Page 96 of The Seven Month Itch
And with that, the woman I once loathed struts out the door. From the back of her formfitting dress, you’d never know she’s seven months pregnant. Madison Donnelley looks like a million bucks—or should I say a billion bucks, since she married Preston—in her backless yellow dress. That she can balance herself and that baby bump in sky-high heels is quite the talent.
Preston and I reconnected after he caught wind of my marketing company’s campaigns for Terrence and Emma. That led to emails, meetings, and exclusive rights to oversee the marketing for his hotel brands.
In two years, my little company took home three national marketing awards. We expanded our reach and opened up an office in New York City to handle the East Coast and European business. Olivia relocated to the Big Apple as the chief marketing officer, and I hold down the fort here in Austin to cover the West Coast, the Caribbean, and the remainder of our international operations. Each location employs fifteen people, and I’m so proud of my work family and all we’ve accomplished in such a short amount of time.
If you would’ve told me I would lose my job and start a business that would grow into a multimillion-dollar brand, I would’ve told you to get your head examined. That’s on top of Madison and I becoming close friends.
She and Preston are inseparable. Though it took time, we were able to have our come-to-Jesus moment that turned a nightmare situation into the most unexpected surprise. Underneath her layers, Madison is kind, caring, and pretty sweet. Double dates were awkward at first, but we’re all happy in our relationships, which allowed us to bury old drama once and for all.
Terrence and Preston are now good friends. He became his personal trainer, and that led to his company creating an exclusive training program for Preston’s hotels that’s a hit. We don’t see the Donnelleys much since they relocated to Paris, but we meet up with them a few times a year—in Austin when they visit, New York City, or Los Angeles. We’ll see them in the City of Love next year when we celebrate our sixteenth wedding anniversary.
It took some coaxing for Emma to let her guard down with Madison, but we’re now a trio. Our annual girls’ trip rivals the yearly “bro retreat” Miles, Terrence, and Preston take.
No matter how busy our lives get, we make time for each other.
I stand behind Emma and gaze at my friend’s reflection in the mirror. My chin rests on her shoulder, and I place a hand above her heart. Words can’t convey how gorgeous she is. Em looks radiant in her illusion wedding dress that fits her like a bodysuit. Diamonds drip from her ears to accentuate her neck. They look perfect with her summer updo.
We’ve been by each other’s sides for every major life event since we first met in freshman homeroom twenty-two years ago. Terrence is the love of my life, but Emma is my sister.
“If you keep up that look, I will cry,” she says. She places her hand above mine.
The five-carat engagement ring on her finger winks at us in the mirror. Two small diamonds flank the central pear-shaped stone Miles cut himself from an ethical mine in Australia. Yes, the man is that sprung. They join part of the ring that his grandfather gave to his grandmother. Both have passed on, so it’s a way for him to honor their legacy and build one of his own with Emma.
“Come on, Mrs. Walker. Your husband awaits.”
She smiles. “I like the sound of that.”
We step out of the white tent to the flutters of violins.
“Ready, Em?”
She nods with a smile. “Let’s do this.”
I take her hand and guide us to the partition to make our entrance. Miles and Terrence should be in position. Now it’s time for my kids to take their places, and I say a quick prayer they don’t throw one of their tantrums. They had their nap and snacks. The only thing left to do is bribe them into obedience.
I crouch down to Edie and Gracie. They’re almost three and aren’t strangers to public meltdowns without a moment’s notice. My daughters act possessed when a bout of the terrible twos takes over, but they’re calm right now. A miracle in itself.
“You both will walk down the aisle like we practiced. If you toss these flowers”—I point to their baskets—“on the ground, the Gigis will have candy for you. Okay?”
Please let this work.
I know we don’t negotiate with terrorists, but I’d like to see the Anti-Terrorism Advisory Council try to talk these two-year-old twins into following directions.
Gracie yells with a thumbs-up, “Okay, Mommy!”
One down, one to go.
Edie looks at her sister, then down at her flowers. I wouldn’t put it past her to make a run for it. She could hot-wire a car with all the tech lessons Uncle Miles teaches them.
“Edie.” I raise an eyebrow.
She huffs but nods. “Okay, Mommy.”
I kiss them both and peek past the partition to give the signal. My mom and Robin sit in the front row across the aisle from each other. They pull out a handful of candy from their bags like they’re about to make it rain on trick-or-treaters.
Malcolm X wasn’t lying when he said, “By any means necessary.”
“Okay, girls. Now.”
