“You look so darn pretty, Melanie,” Carrie Carlisle said, blending her own lipstick behind her. “I swear Kit’s tongue’s going to loll out like an ol’ coon dog when he sees you coming down the aisle.”
Melanie smiled at her sorority sister and bridesmaid. Carrie was from nearby Minden and loved to use country euphemisms like she had grown up on a farm. Everyone knew Carrie had been raised in a large, historic house on Main Street, had a trust fund, and a new dress for cotillion. “I’m not sure my mother would like that.”
“Oh, pish,” Carrie said, waving away Melanie’s comment with a hand. “Who cares what Mama thinks when you got a man like that waiting at the altar?”
She did, indeed, have a hunk waiting for her to say “I do,” and sometimes she couldn’t believe that Kit was finally going to be hers. She couldn’t count the number of times she pinched herself when she remembered he would be her husband. “You have a point, Carrie.”
“Darn tootin’.” Carrie turned to the other bridesmaids. “Y’all ready, girls? Who’s holding my bouquet? Who has Melanie’s?”
The hustle and bustle fell away as Melanie rose and tried to concentrate on everything she was supposed to remember. Her daddy would be on her right side. She had to walk slowly because people needed to enjoy seeing the bride. Hillary had the ring tied to her bouquet. All Melanie had to do was remember how to breathe, wait for the pastor to cue her, and say her vows loud enough so everyone could hear her.
She turned to watch her sister and her bridesmaids make last-minute adjustments to their makeup and hair. Hilly looked so much better these days, her cheeks glowing, and the weight from the pregnancy making her finally look more herself. Hillary had been married for just over a year and had recently found out she and Kyle were expecting a little one at the beginning of next year. Her daddy was so excited to be a grandfather. He’d been carrying around cigars and passing them out to everyone ever since Hillary and Kyle had told the family they were pregnant.
Everything felt surreal but right. The only thing that felt wrong was Tennyson not being at her wedding. They’d both planned their weddings when they were ten years old, with each promising to be the other’s maid of honor. Melanie could remember poring over bridal magazines, clipping pictures of dresses and four-tiered wedding cakes, dreaming about the groom waiting for them at the altar. They’d taken Melanie’s lacy slips out of the drawers and pulled them on their heads to be makeshift veils, with the hairbrush alternating as both the bouquet and the microphone for when they launched into “Hopelessly Devoted to You” off the Grease soundtrack. Somehow it seemed such a travesty that Tennyson wouldn’t be standing beside Melanie when she became someone’s wife.
But that was because of who that someone was.
Tennyson had been so furious at her and Kit. She wouldn’t even take Melanie’s calls, and the letters she’d written and sent to New York City had come back with an angry “refused” scrawled across the front. The postal service’s red Return to Sender stamped atop validated that Tennyson didn’t want her apology. Even Kit had tried to talk some sense into Tennyson when she last visited Shreveport, but she’d slammed the door in his face. Melanie didn’t understand why she was so mad at them. Tennyson and Kit had been broken up for years, and Tennyson knew they had been dating for a few years. It wasn’t like she and Kit had cheated. Wasn’t like they had planned on falling in love. It just sorta happened.
When Melanie and Kit had first told Tennyson they were together, she’d thrown a glass of water at them both. Then she stood in the middle of Strawn’s and called Melanie the c word. She’d also accused her of always being in love with Kit and being jealous of her for years. After that little scene, she’d stormed out and not spoken to either of them since. Melanie had felt not only guilty because some of her words were true—she had been half in love with Kit for several years, even though she would have never interfered between Tennyson and Kit—but she’d also been angry at her friend for implying she’d been anything but a good friend to her.
Melanie had always stood in Tennyson’s shadow, supporting her, encouraging her, letting her have all the things—first dibs on everything. And this was how her “friend” acted?
Yet even though she was upset with Tennyson, she understood. Because had their roles been reversed, she would have a hard time giving up Kit, too.
Everyone had told her she was insane, but she’d sent a wedding invitation to the last address she’d had for Tennyson in Manhattan and hoped time had softened her friend’s heart. Because she wanted, no, needed Tennyson to forgive her and see that Melanie and Kit were meant to be. Surely, her friend could search her heart and find some generosity. Tennyson could be a pill, but she wouldn’t miss Melanie’s wedding.
Hillary moved so she was beside her. “Hey, you okay? You look upset.”
Melanie smiled and ran a finger under her lashes. “I’m sad that Teeny isn’t here. She should be here. We’re . . . or rather, we were best friends. She promised we’d always be besties no matter what.”
Hillary smiled. “I know, but you’re kinda marrying her ex-boyfriend. That’s hard for some girls. Especially girls like Tennyson.”
“Why?”
“Because she doesn’t have much confidence.”
“Teeny?” Melanie turned to her sister, her mouth dropping open. “You’ve met her, right? She breathes fire and never sweats. I’ve seen her stare down a police officer who was going to give her a ticket, but somehow ended up apologizing to her for pulling her over. She can’t possibly have more confidence than she has now.”
“That’s all bluster. Underneath all that bravado is someone who believes she’s not good enough. She’s a total fraud on many levels.”
Melanie shook her head. “No.”
“Yes.” Hillary smiled, twisted one of the curls around Melanie’s face, and tucked it into place. “I swear this hair doesn’t want to behave today. But you look beautiful, anyway.”
Hillary air-kissed her cheek and moved over to where their mother stood with the wedding planner. Anne Brevard, no doubt, was going over all the details one final time. Beyond the door, Melanie could hear the organ swelling and the muffled chatter of guests arriving. After listening to their mother for a few seconds, Hillary slipped outside the room.
Melanie tried to quell the butterflies rising in her stomach. Nerves? Yeah, but mostly she was excited. In thirty minutes she and Kit would climb into the back of the limo as man and wife. Then they would be whisked away to the country club to cut the three-tiered wedding cake and debut their practiced waltz for their first dance. They’d netted Betty Lewis & the Executives for the band, and Daddy had sprung for an open bar and a sit-down dinner. Their reception with their friends would be exactly as she planned—fun and memorable.
“She came,” she heard her sister whisper to their mother.
“Who came?” Melanie asked.
“Teeny’s here,” Hillary said.
“She’s here. She actually came to the wedding?” Melanie asked, moving toward the door.
Hillary stepped in front of her. “You’re not going out there.”