TWENTY-TWO
My life is not a Nora Ephraim-penned movie. Realizing I love Quinn is one thing. Seeing him, or God forbid, telling him? That’s an entirely different matter. I wasn’t about to go running through the sleepy streets of Cavanagh in a mad, dizzying rush to get to my man and profess my undying love. This isn’t a John Hughes movie either.
One minute Sam was kissing me. The next I knew he shouldn’t be, and then I did what any rational, red-blooded woman my age would do. I went home and hid under my blankets. Minutes went by. Hours. Before I knew it, two days had passed, and I was smelling mildly like the tub of roasted garlic hummus I’d eaten, (family size because I’m a pig) and still utterly unwilling to venture out.
Autumn’s incessant calling, not leaving messages, texting and then calling again, finally got me out from under those blankets.
“Next Sunday at eleven. Don’t make any plans.”
“What have you signed me up for, friend?” I should have known there was some sneaky missive that Autumn kept to herself.
“Um, maid of honor duties.”
My jaw literally dropped. I hadn’t planned on that. I hadn’t even expected it.
“No sense in waiting,” Autumn explained. “Declan is due in New Zealand in a month. We may as well get married first.” I was speechless, but she didn’t waste any time leveling on the surprises. “Will you do it? Stand up for me?”
“Duh! Of course I will.”
“Um, well, before you agree, I should tell you. Quinn is standing up for Declan.”
“Quinn? Why not Donovan?”
“Donovan can’t do it.” She sounded annoyed, but I heard the half-truth in her tone. That woman had schemes afoot. “He and Layla are taking the baby to New Orleans to visit his family.”
Autumn’s breath went still, as though she was holding it. But dang, she had been my best friend since we were kids. There was no way I’d let Quinn O’Malley stop me from being there on the most important day of her life. “Sure,” I finally said, ignoring the slow rumble that started in my stomach when I thought of looking at Quinn across the aisle. “Of course I’ll do it.”
I just didn’t realize what a challenge that day would be.
AUTUMN WAS TYPICALLY calm. Always. Aside from panic attacks when her anxiety got out of hand, especially when things are out of her control, she never had an issue retaining her calm.
Her wedding day was the exception.
She looks beautiful. Her thick ginger hair is pinned up at the sides, and a simple gardenia accented with baby’s breath nestles around the crown of her head. The dress she wears is simple, knee length with a classic pin up silhouette in white satin with a pleated skirt. She looks like a paler, taller, much more Irish Marilyn Monroe.
“Declan is going to lose his shit,” Mollie says approvingly, zipping up Autumn’s dress as I steam the hem. Autumn’s reply is a non-committal grunt and I exchange glances with Mollie, shaking my head at our friend’s distracted, edging-toward-flustered state.
There seems to be a lot weighing on her—the move to a new country, finishing her graduate work, closing up the house, finding a job in New Zealand… getting married. Added to that is the quickness of this wedding. It doesn’t seem right that Layla isn’t here, but family visits with the first grandchild outweigh impromptu weddings, apparently. Fortunately she and Donovan would be back before the New Zealand departure.
The church Autumn managed to rent for the ceremony is very old, at least one hundred and fifty years, with nothing but the framework to serve as a venue for small, intimate weddings. The structure is made up of a white washed brick frame and a half-roof that lets in the sunlight and casts beautiful light against the alter and the stained-glass behind it. The tiny building outside of the church houses the office and all around both buildings is a lush, well-maintained English garden.
Autumn fidgets, shaking her foot as she leans against the bathroom counter in the church office. We’d blocked the entrance, using the bathroom as a make-shift dressing room. I notice the way Autumn keeps glancing at her phone, how she mumbles under her breath.
“Sweetie, what’s the problem?” I ask, touching her shoulder.
Finally, she exhales, rubbing her neck. “Declan wasn’t worried before now, but we only have twenty minutes and Quinn’s still not here.”
“What do you mean?”
“If you’d been here on time, you’d have realized Quinn is MIA.” I ignore the snap in Autumn’s voice, chalking it up to pre-wedding nerves. Still, she manages to earn my forgiveness with an apologetic smile.
“I don’t know why this surprises you,” Mollie says.
“But they’ve been getting along so well,” Autumn explains. The trip to Atlanta actually had gone well, and Quinn had started watching matches with Declan, Donovan, and the others on the squad. “He didn’t even fuss when Declan asked him to be his best man,” she said, plaintively.
“Really?” Mollie sounds skeptical and I had to agree. That did seem wildly out of character for Quinn.
“Well, I did get the impression that he was annoyed that he was Declan’s second choice, but I can’t see that being a reason to ditch us.”
“No one’s heard from him?” I say, stopping Autumn when she chews on her thumb nail. “Don’t. You’ll mess up your manicure.”
“Do you have any idea where he could be?” she asks, holding my wrist when I swat her thumb out of her mouth.
I look at the clock sighing at the time. “Give me twenty minutes and I’ll be right back.”
“We can’t start without you or Quinn.”
“Yes you can, friend.” When I smile at her, Autumn’s shoulders lower as though I somehow will save the day. “But you better not.”