3. Calista
C alista~
Luckily, Harvey was in the backyard, enjoying his freedom, none the wiser that Abrielle was here.
Granted, he didn’t get snooty when we were both here, but still, it was better not to take any chances.
Maybe it was because he knew that Abrielle was a cat person, and so he could sense that from her.
Whatever it was, I was hoping that a week was long enough for him to forget his last encounter with her.
“So, I can’t tell you how happy I am that you and Mitchell are winning against the forces of evil,” I told her as I sat across from her at the kitchen table. “I have to confess that I was betting against you.”
“Gee, thanks a lot,” she drawled out as she passed her tablet back to me.
“Hey, you guys were going up against our parents and his,” I pointed out. “I was sure that a small wedding wasn’t going to be possible.”
“Well, it wasn’t until Mitchell threatened them with eloping,” she admitted. “He was also serious, almost like he’s afraid that I might change my mind.”
I eyed her. ‘Well, I wonder why he thinks that.”
“Shut it, woman,” she replied, unconcerned. “Just do your Maid-of-Honor duties and help me pick out some invitations.”
“You know, I think this is something that you’re supposed to do with your fiancé,” I said, looking at her tablet, nonetheless.
“I can tell you with absolute certainty that Mitchell couldn’t care less about the invitations,” she said as she stood up to do whatever she was going to do. “He just wants to get married.”
I grinned. “Which is the case with most grooms.”
Busy looking at my sister’s top ten invitation choices, I wasn’t paying any attention to her when she said, “Uhm, what’s that going on next door?”
Looking away from her third choice, I asked, ‘What?”
“Your new neighbor,” she said, and that had me curious as to what she was looking at. After all, with the way that my house was positioned, you couldn’t see my neighbors from my kitchen windows.
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the tall glass of water that’s talking to Mrs. Lewis,” she said.
Now, with the way that my house had been designed, there was a small window right before you reached the garage door, and from there, you could see my neighbors, but not very well. If they weren’t in the right line of sight, then you couldn’t see anything.
“What?” I repeated. “What do you mean?”
“Come look for yourself,” she said as she stepped away from the window, then making her way to the fridge.
Getting up, I walked over to the window, and I immediately noticed a tall man speaking with Mrs. Lewis, and I could only imagine what she was talking his ear off about. Mrs. Lewis liked historical re-enactments, and she wasn’t embarrassed to let everyone know it.
“I don’t know,” I muttered. “I mean, I saw a moving truck last week, but having learned my lesson, I ignored it and everything that was happening over there.”
“Is Louise still trying to get you to go to her prayer groups?” Abrielle asked, knowing the entire story of Louise Mackrell and how she spoke to God... directly.
“No,” I answered, still eyeing my new neighbor. “But I still come home to find random fruit baskets on my doorstep.”
“Which is considered a very friendly gesture in most countries,” she replied.
That got me to look back at her. “The fruit is always rotting with flies all over the place, Abrielle. And don’t get me started about the summer months.”
“It could be worse,” my sister quipped. “She could be leaving you spiritual pamphlets.”
Ignoring her, I turned back to the window, and Mrs. Lewis was still talking our new neighbor’s ear off.
The only problem was that they were standing where I could barely make out what the man looked like.
As Mrs. Lewis was front and center, all I could make out of the guy was that he was tall, had dark hair, and looked like he saw a gym regularly.
“It’s going to be a real shame if his face doesn’t match that body,” Abrielle remarked, her face squeezing in next to mine.
“Shh, woman,” I chided. “You’re engaged to be married, so you shouldn’t be checking out other men’s bodies.”
“You think if some toned, built, nubile thing walked past Mitchell that he’d close his eyes?” she huffed. “We’re engaged, not dead.”
My lips twitched at that. “Gotta love confidence in a woman.”
“Most young women are,” she retorted.
“I was talking about you, you cuckoo bird,” I informed her. “Only a confident woman would be so cavalier about her fiancé checking out other women.”
“That’s only because I know that Mitchell would never cheat on me,” she replied seriously, making me feel happy for her all over again. “The dude’s got it bad.”
“I would hope so,” I laughed. “Otherwise, why ask you to marry him four times?”
“Right now, I’m more interested in all the possibilities of your new neighbor,” she said, ever my biggest cheerleader.
“Well, if his face matches his body, then it’s safe to say that he probably has a wife,” I sighed dramatically. “Or at the very least, a girlfriend.”
“I can’t make out a ring or anything,” she murmured. “It’s too far to tell anyway.”
Turning from the window, I said, “It’s probably all for the best. I already have one neighbor that I try to avoid whenever I can; I certainly don’t need two.”
“It’s definitely not as easy as changing your phone number,” she agreed.
“Honestly, I’m better off shagging one of Mitchell’s groomsmen,” I joked...kind of.
“Small wedding, remember?” she said as she finally made her way back to the table. “It’s only you as the Maid-of-Honor and Daryll as the Best Man.”
“It’s really unfair that Daryll’s married,” I sighed again as I joined her at the table. “I bet he’d be the best wedding reception mistake in history.”
“The man does look good in a suit,” she remarked wistfully.
I eyed my sister from across the table. “Is there going to be a band or a deejay? Even though I’ve sworn off deejays, I’m not opposed to a band member.”
“Sorry, we’re hiring a deejay,” she answered. “And it’s a she, so there’ll be no shagging in that direction.”
“You’ve already picked out the entertainment?” I asked, surprised. “I thought we were barely on invitations.”
“Her name is Yvettte, and she’s Daryll’s cousin on his mother side. So, naturally, Daryll gave us her card, and according to her social media accounts, she’s pretty good.”
“What about the bar?” I asked hopefully. “Is there going to be an open bar?”
“Are you out of your mind?” she squealed. “Do you have any idea how expensive that would be?”
“How about an usher? Valet? Porta-potty attendant? I mean, that’s how long it’s been since I’ve gotten any, Abrielle,” I told her. “I’m about to hire an escort.”
She let out a laugh, knowing that I wasn’t serious. I mean, there were times when I wished that I was ballsy enough to be that reckless, but we both knew that I didn’t sleep around, much to the dismay of all my lady bits.
After Abrielle stopped laughing, she said, “Well, maybe your sexy neighbor can be your plus-one.”
“He’s married, remember?” I said, already giving up on him. “And his wife is probably some retired supermodel, and I bet that their children all have high IQs.”
“Jesus, I love you, but you need help,” she retorted. “Your doomsday attitude towards men cannot be healthy.”
“It’s realistic,” I argued. “And since living in delusion is a sign of a mental defect, I’m the epitome of mental health.”
“We’re definitely going to have to agree to disagree on that one,” she said as she grabbed the tablet back from me.
“Well, since you’re my twin, if I’m cuckoo, then so are you,” I informed her like we were still five-years-old.
Ignoring my logic, she said, “I’m thinking it’s between Loving Calligraphy and Ancient Elegance.”
I gave it some thought before asking, “And what’s wrong with eloping?”
My sister shot me a knowing look. “Absolutely nothing.”
Two hours later, we were checking wedding packages in Las Vegas because Loving Calligraphy and Ancient Elegance had been really kicking our asses.