Chapter 33
Matt catches my eye as I take the microphone, but my gaze drifts to where Ivy's sitting with the other bridesmaids. She gives me a subtle thumbs up and a bright smile. The room quiets, all eyes turning to me, and my collar pinches around my throat.
"So, fun fact—Matt once convinced me that if you ate Pop Rocks and drank Coke at the same time, your stomach would explode." A laugh ripples through the crowd, and I catch Ivy's distinct snort. "I believed him for three years. This is the intellectual giant Sarah decided to spend her life with."
She throws her head back laughing, while he clutches his chest like I've wounded him.
"Most of you probably only know him as the guy in the suit who talks market projections.
But let me paint a picture." I spot Mom dabbing at her eyes, even as she shakes her head at me.
"This is the same man who used to blast Green Day in his piece-of-shit Civic, thought wearing his cap backwards made him cool, and once bleached his hair because—and I quote—'chicks dig that Justin Timberlake vibe. '"
Matt drops his head into his hands while Sarah loses it completely.
"But here's the thing about my brother." I grip the microphone tighter, suddenly hit with how much I've missed him.
How much I've pretended not to care. "Between covering for me when I snuck out to concerts, and teaching me to drive by stealing Dad's truck at midnight, he was always the person who had my back. "
I catch Matt's eye, then Ivy's, and for a second, we're all back in his rust-bucket, singing off-key until our throats hurt.
I raise my glass. "So, Sarah? You landed the idiot who still knows every word to '21 Guns' and will absolutely crush karaoke after two beers. You got my brother. The real one. God help you."
The crowd chuckles, but Matt beams at me.
"To the happy couple."
Maybe Sarah was right. Matt didn't change who he was at his core. He just grew up and figured his shit out. Found someone who saw all his messy parts and loved him anyway. And I've been too busy resenting him for selling out to see that he's still my brother underneath it all.
"To finding someone who makes you want to be better, without changing who you really are. That's the real deal. And watching you two together, it's pretty damn clear you found it." I smirk. "Don't screw it up, bro."
Matt's giving me the finger while Sarah's crying from laughing so hard.
The room erupts in applause, but I barely hear it. Because Ivy's eyes are shining with unshed tears, one finally spilling over as she smiles at me.
I weave through the crowd toward the barn doors, needing air that doesn't taste like hairspray and emotions.
The reception's hitting that sweet spot where everyone's drunk enough to get interesting.
Dean and Dixie are sneaking off behind the dessert table, trying to be subtle about slipping between the wooden beams and fairy lights.
Near the makeshift dance floor, black streaks of mascara are turning Sarah's shoulder into a piece of modern art.
My new sister-in-law wears the same patient expression she usually saves for Matt's cooking disasters, gently patting Mary's back while throwing desperate, wordless pleas at Delilah over her shoulder.
My parents are slow dancing; Dad's got his hand spread across Mom's lower back like he's staking territory. His jaw tight as he glares daggers at any guy who glances their way. Classic Greg Miller, marking his space without actually having to use his words.
Ten feet away, Magnolia and her husband are putting the rest of us to shame—spinning and laughing near the barn's center beam.
He dips her low like they're twenty again while she squeals in delight.
Her perfect curls are coming loose, but for once she doesn't seem to care.
Must be nice, having parents who still act like the world narrows to just the two of them instead of .
. . whatever the hell mine are doing. Though, watching Preston attempt the electric slide after his fourth mint julep might explain exactly where Sarah inherited her tragic rhythm.
Then there's Virginia and Jefferson, who apparently believe the massive flower arrangement by the gift table makes them invisible. From the way her leg's wrapped around his waist, I'm guessing all that bickering was just an elaborate mating ritual. Good for them, I guess.
The night air bites against my skin as I slip outside behind the barn.
The weathered stone wall marks the edge of the property, overlooking rows of moonlit grapevines stretching into the distance.
For a second, I almost miss Ivy, perched on the ancient stonework, head tilted toward the stars.
I consider retreating, but she turns, catches me hovering like an idiot in the doorway, and smiles.
"Your speech was good." She shifts over, making room. "I think you made everyone cry."
"Yeah, well." I settle beside her, careful to leave space between us. "Had to give the people what they want. But don't tell anyone I have feelings. I have a reputation to maintain."
Her laugh is quiet, almost sad. "Your secret's safe with me."
I stare at the lanterns strung from trees, pretending everything between us hasn't shifted.
"Looks like Virginia and Jefferson finally figured their shit out." I gesture toward the barn.
"Sometimes you have to make the same mistake a few times before it sticks." There's an edge buried in her tone that makes me study her profile more closely. She's got that faraway look she gets when she's reading too much into things.
The silence stretches, and for the first time in a decade of friendship, I can't find a way to fill it.
"Are we okay?" I hate how uncertain my voice sounds.
"Of course." But something flickers across her face. "We'll go home and everything goes back to normal.
Right. Normal. As if the past few days haven't been some alternate reality.
One of those spring break flings that seem real under the sun and the booze, but dissolves the second you get home.
Except I knew better. And Ivy . . . shit, she's my best friend, and she's not some girl looking for some temporary wedding-fueled distraction.
God, I'm such a fucking idiot.
I shouldn't have touched her like that. Never should've kissed her back. Led her on when all I can handle is meaningless hook-ups and keeping shit simple. Someday I will want more. But not now. I'm not ready, and I let this weird wedding proximity mess with my head.
Damnit. Not like I can tell her to just wait.
Now everything's weird, and I've got this sick feeling in my gut that nothing will ever be the same when we go back.
"Oh!" Her voice brightens with forced cheer. "Amelia's already playing matchmaker. Apparently, there's this guy in her pottery class who's 'absolutely perfect' for me."
My stomach twists. "Yeah?"
"Mhmm. Though knowing Amelia's track record, he probably has a man bun and a weird hobby." She tucks hair behind her ear. "Also . . . don't freak out, but Daphne's coming back."
"What?"
"Thought I'd give you a heads up, before you run into her next week." She won't quite meet my gaze. "Just . . . don't tell James yet."
"He should know—"
"Please?" She turns her pretty eyes on me. "Let them sort it out on their own time"
"Fine."
A small smile tugs at her lips. "You could drag him out for drinks? Talk some sense into him. God knows those two need to finally figure their stuff out."
I nod, because she's not wrong. A shiver runs through her, and I'm already shrugging off my jacket on instinct. She accepts with a "thanks," and we fall into silence.
The stars wheel overhead, and I wonder if she's finding meaning in them the way she always does with everything else. Searching the cosmos for signs about why whatever we knocked loose this week won't fall back into place.
Music drifts out from the reception, some slow song that adds weight to the night. Ivy's fingers play with the too-long sleeves of my jacket, and I catch the slight tremor in them.
"This week was fun," she says, like we just got back from a beach trip instead of . . . whatever the hell that was.
"Yeah." I lean against the railing. "Virginia and Jefferson made it interesting."
"Sometimes people surprise you."
I grunt, because what else is there to say? Tomorrow we'll be back in Hallow's End, back to our careful routines. Back to me doing what I do best—different girl every weekend, no strings, no complications. The way it should be.
"We should head back," she says, already sliding off the wall. "Before Kristal sends a search party."
She starts to shrug off my jacket, but I catch her wrist. "Keep it. You're still shivering."
Our fingers brush, and in that instant, I catch the tiniest crack in her careful expression. Like maybe she's not as okay as she's pretending to be. But then she smiles, and whatever I imagined was there disappears.
"Don't stay out here too long," she says, as I watch her disappear back into the reception.