In Your Dreams (Blue Heron #4)(55)

The special memories sharing was more of the same. The marathon when Kevin had to crawl across the finish line just after he lost control of his bowels. The difficult time when Naomi had ruptured her Achilles tendon and could only run seven miles a day. The hilarious time when they were doing an Ironman race and Naomi’s bike had crashed, her shoulder dislocated, and God bless her! She’d just rammed it back into place on a convenient tree, got back on the bike and caught up to Kevin, who of course hadn’t stopped because it was “emotionally important” for him to give this race his all, and of course Naomi understood and supported this.

“I don’t know,” Em murmured. “I think I’d want someone to stop and call an ambulance for me.”

“I would do that,” Jack said. “And I’d tell the paramedics to give you extra painkillers.”

“And to think I didn’t want to get married.” Aha! She could flirt!

He winked. Her knees quivered.

Then came Colleen’s turn. She tried gamely to pass, but Naomi was grinning ferociously, so Coll took the mike and sighed. “Well, Kevin and Naomi...um, near, far, wherever you are, I believe the heart will go on.” She handed the microphone back to the DJ and stole a mysterious lump of something from Connor’s plate.

Connor was not spared the microphone, either. “Good luck,” he said.

The DJ reclaimed the mike and headed for the back of the room. “Who else would like to share? You, miss?”

More vodka? Yes, I’d love some, she thought, snagging the bottle from the weird uncle, who smiled approvingly at her cutlet-enhanced br**sts.

Even worse, her mother popped into an empty chair at their table. “How are you? Don’t repress your grief. Let it out, honey. And why are you drinking? Isn’t it bad for the baby?”

“Hi, Mom. How are you? There’s no baby.”

“Enjoying your dinner, Dr. Neal?” Jack asked, and Mom murmured that yes, she was, then turned to look back at Em.

Her mother’s eyes were worried. That was the sucker punch. Mom meant well. She tried. Em knew she was loved, despite her parents being pretty clueless...when it came to her, anyway. They were better with Angela.

“I’m so glad you have Jack,” Mom whispered. “Even though I was upset that you didn’t want to share that with me earlier, I’m glad. It was so hard to see you heartbroken.”

Shit. Lying sucked. She looked away from her mom.

The DJ was at their table. “Do you have a special memory of Naomi and Kevin?” the DJ asked the tiny shrunken Russian grandmother.

“Kogda uzhin?” the grandmother said.

“When is dinner,” Jack translated into Em’s stiff hair. “Poor thing doesn’t realize this was dinner.”

“Great!” the DJ said, handing the microphone to the boob-watching uncle. “And you?”

“Many years ago, when I come to United States,” Uncle Vlad began, “I say, here is country of opportunity and money! Ha-ha! And my little niece, she is living dream! Za vas, Naomi!” He tossed back a shot.

“Excellent!” the DJ said. “And you, sir!” He shoved the mike into Jack’s hand.

“Well, I don’t know either Kevin or Naomi that well,” he said, “but I can only hope they’re as happy as Emmaline and I are.”

Mom beamed. Squeezed Jack’s arm.

Em took a deep breath. “We’re not really engaged, Mom,” she said. “I lied about that. I’m sorry.”

Jack closed his eyes.

There was a collective murmur.

Ah. Seemed like the microphone might’ve picked that up. Shit and vodka, her luck really sucked these days.

“I knew that,” Mom said hastily. “It’s fine. I’ve always known you’re g*y, honey. Are you really pregnant, though? Is Jack the father, or was it artificial insem—”

“Nope. Not pregnant. And still not g*y.”

“Okay!” chortled the DJ, looking slightly panic-stricken. “Uh, would you care to share a special memory?”

Why not? Emmaline took the mike, stood up with hardly a wobble and looked toward the head table.

Kevin sat with his arm around Naomi, but he was leaning forward slightly, his head tilted a little to one side. Was that sympathy in his eyes? Understanding?

“Right,” she said. “Um, I guess everyone knows that Kevin and I used to be together. We were...we were friends. Right from when we first met in eighth grade. Right, Kevin?”

He smiled in response. The Old Kevin smile.

The vodka whispered that not only was she an amazing dancer, but Kevin was finally listening, too. For the first time in years, maybe for the first time since he’d met Naomi. All of a sudden, it seemed as if that lovely, sensitive boy was here again.

God, she’d loved him back then.

“When I knew Kevin, he was—” the kindest, funniest person I’d ever met.

But no. Her words slammed to a halt. Her tongue was behind her teeth, trying to make the th sound, but nothing was happening. Her throat muscles seized and lurched, but nothing happened.

The stutter.

It rose up and wrapped its hot bony fingers around her vocal cords, strangling her words. No sounds came out now. Nothing. Now, she’d just be the stuttering, maybe-gay, not-engaged, not-pregnant former fiancée who was so pathetic that she’d come to this Wedding of the Damned.