Yes, I was getting married in a town house in Pennsylvania.
No, I was not out of my mind. Clinically, anyway.
“Looking good, Layla.” Grant saluted his green-haired ex-hookup.
She flashed him an easy smile. “Same, Grant. How’s life been treating you?”
“Better than you did,” I muttered into my whiskey, emptying it in one gulp. Layla took Booger Face by the hand, leading her to the bride’s suite (read: Mad’s childhood bedroom). Grant and Julian ushered me to the altar in the backyard. Julian was the first in line behind me, then Grant. Behind them stood all the men Madison had fake-married from her neighborhood. Layla had thought it’d be hilarious to invite them. I thought Layla’s sense of humor sucked, but I was a good sport about it, because I knew Mad would get a kick out of it. Standing behind Grant were Jacob Kelly, Taylor Kirschner, Milo Lopez, Aston Giudice, Josh Payne, and Luis Hough.
Contrary to Madison’s, the only ex of mine who was in attendance was Amber, who was currently sitting on one of the folded white chairs in front of the wedding arch, her sunglasses on, huffing into her glass of fizzy wine and complaining about the lack of French champagne. Mad had chosen to have a very modest event. My martyr bride was donating most of our wedding budget to a cancer-research charity. My mom and Katie sat beside Amber, who attended for the sake of playing nice with the Blacks. It didn’t seem fair that Booger Face should suffer just because things hadn’t worked out between Amber and Julian. Ethan clasped Katie’s hand and shot me a thumbs-up. I gave him a curt nod. I still didn’t approve of running tights and Dora the Explorer ties but didn’t much care about his wardrobe anymore.
Katie had been dating Ethan seriously for four months now. Two months after Dad died, Ethan officially asked her out. Until then, he was just there for her emotionally, but I could see he was dead scared of getting friend zoned again. In fact, I was the one who’d told him to seal the deal before she gave up on his ass.
They were now preparing for their first (entire, not half) marathon together.
Mom was doing well, too, all circumstances considered. It helped that Mad and Clementine were around a lot and that Julian was attached to her by the hip postdivorce, trying to find his footing as a father after getting joint custody of Booger Face.
Amber was slowly introducing Clementine’s biological father into her life. So far, so awkward, but Booger Face had us when things got too weird.
Then there was Sven, Francisco, and their newly adopted girl, Zooey, sitting in the front row. They were all wearing matching black outfits, waving Zooey’s chubby hand in my direction with enthusiastic smiles. The adoption had been finalized three months earlier and couldn’t have come at a better time. Mad and I were butting heads about who was to move into whose apartment. Sven pointed out he might need babysitting assistance, so Mad relented and moved in with me. They’d become closer in recent months, since Mad had stood up for herself with the Dream Wedding Dress and become his equal.
I’d paid for Zooey’s entire room design and furniture for that little favor.
The pastor beside me fidgeted, pulling me out of my reverie. He let out a little gasp, and when I looked up, there she was. The woman of my dreams, wearing the dress of her dreams. Words seemed small for that moment. I flashed her a smile as she walked down the aisle, escorted by her father, Clementine throwing moonflowers out of a decorated basket behind her, Layla holding the hem of her train.
Mad stopped beside me, awarding me with one of her magnificent smiles.
A smile that made the world stop.
I looked down, about to tell her any of the five hundred thousand things that sprang into my mind. That she looked fucking delicious in that dress, which had been a huge success during New York Fashion Week and had already sold thirty thousand gowns, give or take, making it Croquis’s second-most popular wedding dress. I wanted to tell her I loved her. Very. Fucking. Much. But before I could say any of those things, Mad turned around, opened her palm, and waited for Layla to drop her cell phone into her hand.
All the attendees in her father’s backyard sucked in a scandalized gasp. She was texting. Now.
Mad’s fingers began to move over the screen as she typed, a small smile playing on her face. I watched her, as did the rest of our guests. The pastor cleared his throat, trying—and failing—to draw her attention. My phone pinged in my pocket a second later.
I took it out. Opened the message.
<Maddie has removed a message from the chat>
Chase: Oh, no, you didn’t.
Maddie: Cold feet.
Chase: You can warm them on my back when we get to Ibiza for our honeymoon. Bad circulation has always been your problem. It’s a short-people thing.
Maddie: Getting farther away from getting married by the second.
Chase: Spill it. What did you delete?
Maddie: Promise you won’t freak out?
I looked up at her, arching an eyebrow as if to say, Do we even know each other? She looked back down and typed.
Maddie: I’m pregnant.
Chase: Is it mine?
Maddie: Are you for real?!
She looked up, rose on her tiptoes, and flicked the back of my neck. I laughed, scooping her into my arms in front of our shocked pastor. And guests. And her harem of boys she’d “married” when she was younger.
“Then why the hell would I get freaked out?” I murmured into her lips, propriety be damned. She wrapped her arms around me. The crowd cackled.
“Your horns are showing, Mr. Black.”
“That,” I whispered into her mouth, catching her lower lip between my teeth and tugging, speaking low enough our audience couldn’t hear, “is because for you, I’m always horny.”
January 1, 2002
Dear Maddie,
Can you do your mom a very weird favor? When the time comes, marry a man you can laugh with. You have no idea how important it is until you hit those sad days and the only thing to make them better is someone to put a smile on your face.
On your wedding day, make him sweat a little. Make sure he misses a heartbeat or two. See if he takes it in stride. If he does—he’s a keeper (but you should already know that. Ha).
Love,
Mom. x
MADDIE
Eight months later
“I hate you so much.” I grabbed the lapels of my husband’s blazer, shaking him from my disadvantaged position on the hospital bed. I was past sweating and deep into dripping territory. It looked like I’d just walked out of the shower without patting myself dry with a towel. Not to mention I was about to purge a human out of my body. Yes, I was aware that women all over the world did that on a daily basis, many of them without access to Western medical assistance. But in my defense, none of these women were married to Chase Black.
“Is that a no?” Chase frowned, straightening his posture and taking a step back before I stabbed his eye out with the nearest available object.
“No, I don’t want to speed up the process by having sex with you. It doesn’t work that way. I’m already four centimeters dilated!”
“I have at least eight more inches I can fit into yo—”
“Do not complete that sentence.” I jerked a finger in his direction. He raised his palms in surrender, taking another step back.
Layla rushed into my room, looking a little worse for wear. “Okay, just wanted you to know Daisy is with her dog sitter . . .” She paused, side-eyeing both Chase and me. “Sorry, I still can’t believe I have to say this with a straight face. And I watered all your plants, which means they are all alive.”