Chapter 5 Wanted （For Wedding Stuff）
“Oh my god. Did you take a shit on the floor and then walk through it?” Jordyn yells over the music.
I sigh. There’s only so much water, hand soap, and hand dryer can do. “No! It’s chocolate. There was a fire—it’s a whole thing.”
Jordyn’s eyes bulge. “We’re going to circle back to this.” She drags me by the biceps around the edge of the floor to where Babe is dancing to Kesha’s “Your Love Is My Drug.”
“Babe!” Jordyn shouts. “She’s here!”
Babe disengages from the group she’s with. “Ah! Rikki! Perfect! I couldn’t do this without you! And I’ve always wanted to do it!”
“What is it?” I shout back.
Babe waves to the DJ and gives him a thumbs-up before pulling me to the head table, where she picks up her bouquet. Then I’m dragged back to the dance floor. The DJ picks up his mic.
I start to scan the crowd for Reed, but I’m cut off as my retinas are burned out via spotlight. I whip up a hand to protect my eyes.
“All right! Single ladies!” the DJ spouts. “It’s time to make your way out to the dance floor.”
Single—oh god.
Beyoncé bursts from the speakers.
“Our bride is ready to toss the bouquet!”
I attempt to pull away from Babe and melt back into the ether, but she holds fast to my arm. “Rikki, come on, it’s my wedding!” she gripes.
I meet her pleading gaze and slump in concession. A triumphant smile spreads across her cheeks as she places me in the center of the dance floor. The rest of the guests huddle around the perimeter.
“Why am I the only one out here?” I hiss as Babe steps up onto the DJ’s little platform.
“Single ladies! Please, don’t be shy, come out to the dance floor!” the DJ announces again. I rotate in place, looking for someone else who might be making their way to join me. The rest of the guests stare back as I eye beg them to step out onto the floor.
You’ve got to be fucking kidding.
I catch Jordyn’s eye: She’s directly in front of me along the edge of the wood. I glare at her in her stupid dog costume. She grins back and motions for me to smile like a dance mom hover-parenting from the stage wings.
“The bride has just informed me that there’s only one single lady present here tonight!” the DJ announces.
Kill me. Kill me now.
“Let’s give her and the bride a clap.” A crowd-wide clap on beat with “Single Ladies” comes to life. The light of the videographer’s camera falls on my face.
Oh joy, I’ll be able to relive this for years to come.
“Okay!” Babe’s amplified voice rings over the speakers. “Let’s do this, Rikki! Happy thirtieth, girl, your time is coming.”
Not the birthday.
She hands the mic to the DJ and turns her back on myself and the guests.
What is she doing? I’m the only one out here—just hand it to me!
“Let’s count her in, y’all. Five!” the DJ yells. “Four!” The crowd joins him for “Three! Two!”
Babe tosses the bouquet over her head. I watch as it arcs through the air. The flowers land at my feet with a loud disappointed oohhhhhhhhh from the audience.
Babe turns, clocks them on the ground, and scowls. The DJ hands her the mic again.
“Woman, you have to catch them,” she demands.
I shoot her an exhausted look.
“Don’t look at me like that. Reset!” she scolds. A wave of chuckles echoes through the crowd. Her blond maid of honor (Sleeping Beauty in the pink dress) runs out, snatches the bouquet, and hands it back to Babe.
“You have to work for it, or the magic of this tradition won’t work!” Babe lectures.
I shake out my arms. “All right, all right! Throw it.”
“You heard her, folks, one more time,” the DJ yells. There’s an abrupt change in the music. The running guitar of AC/DC’s “Thunderstruck” blares over the speakers. “Give her a clap, folks!”
The clapping starts again. Babe comes over the mic. “Catch it, Rikki, or we’re doing this again.”
I lean forward, hands braced in front of me, playing along.
“Let’s count ’em down folks. Five, four!” The crowd joins in, gleefully clapping and counting. When they reach one, Babe chucks the bouquet at a hard left away from me.
Goddamnit, Babe. I take three giant strides and dive for it in a skirt and heels.
My elbows scrape the floor as the flower mound hits my palms. The guests erupt in cheers.
I gather myself from the floor and hold it over my head like a good sport as I catch the bride’s gaze.
Her eyes sparkle as she claps at me with her arms stretched straight out in front of her like the Joker in The Dark Knight.
“Okay, hold on to that, Rikki!” the DJ yells. “Can we get a chair for the bride?”
The maid of honor sprints into the center of the dance floor with a dinner chair.
Willem helps Babe off the stage and leads her over to it.
I hustle off the wood to stand next to Jordyn, clutching the bouquet limply at my side like an old-fashioned suitcase.
Micah comes up behind us and hands me a glass of wine.
“Thank you,” I breathe, taking it from him and gulping down half the contents.
“You did good, Rick.” He pats me on the shoulder.
Babe sits on the newly appointed chair, and Willem kneels before her.
“Are people really still doing this tradition?” I mumble as “Walk This Way” comes over the speakers. “Isn’t it like, problematic?”
Babe kicks her leg out from under her elaborate wedding dress, and slowly, Willem starts working his way under the layers of fabric and up her calf.
She lifts her leg higher, letting the opulent gown gather around her thigh, giggling as a lacey scrunchie-like white garter is revealed on the top portion of her leg.
Willem lunges forward and grabs it with his teeth to a load of hoots and whistles from the guests.
Jordyn nudges me with her shoulder. “If you don’t want to do it, just tell whoever catches the garter to put it on your wrist. Babe thinks it’s super fun and hardcore believes in the, quote, magic of it all, because she met Willem after catching the bouquet at her aunt’s wedding. She thinks she’s giving you a gift.”
The crowd erupts with cheers as Willem navigates it over her knee, calf, ankle, and finally her foot, heel, and all. He stands with the garter dangling from his mouth and their friends go wild. Babe tosses her hands in the air, whooping as Willem twirls the garter around his finger.
A smile breaks through my carefully cynical expression. Babe’s enthusiasm is contagious.
“Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. and Mrs. LaRue!” The DJ cheers. “All right, folks, can we get all the single guys out on the floor?”
Sleeping Beauty dashes out and removes the lone chair.
(How many Red Bulls has that woman had today?) “Whip It” blasts over the speakers as a gray-haired man in his sixties dressed as Prince Eric, a for-sure teenage boy dressed as Woody, and Reed as Flynn step out onto the dance floor.
Adrenaline spikes through me as Reed meets my eyes, mouth rolled up his cheek in an amused pout.
I forgot what this was like. Flirting with someone in the wild that you’re attracted to, that you might actually like, and who might actually like you back. Someone you’re genuinely connecting with.
I feel like somebody plugged me in. Like all this time my skin’s been a collection of a thousand grievously neglected blazing lights. I’m hyperaware of my limbs as I hold his gaze.
I casually mouth, “You better catch this.” A demand. Like I’ve known him for years rather than the growing compilation of minutes we’ve spent together thus far.
Reed glances at the two other single candidates and smiles. He’s positioned himself directly in front of me, at the center of the three. Willem climbs onto the DJ stand and turns his back.
Jordyn bumps my shoulder. “Wait, are you smitten?”
I cross my arms, tucking the bouquet under my armpit. “No comment.”
The DJ’s gaze slices to me. “Oh snap, look at that, there’s a Flynn on the board. Did he come with you, Rapunzel?”
I shake my head.
“Shit, he didn’t come with her! Flynn, did you come with someone?” the DJ prods.
Reed smiles to himself and shakes his head.
“Well hot damn!” The DJ throws his hand up. “The Disney gods are working overtime at this wedding.”
“What is with everyone and the fucking Disney gods?” I mumble.
“Accept it and move on, Rikki,” Jordyn says. “You have been blessed.”
Willem slings the garter backward toward the men. I suck in a sharp breath as it soars toward teenage Woody’s head. But then Reed’s behind him. He moves fast, jumps, and snatches the thing out of the air. The crowd cheers—to my surprise, I’m whooping right along with them.
“And we have our duo, folks,” the DJ announces. “Uninvolved Rapunzel and Flynn!”
Babe sidles up next to me. “You okay to do the garter thing?”
I glance over at Reed. He’s still in the middle of the dance floor, lips pursed, eyes locked on me. He quirks a brow. The rest of the room falls away.
What’s happening?
The rest of the room has fallen away? I glance up at the ceiling suspiciously.
I nod belatedly to Babe. “Yeah, I’m good, Babe. Thanks for asking.”
Sleeping Beauty darts out with the chair again and sets it in the middle of the floor next to Reed. She gestures for me to take a seat.
The DJ picks up his mic. “All right, folks, legend has it the couple who catches the garter and the bouquet are blessed with romantic luck for the next year if they complete the loop. Rikki and . . .” Willem calls out Reed’s name. The DJ nods. “Reed, is it? You up for the challenge?”
I chug the rest of my wine, hand Jordyn the glass, and walk toward the lone chair with my thumb up in the air. Reed throws his thumb up as well and we meet face-to-face at the center of the floor.
“Are you comfortable with this?” he says.
“I’m comfortable.”
“Rated G, or a show?” He smiles.
I bite my lip, debating this for half a second. “Give me the show, drama kid.”
His eyes light. “You sure?”