Moore To Love (34 page)

ADMITTING I’M WRONG IS NOT
my strong suit. Then again, neither is facing the music.

Growing up, I had an unhealthy fear of thunderstorms. At the onset of even the tiniest rumble from the heavens, I dodged for my bed and tucked myself underneath the biggest blanket I could find. Sometimes I rocked and cried until my mother had to pry me out of bed and hold me in her arms. As I got older the fear remained, but Mom explained that burying myself under the covers wouldn’t make the storm go away any faster. When it was ready to pass, it would pass on its own. Eventually, I learned that hiding from my fear got me nowhere, and in time I was okay with joining the rest of civilization outside the comfort of my cocoon whenever lightening cracked through the sky.

Right now, my scary storm is this mess with Lane. I use the term
mess
lightly because, let’s face it, this is so much more than a little snafu. I’m hurt. He’s hurt. There’s a whole shit load of hurt mulling around, I’m not even sure who’s to blame anymore, and I kinda want my mommy to make it all better.

I fucked up. I know I did. I overreacted, I didn’t allow him to explain himself, and now I feel even worse than I did when I thought Lane was using me as some fat boy fetish.

Problem
now
is that
I’m too proud to go crawling back. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still mad he lied, but the crux of our issue is my failure to hear him out. If I were Lane, I would count my blessings and move on to the next chubby chick.
She
would deserve him.
She
wouldn’t doubt him for a few scars that he kept secret.
She
would understand that she isn’t the only person in the world who got the shitty end of the stick when it comes to metabolic genes.
She
would have a date to her brother’s wedding tomorrow night.

I have to text him. I want to text him. This has gone on long enough, and if I don’t do something about it now, I might never get the chance to make up for what I’ve done.

Who knows? It might be too late. Lane’s already gone a few days without trying to reach me so I suspect he’s given up, and if he has—well, so be it. I made the bed and now I have to lie in it.

With a deep breath and a nagging suspicion that I haven’t a shot in hell to redeem myself, I steady the phone in my trembling hands and type a message to Lane.

At first, my mind is blank, void of the proper way to gracefully beg for Lane’s forgiveness. But once I’ve chewed the skin off my bottom lip and can taste the blood on my tongue, I decide to man up.

“Ah, fuck it. What’ve I got to lose?” I’m talking to myself again, but crazy is as crazy does and this entire situation is nothing short of cray cray.

Me: Hey. I’m sorry I haven’t answered any of your calls or responded to your texts. I guess I’m just sorry for everything in general. Can we meet up Sunday, after the wedding is over and done with? I’d like to talk. That is, of course, if you don’t hate me.

I press send and wait in agony for the three little dots to appear, indicating that Lane’s responding. But I get nothing. There’s no way to tell if he’s even read the damn thing. I shake the phone, turn it off and then back on, and stare it at a some more, while subliminally channeling the wavelength gods.

Twenty minutes later and zilch, nada, no dice. I guess I got what I deserve in the end. The cold shoulder. Serves me right for getting all holier-than-thou on him. Unfortunately, there’s nothing left to do but get some beauty sleep so I can put on my best face for the big day tomorrow.

It’s not Ashley and Reynold’s fault that I’m a train wreck. There’s no reason to spoil their special day, even if I am so miserable that the thought of giving my maid-of-honor speech—it’s totally kick ass, by the way—makes me want to gag.

Love is not patient, or kind. Love is fucking stupid.

Ashley is a mess. A beautiful mess, nonetheless, but her nerves have been through the roof all morning. The one advantageous of a jittery bride: distraction. Tending to Ash has kept my mind off what to do next, but Lane is still at the forefront of my thoughts.

Before I headed over to Ashley’s parents’ place this morning, I awoke to a vague text from Lane in response to my apologetic message from last night. It simply read,
I don’t hate you.

I took that as a good sign; a great one, actually. But what good is him not hating me if he’s not willing to talk it out and give me a chance to grovel at his feet? Ashley shrieks from behind the bathroom door, where she’s been holed up for a good fifteen minutes taking a shower, “Leni!”

I jump off the bed, dive for the door, and press my ear to it. “Yes, dear?”

“I need you.” It’s a muffled whine.

“I’m right here, babe. What’s up?”

“No, I
need
you. Like,
in
here. Now.”

“Ash, I love you and all and you’re totally the sister I never had, but save the peep show for later when you get freaky with my brother.” The thought has me cringing, but her scream straightens me right up.

“Madeline! Get your ass in here!”

“Okay, okay.” I don’t want to mess with the bride on her big day, even though we’re running behind schedule and should’ve been at the studio twenty minutes ago, so I bite my tongue and barge into the bathroom.

“Holy parting of the Red Sea! What the hell did you do? Murder someone while you were in the shower? I left you alone for ten minutes, Norman Bates—are you okay?” I rush over to her when I see the puddle of blood on the white tile floor.

She releases an exasperated sigh. “I’m fine, but my wedding night and the honeymoon is ruined and I don’t have a single pad or tampon anywhere. Do you think you can send someone out to get some?”

There’s no one to send. Her mother is already at the studio with my mother, her dad is with the guys at my parents’ house, and the only one left is little ol’ me. “This is why I told you a one-woman bridal party was not a good idea.”

“Leni.” Ashley tilts her head and scowls, wrapping the blood stained towel even tighter around her damp body.

“Your mother doesn’t have anything lying around?” I rummage through the medicine cabinet and then under the sink.

“Don’t you think I already looked? She went through menopause forever ago. There’s nothing here.”

I stand up and commence pacing. “Okay, okay. Let’s think. Where are your underwear?” I scan the large bathroom and find a pile of neatly stacked clothes on a vanity bench.

I go to get them, but Ashley interrupts with another squeal, “No! We can’t use those. They’re my something blue. I don’t want to ruin them.” Ashley has tears in her eyes and a trail of blood leaking down her leg. If I didn’t love her so much, I’d be totally grossed out.

“All right. Calm down. What to do. What to do.” I tap my finger against my fidgeting lips, praying for a miracle.

“Give me yours,” Ashley blurts out, an idea flashing across her worried face.

“Huh?”

“Your underwear. Give ’em to me. I’ll wrap some toilet paper around them and we can grab what we need from the store on the way to the studio. Come on. Strip. Now, Len.”

At first I’m quite appalled, but on second thought . . . this probably qualifies as something a maid-of-honor is expected to do when the bride is suddenly cursed with a visit from Aunt Flo the morning of her wedding.

“You’re lucky they’re clean.” Without further thought, I remove my sweats and shimmy the white cotton down my legs.

“They won’t be for long,” Ashley sings, reaching out with grabby hands.

“You realize how disgusting this whole ordeal is, don’t you?” Turning as Ashley drops the towel to get dressed, I put my own pants back on and uncontrollable giggles escape me.

“This is
so
not funny.”

“It kind of is.” I snort. “Just think, this will be some story for your grandkids.”

“What? That their grandmother got the period of all periods and it ruined the happiest day of her life?”

“No, that their Great Aunt Leni came to the rescue and shared her granny panties with Granny Ashley in her time of desperation. And this day is
not
ruined. It didn’t even start yet.” I’m quick to make that point so Ashley doesn’t let this minor setback spoil how happy she’s supposed to be. How happy she’s
been
up until this very moment.

After we’re both dressed, I turn to her and notice that despite her having to ride the crimson wave on the most important day of her existence, she’s glowing. If there was ever a person who knows how to make lemonade when life hands you lemons, it’s Ashley. I freaking love this girl. “You look beautiful, you know?” I smile with pride.

“Beautiful? I’m a mess!” With no makeup, her hair thrown into a messy bun, and wedding-day nerves written across her flawless face, she’s still the picture of perfection. My brother finally did something right when he met this girl and made her his. I can’t imagine being his wife will be easy or that putting up with the entire Moore clan will be a walk in the park, but I thank my lucky stars every day that Ashley is a part of my life. And today she becomes a real-deal part of my family.

“You ready to get hitched, chica?” Before I get all emotional and allow the waterworks to get the best of me, I hook my arm in Ashley’s and usher her out of the bathroom.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

I kiss her cheek and hug her close with one arm around her shoulder. “But first . . . let’s plug you up.”

“Only me.” She brings her hand up to cover her eyes and shakes her head.

“Ash, have you met me and my shitty luck? The day of my wedding—if that day ever actually comes—I’ll probably be blessed with a face full of zits, wind up with a nasty bout of explosive diarrhea, and even if it’s the middle of the summer, there’ll be a blizzard. Mark my words.”

Ashley clicks her tongue, dismissing my negativity. “Oh, ye hath little faith, Leni. Your day will be perfect, because it’s what you deserve. And speaking of
your
day, don’t think I’ve been too preoccupied with this wedding to forget about what’s going on with you and Lane. Once we get me some cooter corks, you’ve got lots of explaining to do. I’m not complaining about the wasted plate, but my maid-of-honor should have a hot date at her side tonight and I intend to get to the bottom of this before I walk down the aisle. So, while you make me pretty and keep me calm, I want to hear every last detail, including why you’ve been holding onto your phone like it’s the Holy Grail all morning.”

Leave it to this girl to bring everything to light on a day when all attention should be on her and her alone.

“Will you marry
me
instead of Reynold? I have a total girl crush on you, Ash.” I wink, playfully nudging her arm.

“I’m flattered, but you and I both know that you and your heart belong with Lane. I’m as sure of you two as I am of me and Reynold. You’ll see.”

Hope.
That funny four letter word sneaks up on me and spreads like wildfire. Ashley doesn’t have a crystal ball and she certainly can’t tell the future, but if I can just steal half of her optimism, all hope for me and Lane is definitely not lost.