It’s December 24th and I’m running late. Way late. So late, I don’t even stop to retrieve the bag of Skittles that tumbles out of my purse as I bounce through the Departures terminal at LAX, trying to hang on to my coat and magazines and my stupid wheel-on overnight luggage that’s picked today of all days to bust a wheel.
“Sorry, buddies,” I huff under my breathe, looking back to see the bag of candy trampled under the feet of five hundred other last-minute holiday travelers. “Can’t stop! It’s every sucker for himself.”
I slow to a jog as I reach the board. Atlanta … Atlanta … I let out a groan as I see the gate flash up. Forty-two. As in, forty-two ways for me to miss my flight as I get all the way across the building in the next ten minutes flat.
My phone buzzes as I take off down the hallway. I shift my purse to my other arm and pick up in time to hear my best friend, Juliet, wail, “Where are you?”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” I tell her, trying to duck around a ground of super-slow tourists with their backpacks hiked up high. “Hello!” I glare at them. “What’s German for ‘get the hell out of my way?’ Gee, thanks!” I push through and keep running.
“Lacey, Lacey?” Juliet is still wailing. “You said you’d be here already, and the yard is a mess, and Brit hasn’t finished my dress, and everything’s a disaster!”
Another voice comes in the background: Brit, sounding annoyed. “I’d be finished sewing if you didn’t keep changing your mind about the lace.”
“I didn’t change my mind.” Juliet protests. “You said it would be better longer. Or do you think I should leave it? I don’t know anymore.” Her voice comes back to me, stronger again. “You see? I can’t do this without you.”
“Since when did you turn into such a Bridezilla?” I catch my breath, wheezing. “Man, I should’ve run cross-country in college. Or, you know, walked up to our apartment even one time instead of taking the elevator.”
“Elevator?” Juliet interrupts. “Lacey, what are you talking about? This is my wedding. Mine and Emerson’s. It’s the only one I’m ever going to have, and I need it to be perfect!”
“Relax,” I order her. I stop moving for a moment, and step back out of the flow of traffic into an alcove. I’ve no idea why Juliet has lost her mind, but it’s my job as her BFF and maid of honor to talk her down from whatever ledge she’s clambered up on.
“Everything will be fine,” I tell her in a soothing voice. “I’ll be there in a few hours, we’ll have a crazy bachelorette night, and tomorrow we’ll set up the yard like a winter frosted wonderland. Brit will be done with the dress, just like she says. I promise, it is going to be perfect.”
Juliet catches her breath. “Promise?” she asks in a hopeful voice.
“I promise, babe.” I smile. “Like a picture postcard. White ribbons and baby’s breath and all the lace you need. If I could order you up a gentle dusting of snow, I would.”
“Don’t say that!” Juliet yelps. “A blizzard will wreck my hair!”
I laugh. “Chill, Jules. Go work out some of this stress on your hunk of a fiancé, OK? You’re probably driving him crazy with all this panicking.”
“He went to go hang out with Garrett and Hunter,” Juliet sounds sheepish. “Said to call when I stopped acting like a crazy person.”
“There you go.” I laugh again at the thought of stoic, silent Emerson trying to deal with Juliet in this state. “Seriously, go find him, lock the door, and don’t come up for air until I get there. Everything’s going to be fine.”
“OK,” Juliet sighs, but she sounds calmer already. “Love you.”
“Love you too.” I hang up, sending a silent prayer to the Gods of Winter Weddings that everything I’ve promised does actually come true.
This weekend was supposed to be a slice of (vanilla raspberry frosted) cake, and up until this morning, it was. An intimate, small-town ceremony in Beachwood Bay: just Emerson, Juliet, and their closest friends and family in the back-yard of the beach house where it all began. Simple. Except the only flight I could afford back from LA was this last-minute stand-by that would get me over on the East Coast with barely any time to spare. I’ve planned everything long-distance, right down to the (sexy yet flattering) bridesmaid outfit currently getting crushed in my bag, but I know, about a million things can go wrong before I get there. And with Juliet in this state, nothing can go wrong.
I check the time again. Six minutes. Oh crap!
I lurch out of the alcove at full-speed—and barrel straight into someone heading past.
“Oof!” The breath is knocked clean out of me, and I stumble, about to fall flat on my face, until a pair of strong arms grab me, hoisting me back to my feet.
“Lacey?”
I blink, staring up into a very familiar pair of brown eyes: the color of dark caramel, thickly-lashed, and full of surprise, but just as devastating as they ever were.
“Daniel,” I gulp, feeling my face flush bright red. Of course, of all the times to run into him again, it’s now, when I’m wheezing and scatter-brained and have trashy tabloid magazines spilling out of my purse. “Umm, hey! How are you! I haven’t seen you since …” I stop, the words dying in my throat as I remember what happened over the summer, when Juliet brutally dumped Daniel for the love of her life, Emerson.
“Sorry, buddies,” I huff under my breathe, looking back to see the bag of candy trampled under the feet of five hundred other last-minute holiday travelers. “Can’t stop! It’s every sucker for himself.”
I slow to a jog as I reach the board. Atlanta … Atlanta … I let out a groan as I see the gate flash up. Forty-two. As in, forty-two ways for me to miss my flight as I get all the way across the building in the next ten minutes flat.
My phone buzzes as I take off down the hallway. I shift my purse to my other arm and pick up in time to hear my best friend, Juliet, wail, “Where are you?”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” I tell her, trying to duck around a ground of super-slow tourists with their backpacks hiked up high. “Hello!” I glare at them. “What’s German for ‘get the hell out of my way?’ Gee, thanks!” I push through and keep running.
“Lacey, Lacey?” Juliet is still wailing. “You said you’d be here already, and the yard is a mess, and Brit hasn’t finished my dress, and everything’s a disaster!”
Another voice comes in the background: Brit, sounding annoyed. “I’d be finished sewing if you didn’t keep changing your mind about the lace.”
“I didn’t change my mind.” Juliet protests. “You said it would be better longer. Or do you think I should leave it? I don’t know anymore.” Her voice comes back to me, stronger again. “You see? I can’t do this without you.”
“Since when did you turn into such a Bridezilla?” I catch my breath, wheezing. “Man, I should’ve run cross-country in college. Or, you know, walked up to our apartment even one time instead of taking the elevator.”
“Elevator?” Juliet interrupts. “Lacey, what are you talking about? This is my wedding. Mine and Emerson’s. It’s the only one I’m ever going to have, and I need it to be perfect!”
“Relax,” I order her. I stop moving for a moment, and step back out of the flow of traffic into an alcove. I’ve no idea why Juliet has lost her mind, but it’s my job as her BFF and maid of honor to talk her down from whatever ledge she’s clambered up on.
“Everything will be fine,” I tell her in a soothing voice. “I’ll be there in a few hours, we’ll have a crazy bachelorette night, and tomorrow we’ll set up the yard like a winter frosted wonderland. Brit will be done with the dress, just like she says. I promise, it is going to be perfect.”
Juliet catches her breath. “Promise?” she asks in a hopeful voice.
“I promise, babe.” I smile. “Like a picture postcard. White ribbons and baby’s breath and all the lace you need. If I could order you up a gentle dusting of snow, I would.”
“Don’t say that!” Juliet yelps. “A blizzard will wreck my hair!”
I laugh. “Chill, Jules. Go work out some of this stress on your hunk of a fiancé, OK? You’re probably driving him crazy with all this panicking.”
“He went to go hang out with Garrett and Hunter,” Juliet sounds sheepish. “Said to call when I stopped acting like a crazy person.”
“There you go.” I laugh again at the thought of stoic, silent Emerson trying to deal with Juliet in this state. “Seriously, go find him, lock the door, and don’t come up for air until I get there. Everything’s going to be fine.”
“OK,” Juliet sighs, but she sounds calmer already. “Love you.”
“Love you too.” I hang up, sending a silent prayer to the Gods of Winter Weddings that everything I’ve promised does actually come true.
This weekend was supposed to be a slice of (vanilla raspberry frosted) cake, and up until this morning, it was. An intimate, small-town ceremony in Beachwood Bay: just Emerson, Juliet, and their closest friends and family in the back-yard of the beach house where it all began. Simple. Except the only flight I could afford back from LA was this last-minute stand-by that would get me over on the East Coast with barely any time to spare. I’ve planned everything long-distance, right down to the (sexy yet flattering) bridesmaid outfit currently getting crushed in my bag, but I know, about a million things can go wrong before I get there. And with Juliet in this state, nothing can go wrong.
I check the time again. Six minutes. Oh crap!
I lurch out of the alcove at full-speed—and barrel straight into someone heading past.
“Oof!” The breath is knocked clean out of me, and I stumble, about to fall flat on my face, until a pair of strong arms grab me, hoisting me back to my feet.
“Lacey?”
I blink, staring up into a very familiar pair of brown eyes: the color of dark caramel, thickly-lashed, and full of surprise, but just as devastating as they ever were.
“Daniel,” I gulp, feeling my face flush bright red. Of course, of all the times to run into him again, it’s now, when I’m wheezing and scatter-brained and have trashy tabloid magazines spilling out of my purse. “Umm, hey! How are you! I haven’t seen you since …” I stop, the words dying in my throat as I remember what happened over the summer, when Juliet brutally dumped Daniel for the love of her life, Emerson.
