“You’re not even a little bit?”
“No,” he almost laughs. “Some dude is going to stand there and tell everyone what I already know—that I love you and that I’m committed to you until the day I die. What’s there to be nervous about?”
“That you’re committing to me for the rest of your life.”
“And I repeat: What’s there to be nervous about?” His features fall as he cups my jaw, his thumb stroking my cheek. His eyes search mine for seconds that feel like minutes, and it’s like that time we went swimming in the lake just as the sun began to set on our first RV trip together. One second it was bright, and the next… we were swimming in darkness. He licks his lips, gaze dropping as he says, his voice low, “The only thing that scares me is that one day, you’re going to wake up and realize that you could’ve done so much better than me.”
I grasp his wrist. “Holden…”
“I’m serious, Jamie,” he says, pulling away. “What have I got to offer you? A mountain of debt and a one-bedroom house that doesn’t have a bathtub. You love baths, and I can’t even give you…” He trails off when headlights shine upon us, and his eyebrows pinch. “Who the hell is that?”
“I don’t know,” I murmur, but I wish they’d go away so we can finish this conversation.
Mia steps out of her car and walks toward us, and I sigh, frustrated, and Holden sighs, almost relieved. “What are you two doing?” Mia hisses. When I’d left Mia, she was fast asleep in her glamping tent. The bachelor and bachelorette parties were Maggie and Big H’s gift to us, and while Maggie chose to throw me a self-indulgent night of pampering, the boys decided to just hang at our place and drink.
Mia stops beside the truck and says, “You can’t see each other the night before the wedding!”
“It’s the morning of,” Holden tells her.
“I don’t care about your semantics, Holden Gregory Eastwood!” Mia glares between us. “It’s my job as”—she air quotes—“‘best man’ to make sure everything flows smoothly today.”
“I revoke your best man position!” Holden retorts.
“You can’t do that!”
“You didn’t ask me to be your man of honor or whatever!” he whisper-yells. “You didn’t even invite me to your wedding!”
“I didn’t have a wedding!”
“Exactly!”
Mia narrows her eyes at him, then switches to a smile so fast it’s impressive. “Let’s go, Jamie. Maggie was about to call a search party out to look for you.”
Some people plan their wedding for months, maybe even years. Once Holden and I set a date for only a couple of months later—when the season was over and things died down at the shop a little—it took Mags and me three days to finalize everything. I guess it helped that we only had about twenty guests and already had the location, the flowers, and the dress.
I know a lot of brides struggle to find the perfect dress. Heck, they even make TV shows about it. It’s often said that once you see it, wear it, then you’ll know. I knew the moment I wore Esme’s dress for the first time. Not only because it fit perfectly, but because I could feel her in the room, watching me, cheering us on from the afterlife. When I’d first tried it on, Maggie stood on one side of me while Tammy stood on the other, and they held my hand as I looked at my reflection in the full-length mirror and cried. I wasn’t crying because of how I looked. I was crying because I missed my mother. And I could see her in me, staring back.
As far as I know, she never got to wear a wedding dress. She never got to stand in front of her family and friends and declare her love for the man standing opposite her.
She missed out on so much.
Too much.
But most of all, she missed out on me.
“Oh my god,” Maggie gasps, standing to full height from her squatting position. She’s been a force today, bossing other people around while remaining calm around me. “Shoes!”
“What?” I ask.
“Shoes!” she repeats, as if that explains it. She grasps my shoulders, shaking gently. “We didn’t get you shoes, Jamie!”
I bust out a laugh while she shakes her head, and then there’s a knock on the door. Maggie opens it just an inch. “Hey, Tammy!” she greets, opening the door wider. “What size shoes you got?”
Tammy, in a beautiful navy dress, looks between Maggie and me, before answering, “Nine. Why?”
Maggie swings her gaze to me, her eyebrows raised in question.
I tell her, “Too big. I’m a seven.”
“You don’t have shoes?” Tammy asks.
I shrug. “I’ll go barefoot.”
Maggie gasps, then claps once. “Perfect. We’ll all go barefoot!” She points to Tammy’s feet. “Off with your shoes!”
Without a beat of hesitation, Tammy removes her shoes and kicks them across the room.
“You guys don’t have to—”
“Hush, child!” Maggie demands.
“How much coffee have you had?” I laugh out.
Maggie ignores my question and looks me up and down a few times. “Okay. Hair? Perfect! Makeup? Flawless! Dress? Glamorous!” She looks at the bed where our bouquets are. “Flowers? Beautiful.” She shifts her gaze to Tammy. “What am I missing?”
“Actually,” Tammy says, reaching into her bag. “I have this one thing I wanted to give you.” She reveals a gold necklace with two teardrop diamonds as a pendant. “My grandmother gave these to me for my wedding, and I wanted to pass them on to you. They were earrings, but Holden said you don’t have your ears pierced, so I had them turned into pendants.” She places the pendant in the middle of her palm and holds it out between us.
“Oh no,” Maggie says. “Her makeup.”
“I’m okay,” I murmur, looking up to stop the tears from falling. Over the past few months, Tammy and I have spent a lot of time together, and I’m not saying that it’s perfect. Yet. But it’s pretty damn close.
Tammy says, “You don’t have to wear it today. I just thought...”
“It would look beautiful with your dress,” Maggie encourages, and this is why I love Maggie. Because she puts everyone else’s feelings above her own. She’s spent the majority of the day taking care of me and all the other wedding dilemmas, and Tammy—her boyfriend’s ex-wife and my soon-to-be mother-in-law—walks in to give me a family heirloom while she forgot my shoes, and there’s no comparison. No competition. She just wants the best for me.
“Do you mind putting it on for me?” I ask Tammy, sitting on the chair in front of Maggie’s dresser.
“I would be honored,” she says
And while she clasps it together behind my neck, I catch Maggie’s eyes in the mirror and mouth, “Thank you.”
She rolls her eyes as if it’s no big deal. And then she smiles. “You’re welcome.”
Barefoot, Maggie and I walk from the house to the barn, where she’s organized something called a “first look.” Apparently, it’s a thing now, and it’s a way to record people’s reactions to seeing you in the wedding dress for the first time.