Take Your Time (Boston Love #4)(61)
“Thanks.” She sniffles. “That means a lot.”
“Anytime. Now, for the flowers — call Nate. The man is a freaking private investigator, for god’s sake. I think he can track down an elderly florist with a crummy phone connection. He can handle it. Plus, it will give him something to keep busy with, before the rehearsal.”
“That’s actually not a bad idea…”
“I know. That’s why I thought of it.” I roll my eyes. “As for the rest, if you’ll just take a deep breath and stop freaking the hell out over very manageable problems your face will cease being a blotchy mess and return to that normal, perfect porcelain most girls would kill for.”
I hear her take a deep breath on the other side of the line.
“Phoebe.”
“Yeah?” she asks.
“Just tell me what’s really got you so freaked out.”
She sighs. “You know me too well.”
“I’m aware of that.” I pause. “Spit it out, I have a rehearsal to get ready for and I hear the girl is a real bridezilla.”
She laughs. “I’m just nervous, I guess.”
“About what?”
“The whole thing. The marriage thing. What Nate and I have is so great… maybe it’s stupid, but I’m scared this will change things somehow. Isn’t there a saying — if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it?”
“I think that expression is more for household appliances,” I assure her. “Leaky faucets and the like.”
“Really?” she sounds doubtful.
“Sure,” I fib. “And, regardless, there’s simply no way a gold ring and a sappy vow will make Nate love you any less. That’s crazy talk. If anything, this is going to bring you guys closer.” I scrunch up my nose. “Which is disturbing, considering how obsessed you two already are with each other. Any closer, I worry I’ll have to pry you apart with a crowbar.”
She snorts.
“Phee, do you remember when we were little, and we made our Phee-Lilah best friend pact?”
“Of course.” She scoffs. “That needle hurt like a bitch.”
“Be that as it may… that day, we had a ceremony of our own. We promised to stay close from our days playing with dolls to the days we’re racing wheelchairs down the halls of our nursing home.” My eyes prick with unshed tears — I’m guessing the first of many, over the course of the next few days. “That vow worked out pretty well, I’d say.”
“We’re only twenty-five. Still have plenty of years left to get sick of each other.”
“Sorry. You’re stuck with me, Phee. And so is Nate.” I blink up at the ceiling so I don’t start crying. “You and he have known each other just as long as you and me. Maybe longer. So, there’s not a single doubt in my mind that you two will make this work. Because, long before he was anything else — crush, unrequited love, boyfriend, soul mate, fiancé, and as of tomorrow, husband — he was your best friend. And best friend love lasts a lifetime. I guarantee it.”
She blows her nose and I can tell she’s crying, but the panicked edge is gone from her voice. “Now I’m even blotchier and have a swollen nose to boot, you cow. Thanks a lot.”
I smile. “Anytime.”
“See you in two hours?”
“I’ll be there with bells on.”
She pauses. “Not literally though, right, because bells would really throw off the whole bridal party ensemble—”
“Phoebe. It’s an expression.”
“Right. I knew that.” She sighs. “In case I don’t have a chance to tell you this in all the craziness of the next two days… I love you, Lila. You’ve been an amazing bridesmaid. I hope one day I can return the favor.”
I open my mouth with a snappy retort ready on my lips — HA! Fat chance of that, since I’m never getting married! — but something makes me bite my tongue. Swallowing hard, I close my eyes and when I speak, my voice is so soft I’m not even sure she can hear me across the line.
“Yeah. I hope so too.”
Chapter Eleven
If I wanted to spend my weekend watching people suck at sports, I’d have kids already.
Delilah Sinclair, sassing a Yankees fan during the seventh inning stretch.
I knew, as soon as I heard about Phoebe’s engagement, that it wouldn’t be your standard church wedding. Nothing about Phoebe Evangeline West has ever been standard, from her fashion sense to the size of her heart — why should her wedding be any different?
Which is why, at three o’clock in the afternoon, I find myself standing by the penguin exhibit inside the New England Aquarium, brushing red dog hair from the shimmery black, open-backed sheath dress I picked out for this occasion, wondering whether there’s some kind of insurance policy for guests who get a bit too intoxicated during receptions and fall into the tank with the Great White sharks.
Until death do you part.
Chomp!
Before Shelby picked me up, I left Fenway under the affectionate care of Joyce, Ted, and the twins — they were so excited by the prospect of dog sitting, I think I may have a fight on my hands, getting custody back later tonight. (Then again, since he’s not yet housebroken, their affections may wane as the evening progresses.)