Page 95 of How to Ruin Your Ex's Wedding
“I can’t walk down the aisle like this!” I cry.
“Can’t walk down the aisle like what?” Liza approaches. “What happened?”
Thank god.
“Her dress got stuck on the elevator gate and ripped,” Crystal says, her own tears forming.
“Let’s see,” Liza says. “Maybe it’s not so bad.”
I walk forward a few steps again so she can see the part that drags behind.
“Not a problem. We prepare for things such as this.” Liza’s voice is soothing as she speaks, making me feel a little better. “Go sit on the edge of that bench there. We’ll prop the dress in the middle, and I’ll sew it up.”
“You’ll sew it?” Angela confirms.
“Yep. It won’t be perfect, but it will get her down the aisle.”
I nod, tears abating, and settle myself on the bench. Crystal and Angela help to set the ripped part up for Liza to sew. Who, in the meantime, is barking into her headset, “Bridal gown snafu, get us an extra fifteen minutes . . . What do you mean? . . . Well, have you looked? . . . Then do that!”
“What’s the matter?” I ask.
“Nothing for you to worry about, I promise. We have everything under control.” She turns to Crystal. “Maybe you could go get a few glasses of champagne to enjoy while you wait. They have some in the kitchen.” She points Crystal in the right direction and turns her attention back to my dress. The thread she’s using is clear, almost invisible, and unless you know where to look, I don’t think the tear will be noticeable at all.
I breathe a huge sigh of relief just as Crystal returns with the champagne, but still take a large sip of mine. Liza is almost finished sewing the dress. We are only running a few minutes late. Hunter will understand once I explain about the dress.
Everything is going to be okay.
28
Pax
Five minutes past four o’clock.
I mentally propel the ferry forward at a faster pace. Because the speed it’s going is practically reverse, it’s so slow. I text Gregor again, asking him to call me or text me, even though I don’t have cell service in the middle of the sound and these shorter distance ferries don’t offer Wi-Fi.
It makes me feel better, like I’m doing something. Then I resume pacing the deck and mentally propelling the vessel.
Four ten p.m.
I try to remember everything involved in a wedding ceremony. The guys walk up to the front, then they seat the family. The bride walks down the aisle . . .
I see two women on a nearby bench and approach them.
“Excuse me, I know this is a weird question, but what are the parts to a wedding ceremony? You know, like, in order?”
“What kind of ceremony?” the one on the right asks.
“What do you mean?” I ask back.
“Is it a Catholic ceremony with a service? Is it Jewish? Non-traditional? Simple with a Justice of the Peace?”
“I don’t know,” I yell. Then lower my voice to a more respectable level. “I’m not sure. Probably a normal ceremony with not a lot of special stuff thrown in.”
The one on the left laughs. “Can I ask why you want to know this? Are you about to perform one and you forgot?” She looks around as though trying to find the service.
“No, I’m just trying to figure out how much time I have if it hasn’t started yet.”
“Are you late for your own wedding?” the one on the right asks. “You know they’ll wait for you, right?” Both women laugh.
