Page 15 of The Wedding Run
“I’m not sure I can eat that pie now,” I whisper.
“We’ll get it to go. Where would you like to go from here?”
I meet Luke’s gaze and am drawn in by his warm, blue eyes. “I don’t know. But you can’t keep carting me around all day. You have a life.”
“My day was devoted to the wedding. This is an extension of that.”
“But you should maybe help Derek.”
“I’m sure he’s okay. He’s got Rob.”
“The one who decorated your truck?”
Luke smiles. “That’s the one.”
“I don’t even have clothes or money.”
“Don’t worry about it. This meal will not break the bank.”
When Crystal brings the check and three big-honking pieces of pie—one for Luke’s dad, don’t ya know—Luke taps the check against Momma’s letter. “This is the letter from your mother? I heard you mention it to your sisters.”
“Yes, she wrote letters to each of us for momentous occasions. She died when I was seven.”
“I’m sorry.” It’s not a flippant response but instead sounds sincere.
“She wanted Dad to give the letter to me on my wedding day. I wish she’d said, ‘Give it to her the moment she gets engaged.’ Or maybe before the engagement. The first time I thought of marrying someone. Then I wouldn’t have wasted so much time and money and caused so much trouble.”
Emotions well up and threaten to spill over.What is wrong with me?I’m never sentimental or weepy, and yet if I let myself start crying, I might never stop. I sniff and look away from Luke.
He covers my hand with his. There’s a warmth and kindness to him that I hadn’t taken the time to know before today, and I regret that. I was too obsessed with my lists and all the wedding details.
I never learned much about Luke. He was part of Derek’s past, not his future. He wasn’t part of our friends in Atlanta or our business associates. He lives in Storybrook, a tiny, out-of-the-way town in north Georgia. My life with Derek was a whirlwind of activity, with never enough time to relax and enjoy the simple pleasures of lingering conversation over a cup of coffee or sipping a glass of Chardonnay while watching a perfect sunset.
I’m about to say something to that effect when Luke says, “Things happen when they’re supposed to happen. You might have read that letter months ago and still not have been ready to make a change. Better to figure it out today rather than tomorrow or next year.”
“That’s what I told Derek.” I feel a smile emerge as an odd kinship with Luke forms. "Not sure he believed me."
“Must be some letter,” Luke says.
“My mother’s dream for my marriage didn’t align with reality. Does that make sense?”
“What about your dreams?”
I worry the napkin in my lap and then confess, “It felt like we were pursuing Derek’s dreams, and I was along for the ride.”I open the letter and pull out the teabag, holding it by the thin string connecting it to the nondescript label. “This was with the letter.”
“A teabag?”
“Strange, huh? What do you think it means?”
He reaches for it, then stops. “May I?”
I nod, and he takes the teabag, flips it over, and studies the faded label.
“Maybe Momma thought a cup of tea sets things right, like your mom thinks decisions are best made on a full stomach.”
“Could be,” Luke says. “Isn’t there a quote about a woman being like a teabag? You can’t tell how strong she is…”
“…Until you put her in hot water,” I finish. “Was marriage the hot water in that metaphor, you think?”
