Page 8 of Entwined

“Ahem.” My dad clears his throat. “We'll go first. Trish, you do the honors.” He hands her a small box.

“Um, Mr. Walker,” Whitley speaks with hushed respect, “can you two please go second, so we stay in traditional order?”

“I suppose.”

“Thank you.” She sighs loudly in huge relief, as if she just somehow stopped the world from ending. “All right, Bennett, I believe you're up?”

Ben walks over and spins me to face her, tears shimmering in her eyes. “Should've known not to take it off, you never do. And rightly so, because it's going right back on. Laney,” she gulps, taking a second to refuse herself any crying, “as your Maid of Honor, I am presenting you with your 'something old.' Your Disney 'D' necklace, a symbol of where it all started and what you mean to your soon-to-be husband.”

She fastens the necklace, that I only removed to appease Whitley and her jewelry/gown ensemble she put together for me, around my neck and I reach up to touch it in reverent thought. Bennett’s right; no matter what, fashion be damned — it belongs right here — always. After a long, tight hug, Ben scoots back and with Whitley's silent motion, my parents step forward.

With an iron-grip on his sheen of unfallen tears, Dad puts an arm around my mom's shoulders as she opens the box… to display a beautiful pair of diamond earrings that I know neither of them can easily afford. “Our darling daughter,” Mom chokes out in a weak whisper, “your father and I have always agreed, that despite ourselves, we did one thing absolutely right. Create you. Today, we agree again, that entrusting you and your happiness to Dane Kendrick is more than right. It’s destiny. Jefferson?”

“Yeah,” he clears his throat, “what she said, Slugger. Dane's a good man. Maybe even good enough for you. As close as any man could ever come, I figure. Just, well, don't forget to stop by and toss a ball with your old man every once in a while.”

“I will, Daddy. Promise.”

“All right, I guess you can go on and get married then.”

“Laney, these earrings are your 'something new.' We love you, very much,” my mom finishes and gives me a kiss on the cheek for both of them… because Dad's already walked away, pretending to look out the window (while he cries).

“I have your 'something borrowed,'” Whitley speaks softly. “From one blonde to another, I get more compliments anytime I wear this, and I knew it’d look beautiful on you. May I?” I nod and she rises up on her tiptoes to slide a diamond hairpin in my loosely-curled locks. “Perfect,” she whispers. “I'd say everyone ended up exactly where they should be, with their person, wouldn't you?”

“I sure would,” I sniffle and wrap her in a hug. “Love you, Whit.”

“Enough unicorns and puppies shit. Step aside.” Sawyer nudges his way to front and center. “Hey, Gidget.”

“Hey, Sawyer.” I shake with silent laughter.

“You look gorgeous, girl. And you already know I love the hell outta ya, right?”

“Yes,” I now snicker aloud. “I love you too, Saw. What is it you have for me?”

“Your 'something blue.' Worked real hard on it too.” He hands me a piece of paper and I… I die laughing. Whitley gasps and has to sit down lest she faint. Everyone else just shakes their head in unshocked silence.

“Is this-”

“A picture of my blue balls? Yes, yes it is,” he answers and shoots his wife a quick frown. “Emmy's ovulating and Daddy’s Princess P has spoiled, only-child written all over her, so my boys have been put on hiatus. They're blue. That's them.” He points to the picture, indeed a pair of very large balls hanging off a stick figure.

“Where is my little princess?” I ask.

“Evan's mom put her down for a nap,” Emmett answers, through her hands, shielding her embarrassed face.

“And where'd you get a crayon?” I ask Sawyer, 'cause the disproportionate balls are blue.

“They got a nursery at this place. Not that my daughter’s getting left in it, but I did scope it out… and stole one.” He boasts proudly.

“I'm gonna need you to return it.”

“The crayon?”

“Yes, Sawyer, the crayon. What else would I possibly mean?”

“Can't.” He shrugs. “Pressed too hard, broke it.”

“And that's why we can't have nice things,” I tsk.

“Can't come inside my wife for the rest of the week either, Gidge. Whose got bigger problems?”

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