Toss the Bride (19 page)

“That makes sense. Oh, Mace. I am so happy for you. I know you have been wanting this for a while,” Iris says.

“I have. Maybe more than I even admitted to myself.” I stare out of the window. A cardinal flits from branch to branch of the old pecan tree outside. Ordinarily, the sight of a bird would not move me to tears, but this day has changed everything.

“Oh, Iris, I want to sing, like in a musical? I want to run down the halls belting out show tunes about love and weddings and flowers. What's happened to me since you saw me last?”

My best friend laughs. “Silly, you are in love. And about to get engaged. It's okay to be like this. I would keep the singing to inside your apartment, though.”

“Good point. Can you take me to the airport tonight?”

“It would be my pleasure to squire the almost bride-to-be to her almost fiancé-to-be.”

And it is then the word “bride,” dropped so innocently from Iris's lips, makes me pause. I look around the apartment, at the wrapping-paper piles and the brand-new sundresses, the plane ticket, and the candy bars, and I take a deep breath. I am almost one of
them.
Shaking it off, I run into the bathroom and dive underneath the counter for the hot rollers I use about once a year. I will curl my hair, pack cute beach clothes, tuck the wedding planner into my new luggage, and head to the airport. With Avery and the Georgian coast, there is nothing that can stop me now.

10

The Beach Bride

I lean over the stainless-steel sink, willing the electronic sensor to catch and release warm water. After waving my hands back and forth a few times, I give up and stare at the reflection in the mirror.

Wide, startled eyes look back. My skin is flushed, and my lips are parted a bit. Other travelers rush past, bumping into the new carry-on bag slung over my shoulder. I hope to be on my way to becoming engaged and the rest of the world whirls by, casually living normal lives.

It is hard to believe I am in the airport rest room, mere steps from the gate. My heart thuds in my chest, a reminder that Avery is somewhere in the airport. Perhaps he is walking down the concourse right now. I dig around in my bag for some lip gloss and then think better of it. When I see Avery, I want to kiss him for a long time, not smear gloss all over his face. I cannot wait to tell him about finding the presents in my apartment and twirl around in the sundress he picked out.

Women come and go at the bank of sinks, and the intercom keeps up a steady stream of departing flight announcements. Our plane boards in about thirty minutes. I wonder if Avery is as nervous as I am. Getting the surprise ticket, wedding-planning book, and luggage tells me he has been thinking a lot about this trip and his hopes for it.

My ears catch the sound of someone crying. I look around, half expecting to see an upset child. The crying continues, although it's more like sobbing at this point. Two or three women exit the stalls, but none looks upset. I walk closer to the stalls, feeling a little funny.

“Ma'am? Are you all right?” I say to a stall with feet under it.

“I'm—I'm okay,” a voice says.

“Are you sure? Is there anything I can do?”

“No.”

Something won't let me walk away. There is a note in the woman's voice that makes me feel as if I know her. And then I see what has drawn me to the stall like a homing beacon. Hooked over the door is a wooden hanger quilted in pink satin and topped with a tiny, pink bow. I know that hanger. It's the signature of Rudolph Dutch Bridal Gowns of Peachtree City.

“Are you getting married?” I ask.

The woman catches her breath and then sobs quietly. I hear the rustle of tissue. “Well, I was. How did you know?”

“I can see the top of your hanger. That's a Rudolph Dutch, I believe.”

Two or three toilets flush at the same time, and I don't hear her response.

“What did you say?” I ask.

“I said, I've got one of his dresses in here. You want it?”

There is a sadness in the woman's voice. I decide to let her know that I'm on her side. “Do you want to talk about it? I'm a wedding planner.”

From the other side of the stainless-steel door, I hear a click and then the hanger is lifted and the door swings open. A woman, younger than me, stands inside, clutching a garment bag to her chest. Her face is red and tear-streaked. I open my arms up—it just seems the natural thing to do—and she embraces me, one arm holding the garment bag.

“I know you don't even know me, but I don't care,” she cries into my sundress. “An hour ago, I was supposed to walk down the aisle, but the place we rented—a really quaint old house—burned down today just before we arrived, and there was all this smoke and fire trucks everywhere. It was a small wedding anyway, so we said ‘Let's just call the minister and move the ceremony to another place.' But when we called his cell phone—get this—we find out he double-booked us! He's somewhere on the other side of Atlanta, getting ready to marry another couple.”

This is one of the worst wedding stories I've heard. “I can't believe your day—how awful. But why are you at the airport?”

“Our flight for our honeymoon leaves tonight, and Kevin figured we could just get on the plane and leave this nightmare behind us. He doesn't care when we get married, but I do! This is supposed to be my wedding day.” The poor bride tries to hold back another round of tears.

I help the woman over to the sink, where we hang the dress up on a nearby hook. I trip the water sensor and encourage her to splash her face. She does and pats her skin dry with some paper towels.

“I look like a mess,” she says, glancing at the mirror.

“No, you're fine. You're just upset.”

“I'm Jessica, by the way. Sorry you had to see that.”

“My name is Macie, and don't worry about it. Weddings are stressful on their own, and anyone would crack if their dream day turns out like yours did.”

Jessica shakes her head. “The worst part about it was, we didn't have very much money. This was kind of our shot at something nice. We put a deposit on the minister and the historic house, and I bought this dress at a sample sale. We put the rest of our savings toward a condo at Abigail Island for the honeymoon.”

My ears perk up. “Abigail Island?”

Jessica pushes her hair off of her forehead. Her brown eyes are red and swollen. “Yes, it's this little island near Savannah, but I don't feel like having a beach vacation. I want it to be my honeymoon. Kevin says we can get married down there, and I know our folks will be fine with that, but how am I supposed to plan a wedding in a strange place?”

My mind starts to whirl. I think I can do this. We would need a few days, of course, a place for the ceremony, food, maybe a nice string quartet. And then there would be flowers, if they wanted flowers. Perhaps a nice daisy bouquet? Jessica has a simple beauty that shouldn't be overwhelmed.

“Jessica, I want to help plan your wedding.”

She looks confused and shoves her hands into the pockets of her capri pants. “But I just told you, it's over. We're getting on a plane to Abigail Island.”

“So am I! I'm meeting my boyfriend in a few minutes—” I pause and take a deep breath. Avery! I can't believe I have forgotten why I am even standing in an airport bathroom. “Avery, my boyfriend, is waiting for me out there. We're going to Abigail, too. It's kind of a surprise trip.”

“I think our plane is boarding soon. We should get out there,” Jessica says with a glance at her watch. “Kevin is probably wondering where I am.”

I reach over and give Jessica a hug. “I know it's weird to meet like this, but I plan weddings for a living. Well, I'm a wedding planner's assistant, but you get the idea. I'd be happy to work with you once we get to the island. It would be my gift.”

“Oh, Macie, I couldn't accept that. I know wedding planners are expensive. It wouldn't be right to take your help. And you're on vacation!”

“It would be an honor to help you get married. I would hate to think of you and Kevin being miserable all week.”

Tears well up in Jessica's eyes. “I'm a complete stranger! I can't believe anyone could be so nice.”

We collect the dress and walk out to meet our guys. A man in a dark blue T-shirt and khaki pants rushes over and pulls Jessica into his arms. “I was getting ready to head in there myself. You really had me worried, honey.”

“I made a new friend in the ladies' room! This is Macie,” Jessica says.

“Ah, nice to meet you,” Kevin says.

But I am turning around in a circle, trying to find Avery. Our plane is about to board; a short line of travelers stands expectantly, boarding passes in hand. I don't see him—could he have gotten stuck in traffic? I don't want to try his cell and spoil the romantic-getaway mood he's created. Still, I am concerned. People pass by quickly, moving to gates and connecting flights. The smells of coffee and hot cinnamon rolls are in the air.

And then, before I can say another word to Jessica and Kevin, I feel Avery's arms around me, and we are laughing and hugging. This huge, anxious bubble leaves me and everything is all right. We are together, in the airport, and we are going somewhere—perhaps a journey that will last for a long, long time.

“You made it,” Avery says, oblivious to Kevin and Jessica, who have watched us with small smiles.

“You did, too,” I laugh. “Avery, I'd like you to meet some new friends.”

Avery stops kissing the tips of my fingers and looks up. “Avery Leland, nice to meet you.” He shakes both of their hands. “How do you know each other?”

Jessica and I laugh. “Well, it's kind of a long story,” Jessica says. “But Kevin and I were supposed to be married today and on to our honeymoon on Abigail Island. But everything went wrong, and then I met Macie. She wants to help us get married on Abigail, Kevin.”

Kevin's mouth drops open. “That's nice and everything, really. But I think we just need to regroup and try again—”

“Macie's a professional wedding planner, Kevin.” Jessica shifts her garment bag from one hand to the other.

I dig around in my bag for my card. “Here, just so it's official.”

Kevin takes the card. “Maurice de Trammel? Sounds fancy.”

“Well, Maurice is a bit of a celebrity, but I'm his ordinary assistant. I told Jessica I would be glad to help you get married down on the island, and it would be my treat.”

The line starts to move and we join it, digging out boarding passes. Jessica and I promise to exchange numbers on the plane and make further plans.

Avery holds my hand as we walk down the jet way toward the waiting plane. “You are unbelievable,” he says, shaking his head.

“What?”

“Only you would find the one bride in this airport who needs saving. How do you do it?”

“Oh, Avery, it was so sad. She was crying and I asked if she needed help, of course, I could only see her feet, but I just knew something was wrong. Her wedding location burned down and the minister stood them up, and well, no one should have memories of their wedding day like that.”

Avery laughs and puts his arm around my shoulder. “Okay, I accept that my girl is an emergency wedding planner. Anyone else around here need saving?”

I snuggle closer to him as we wait to walk on the plane. “I can think of one person—he needs a loving and fun travel companion. I might decide to take him up on an offer to fly to the coast.”

“I'm shocked you showed up,” Avery says with a straight face.

“How could I say no when presented with such an appealing offer?”

Once we get on the plane, there is some initial awkwardness. We have never flown together before, so we kind of dance around the bag stowing and the seat belt buckling, bumping heads and fumbling with who wants to sit where. I end up in the window seat.

During the forty-five-minute flight to the coast, I feel a shyness I have never known around Avery. It's as if there is a large, unfinished event that has to take place. He teases me a few times, asking if there is anything I want to do once we get to Abigail, anything at all? I just punch him in the arm and look out of the plane window. We are approaching the island.

“Careful,” Avery says. “I think punching a passenger is a federal offense.”

“So is torturing your girlfriend,” I retort.

Avery leans over and kisses me gently. “Thanks for coming.”

My stomach flip-flops at eight thousand feet. “Thanks for inviting me. The presents you left were interesting.”

“Well, I had to lure you down here somehow. My evil plan worked.” Avery strokes an imaginary goatee and tries to look menacing.

I grab his hand and lean back in the seat. “Well, you've got me now.”

*   *   *

Our condo is just steps from the beach, over a sand dune or two. Since we arrived at night, I couldn't see the view, but in the morning, I am amazed at the waves, the sun, and the strip of undeveloped beach right outside our window. I sit up, blinking and listening to the ocean through the open balcony door.

“There you are, sleepy head,” Avery says, poking his head around the bedroom door. “Ready to rise and shine?”

“I can't believe I'm here. I would be knee-deep in bride stuff by now back home.” I rub my eyes and yawn.

“That's why we needed to get away from Weddingland. You work so hard. But even my best-laid plans didn't matter because you found a bride in the airport bathroom.”

“That's an overstatement,” I say. “Sort of. And while we're down here, I won't take any calls from old brides. Now Jessica, that's a different story. Hers is just a little wedding.”

Rolling his eyes, Avery motions to me. “Come on and get breakfast. I have orange juice, too.”

I scramble out of bed, my stomach doing those flip-flops again. I know that sometime soon there is the possibility I will be asked the most important question of my life. It does not matter how much you have waited for it to happen, when it does, a person can still feel unprepared. I have test-taking hands. They are sweaty and altogether unfeminine. Asking for my hand would be like embracing a bowl of wet noodles.