Page 51 of Marriage (Red, White &) Blues

“Well, I’d have to respectfully turn you down if you were hitting on me.” He held up his left hand to show his wedding ring. “Gloriously happily married. You must be Sierra.”

“I am.” Then she let me go and hugged the crap out of my husband. “Gloria is the best of all of us. I trust you know that.”

“Do I ever,” he replied, sipping his beer. “Being with Glory made me want to be better just for the chance to deserve her. The fact that I got to marry her still amazes me.”

“Speaking of,” Ant said, “your courthouse wedding wasn’t exactly down low.”

“I know. And before you say anything—if Glory had wanted a huge event wedding, I’d have given it to her.”

“That’s not our Gloria,” Pen said, hugging me from the side. “She doesn’t like to be the center of attention.”

My face heated as they continued to talk about me. She had to realize the irony of her statement at this moment. “Guys, I’m right here.”

“Girl,” Sierra said. “We love you. And since we didn’t have the chance to quality check the man before you tied the knot, we have to make sure he knows how much we love you now. You don’t mind, do you, Blake?”

“Not at all. Glory’s the best woman I’ve ever met. We’re still in the honeymoon period,” —he tips his head toward me— “so I’m allowed to gush.”

“He’s right,” Ant agreed. “It’s in the marriage bylaw.” He and Blake laughed. “Let me introduce you to my cousin Cormac.” Ant led Blake over to where Cormac and Wendy sat in patio chairs cushioned in these beaded and embroidered natural cotton cushions.Rich people cushions, I thought, until I remembered that we had something similar back home in Vermont. I walked over with them, keeping that tidbit to myself. None of my friends knew about my hang-ups, well, former hang-ups, because no one ever wanted to bethatperson, the one who made things weird. Now I felt stupid for ever thinking those thoughts.

“Good to meet you,” Blake said, holding out his hand for Cormac to shake. “I’m Blake Parker. I assume you know my wife, Gloria.”

“I do. It’s good to meet you, too,” he replied. “This”—he gestured to Wendy—“is my wife, Wendy.”

My husband gave her one of those handshake/forearm pats that rich people do when meeting someone’s wife. I’d experienced it myself at the different luncheons and dinners. “Very nice to meet you, Wendy.”

I hugged her instead. “We have way more in common now than we did before,” I whispered in her ear.

“Blake seems nice. Genuine,” she whispered back. “If you love him, don’t let them come between you.”

For a moment, I wondered if relations appeared that strained between the Parkers and me on the news, butduh, her words came from a place of unfortunate commiseration given the McCains desperately tried to erase Wendy’s existence from any and all social circles.

It got as bad as when Cormac stood up at Pen and Ant’s wedding, he’d been seated at the wedding party table. Ant’s dad and uncle evenforbadeCormac from bringing Wendy to the wedding or reception. When Ant found out, let’s just say he laid the smack down. If Cormac showed upwithouthis wife, Ant and Pen had been prepared to cut Cormac out of their lives—cold turkey. No turning back, end of a friendship, done. This act of rebellion culminated in a major dis toward Wendy. See, when he and Wendy had showed up together, the familyforced herto sit at the table all the way to the back of the venue, separated from family at the front.

Oh, and it got worse because for probably the first time in their lives Mr. and Mrs. von Dutton had been forced to stay silent on this matter because of me. Pen’s BFF and bridesmaid,and there was nothing Evelyn and Philip von Dutton loved more than throwing their classist weight around to get their way.

If Pen had known or had any input into their wedding, she’d have made Wendy a bridesmaid too, just to spite her parents.

While everyone else settled into conversation, I slipped back inside the house to arrange the pastries on the platter. The three men were laughing loudly about something when I made my way back to the group.

Cormac looked over, cocking his head, “What are you carrying?” he asked me pointing at the platter of pastries, and I glanced down stupidly as if I’d suddenly forgotten that I carried anything in my hands.

“Kolaczkis?” I answered, but I didn’t have the chance to say more when both Sierra and Pen shouted, “What?” at the exact same time and rushed me. “Don’t crush them,” I admonished, but no worries there—Sierra snaked the plate from my hand.

“What flavor?” she asked, not caring one bit that they might’ve been a little worse for the wear.

“Plum.”

She shoved one in her mouth, bit down, and groaned. “Where have you been these last few months?” she asked the platter. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed them, too,” Pen whined, trying and failing to grab one off the plate because Sierra shifted so she couldn’t reach. “Hey—you’re supposed to share.”

“You stick to your relationship and I’ll stick to mine,” Si stated defiantly.

“Sierra, they’re cookies,” Pen countered.

“Don’t judge me on my lifestyle choices,” she answered back around a mouthful of another cookie.

Everyone but Pen started laughing. That was until we heard, “What’s this about a lifestyle choice?” spoken with an Oklahomatwang. I turned around to see a shock of red hair approaching the group. Pete had arrived.

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