Page 115 of How to Ruin a Wedding

“Well”—Taina links her arm with mine again—“let’s go out tonight. Can’t waste how hot you look on nobody.”

“Me drinking before a wedding?” I ask. “Bad omen. Let’s keep it sober.”

“Booo.” She thumbs me down.

And that’s the image I play in my head all night. The sound of a sitcom’s booing track echoing in my skull over and over.

Hopefully, I find my luck again.

31.

As much as my gaze travels to Anders throughout the wedding, and how much he always takes up space in my head, I finally have enough of a distraction to think of something else.

Valerie, as she promised, with her makeup and hair done—half up, half down—looks radiant as she listens to John’s shaky, nervous but genuine vows. Even when she cries at them and her cheeks become speckled with mascara, the happiness in her eyes—made brighter when John wipes the tears away—makes her an ethereal being.

I pat my own cheeks dry as the officiant, Bethany, pronounces them wife and husband, and I let out a half sob when they kiss.

Officially married.

How it was meant to be, always, even when I thought differently.

We cheer for them as they walk out of the hall hand in hand, and the party follows them down the aisle before the rest of the guests clear out for the reception. Somehow, I get paired with Anders as we walk, and our arms bump each other twice as we make our way out.

He apologizes swiftly, and I shrug it off, pretending each physical touch doesn’t make my heart pound and my head spin.

Like we promised, when we make it out the doors, the bridal party steals Valerie away to a separate room and helps her change into a sexier minidress that shows enough cleavage to make John pass out.

She keeps the veil on when we’re done, and during their first dance. She tosses it to the ground as soon as it’s over, turns to the crowd, and screams, “Let’s party!”

And the night really begins.

As soon as I’m clear of any bridal party duties, I grab the nearest wineglass and chug it. Nerves have killed my appetite, and the liquid burns as it slides down my throat, settling at the pit of my stomach.

I’m seated between Jennifer and Taina—Taina already up and flirting with one of the guests—and I don’t care that Jennifer is reaching into my clutch, because while she steals my second-best lipstick, I steal her wineglass and down that too.

My gaze scans the room and immediately lights on Anders, who is standing by the round tables, talking to a woman I don’t recognize. It’s not exactly jealousy that runs through me, but it’s too unpleasant to be anything close to neutral, so I take Taina’s left-behind glass and drink that too.

In my head, I was going to approach Anders immediately, clear things up, strike up a conversation, ask him how he’s been, tell him how I’ve been, mention, I don’t know, that I think about him way too much to keep to myself, and I’m regretful for ignoring him and leaving, not trying harder to stay when he’s spent his whole life worried people will leave so he makes himself as small as possible to prevent that in the first place.

Easy, light stuff.

I groan and slam my head on the table. Where is the courage that brought me back to Charleston? That let me face everyone I feared, leaving behind New York and what I thought I wanted, and start something different—similar, but different.

Does my courage apply to everything but love?

No, I’m in a different place now. I have a job I love and my own space, and I’m not exactly where I want to be, but I’m on the way. I love where I live. I love having an honest start. I love my life here, my friends, my sister, and I’m happy.

Nearly perfectly happy, too—but that’s impossible right now, anyway. Not when I’m missing one thing, one person.

I suck in a breath, fortify myself, and stand. I move forward toward Anders, and his head turns slightly toward me.

And I whirl around and bump into another table. Amazing start, honestly.

After a few minutes, I try again, and as soon as Anders makes a move to turn in my direction, I pivot. It happens enough times that Anders and the woman finish their conversation, and he walks away talking to a man with blond hair.

Instead of trying again, I find an empty table and sit down for a quick time-out. I need to get it together. There’s no need to be nervous. I told myself weeks ago I was going to face Anders head-on when I saw him. It’s not like I’m doing anything difficult. It’s a conversation, for God’s sake.

I get up, my knees buckle, and I immediately sit back down.