Never the Bride (25 page)

I leave Him and walk up to my bedroom. I’ve got a headache and her name’s Brooklyn.

Hopeful Groom, otherwise known as Dave Dewey is bending one knee, like it’s slow motion or something. A little dramatic for my taste, but I think Donna Butler, otherwise known as Perspective Bride, needs the slower version because, frankly, she looks dazed and confused.

This proposal has been unique from the start. Dave is charming and not bad looking, but also a complete control freak, down to every detail. And, it can’t be said enough, in my opinion: a little impatient.

He’s been planning this proposal for months. They’ve been together for four years, so he said it wasn’t going to be any big surprise when he popped the question. So he decided to go ahead and plan the wedding for the same day, complete with family, friends, decorations. The guy even picked out her
wedding dress.
I raised a concern or two, but Dave assured me he knows her likes and dislikes well enough. And I have to admit, the guy has good taste, all the way down to the flowers and candles.

I stand on one side of the foyer of the Glory Wedding Chapel. Brooklyn is on the other side. I kind of zone out on the big speech he is giving to her, instead focusing on Donna, whose mouth is in a wide circle, like she might belt out opera or something. Surprise. Yes, that’s it. Which is good, because this is supposed to be the happiest day of her—

“And we can do it right now!” His voice trumpets, and he gestures toward the lavishly decorated sanctuary. “The chapel is ready! The minister is here!”

“But I need a dress,” Donna says quietly.

Brooklyn cues Donnas mother, Eileen, who floats in as she carries the white dress Dave has picked out. Again, the guy has taste. It’s soft, billowy, romantic. Eileen grins and lifts the dress a little, like maybe Donna might need a better view. But Donna doesn’t.

Donna’s eyes are wide. Mine are too, because I would never let someone else pick out my wedding dress, but that’s just me. “It’s beautiful,” she whispers.

“All your family is here,” Dave says.

Brooklyn cues family and they begin filing into the small chapel, taking their seats, looking back expectantly, wide grins showing their enthusiasm for what is about to take place.

“Everything is perfect, Donna. Will you marry me?”

Donna is nodding and her mouth is moving, but nothing is coming out.

“Today? Right now?” Dave asks loudly.

“Right now?”

Tears fill her eyes. She glances around, even noticing Brooklyn
and me as we try to stand in the shadows. It must be a surreal experience, but I’m wondering…are those tears of joy? Because her chin is quivering in a way that resembles a look of horror, like she’s about to be murdered in a slasher movie.

“Yes.” It barely comes out and sounds like a rubber-ducky squeak. Or maybe a ducky gasp. “Yes,” she repeats. This time slightly better, well, lower. A little foghorn-ish. But dang, the woman has a lot to process here.

Dave looks pleased. He stands and slides a ring on her finger. “Whoa,” she breathes. It’s a rock. Brooklyn claps like she’s a show seal and gives me a knowing glance. We haven’t really talked since our big fight, but, like always, things have settled down.

We watch as Eileen, along with three bridesmaids, whisks Donna away to get changed. Dave is high-fiving his groomsmen, looking relieved and over-the-top happy. Brooklyn and I thumbs-up each other. This is probably the biggest proposal we’ve pulled off to date. A lot of things had to come together.

“So,” I say to God, because I can feel Him standing behind me, “that was amazing. We did good, huh?”

“Hmm.”

“Hmm?” I glance at Him. He is watching Dave. “Okay. So I get the feeling something’s off.”

God doesn’t answer, just quietly watches.

“She said yes. We all saw it,” I say.

True.

I stare at the wedding party as the groomsmen file to the front. Everyone stands around chatting awkwardly as they wait for the bridal
party. I keep quiet, but I can sense that God is waiting for me to say something.

When the bridal party finally enters the foyer, Donnas gleaming smile is doing little to mask her hesitation.

“They don’t belong together, do they?” It hurts my heart to even say it. Still, I know what I see in Donnas eyes, and it isn’t adoration. I think it might be fear. “Why did she say yes?”

God is watching Donna. “Donna likes to please people. She’s been that way since she was a kid.”

I watch Donna too. “Why didn’t You stop it?”

He turns to me. “Dave went to you for help, not Me.”

The words are like a gust of wind, throwing me off balance. “So, am I, um, responsible for this?” He says nothing, and I turn back to watch the wedding-that-shouldn’t-happen happen before my eyes. “I pen these romantic moments and if these women fall for them…” Donna stands at the back of the church, watching the bridesmaids walk down the aisle toward Dave. “Are they settling for the wrong guy because he said the right thing? A guy who didn’t write a word of this…?” My words trail off as I am suddenly hit with the reality of what I’m seeing. “If she’s not supposed to be with him, does that mean she belongs to someone else?”

“She could.”

“Then what happens to that guy? Or the girl this groom should be with? I mean, one wrong move and the world is thrown off its axis.” Ironically, the world now feels like it’s on my shoulders.

God is watching the wedding too. “I never said everything happens the way I want it to.”

“But I’m contributing to this!” I gesture toward where the last
bridesmaid fluffs Donnas dress and pulls her train into place before turning to walk down the aisle. “You told me to open this business.”

He turns to me. “No. I told you to share proposals. The selling part was your idea.”

“Yeah, but given that I’m, You know, not
You
, how am I supposed to know who’s right for each other and who isn’t?”

God smiles at me, one of those smiles that indicates I’m about to be tested and He’s sure I’ll pass.

“Great
I suppose now I have to fix this.”

“Fix what?”

I whirl around and Brooklyn is standing beside me. “Nothing.”

“I’ve just been watching you talk to yourself. Seemed like a lively conversation. Thought I’d join in.”

“I’m just…” I gesture toward Donna, who is now beginning to step down the aisle. The organ music resounds, filling up every pocket in the chapel. “Brooklyn, did Mom ever tell you about how she and Dad got together?”

Brooklyn’s eyes follow the beautiful train flowing down the aisle. “It all sounded whacked to me. I mean, God bringing them together. Mom knowing what Dad was going to look like before she met him.” She glances at me. “Hey, they were as weird as you are.”

I’m too tense about what I should do to care much about her little attack. “Why are you so skeptical to think God might actually care about one of the most important decisions we can ever make?”

“If He gets credit for writing their love story, then in my book, He also gets the blame for how it ended. Dying together, hang gliding, leaving behind two daughters. Sorry. I just don’t subscribe.”

I have a sudden urge to protect her. She is standing there with her
beautiful blond hair, her perfect-for-the-occasion dress, her canvas-like makeup, and all I see is a little girl. I’m about to ask her to come home…when I hear it.

“If anyone has reason to believe these two should not be together, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

“Funny thing,” I say as I peer through the small window. Donna is crying. Dave is smiling. “Peace sometimes comes at the expense of unrest.”

“Huh?”

“You’re just going to have to trust me on this one.” I barge through the double doors, causing everyone to turn. I don’t know why my legs aren’t weak. I feel strong and sustained as I march down the aisle. “Stop!”

Dave’s smile slides off his face. “What are you doing?”

“I’m objecting. That is an option, right?”

The justice of the peace looks pasty against his black robe. “Um, yes, but…we’re actually already past that part.”

“I want my chance to speak or forever hold my peace.”

An old woman nearby leans into her husband and whispers loud enough that we can all assume the hearing aids aren’t up to par. “Did she say ‘hold her pee’?”

I sigh. This is not happening very movie-like. I decide to focus on Donna. “You don’t want to get married today, do you?”

She is shaking from her veil all the way down to her fabric shoes. “Uh…uh…no.” She falls into my arms. “No. I don’t.” She turns to Dave. “I’m sorry, Dave. I’m so sorry. But I don’t want to marry you.”

Chaos erupts.

The justice sits down on the step, wiping his brow and closing his little book. I hand Donna over to her mother who has rushed up. I sit next to the justice. “Bet that’s never happened before, has it?” I smile.

“No. No, indeed. Not once.” He pats his forehead with a handkerchief. “But it should.”

Malia has come back from her lunch break to Brooklyn’s roaring explanation of the day’s events. She sasses quite a bit about the money we lost, but she ends with, “That was the most intense thing I have ever witnessed. You should’ve seen Jess. I mean, the woman rocked. She just slapped Dave down. The guy was crying.” Brooklyn shrugs at our expressions. “What? I mean, the guy had it coming. Who does he think he is picking out a woman’s wedding dress?”

Malia laughs and shakes her head. “You two girls have certainly brought some excitement around here.”

“I’ll finish the paperwork,” Brooklyn says, “and then I’m outta here.”

I leave them and go to the break room to check for any Jessie’s Corner blog comments. God is waiting, standing next to my bowl of M&M’s. I sit down and log in. “You know I just lost ten thousand dollars.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Paying for someone else’s botched wedding.”

“A bargain if you ask Me.”

“That money wiped out my wedding fund.” The words stick in my throat a little.

“You did something good today, Jessie. And you did it for the right reason.
Not because
it was torturing you to watch someone else get what they want.”

I grin. “I know, right? If I didn’t know any better, I’d think You were becoming a fan.”

“Speaking of fans…” He points to the computer screen. “Your blogging continues to attract some attention.”

“Ah. JessieFan is back.”

“JessieFan sounds like a smart dude,” God says.

“Dude. I like it. Nobody would believe You talk like that.” I look at the screen. “So do I know this guy? Or is he one of those computer geeks who has nothing better to do than post on message boards all the live-long day?”

God pushes my bowl of M&M’s to the side and sits on the corner of the desk. “Would you do Me the honor of spending your thirty-fifth birthday with Me?”

“Are You asking me out on a date?”

“That would be highly inappropriate.”

I belly-laugh. Seriously witty, I’m telling you.

“So this is Your way of telling me my husband ain’t gonna show up by then, is that it?”

“Are you available?”

“Yeah, right. That’ll be a joy. I’ll sit in a booth talking to You. Spectators will think I’m schizo.
And
I’ll have to pay. Some date.”

“Well?”

I sigh. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yes.”

“You’ll go?”

“Yes, I’d love to.”

I just broke up a wedding in progress. How hard can this be?

I have a ritual on my birthday. I eat white chocolate. It’s sort of my protest to the whole birthday thing. White chocolate has no purpose in my life. It tastes like an imposter. It’s the perfect way to begin the anticelebration that I’m a year older and still single. I also (attempt to) drink a disgusting cup of coffee, because that’s what old people do. And really not liking coffee is like a social failing too.

I eat the white chocolate for breakfast, when my stomach is empty, so if I gag there’s not a whole lot to clean up. White chocolate chased by a beverage that tastes like cigarette butts is far worse than another birthday.

After all, everything has to look up from there.

I walk into work and immediately spot red tinfoil balloons tied to and floating above a tape recorder.

“Are these for me?” I ask Malia.

Her frenetic grin tells me it’s so. “Wow!” I say, delighted at the surprise. “Should I press Play? You don’t think it’s connected to a bomb, do you?”

Malia laughs. “Hurry up! I’ve been dying all morning for you to come in.”

My finger lingers over the Play button as I try to imagine whom this is from.

“Come on already!” says Malia, clapping.

“All right.” I push Play. Without the benefit of stereo sound, “I Only Have Eyes for You” plays, sounding tinny and one-dimensional—and absolutely beautiful.

I clutch my chest. “That is my favorite song! Who did these come from?”

“You don’t know yet?” asks Malia, just as Brooklyn breezes in.

“Happy birthday,” she says, tossing me a card. “Did you make it through your morning ritual?”

“Barely. Check this out!”

Brooklyn gazes at the balloons. “Wow. And it’s your favorite song. Invisi-God strikes again.”

“Or,” I
say, stroking the strings on the balloon, “there is one person in my life who said the best way to capture attention is to do something creative. Even secret admirer—ish.” I look at Malia, who gives me an agreeing wink.

My cell phone beeps, indicating I have a text message. It’s Blake.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY! WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE TO DO
?

I almost forgot. I have dinner plans with God. And this time, I’m not standing Him up.
ALREADY HAVE PLANS
.

Blake texts back.
WHAT???? I THOUGHT I HAD YOU ON A PERMANENT RESERVE
.

I eye the balloons. “That, my friend, can be arranged.”

I pull the car into the private parking garage of the restaurant. I have to laugh.

“Very clever,” I say, pointing at the sign. “Noah’s.”