Chapter Three
There is nothing quite like watching your blue-haired future stepmother do a shot off another woman's body to make you regret volunteering to be the designated driver.
At least she already has her ‘something blue’ taken care of. The wedding colors Bethany picked for her wedding to my father are blue and silver, so the bridesmaids (myself included) got short dresses with blinged-out bodices and blue tulle skirts. Bethany got blue hair.
Bethany is a unique woman, but I figure she’s just about the only woman I’ve ever met who could make Alex desire matrimony.
I suspect he will not be easily bored by her.
She’s really cute—not model-looks, like some of the girls Alex has dated over the years, but she has an interesting, expressive face. Tonight for her bachelorette party, she’s wearing Mickey Mouse earrings, a black skirt held together by safety pins, and a pink satin top tied together with royal blue ribbon. The top she made herself; she’s a seamstress by trade, which is insanely cool, because who is a seamstress anymore?
Bethany is.
Before Bethany had her six-year-old daughter, she was a circus performer—a trapeze artist, to be more precise. After that, she spent some time in Belize with a much older boyfriend.
I keep telling her she needs to write a book; her life is entirely too fascinating not to share with other people. I’ll publish the damn thing myself. She can’t sit still long enough to get down even a first draft though, no matter how much I bug her about it.
"Come here!"
I look up as Bethany stumbles over to me. How she’s still walking on 4 inch heels after so many drinks is beyond me. I would be on my ass.
I muster a smile and she pulls a long face.
"You don’t look like you’re having fun. Are you bored? I feel so bad that you're not drinking with us! Your dad offered to get us a party bus; it probably isn't too late if you want to join in."
"I'm okay," I assure her. "I'm not bored, I swear. I don't drink much, so I'm used to it."
"I still feel bad. I want you to have fun!”
One of her friends approaches and Bethany stumbles again, nearly turning her ankle.
"Dammit. I need to sit. I should've brought lower heels. My feet are going to be blistered tomorrow and I have to dance all night."
I very much agree with her, and that’s why I wore flats.
As Bethany takes a shoe off and massages her toes, I stare at her heels. God, they’re so high. And she has to wear heels all day tomorrow at her wedding. What was she thinking?
"What size are you?" I ask.
"My shoes? Either 7.5 or 8, depends on the shoe."
Sighing, I lean down and pull my own shoes off. "Here, see if these fit."
"Oh, honey, I can't take your shoes."
"You're the bride; I can't very well sit here and watch you destroy your feet. How will you walk down the aisle tomorrow?"
As if it just now hit her, her brown eyes widen. "Oh my god, I'm getting married tomorrow. How crazy is that?"
Nodding in agreement, I say, "That is pretty crazy. You guys are a great couple, though."
"I honestly didn't think I’d ever get married," Bethany tells me. "Too many jerks out there."
I can't help laughing. The idea of Alex being anyone's exception in jerk-world is a little hard to swallow.
She smiles like she knows why I’m laughing and slips on my shoes. Her shoulders slump in relief. "That is so much better. Are you sure you don't mind?"
I nod as I slip her heels on my own feet. “Positive.”