Page 17 of Not Your Basic Love Story

“It’s fine!” Miranda said. “There’s lots of time. Come sit next to me. They’ll get started on you.”

I swept my mussed hair back and swallowed, trying to calm my breaths from my early morning exertions. Angelina swept by and deposited a mimosa and muffin into each of my hands. I grinned and hugged her from the side before sitting down in a chair to let the stylist begin going through my messy, post-sex locks.

For someone about to get married, Miranda was totally chill. The ideal bride. The morning was spent drinking mimosas, eating pastries and fruit, and getting ready for her big day. A playlist of our old favourites was on in the background, and we all burst into song at random intervals when the Backstreet Boys or Journey came up. A photographer fluttered around, taking candid shots.

“So, is… sorry, what was his name again?” Miranda asked, peeking out from under her eyelashes as the artist applied her liner.

“Dev,” I reminded her, trying not to move my lips as another artist outlined them.

“Is Dev coming tonight?”

“He said he’d be there.”

“Great! This will be so fun!”

“Thank you, Miranda. I mean it.”

“You’d do the same for me, babe.”

I reached out, and she took my hand, giving it a squeeze.

The dresses were all removed from their protective cases, each one a slightly different shade of peach and cut to suit each of our body types. The best part was they all had pockets! All dresses should have pockets. I tucked my lip gloss and phone inside before twirling around with the others like we were four-year-olds playing dress-up. All the shoes were strappy black sandals, perfect for a beach wedding. I looked down at my bright turquoise toes and reprimanded myself for not going with something more neutral.

Miranda had been a saint, organizing and shipping the dresses so we wouldn’t have to worry about it. Then again, Derek’s parents had hired a professional wedding coordinator to help her organize everything. Even now, a secret-agent looking woman was checking things off on a clipboard and speaking in hushed tones through an earpiece.

It was a little over the top. When I got married, someday, I was going to do it small. Like, out in the forest with only my future hubby and I, our witnesses, the person marrying us, and maybe a photographer hiding in the bushes.

Miranda was helped into her stunning ballgown dress that had buttons and lacing up the back and long lace sleeves. The thing must have cost a fortune, but damn was it gorgeous. I teared up, remembering all the times we’d spent in high school poring through magazines and planning our imaginary weddings to the boys we’d had crushes on at the time.

Now it was finally happening… for her.

Right on schedule, we made our way to the beach. A violinist played covers of songs by City in Colour as we walked down the aisle, the ocean backdrop picturesque. Derek stood next to a white archway, gossamer curtains blowing in the breeze, looking charming in his three-piece suit with a peach-coloured rose in his lapel. When Miranda appeared, he teared up, which made me cry, and soon everyone was a sniffling mess. Her oversized bouquet of peach roses with a trail of greenery hanging down complimented her dress perfectly.

She walked down the aisle, Frank proudly at her side. My heart swelled seeing the two of them together. I hoped I’d be able to have such a special moment with my dad someday, too.

The ceremony was lovely. Miranda and Derek’s vows were heartwarming. Once it was all done, we walked back inside. I was arm-in-arm with Hank, who wouldn’t meet my gaze. As soon as we were out of sight, he released me and walked away without saying anything. That said a lot about him. I commended myself on my decision that Hank was kind-of a creep and was happy Dev was already solving my Hank Problem without even being there.

The huge reception room opened to a private beach. Strings of lights hung above circular tables nestled in the sand, their white tablecloths tugged by the breeze and anchored in place by centrepieces of greenery and candles. The fully stocked bar was already overwhelmed by the wedding party for a toast. The dance floor was set up, but not yet active, tasteful ambient music in the background.

I grabbed a glass of champagne, toasted with the others, and then checked my phone.

Dev had texted me. ‘How formal is this wedding?’

I snapped a pic of what a group of other guys were wearing—semi-formal, nice pants and shoes, button-up shirts.

He replied. ‘Camera was pointed wrong direction.’ Winky emoji.

I smiled and sent him a selfie.

He replied with three heart-eyed emojis.

‘You can come any time, we’re at the main ballroom.’ I texted.

Grinning, I put my phone away as Miranda came over and gave me a big hug. “You look stunning!” I gushed, trying not to cry again.

“Don’t cry! You’ll make me cry!” And she meant it, a tear escaping as she fanned her face, hoping not to smear her makeup before they could get through the photos. The wedding party lined up next to the bride and groom for pictures on the beach. I hate awkward pictures like that, especially when they make you look at each other and fake laugh.

What felt like an eternity later, Miranda and Derek were swept off for private photos and the rest of us hit the bar and buffet for appetizers. With a drink in one hand and my mouth half-full of crab cake, I turned towards the entrance.

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