Chapter 2 Willow
two
Willow
“You’re gorgeous,” Kiara tells me as I enter her pastry delivery van turned bridal suite for the day.
This was a stroke of genius from yours truly, delivering on my maid of honor duty to make the wedding as comfortable as possible for my best friend.
The execution, though, was entirely Colton’s, and he did a magnificent job of temporarily replacing the fridges and shelves with comfy chairs.
“Shut up,” I joke, feeling myself blush. “It’s from Goodwill,” I lie.
“So? You’re still gorgeous in it.”
I laugh and do a little twirl in the small space. “I need to look good for you.”
“Sexy too,” she says. The light blue dress has a bare back, which was an immediate draw to me. It’s not every day I get to dress up.
“But you’re a bad liar,” she adds, reaching under my arm to pull out the price tag.
“Oh shit.” I thought I’d sewn the motherfucker securely inside. “Help me out, will you? There’s stuff in the bride’s kit I got you.”
She pulls out a small pair of scissors.
“No!” I lower my arm and reach for a safety pin. “I’m not keeping the dress,” I explain.
She snorts. “Seriously?”
There are so many things that can go wrong, from food, wine, or even grass stains on the dress to sweat marks on the price tag. “It’s worth trying.” I raise my arm. “Tuck it in and pin it in place, please?”
“I love your hair,” she says as she secures the price tag inside the dress.
Kiara is like that. She had her shitty times too, and she knows not to dwell on those.
I don’t want her pity and I don’t need financial help.
I just need her to pin the stupid tag inside the dress and talk to me about something else.
“Did Fabrizio do it?” she continues, talking about my hair.
Why would I splurge on a hairdresser if I can’t afford a dress?
Kiara is just being nice, complimenting my updo.
“Fabrizio gave me a tutorial a while back, but I did it myself,” I answer.
Six French braids gather at the nape of my neck in a loose bun, a few soft tendrils curling free to frame my face.
But enough about me. My eyes are now adjusted to the van’s dim lighting.
“Wow,” I say as I take Kiara in. “Just wow.” I saw her dress already, actually went with her to choose it, as well as for the fittings, but today, Kiara radiates with a glow that’s just surreal.
Her hair and makeup enhance her pixie cut and thin features in a way that’s uniquely her but also more…
subdued than her usual self. As if she didn’t need the artifice anymore, the armor of over-the-top smoky eyes and excessively gelled hair.
The energy she emanates comes from within, and it’s something so beautiful to witness, it brings tears to my eyes. “Marriage suits you,” I say.
I place my bridesmaid’s contribution on the small picnic table set in the middle of her van, between two large armchairs wrangled in here by her future husband just for the occasion.
“Electrolytes, nuts, and a banana for you. Coke and chips for your uncle Bill, who’ll be here any minute—I just saw him park.
Napkins. Band-Aids. What else do you need? ”
“I have everything I need,” she says, lifting the blinds an inch to peek outside the van.
Glancing over her shoulder, I smile at the sight of our small town gathered to celebrate the new couple.
To the left, the closest covered bridge shimmers with fairy lights, still barely visible in the afternoon sun.
To the right, party tents are lined with bistro lights, and the echoes of laughter, shrieking children, and barking dogs drift up to us. “Best place on earth,” I murmur.
“Got that right,” Kiara says. “You should go have fun,” she adds. “I’m all set here, gonna just chill and wait for Uncle Bill to walk me down the aisle.” She rummages through the bag of goodies and pulls out a bottle. “What’s this?”
“Haley’s bubbly. Wouldn’t be a party without it.”
“I’ll keep it for later,” she says, “or I’ll yawn through the ceremony.”
“I doubt you would,” I say, laughing.
“D’you want some? We could totally open it now.”
I shake my head. “I need to go pick up Mom.”
Mom is battling cancer, and at her mention, Kiara’s smile stretches downward. “How is she doing?”
I shrug. “She’s got her ups and downs.” Hopefully today’s wedding will help her mood, although the fact that we’re fighting the insurance company is weighing heavily on her. I keep telling her it’s only money, but she’s literally making herself sick with worry.
“Tell her to come sit in here if she needs to. It’s comfy, and Uncle Bill will distract her.”
“Thanks, that’s sweet of you,” I answer, knowing Mom won’t want to impose like that.
“Hey, Willow,” Kiara adds as I open the door to leave.
“Yeah?”
She winks at me. “Keep an open mind.”
I shake my head and shut the door with a smile. Since I orchestrated Kiara and Colton finally getting together, Kiara decided it was her mission to find someone for me.
And she’s not talking about an inconsequential fling. But although I believe with all my soul that Kiara and Colton were meant to be together, theirs is a rare story.
Growing up, I saw how marriage could be a trap, especially for women, and I vowed never to fall for it.
I find Mom reading a romance in what she calls her Lazy Girl, a pink recliner with frilly ruffles I got her for her birthday two years ago. The armrests and headrest are protected with crochet overlays she made herself and washes weekly. Mom is a neat freak, and I take after her.
I lean over her to kiss her cheek, then run a finger gently along her upper lip to wipe away a smudge of lipstick.
If there’s an upside to her illness, it’s that our relationship has improved, and I’m making a conscious effort to create these small moments of deeper connection.
“You look beautiful, Mom.” She’s wearing her prettiest dress and comfy platform shoes, and her head is wrapped in one of the silk scarves Cassandra gave her when she started chemo.
“Are you ready?” I glance at the mail on the Formica table.
Three envelopes, neatly sliced open, with soft blue logos in the upper left corner and angry red stamps across.
Hospital bills.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” she says, righting the chair and standing.
She’s almost as tall as me, but she’s gotten frail.
I had to bring her dress down a size, and still it hangs loosely on her frame.
She must have lost at least five pounds since I took the dress in for her last week.
“Let me use the bathroom real quick.” She pauses and turns to me, pointing to the bills with her chin.
“Don’t worry about these. Tonight is for fun. Monday will come soon enough.”
I toy with the bills, knowing she just wants to protect me.
She wasn’t the best provider when I was little.
But she did what she could. I know she did.
The fact that life was a bitch to her isn’t on her.
She always loved me, even if she didn’t always know how to show me, or protect me, or provide for me in the classic way of a mom.
I pretend to wait for her in the car, but really it’s to hide the bills in the glove compartment. We’ll argue about those for the sake of it on Monday when she finds out, or maybe tomorrow. But like she said, tonight is for fun.
“Kiara said you should go rest in her van if you need to. It’s nice and comfy,” I say as we drive away from her mobile home.
“The Barbie van?”
I laugh at her accurate description. “Her Uncle Bill is walking her down the aisle. He’s fun. And really nice. Maybe I’ll introduce you.”
She grunts. Mom’s history with men is a pain point in our relationship, but I’m trying to move us beyond that. “Why don’t you focus on finding a nice man yourself. I wouldn’t mind grandbabies, you know.”
I nearly choke at her words. “Uh… Mom?”
“What? You’re not getting any younger.”
The smile and initial laughter of my surprise reaction die quickly in my throat as images of Mom’s only husband flash in front of my eyes. I could never trust a man with my life the way she did.
And that’s what marriage is: a complete abandonment of one’s self, one’s liberty, potentially one’s life, to another person with more power.
I can’t tell her this, but she’s the reason I’ll never marry, or even have a steady relationship.
“Ugh, of course these people are here. They’re always everywhere, aren’t they?” she mumbles, frowning in the direction of Noah Callaway, the only man who makes my heart skip a beat.
“Oh my, what a beautiful setting.” As we reach the park, her mood swing is easy to follow: the setting is simply spectacular.
The river glistens under the sun, a flock of birds rises from a tree, twirling in the air before diving beyond the hill. All the town is slowly gathering on the chairs, and I spot several of Mom’s friends.
“Why don’t I drop you up here, and I’ll go park behind town hall,” I say.
“Oh, there’s Aunt Angela. I’ll walk with her,” she says, pointing to my grandmother’s sister.
Mom calls her Aunt Angela, but to everyone else including me, she’s Ms. Angela, Emerald Creek’s retired third-grade teacher, current owner of a bed-and-breakfast, secretary of the select board (our governing body), self-appointed unpaid employee of the stores she deems need her help, and most active member on ECHoes, our own social media (aka gossip central).
Among other things.
Oh and today, she’s playing the part of wedding coordinator.
By the time I park and get back to the tent, she’s dispensing the last instructions.
Everyone seems to be here, from little Skye in an adorable light pink tutu dress all the way to…
Noah Callaway, looking amazingly handsome in a suit and bow tie.
My stomach does a little happy flip again, as it always does when it comes to Noah, but I quickly chastise myself.
Noah is way out of my league, which is probably the only reason I allowed myself to hold a torch for him for years.
Nothing was ever going to happen between us, so fantasizing about him was safe.
When he got engaged, I realized that crush I nurtured was hurting me, and it wasn’t based on anything other than he’s the embodiment of the perfect man, the exception to the rule.
Noah Callaway is more than just a kind nerd in a jock’s body.
He’s the descendant of Emerald Creek’s founding family, our local equivalent of royalty, but does he let that go to his head?
No. No, he does not. He might live in a sixteen-bedroom (give or take a few) historic mansion significant enough to have a name (Lilyvale) and own half of Emerald Creek’s real estate, but he still wakes up at the crack of dawn to open the shop so his employees don’t have to.
He still volunteers on our boards so the town is run right.
He’s still the high school coding club advisor because—listen to this—he gave up on his dream of studying at M.I.T.
so he could take care of his siblings when Mrs. Callaway passed away way too young and their dad went berserk with grief.
He’s perfect, okay?
But I digress. Just because he’s single again doesn’t mean anything.
Because Noah Callaway barely knows I exist, and I’ve decided that my days pining hopelessly for him are over.
O.V.E.R.
So thank god, after all, that I’m the maid of honor because this places me safely with the best man and not with Noah as we follow Ms. Angela’s instructions and prepare for the procession.
The best man—Chris—owns the bakery where I work, which makes him my boss. His very pregnant wife, Alex, is also a bridesmaid. The other couples all run their own places in town, leaving me the only one in the wedding party without my own business or badass job, and that’s totally alright.
Because that’s who I am.
Happiness to me is the smell of apple pie, beeswax, and the pages of a book. Happiness to me is when my friends and family are where they need to be in their life. Happiness is my whole town getting together to celebrate two amazing people.
I don’t need, or want, anything else. Certainly not success, a stressful job, or god forbid, the weight of owning my own business.
The happiest I’ve ever been was when I trekked the Appalachian Trail alone. Not for the hardship, but for the beauty of the morning birdsong, the evening sunset, the dip and incline of a mountain, the soothing patter of rain despite the soaked shoes.
And for the people I met, like a woman who needed someone to listen, or the big dude I convinced to wear nylons under his hiking socks to ease his blisters.
I’m only cut for the simple stuff, and the Universe’s plan for me is to be the grease on the squeaky wheel. Not the wheel. Absolutely not the vehicle.
Just a little droplet of grease, thank you very much.
“Alright, let’s go,” Ms. Angela says, and we file down the park to the sound of a soft electric guitar echoing through the hills and over the river. My heart swells at the sight of the whole town turning their faces to us, all genuinely happy to be here.
And when Kiara walks down the aisle, I start handing out the tissues I brought with her in mind.
But now Cassandra is talking about love and commitment, and I find myself struggling to not look at Noah.
It breaks my heart to see the fine lines at the corner of his eyes, barely hidden by his glasses.
Time is ticking and Noah is still alone, still sacrificing his own happiness for his family. It doesn’t seem right.
I’m pulled from my thoughts by the faint sound of Alex stifling a groan. Glancing at her, I see her hide a grimace.
What was I thinking? I should have seen it coming.
Whipping around, I run to grab an empty chair, slip in the grass and magically avoid face-planting, then slide the chair right behind Alex before anyone clues in to what’s going on.
She lets herself fall into it with a sigh of relief.
“I’m fine,” she mouths to Chris who’s now frowning.
Next to him, Noah is narrowing his eyes on me like I’m some mystery.
I focus back on the wedding, the I dos, the tears of joy and suppressed sobs, my dwindling stock of tissues. Then Colton kisses Kiara and whisks her down the aisle.
Alex grabs my hand to lift herself up. “I’m gonna step ahead of you so Chris can help me, okay?”
“Yeah-yeah-yeah, sure.” I step back, wondering if this baby is going to share a birthday with Kiara and Colton’s anniversary.
“Ready?”
I whip my head to the deep voice way too close and see Noah offering his arm to me.
To the sound of “Best Day Of My Life.”
Really? I need to do this? Walking down the aisle on a beautiful day on the arm of the one man I would want but won’t ever have, sandwiched between two actual couples in front of us and two actual couples behind us?
Of course you can. You have to.
Squeaky wheel. Droplet of grease.