“I don’t think I want to clean up water damage in a garter belt,” I said ruefully.
“You’ve never tried it, so don’t knock it,” Michelle piped up.
My dear friend Michelle had gotten me a massage candle and strawberry-flavored personal lubricant. Michelle didn’t listen worth a shit. Nicole had produced the only non-horrible gift—a set of creamy pink satin pajamas I’d actually wear.
“Just so you’re not walking around in your Tigger t-shirt and Winnie the Pooh flannel pants at home. You need a pair of grown-up pajamas.”
“Thank you. Although I like my flannel pants,” I said.
It had been a long night and I’d ended up drinking tequila with my pie. Not to mention the fact that my mother had decided to invite me over for breakfast the next morning with my booze headache so she could tell me about the birds and the bees.
“Please stop talking, Mom. I don’t need a pop-up book,” I groaned, leaning my forehead on my hand.
“That smart mouth won’t do you any good when Damon Vance wants you to fulfill your wedding vows. Here’s what you do—”
“Mom, I know!” I said.
“I know you think you know, but those rated-R movies make it look a lot nicer than it is in real life,” she cautioned, “you’re going to want to be on the pill if you don’t want to get pregnant. Even though you realize I want a grandbaby to rock in my arms more than I want anything in this life on Earth…” she trailed off. “But if you’re serious about this ridiculous plan, you’ll need to get a prescription for birth control from your doctor. There are also other things—acts—that men enjoy that won’t get you in the family way.”
“Jesus Christ on a cracker, Mother, stop! I’ve had sex. I know how it works and where all the parts go. Please stop. Don’t describe acts and don’t tell me anything about sex with my father; my ears are going to bleed!” I blurted, unable to take it any longer.
She burst out laughing, “You owe me twenty-five dollars, George,” she called into the living room. “Your father bet me that you wouldn’t last past the rated-R movies part.” She slapped her knee and kept laughing.
“You set me up,” I groaned.
“Let a woman have a little fun, child. I don’t get to see you in a wedding gown walking down the aisle at the church to marry a man you intend to spend the rest of your life with. I didn’t even get invited to the bridal shower, even though I’ve been wanting to try Michelle’s peach margaritas for years. At least let me get what joy I can out of this situation,” she said. “You know I’ve wanted to set you up with Damon for years now. It’s just that you were so serious about your business and he was so busy chasing every piece of ass that walked by.”
“Mom, if you can avoid mentioning piece of ass in a sentence about my future husband, I’d appreciate it.”
“Look, you know he’s got a healthy appetite for sex. Don’t waste that. He cares about you enough to want to help you out like this. You can capitalize on that and reel him in. I have some issues of Cosmo you should look through if you need to brush up on—”
“Acts men enjoy? No thanks, Mom,” I sighed. “This has been—pretty traumatizing. Thanks for the scrambled eggs.”
I kissed her cheek and left, horrified and amused at the same time, which pretty much summed up my relationship with my mom.
Kiera flew in for the wedding to be my Matron of Honor, so she was the one who fixed my hair and makeup. She kept watching the same TikTok over again while she twisted my hair just so and pinned it with a pretty silver hairclip shaped like a feather.
“Okay, you look perfect. I mean, since you refused to get a real wedding dress.”
“This is a real wedding dress. It’s a dress that covers my body during my wedding,” I said, practically pouting.
Truth was, I loved my dress and this was my excuse to buy it off my wish list. It came from a cutesy vintage style website with fit and flare dresses that worked with my curves. I didn’t have an Ann Taylor Loft/J Crew body type—not tall and willowy. So this adorable dress with capped sleeves, a scoop neck, and cinched waist above the full skirt made me feel beautiful and stylish in my way. Instead of a veil, I had a comb with a net whimsy on it that Kiera secured.
She handed me a cluster of gardenias wrapped in cream velvet ribbon, the bouquet I’d made that morning. I hugged her impulsively.
“Thanks for being here.”
“I’d never miss one of your weddings,” she said and kissed my cheek.
We sat on a narrow bench until we were called into Courtroom B. Kiera walked in first, and I trailed after her, pretending it was an aisle when it clearly wasn’t, as there was a witness box right behind the judge. I had thought we’d use an office or something that made me feel less like I was facing meth possession charges, but here we were.