Page 21 of Love at Teamsgiving
“That was the order of operations you gave.” Erica repeats what I said.
“The outcome is still the same. The guy is back in my life.” I fight a stinging sensation in my eyes.
Margo says, “Thanks for telling us that.”
“That’s not even half of it. Miguel and I already planned a wedding once ... our wedding. When the venue canceled, we called it off. It was over. I went into a complete tailspin.” The memory sends a typhoon of emotions surging inside.
“Juniper, I’ll find someone else to plan the weddings for my business. Erica, I’ll take over,” Margo says, taking charge.
Erica replies, “Thank you.” Then, turning to me, she says, “Juniper, I had no idea that your past with him was so?—”
“We were like Romeo and Juliet,” I say dramatically.
“Hopefully without the tragic end.”
“We called things off a month before our wedding date.”
“We’ve known each other—how long now?—and you never mentioned this?” Erica’s forehead pinches with hurt.
I haven’t told either of them the whole story, and while they both routinely confide in me, I’m not as share-y or touch-y or feel-y.
But not wanting to let Erica down, I shake my head. “No, I’ll do it. I want to plan your wedding.”
“With Miguel?”
My shoulder lifts and lowers. “Maybe to prove that we can be civil. Don’t worry, we won’t ruin your big day.”
Erica says, “But we’re best friends. I understand now why it’s more of a deal than I realized. If I’d known the whole story, I wouldn’t have?—”
Sniffling, a renewed resolve fills me. “No, Margo is just getting her business off the ground. I’m your maid of honor. I want to help. My father always said, ‘Let yourdas bedas.’”
“That’s Russian for yes, right?”
I nod. “I’m not going back on my word or letting Miguel come between our friendships.”
Erica hugs me—not my favorite, given the whole touchy thing, but I welcome it now.
Margo says, “The second you get off the plane, I’m giving you one of those, too.”
Not if Mama pushes me into traffic when we get to Cobbiton—it’s a small town and I hear they do horse and buggy rides for certain holidays, but there are cars too and I don’t want to get hit. Miguel accused me of being prickly, but my mother is the original thorn in everyone’s side. I figured losing Papa would’ve softened that streak, but it’s only made her more coarse in everything she says and does. Which reminds me, she should be home any minute.
From the phone, Margo says, “Just forget about Miguel Cruz. Imagine this: you’ll meet the man you’re meant to fall in love with at Erica’s wedding. You’ll have a fall fling?—”
Erica squeals with excitement. “And have their happily ever after. That’s what I was saying.”
They chat about their brilliant plan for me to find my match in a few months. It’s highly unlikely, mostly because I’ve removed myself from the dating pool.
“I haven’t seen a single guy out here in Crocs,” Margo says, referring to a dude I dated earlier this year.
She goes through the “Male Scale,” and a few potential candidatesin Cobbiton, never mind that she’s happily married. “As far as I can tell, there aren’t any Sewer Dwellers. They’re the lowest of the lowlifes and are easily identified by the overwhelming stench of cologne trying to mask their zombie stink. Stay out of their basement lairs. Real-life case study: Tate.”
Thankfully, we didn’t run into him at Honey & Lavender earlier. In fact, I haven’t seen him in a while. Perhaps he moved on or settled down. One can only hope a good woman straightened out his pickup lines.
The mention of cologne reminds me of aftershave and how good, how familiar, Miguel smelled earlier.
Margo adds, “No Surface Sketchies either.”
Erica says, “What’s the criteria for that one?”
