Drake blew him off.” She grins wickedly. “I, in turn, blew him later on that night.”
Mira points at her. “As you should.”
“I’m gonna stop blowing him if he doesn’t ask me to marry him soon,” Gianna says, pouting. “I keep thinking with all the marital talk with Audrey and Astrid that he’ll realize, shit, I need to lock Gianna down, too. But that hasn’t happened yet.”
“He’s probably waiting for the right time to surprise you,” I say. “I bet he has a plan and a ring.”
I bite my lip to keep from saying anything else because I don’t just think Drake has a ring. I know he does. He sent me a picture of three rings a month ago and asked me which one I thought Gianna would like. He said not to tell the other girls, so I haven’t, but it’s been hard.
“Since the rehearsal dinner is really the only thing in the pre-event section, let me handle that,” Mira says. “If we don’t include Cathy in this, she’ll be heartbroken.” She looks at Audrey. “I mean, if you’re okay with that, of course.”
After a few back-and-forths and three bottles of wine, Mira and I take on the pre-events, Astrid declares herself the wedding coordinator, and Gianna and Nettie take on the reception.
We clean up the kitchen and then sprawl out in the living room.
“In all seriousness,” Mira says from her spot on the floor, “when do you think you’ll get married, Astrid?”
“Gray and I talked about it last night when I reminded him you all were coming over tonight. And we decided to hold off on making any plans until after Audrey’s wedding.
” She looks around the room at us. “We’re still getting settled here and falling into a new routine.
And there’s no reason to rush it. Neither of us is going anywhere. ”
Her words soften my heart, and the look on her face makes me grin.
Neither of us is going anywhere.
What a nice sentiment.
“There might be a limit to how much of this marriage stuff I can take,” I joke, leaning my head against the couch. “You’re all killing me with the sweetness.”
“We’ll be here for you when you find Mr. Right,” Audrey promises.
I laugh. “Auddie, I hate to break the news to you, but that’s probably not going to happen.”
She frowns. “Of course, it will.”
“You can’t want to be alone forever,” Mira says, lifting a brow.
“And you gotta get some dick at some point,” Gianna says. “Not that you must be married for that. Obviously. But this anti-man campaign you’re running has to end eventually because toys can only get you so far.”
I level my gaze at her. “I concede that point. But here’s the thing.
I’m not doing it anymore. I’m not seeing men with rose-colored glasses, and I’m not putting myself in a position to get underwhelmed and feel underappreciated.
” Frustration bubbles through my veins. “When I’m in a relationship, I give everything that I have.
And I’m tired of getting nothing back but lies and deceit. ”
“I know what Jasper did to you,” Audrey says, gently. “But I feel like there’s more to the story.”
Mira watches me from the corner of her eye, trying to read whether I want to talk about this or not. Usually, it’s not a big deal. I’m raring to go when it comes to talking shit about the men who have screwed me over. But there are also times when I don’t want to get into it, and Mira knows that.
“I dated a guy before Jasper for six months,” I say, settling into the cushions.
“And everything out of his mouth was a lie. Everything. Looking back, I don’t think his name was even Hudson.
And the guy before that ghosted me completely.
I don’t know if he’s alive or dead. Don’t care at this point, either.
” I sigh. “Let’s see … There was the guy who tried to steal Mom’s wedding ring out of my jewelry box and one who robbed a convenience store. ”
Boy, I sure know how to pick ’em.
Audrey’s big blue eyes fill with concern. “Dang. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
I give her a reassuring smile because of course she didn’t know.
Out of all the girls, I know Audrey the least. Gianna and I clicked right away because we’re so similar.
But in the same way I can identify with Gianna, I can’t with Audrey.
She’s more reserved, careful. She might be the most wholesome person I’ve ever known.
Sometimes I start to say things in front of her and stop because it feels like I’m tainting her—like I’ll go straight to hell for corrupting her.
“But you want to get married and have babies,” Mira says, giving me a look like Lolly does when she’s trying to convince me to open up. “Right?”
“In a perfect world, sure,” I say. “But I hate to break it to you, the world we live in isn’t perfect. And I fear that you all got all the good ones in a thousand-mile radius.”
They try to object to my observation, but soon realize I’m right. Or, at least, I might be right. Because when I ask them to name another man they know who is as good as Gray or Drake or Brooks, they can’t.
I excuse myself to get another glass of wine.
My chest is tight as I empty the last bottle of red into my glass. Talking about this with my friends is cathartic, in a way, but it also freaking sucks. Not only am I the downer of the group, but if I’m truly being honest, it hurts.
I don’t want to be alone, but I also don’t want to pay the price tag for love.
I’ve done it so many times, going right back to losing my parents as a teenager.
There have been times when I’ve considered that maybe I subconsciously pick men who’ll be impossible to love as some expression of self-preservation.
Mira gets it, but I don’t think the others do, and I’m grateful for that. I’m happy they’ve never experienced such a deep loss as losing your mom and dad, and always getting screwed over by the men in their lives. They found their unicorns. I haven’t, and I’m pretty sure I never will.
I sigh and down the whole drink.
Being right all the time sucks.