Page 3 of Little Etheldreda Riding Hood

“I’m going to ‘sorry Mama’ you, little girl. Now go to the laundry room and fold the towels. It’s your week.”

Kara Lynn sighs and heads off to the opposite side of the house as Mae shakes her head.

“I’m sorry about that, Red.”

“No worries,” I tell her. They’re letting me stay for free. Can I really complain about their kids destroying half my stuff? I mean, I could, but that seems like the most ungrateful thing to do when they literally rescued me from living in my car.

“You got some mail. Real pretty envelope. You got a friend getting married?” she asks as she finishes up the dishes she’s working on and starts wiping down the sink.

I shake my head. “Not that I know of.” The envelope sitting on the edge of the linoleum counter is blush pink and huge–definitely expensive. Something clicks in the back of my mind and my hands start to shake as I turn it over. The return address is on the back and the names stamped there make me suck in a breath:

Morgan and Willa Cox

I place the envelope down and back away from the counter. Mae sees me and her eyes flick to the envelope. She dries her hand on a towel and picks it up from the counter.

“Morgan and Willa Cox?” she reads, anger in her voice. “That son of a bitch has got some nerve.” She starts ripping through the envelope and dumps the contents on the counter, balling up the envelope and throwing it in the trash.

A wedding invitation, an RSVP card, and a save-the-date magnet are enclosed. The magnet is a picture of the happy couple. Morgan faces the camera in a suit. He’s wearing the tie I bought him last Christmas. Willa leans against his shoulder, her matching dress gently blowing in the breeze. I feel like I’m being pulled into a tunnel for a moment. All I can focus on is that magnet. That picture. That stupid tie.

“What’s going on?” Uncle Jim asks as he comes in through the back door.

“That son of bitch had the nerve to send Red an invitation to his wedding,” Mae tells him, holding up the pieces of paper.

No one needs to say who that son of a bitch is. At this point, it’s understood. Jim takes it from her, studies it for a moment, then shakes his head. “We’ll all be invited, you know. I’m sure our invitation is next.” His voice is soft. Jim turns to me, sympathy in his eyes. “It’s probably going to be a pack-mandated event.”

Pack-mandated, meaning that all the smaller packs will be required to attend. At the very least, they will need to send some sort of representation. And gifts. God forbid they aren’t lavished with fancy gifts.

“I have to go,” I say aloud. An hour ago, talking with the sisters, that option seemed impossible. Now, it’s my only choice.

I have to go.

Mae and Jim look at each other, then back at me.

“Sweetie,” Mae says carefully. “I don’t think going to their wedding is a good idea.”

I shake my head. I’ll never escape it at this rate. There will be showers and bachelorette parties, and eventually, the ceremony to make them Alpha and Luna.

“I have to go away,” I say, my voice louder than I mean for it to be. “I can’t be here while this is going on.”

Mae and Jim’s eyes meet over my head as I stare down at the invitation in my hands. I’m clutching it so hard, I’ve wrinkled the fancy pink card.

“You could ask Darla,” Mae says after a long moment of silence.

I haven’t seen Darla in ages. Not since Mama’s funeral. Long ago, before Mama and Mae married into my stepdad’s pack, the three of us lived next door to Darla and her cat-and-plant-covered trailer. She was like my second mom when I was little–she kept an eye on me when I got off the school bus, fed me Nutella and banana sandwiches, and told me creepy stories about the vengeful Deer Lady until Mama or Mae got home from work.

“I was just talking to her the other day. She probably has a room you can rent if you don’t mind living in those old trailers.”

I don’t tell Mae, but I’d live in a tent under a bridge at this point. It’s not the big city Mrs. James urged me to see, but it’s not here. Anything to get away from this spectacle of a wedding.

“Do you still like cats? I bet she’s still got a ton of them.”

“Cats?” I repeat. It seems such a random thing to say. Of course, cats are okay. I’ve got to get started now if I want to be prepared for my future as the crazy old cat lady. But I don’t say any of that out loud.

Instead, I just nod. “Cats are great. I love cats.”

Chapter Two

In Which Our Meet Cute Involves Hitting Our Male Lead In The Face With A Door

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