Good Girl Gone

“What did you imagine, Marta, when you daydreamed about our weddings?” Fin asks.

Marta laughs. “I could already see Emilio standing in the hallway, pacing, scaring the pants off your husbands-to-be.”

We all laugh. I think Emilio is doing just that right this minute.

“And…” Marta stops and shakes her head, getting choked up. “And I dreamed about the time I would spend fluffing your veils and adjusting your dresses. And in the very back of my mind, I wondered if you would wish your real mothers were with you on your wedding days.” She sniffles. “That’s all.”

“Our real mother is here,” I tell her. She sobs into a handkerchief Emilio gave her earlier today—just in case she might need one, he’d said.

My sisters are quiet. I sink to my knees in front of Marta because she has collapsed into a chair. “Our real mother is here,” I say again. “And we’re so grateful you’re ours.”

“Your mother would be very proud of you,” she whispers.

“Then she should tell me that,” I whisper back. I laugh and cup my hand over my ear. “Come on,” I cajole. “I want to hear my mother tell me how awesome I am!” I take her hands and give them a squeeze.

“I love you so much and I am so proud of you.”

I wipe my thumb under her eye. “We’re all going to look like shit,” I tell her and my sisters, because there is not a dry eye in the room.

We set about repairing our makeup.

Wren wraps her arms around my shoulders and squeezes as she looks at me in the mirror. “Mom would be really proud. Dad too.” She buries her face in my shoulder and holds tightly to me.

“Thanks, Wrenny,” I say. I whisper her real name so that only she can hear it. “Jenny.”

A knock sounds on the door. “Who is it?” Fin calls out.

No one answers.

“Maybe it’s a surprise.” Fin arches her brows in question. She opens the door and freezes. “I think it’s for you,” she says in my direction.

Tag takes up the whole doorway.

“How dare you show up here!” Wren shrieks and she starts toward him, but Peck grabs her arm and hauls her back. “Did you need more money? Is that it?” Wren asks furiously. She fights against Peck’s hold.

I walk toward him, teetering on my heels a little. “Hi, Tag,” I say.

He smiles tremulously at me. “Hi,” he says back. “I didn’t want to interrupt your special day, but I had to come and see you. I wanted to congratulate you.”

“How did you know about today?”

He looks at me kind of funny. “Josh called me. He told me to come.”

I nod slowly. How dare he?

“You didn’t want me here, did you?” he says. He sighs and then takes in a big breath. “I should have known.”

“Well, you kind of left in a hurry after you got a lot of money out of Wren,” I tell him, trying to remain calm.

“I had to go and get something,” he explains.

“It had better have been something important,” Wren bites out.

He smiles and looks back into the hallway. “It was.” He reaches past the doorway and picks something up. He walks into the room with it and sets it gently on the floor. It’s a baby carrier, and there’s a sleeping newborn inside. “I had to go and get him.” He points down to the sleeping child.

Everyone in the room goes silent.

Wren blurts out, “What is it?”

A tiny ripple of laughter moves through the room.

“He’s my son.” He looks at me and then at Wren. “Benjamin Taggert the Third.”

“You have a son?” I bend down to look into the perfect little face.

“It’s a long story,” he says.

“I want to hear all about it.” I do. I really do.

“I’ll be around for a while. Do you mind if I stay and watch you get married?” He tilts his head like an inquisitive puppy. “I promise not to cause any trouble.”

“You can stay.” The words rise unbidden to my lips. But I don’t want to take them back.

“Thanks.” He leans over and kisses my forehead. “Mom and Dad would be proud, you know?” he whispers. Then he picks up the carrier and goes out of the room.

The wedding planner suddenly appears in the doorway and claps her hands. “It’s time,” she says.

My sisters follow her out of the room like ducklings behind their mother, and I go too. My knees are shaking, and I feel like I really need to throw up, but I swallow it back. But then Emilio threads my arm through his and his strength bolsters me.

One by one, as the music swells, my sisters go down the aisle.

“Not too late to back out,” Emilio says softly. He grins down at me.

I stop and turn to face him. I take the lapels of his coat in my hands and hold tight. “I need to tell you something, Melio.”

He adjusts my veil. “You can tell me anything, kiddo.”

“Some day, when I have a daughter, you’re going to have to go into her room every single chance you get and tuck her in, okay? All the time. Like whenever you babysit, you have to go into her room and read her stories and hang out with her, okay?” I’m crying again—ruining my makeup again—and I don’t care. Not at all.

“Some day when you have a daughter, Star, I’m going to do all sorts of things with her, the least of which is tucking her in every single chance I get, and reading her stories, and I’m going to go in her room and just hang out with her. I promise.”