Time to face the music.
I walk straight to them, closing the short distance between us.
“Hi, Daria.” I nod at her and then at Susan. “Susy.”
Both nod back, half-surprised, half-curious, as if I were an animal in a zoo and they were trying to guess my next move.
Daria can’t help herself—she was never the stay-quiet type—and speaks first. “Long time no see.”
“I know,” I say. “And I’m sorry. I wanted to apologize to both of you for disappearing, but after what happened, I was too ashamed to face anyone.”
Daria seems surprised at my words, but her gaze doesn’t get any less chilly. She also isn’t the forgiving type. Even if we don’t stand a chance of ever being anything more than casual acquaintances, I still owe her an apology.
“I did an unforgivable thing, and I knew how you’d feel about it and was too much of a coward to confront you.”
“Fair enough,” she says. “And what’s changed now?”
“Nothing,” I say. “I just want to avoid any drama for my sister’s sake. No matter what you think about me, this is her wedding, and I don’t want her to worry or feel obligated to come to my rescue.”
“No problem,” Daria says, with that permanent resting bitch face. “We know how to behave ourselves.”
The “contrary to you” postscript is clear in her tone.
“Great,” I say, looking at Susan. She shrugs in a half-apologetic way, as if to say, “I might forgive you in time, but Daria would never allow it, so I have to pick sides and I’m not on yours.”
“That’s all I wanted to say,” I conclude. “See you around.”
I leave them to no doubt gossip behind my back and head onto the bus. We have to leave in five minutes anyway. I go for a seat in the rear as usual, sitting down with my temples still pulsing from the nasty exchange I just had outside.
I hope today will pass fast.
The wish has been barely expressed when my phone pings with an incoming text from an unknown number.
Eager to find out who it is from, I read the message.
Hope you don’t mind, but I finally found a good use for the “Winter and Logan Tie the Knot” WhatsApp group Tucker created
My stomach does a silly, adolescent flip. Archie searched for my number, and he’s texting me.
Even if I feel as agitated as a teen replying to her first crush, I keep my reply super cool.
Oh, gosh, that group
I mute it every week
With everyone on board, the bus leaves the parking lot just as Archie’s reply comes in.
Every week? I muted it for a year straight off the bat
A year?
LOL
That’s badass
But makes sense, you never replied to a single text
I didn’t even know you were in the group
Sorry, but the first time Tucker asked us to help research the meaning of flowers and come up with suggestions for the floral arrangements, I had to bail
But that was a great assignment
I suggested Gardenias
They’re wedding-white and bringers of joy
I remember
I read the chat from time to time
How weird that I’ve been texting Archie for a month without ever realizing. Did I write something majorly uncool? I’m tempted to go back and re-read the entire thread, but his next text comes in, preventing me.
How’s it going over there?
The bus is already pulling up at our destination, the riding ground. Wow, that was quick, I barely noticed we were moving.
I read the question again. I could tell Archie about my earlier conversation with Daria and Susan, but I don’t want to spoil our chat. Soon I’ll be out in the fresh air, riding. And I’m pretty sure only my sister, Lana, and I will make it to the more advanced group—LA isn’t famous for its riding grounds, and I bet we’re the only ones to have ever been on the back of a horse before. My family, from my mother’s side, is originally from Indiana, and my grandparents used to own a ranch near Bloomington. When we were little, Lana, Winter, and I would spend many summers on the farm doing all the Midwestern activities California kids probably never learn: how to ride a horse, how to shoot rifles, crossbows, and every other weapon known to mankind. Or, more harmlessly, how to milk a cow. All important life skills.
Most people, Daria and Susan included, will be stuck in the beginners’ practice ring, riding a pony held on a leash by the instructors, while I’ll be taking the scenic ride out of the manège.
No need to ruin my day obsessing about people I no longer care about and who no longer care about me, except as meat to grind in their gossip machine. I opt for a flirty reply, teasing Archie with the same double entendre I tortured Logan with last night:
We’re about to meet the studs
Studs?
I was led to believe these would be very PG 13 hen and stag parties
What do you mean?
No strippers for you?
The only thing this bunch would be interested in seeing stripping is a mummy
And only so that they could properly analyze it and date the corpse to the right Pharaonic era
Ew
No, seriously, what are you guys doing?
Gourmet lunch aboard a historic train car while we reach more wineries to have tastings at
Yawn
You gals?
Once all the hens are gathered in the riding ground courtyard and the pink-mobile is gone, the manager comes to greet us. After a short welcoming speech, he asks us to raise hands accordingly to our riding experience and, as predicted, it’s just me, my sister, Lana, and two female archeologists from Logan’s half of the invitation list in the advanced group.
We follow a boy to the stables where he introduces us to our rides. I’m with Thunder, a beautiful gray stallion. I pat the horse and caress his muzzle, whispering small words to get him used to my voice. And while we familiarize with each other, I compose a quick reply for Archie.
I’ve just met Thunder
He’s going to be my ride today
Archie replies with a yellow emoji holding its chin questioningly.
That’s a very bad name, even for a male stripper
I chuckle; time to put the guy out of his misery. I lean my face next to my equine companion and snap a selfie. I caption the pic: Archie, meet Thunder
Archie’s reply is a head-exploding emoji.
In the background, the tour guide calls for everyone who’s going on the long ride to gather at the trail entrance. I grab Thunder by the reins and guide him out of the stables, following behind my sister and Lana’s rides.
Before mounting, I compose a quick text for Archie.
We’re about to leave
The guide has asked us not to use our phones while on the trail
They have a history of people getting distracted and falling off their horses
Talk later?
I’ll be gone for about two hours
A reply comes within seconds.
Those are going to be two long hours
His words make my heart flutter. Even more when they’re followed by a cat-face emoji blowing me a kiss. This guy is unbelievable. So big and strong, with the bad-boy bike and everything, sending me kiss-blowing catmojis. I shake my head. He’s sure full of surprises.