Chapter Eighteen
Lila
“Grandma, you cannot wear that. Where is the dress we picked out for you?” I ask, standing in my maid of honor dress. It’s a mermaid style, meaning it hugs every single curve and bump on my body way too snugly. I feel a little self-conscious.
It’s nothing, though, compared to what Grandma Claire is wearing.
She’s got on a hot pink dress that looks more like a bathing suit cover-up than an actual piece of clothing. The neckline plunges to quite an amazing depth, and the length of the dress leaves nothing to the imagination. It is something that would perhaps be uncomfortable-looking even on Heidi Klum.
“Hey, it’s a wedding, a celebration. And I say while I’ve still got it, I may as well show it off!” Grandma lets out a scream that tells me Dad’s tequila stock apparently isn’t locked up like it should be, or she found out the combination again.
I exhale. “We have to leave in fifteen minutes to be at the church on time. Seriously, Grandma, go change.”
I rush back to the hallway to Maren’s bedroom where some of her high school friends, college roommates, and other girls from the wedding party are gathered to help her get it together.
They part ways when they see me. “Oh my, Maren, you look amazing!” I say, meaning it. I momentarily forget about the Grandma debacle as I lean in to hug my sister, who seriously looks like a model. “You look perfect.”
“Thanks. Don’t say anything gushy, though. I’m emotional, and I don’t want to cry.”
“Okay, you bitch. No problem,” I say, and smile. Maren smacks me on the arm.
“Is everything okay? Everything going smoothly?” she asks.
“Of course,” I lie effortlessly. I don’t know how, but I’ve managed to take on the role of the wedding planner Maren insisted she didn’t need to hire.
I don’t have the heart to tell her that Grandma Claire is standing in the hallway in a stripper outfit, Mom is calling and screaming at the florist over the so-called lackluster boutonnieres, and the cake decorator I found on the fly is currently a no-show.
Details, details.
I rush to find Dad, who is out on the porch in his tux.
“Daddy, you look so handsome,” I say, reaching to hug him.
“Thanks, Lila. I feel like a weirdo in this thing.”
Dad’s not much of a formal-attire-wearing man. “Well, it looks good. Now listen, I need some help and Mom’s in a tizzy.”
“Would you expect any less? What do you need?”
“Grandma’s outfit isn’t quite the approved outfit we picked. I think the actual dress we picked for her is in her closet, but she’s, well, shall I say a bit drunk at the moment, I believe?”
“Dammit. She must have figured out the combination again. I swear that woman was a code breaker during WWII. Unbelievable!” He scowls, rushing inside to take care of the Grandma situation. At least one thing can be checked off my list.
Next, I call Oliver. “Hey, can you do me a huge favor? Can you stop by the reception hall and see if the cake showed up? I’ve tried calling a million times, but no one is answering. I think I may have been ripped off. If it’s not there, we’re going to have to wing it, maybe get some sheet cakes or cupcakes or something at one of the grocery stores?”
“Say no more,” Oliver says, and I smile. “I’m on it. I’ll figure it out.”
“Thank you. You’re a lifesaver.”
“No worries. Oh, and Lila?”
“Yeah?”
“Calm down. It’s going to be great. See you at the ceremony.”
I hang up, grinning. It’s so weird that a man I practically just met is going to be my date to one of the biggest days in the family. It’s odd having an almost stranger, a man who doesn’t know the craziness that is my grandmother or the annoying helicopter tendencies of my mother, come join us. Still, Oliver’s confidence and willingness to help eases my worries.
He’s right. It’s going to be great.
***
Somehow, it all comes together for the ceremony. I don’t fall on my face walking down the aisle, even though I find myself staring at how handsome Oliver looks in his suit as I parade down the aisle runner. Grandma manages to sober up slightly and to get on the right outfit, thanks to Dad’s intervention. The flowers look great, although Mom still insists the boutonnieres are the wrong color.
Most of all, Maren looks stunning in her slim, beaded red dress—she insisted white was boring, even for brides. When she walks down the aisle, Will appears to hold it together. Up on the altar, though, with a close-up view, I see his lip quiver and a single tear roll down his cheek.
Seeing the way he looks at her takes my breath away and jolts my heart. When my sister vows her life to my new brother-in-law, I find myself tearing up. There’s just something about two people promising forever that gets me every time.
When they’re pronounced husband and wife and Grandma lets out a “Yee-haw” loud enough for the entire church to hear, Will and Maren are all smiles. That’s the only way I can describe it.
As I’m standing with the bridal party after the ceremony waiting for pictures, it hits me.
It’s not about the wedding or the dress or the cake. It’s not about the deejay or the invite list. Those things are nice, but that’s not what’s important.
It’s about two people coming together and promising forever. It’s about the way Will looked at Maren today, his eyes screaming he’d do anything for her. It’s the way the thought of vowing forever to Will made Maren an emotional wreck.
It’s the power of the love between them palpable without the wedding ceremony but even more apparent with it.
Seeing Maren and Will’s big day, I realize without a doubt that I wasn’t crazy for holding out for this. I want this, no, I need this. I need that kind of visible commitment, that symbol of forever love.
I can’t settle for anything less.
***
After so many pictures that I permanently see dots in my vision, the bridal party and immediate family are loaded into the white limo the newlyweds rented to get us to the Oakwood Hall.
Champagne floats around and loud, obnoxious groomsmen make jokes about how much alcohol they can down. Oliver, still on the cake situation, gave me a kiss on the cheek and told me he’d meet me at the reception. Hence, I’m all alone in a sea of couples and rowdy single groomsmen who have already had way too much to drink.
“Excuse me,” a voice says over the loudspeaker in the limo. I didn’t know they even had those. “This is Paul, your driver. Yeah, turns out the last driver didn’t fill up. We’re going to need to stop for gas. Sorry for the inconvenience.”
“Are you kidding me? Unbelievable, the incompetence,” Mom mutters, throwing her hands up.
The groomsmen are excited, animatedly talking about running in to order some death dogs at the local gas station before we hit the reception. I just try to soothe the migraine building and pray Oliver found a decent solution to the cake situation.
As the limo pulls in to the gas pump, the groomsmen file out to go order some nachos and hot dogs—because that clearly makes sense. A few of the girls want to go pee, so the limo is basically vacant except for Maren, Will, and the immediate family. I actually soak in the silence for a moment.
Until it happens. Like a curse or the universe slapping me in the face, I’m sent flying back to the past; its sticky tentacles won’t let me go.
“Lila, oh my God, look, it’s Luke!” Grandma Claire screams with an excitement level so high, you’d think she just saw Alexander Skarsgard—her celebrity crush. She’s seen Tarzan fifteen times just to ogle his abs.
We all turn to look out the window she’s pointing out.
Sure enough, at the gas pump next to us, it is not Alexander Skarsgard but Luke. Luke stands, dressed in jeans and a flannel, filling up what I think is Evan’s car, one his best friends. My heart does that little thing that’s like a gasp for air. Before I can react, Grandma has the window down. “Luke! Hey, hot stuff! We miss you! Get in. We’re going to Maren’s reception, and Lila’s in here alone.”
“Grandma,” I hiss, and Maren covers her mouth. I try to reach over to put up the window, but it’s too late.
Luke steps over to the window to wave. “Hey, Grandma Claire. I miss you too,” he says. Just hearing his voice does something to me. It’s the first time I’ve heard it up close in a long time. It’s almost like hearing a stranger’s voice—yet there’s a familiarity in it. It’s the voice that used to say “I love you” and used to say my name in bed. It’s a voice that’s shared so many moments and secrets with me.
Yet, here we are, me on one side of the limo, and him on the other.
He makes eye contact with me. I offer a neutral smile. “Hi.”
“Hey, Lila.”
The whole family seems to take a collective breath, wondering what will happen next.
But nothing happens. Just a weird pause, an uncertainty of how to proceed.
“Well, congratulations, Maren and Will. Good luck to you,” Luke says, and then he offers a weak smile, looks at me once more, and walks away.
“It’s not too late,” Grandma Claire yells out the window before Dad pounds the button to put the window up.
“Grandma, you can’t say stuff like that,” I chide, shaking my head.
“Of course I can. It’s never too late. You kids are so dramatic. You like him. He likes you. Stop playing these games.”
Suddenly, the limo door flies open and the groomsmen pile in along with the bridesmaids, talking about nachos and hot dogs. The moment is gone.
But Grandma Claire’s words still resonate within. I think about them the whole time we’re driving to the reception, and even once we’re there.
I think about them until we get to the reception and I see Oliver standing by an improvised cupcake tree he’s fashioned in oranges and whites.
“It looks, well, good under the circumstances,” I say, eyeing the not-quite-wedding-worthy cupcake display. It’ll do, though.
“I also got this little sheet cake for Maren and Will to cut,” he says, pointing proudly to a cake on display beside the cupcakes.
It’s an orange floral cake with “Happy Weddingday” scrawled on the top. It is pretty clear that Wedding used to say Birth. But maybe no one else will notice.
“It’ll be great,” I announce, meaning it, as someone hands me a drink. I gulp it greedily.
“You think you can save a dance for me, since I did such a good job and all?” he asks, pulling me in closer, his hand on my waist.
“I think I could manage to save you one or two.” I look up into his blue eyes, my breath catching at the way he’s looking at me.
He’s gorgeous. He’s sweet. He’s perfect.
Dammit, I hate feeling stuck in limbo between my past and present. I hate the guilt I feel when I’m with Oliver thinking about Luke, but I also hate the guilt I feel when I see Luke and think about what used to be.
It is at this moment, though, by the sad excuse for a wedding cake as I’m internally arguing with myself, that Oliver clears it all away.
He leans in and, ever so gently, kisses me. His lips are warm and taste like cake—I’m guessing he taste-tested a cupcake. With that kiss, though, I feel all the swirling confusion melt away.
As the kiss intensifies and his tongue finds mine, swirling in an intricate pattern that makes my whole body glow with warmth, I am opened to the possibility yet again of what Oliver and I could be. I am opened to the possibility of a new story.
When the deejay calls for me to do my speech and I’m pulled away from the kiss, I realize there could be a new story in my life—if I could just close the last story with a sense of finality and stow the book away on a dusty shelf to be forgotten.
I just don’t know how the hell I do that when Luke’s claimed such a huge part of my heart.
***
“Lila, there’s some sexy man here for you, and it’s not Luke!” a shaky voice bellows from somewhere in the house. I roll over in my bed, smacking into the snoring Henry. Sunlight streams into my room, and my head is pounding.
Apparently I had a few too many whiskey sours last night.
I drag myself out of bed, trying to figure what the heck Grandma Claire is yelling about. Mom and Dad are delivering Maren’s wedding presents this morning and then going to lunch. I vaguely remember Mom waking me and asking if I wanted to help, but hauling presents into Maren’s house with a hangover sounds like torture—especially with Mom involved. Maren and Will are on their way to Aruba as we speak, so I’m sure I won’t be missed. Plus, Mom will have more fun snooping in Maren and Will’s apartment without me.
I stomp down the hallway, the sun way too bright.
“Lila, the young man brought you coffee. Did you hear me?” Grandma’s voice is getting louder now. She catches me in the hallway. “Oh, dear. You’re quite a mess. Here, let’s get some lipstick on you. Lipstick always does the trick. The young man won’t notice how horrible you look.”
“Grandma, what are you talking about?” I ask, my voice raspy.
“That Oliver bloke you had at the wedding last night. For the life of me, I don’t understand why you two didn’t spend the night together. Weddings always make me pretty horny. But anyway, he’s here. I let him in. He’s got coffee for the two of you and everything.”
I take a deep breath. I don’t know whether to address Grandma Claire’s over-the-top confession, my headache, or the fact Oliver is here and I look like shit.
“Do you want that lipstick?” she asks.
“No, Grandma. I just need a minute.” And a miracle, in reality. I swing into the bathroom, glancing in the mirror.
Wow, I look rough.
I down a few Advil and slurp up some water from the bathroom sink. I take out the ponytail holder and try to fluff my hair. It’s a lost cause, so back into a messy bun in goes.
I do my best to get it together, run back to my bedroom to rifle up a bra, and get myself back to the kitchen before Grandma can make Oliver too uncomfortable.
“So that’s about the time I realized I was wearing the completely wrong cup size for three decades. Can you imagine?” Grandma is saying.
Oliver looks terrified. Horrified.
But he’s graciously grinning and nodding. Grandma is drinking a cup of coffee. At the sight of me, Oliver leaps up, looking relieved.
“Hey, sorry to drop in. I just wanted to bring you a coffee and, well, see you.”
He dashes across the kitchen, leaning in for a hug. I try not to think about how I probably smell, leaning into him. He looks like he’s feeling fine, making me feel even worse.
“I’m a little rough this morning. How many whiskey sours did I have?”
“I think six. But it’s fine. That’s what weddings are for. Here, I brought you coffee. Figured you might be feeling a little rough.”
He looks over to the table, realizing Grandma Claire is sipping what I assume was my coffee.
“Um, here,” Oliver says, handing me what was clearly his. I wink at him.
“Very sweet. Thank you. Do you want to go out on the back porch?”
“Yeah, sounds good.”
“You two go ahead. I don’t want to intrude,” Grandma Claire says, turning to wink at me.
“Grandma, you sure? You can come,” I say, secretly hoping she decides to stay inside.
“No way, it’s fine. That religious program I like is coming on in ten minutes. Figure it wouldn’t hurt to get some extra heaven points today after the lewd thoughts I was having about the preacher at Maren’s wedding.”
Oliver and I pause, frozen by the shock of the woman’s words. She never ceases to amaze, that’s for sure.
“Okay, Grandma. Sounds like a plan,” I say, shaking my head as I lead Oliver out the back door to the swing in the garden.
When we’re alone, I look up at him as we sink into the swing. We sway languidly, the chill of the morning seeping through the sweatshirt I tossed on over my T-shirt. “Sorry about Grandma. She’s a handful.”
“It’s fine. No apologies needed. Your family’s great,” he says.
I take a swig of the coffee. “I don’t know if great is the word I’d use. They’re… interesting, for sure.”
“I had an amazing time last night,” he says, putting an arm around my shoulder.
“I did too.”
We swing for a long moment, not talking, just taking in the sight of the morning, the serenity of my mom’s garden sharply contrasting with the chaos that is my family.
“I like spending time with you, Lila. A lot.”
I turn and look up at the blue eyes that are becoming so familiar. “I like spending time with you, too,” I say, and realize it’s true.
Sitting here, swinging with Oliver, there’s a deep-rooted serenity that isn’t just because my family’s not around. It’s a peace I feel deep within. He makes me feel calm and rational. He makes me feel smart, like I’m doing the right thing.
Being with Oliver is easy because there’s not much tension between us. There’s just two people, heading in a similar direction, walking together.
I could get used to this.
And then the back door opens, Grandma Claire standing in her nightie. “Lila! Come quick! I seem to have clicked something on the television and there’s something inappropriate on it.”
I shake my head. “Grandma, I thought we told you to stop getting into the pay-per-view menu.”
“What? I didn’t. This newfangled television just does it on its own.”
“Be right there,” I yell, shaking my head but laughing.
“I take it Grandma Claire has had a few pay-per-view incidents?” Oliver asks, grinning.
“Oh, yes. Just to warn you, it’s probably not going to be pretty. Grandma likes to click on the racier titles and then swear she didn’t know they were dirty.” I sigh, heading inside to see what new disaster awaits, the serenity wearing off a little bit.
When Oliver grabs my free hand, though, and holds it on the way into the living room, the peace is back, despite the horrifying, scream-inciting view we see when we get to the living room and see what Grandma Claire has ordered.