Getting Lei'd (2 page)

“It’s the tuxes.” She beams, obviously proud of her theft.

I’m not sure what the point of taking them was. “Umm, I don’t think they’ll be needing them now that the wedding is off.”

Ruthie pouts a little, as if I’ve just rained on her princess parade. “Well, Gary will have to pay late fees because we aren’t taking them back on time.”

“Yeah, stick it to him!” Baggy is obviously on board with the thievery.

I can’t help but think that the only people we are really hurting are the rental company and anyone who has the tuxes rented next, but I decide to hold my tongue. In some strange way, I suppose it’s sweet that Ruthie was willing to do this to avenge my wedding day dumping. Besides, I don’t need to be told again that my voice of reason sounds just like my mother’s.

“Where are we going?” I ask Baggy in an attempt to change the subject.

“Away” is her simple response, and I decide that for once in my life, I’m just going to go with the flow and see what happens. If anyone deserves to get away right now, it’s me.

“We’re just like those crazy broads Thelma and Louise,” Baggy shouts over the hum of the speeding car.

Her proclamation makes me hope she doesn’t intend to drive us off a cliff, like the characters do in the movie. Nothing would surprise me with Baggy. The problem is, she and Ruthie would come out of the crash completely unscathed. Even though I’m the only one in a seatbelt, the best-case scenario for me would probably be a full-body cast. I’d tense up all over, while the other two would just enjoy the ride down.

I shake my head to try to clear it. I don’t want to be negative. I love my grandmother and sister, but they do seem to live charmed lives. If I tried half the crazy, irresponsible stunts they pull, I’d be dead or in prison. Today is the perfect example. Being dumped on her wedding day is something that wouldn’t dare happen to Baggy or Ruthie. They simply wouldn’t allow it.

I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the side mirror. I’m still in the white gown, but my hair has now been whipped into a snarled beehive of rats. I glance back at my sister, who looks windblown but wild and free. Baggy’s hair remains perfectly coifed under her scarf.

Looking at these two reminds me that even though I’d like to be as carefree as them, I’m just not. I seem to be built differently than they are. Maybe I’m more like my mother than I thought. Ugh.

Mother didn’t get dumped on her wedding day, though. Double ugh. The more in control of my life I try to be, the more of a hot mess I become.

We drive and drive. I try to relax and just enjoy the high-speed ride, but I can’t keep my mind from returning to the fear that Baggy’s driving is going to kill us all. The fact that the woman has never been in an automobile accident (a detail that she loves to remind us of whenever the opportunity arises) is simply shocking. I’m guessing that she has caused an enormous number of fender benders in her wake. She just careens on too quickly to notice.

“Jive Talkin’ ” by the Bee Gees comes on the radio, and Baggy cranks up the volume. She and Ruthie are singing and bebopping to the catchy tune as if they don’t have a care in the world. I try singing a little and nodding my head to the beat, but I feel silly, so I stop.

A new song starts and Baggy turns the blaring radio down slightly. I use the decreased volume as an excuse to ask again where we are headed, since I don’t know how much longer I can endure the near-constant fear of riding in a car with Baggy at the wheel. If we go too much longer, I’ll probably develop a killer migraine.

“What? I can’t hear you over the banging tunes!” Baggy yells over the still-loud music. I adjust the volume down further and repeat my question.

“We’re cruising,” Baggy answers cryptically.

I consider asking her to pull over so I can get a sweet tea. Even though I don’t really want one, since my stomach is kind of churning, it seems like it would be a good opportunity to change drivers.

In the end, I decide to continue taking my life in my hands. I don’t really feel like taking the wheel, and my sister’s driving isn’t much of an improvement over Baggy’s.

I clear my mind as much as I can under the circumstances, close my eyes, and let the whipping wind wash over me.

When I wake up, we are in Atlanta. I can’t believe we have driven for more than four hours. Baggy has slowed down somewhat for the exit ramp off the highway, but still takes the curve way too fast. I squeeze my eyes shut, certain that we are going to drift into the retaining wall. Miraculously, we stay on the road, even somewhat in the lane.

Once my heart rate begins to return to a more normal pace, I regain my wits enough to realize we are heading toward the airport. “Are we flying somewhere?” I inquire jokingly, but almost afraid to hear what their answer will be.

“Tell her.” Baggy makes eye contact with Ruthie in the rearview mirror, practically bouncing with anticipation.

I turn around to find Ruthie’s eyes glistening with excitement. I raise my eyebrows letting her know to spill it. “We’re going on your honeymoon,” she announces.

I have about forty-seven questions about this odd declaration, but can’t seem to formulate one, so I just sit there staring until their harebrained idea gushes out of her.

“While you were asleep, we decided that you shouldn’t miss out on a fab vacay to Hawaii just because that dillweed dumped you.” I cringe a little at her harsh word choice, so she throws in a haphazard “Sorry” before continuing. “By the time we thought of it, we had driven too far to get you back to the airport in time to catch your first flight.”

She pauses to take a breath, but I decide to wait for her to continue rather than attempt to ask the right questions. “We do have plenty of time to catch your connecting flight, though.”

I furrow my brow a little, so she adds, “I borrowed your phone and saw that your connection is in Atlanta. It works out perfectly because we were already practically at the ATL.”

“That sounds reasonable,” I acquiesce before adding, “But I don’t want to go on my honeymoon by myself.”

“That’s why we’re coming with you,” Baggy jumps in. “Won’t this be a hoot?” She’s obviously proud of herself.

Not wanting to dampen their spirits but unable to avoid stating the obvious, I say, “You two don’t have tickets.”

“Oh fiddle-faddle.” Baggy waves off my valid point as if it has no merit. “It will all work out.” If it were anyone else, I would doubt it being possible, but I have learned from experience that once Baggy sets her mind to something, nothing gets in her way.

Sure enough, even with the more stringent security measures in place, Baggy manages to secure two tickets on the same flight Gary and I were supposed to be on. I can’t imagine how much two last-minute tickets to Hawaii must cost, but Baggy always seems to have an unending supply of crisp hundred-dollar bills in her billfold. I’m sure she whipped a sizable stack of them out and handed them over to the surprised ticket agent.

We stop to use the assembly-line airport restroom, and I realize that I was too quick to check my suitcase that had been in the trunk of Gary’s car. I have no clothes to wear on the airplane, other than my wedding gown. This is less than ideal.

If I hadn’t been in such a state of shock, I’m sure I would have thought of this sooner. I’m not overly surprised that Baggy and Ruthie both stood silently by as I checked a bag of casual clothes rather than mentioning that we might want to change out of our formalwear first. I’m sure they consider the trip even more of an adventure in our fancy bridal attire.

I attempt, unsuccessfully, to tame my wild rat’s nest of hair after we wash our hands in the giant metal trough. Giving up my hair as a lost cause, I point out another seemingly obvious fact that they probably haven’t bothered to consider. “You two don’t have any luggage.”

“Oh, barnacles,” Baggy sort of curses. “I guess we’ll have to buy some grass skirts when we get there.” Her eyes light up with a new thought. “Do you suppose I can find one of them coconut bras that will show off my bodacious tatas?”

I can’t help but smile at her as I glance at her flat, droopy chest. Anyone else her age would be joking, but with Baggy, I’m guessing I should prepare myself for the sight that I’ll never be able to unsee of her dancing around in a coconut bra in public.

One thing this little getaway is sure to be is unforgettable. Adventures with Baggy always are.

As we sit at the gate waiting to board the aircraft, I have a panic attack. What if Gary and Lizzie are on the flight? If Baggy and Ruthie were able to secure tickets, maybe Lizzie did, too.

The image of the pre-wedding breakup text from Gary flashes into my head, unwanted.
“I can’t do this. Lizzie and I r in love. Sorry.”

The fact that he deemed it appropriate to relay this information by text is inexplicable. His word choice infuriates me the most, though. First off, when sending a text of this magnitude, is it really too much trouble to spell out the word
are
?

The “Sorry” at the end really irks me, too. He couldn’t even be bothered to insert an “I’m” in the half-assed apology? Yes, you are sorry, you ridiculous jerk. Unbelievable. At least it didn't say, “We’re sorry.”

I know this isn’t how it should be when two people are getting ready to promise to spend the rest of their lives with each other, but the betrayal by my lifelong best friend hurts more than that of my almost husband. I wish the text had said that he is in love with her, not that
they
are in love. It hurts so much more knowing that my best friend since the first day of kindergarten would do this to me. I guess my feelings about this whole fiasco prove that it is probably a good thing that today did not turn out to be my wedding day. I was evidently about to marry the wrong man.

Apparently I dodged a bullet. That doesn’t excuse the manner in which Gary chose to dump me, though. Inconceivable. That’s all I have to say about that right now.

When they call for the boarding of first-class passengers on our flight, Baggy and Ruthie hop up and head to the gate. They are halfway there when Baggy realizes I’m still in my seat.

She turns, perplexed, in my direction. I can see the moment realization dawns on her. I try to get up and close the gap between us because as I watch Baggy’s facial expression evolve from confusion to understanding to anger, I know that she is about ready to unleash a flurry of annoyance. At least if I am in closer proximity to her, less of the crowd will hear her rant.

The long, white dress slows me, so I make it only two steps in Baggy’s direction before she starts. “You mean to tell me”—she is shaking her bent pointer finger at me. I stop in my tracks because everyone within hearing distance is already looking at us anyway. Baggy continues, completely undaunted by the attention drawn by our spectacle—“that cheap-assed bastard didn’t even spring for first-class tickets for your
honeymoon
?” She emphasizes the last word with righteous indignation. “He has shitloads of money. What is he saving it for, a special occasion??”

After a few quiet chuckles, the crowd turns toward me in unison, awaiting my response. The innocent bystanders look like they are watching some ridiculous train wreck of a tennis match that they can’t tear their eyes away from.

I feel like an absolutely ridiculous mess, standing here with my unruly hair, wearing my now-rumpled wedding gown. People have even looked up from their cell phones to see how this will unfold. If there’s one thing I am uncomfortable with, it’s being the center of attention.

Ruthie can’t stand it when all eyes are on me, either, so she quickly jumps in. “My sister would appreciate some privacy in this time of great embarrassment and shame,” she says to the crowd at large.

I feel like kicking her in the shin. I know there isn’t any malicious intention behind her words, but she has somehow managed to make this mortifying situation a thousand times worse. At least everyone is now looking at her. That is the way she and I both prefer things to be.

I close the gap between us so Baggy, Ruthie, and I can talk to one another without including the entire room. People are still staring at us, but normal hushed conversations and cell phone usage begin to resume. “You two are causing a scene,” I hiss.

Both of them look surprised and taken aback by my reproach, so I soften my tone. “Go ahead and get on the plane.” They seem uncertain, so I fib, “I like sitting in coach. It’s a great opportunity to people watch.”

“I could trade tickets with you,” Ruthie offers. I appreciate the gesture, but also know she would be devastated if I took her up on it.

I refuse, as she had likely known I would, but the relief is still evident on her face. “If you’re sure.” Ruthie smiles, already grabbing Baggy’s hand and dragging her toward the burly female ticket agent.

Nodding in answer, I grin as I listen to them giggling and skipping toward the airplane door. Looking down at my pearly white dress, I vow to be more like them on this adventure. I will have fun and enjoy the moment. That is my new mantra—easy, breezy Roxy. That’s me. Well, the Hawaiian me, anyway.

Thankfully, Gary and Lizzie are not on the airplane, so I decide to use the quiet time to meditate on my new carefree attitude. Despite my best efforts to stay positive, the flight is interminably long, and my seat is very cramped. My height is definitely not an advantage when it comes to airline seating accommodations. My knees are already touching the seat in front of me, so when the shortish lady in front of me leans her seat back, I nearly come unglued. Instead, I take a deep breath and attempt to refocus my mind. When that doesn’t work, I purchase a rum and Coke from the flight attendant and start a slapstick comedy movie on my seat’s personal TV.

I only make it a few minutes into the silly movie before the reality of the day's events sets in and overwhelms me. Yanking out my earphones and turning to the grandmotherly lady sitting in the window seat next to me, I splutter, "Today was supposed to be my wedding day." She nods, giving me a sad look that is a mixture of pity and understanding.