“Wow. Pretty fancy. How can
we afford to stay here?”
Aunt Cora rattles her purse.
Credit card, remember?
Whatever my heart desires,
remember? I wanted this to
be a memorable experience.
The Mansion at Judges’ Hill
is quite impressive, with an
obvious history. Later I’ll find
out what it is. Right now, I just
want to check in and find ibuprofen.
I GET MY OWN ROOM
It isn’t huge, but it is beautiful,
all done up in restored antiques.
I get a couple of ibuprofens
from Aunt Cora, go looking
for something to wash them
down with. Score! Minibar.
Pricey water, soda, and yes,
liquor. Very pricey liquor.
But hey, the credit card
is buying, right? Three-dollar
Coke. Six-dollar miniature bottle
of Dewar’s. Never tried scotch
before. Ugh. Not great. But too
late to turn back now. Nine
dollars’ worth of refreshment
later, I lie down on the bed.
The headache fades and I close
my eyes to rest up before dinner.
NEXT THING I KNOW
A thumping brings me around.
No, not thumping. Knocking. Loudly.
On the door. I sit up, too quickly.
My head feels like a merry-go-round,
and I think maybe I have to throw up.
“Who is it? Hang on, I’m coming.”
It’s me. Aunt Cora, of course.
Are you about ready? Hurry up.
I’ll wait for you in the lobby.
Ready? What? I glance at the clock.
Almost five. How long did I sleep?
Bathroom. Quick. To throw up or not
to throw up? I give it the old college
try. Nothing. Not even a dry heave.
Guess I’m okay. No time for a shower,
I splash my face. Makeup? No time.
I make time for mouthwash, stay
in my rumpled clothes. Not trying
to impress anyone, anyway, right?
Room key in my pocket. Out the door.
Twenty-four hours, it will all be over.
THANKS TO ME
Aunt Cora and I get to the church
ten minutes late. Everyone else
is already there, waiting. Pacing.
Talk about nerves! Liam looks
green, although he’s trying to
hide it. He and the preacher
stand off to one side. Aunt
Cora goes to join them. Let
the rehearsal begin! The wedding
party gathers as the minister starts
a blessing. I bow my head, close
my eyes. Someone taps my shoulder.
Micah! Why didn’t I make time for
makeup? Suddenly, midst long-
winded prayer, my breathing goes
shallow and my hands tingle.
I haven’t done this in weeks.
Micah sees. Is it me? he whispers.
I need air. How do I get out
of here? But just as my feet start
to move, the amen stops them.
I suck in oxygen, concentrate
on a mental picture of Bryce so
Micah’s cool steel eyes don’t
pierce so hard. I can do this.
Okay, everyone, says the pastor.
Let’s get this over with. I’m hungry.
A half hour later, we’re all pretty
sure of our roles for tomorrow.
Through the entire instruction,
Micah managed to either be
very close to me or to let
me know most definitely that
he was watching me. If I didn’t
know better, I’d say he was hitting
on me. Impossible. No makeup.
BUT, MAKEUP OR NO
Micah finds a way to sit next to me
at dinner. His leg rests against mine,
and despite willing myself to think Bryce,
Bryce, Bryce, I don’t push it away.
I like how it feels. Warm. Protective.
Still, just to be fair, when the conversation
around us is loud enough to cover it,
I say, “I have a boyfriend, you know.”
Micah keeps chewing his chicken
Marsala. Finally he swallows. I would
have been surprised if you didn’t.
God, he is just so smooth.
Bryce would never say something
it will have a little color now.
Pop! goes a champagne cork.
Pop! And another. Pop! Three.
Around come glasses, and this time
I don’t hesitate to take one, despite
the way the preacher is looking at me.
Micah sees that too. He laughs.
You’re on the path to hell young,
he says. But he isn’t much older,
and he has a glass in his hand too.
No one else seems concerned as
the toasts begin. Plenty of wine
for all. Including me. I like the bubbly
stuff okay. But am starting to crave
something stronger. Something
to take my mind off losing Aunt
Cora tomorrow. Something to make
me forget all about Micah and how
his hand feels exploring my knee.
I like it. I do. But this time I summon
my courage, push it away. “Stop,”
I whisper hoarsely. “Please stop.”
He does. And that makes me want
another glass of champagne. And
I know that isn’t good. I’ll stop after
tomorrow. I’ll stop when I get pregnant.
WEDDING DAY DAWNS
Heavy with impending rain.
It’s going to storm crazy.
Wonder if it’s an omen.
Wonder if Aunt Cora’s
aura has gone all gray.
I want sun on my wedding
day. But in Texas, anything
goes, weather-wise, on any
given day. So an indoor
thing is the way to go.
Still, indoors or out,
a sense of foreboding
weighs me down. I want
to float in this soft bed,
with the curtains drawn.
At least I’ll get to see
Bryce. The thought buoys
me from under the covers.
Lots to do before then.
All in the name of beauty.
Shower. Makeup. Hair,
courtesy of the hotel’s
fancy stylist. Low-cut dress.
Flowers. Hope I can be
as pretty as the bride.
EVERYTHING ACCOMPLISHED
And as pretty as I’m going to get,
Aunt Cora and I arrive at the church.
It’s filling already. Most everyone,
of course, is either related to or
a friend of Liam. Our herd is much
smaller. I’m glad Bryce will be there
on the Shepherd side. There he is,
in fact, standing alone, in back.
Aunt Cora goes off to the dressing
room, gown hidden beneath a plastic
bag. “I’ll be right there,” I call. Then
I go over to Bryce. “Glad you made it.”
His eyes light up. You look great.
But I feel like a fish out of water.
I guess you can’t sit with me, huh?
“I have to stand up in front and hold
Aunt Cora’s bouquet. But I’ll sit
with you at
the reception.” I should
introduce him to some people.
There’s Micah, too handsome
in his tux. No, not him. Not sure why.
IT’S AN EXERCISE IN FUTILITY
First, I’m having a hard time
remembering everyone’s names.
And as I struggle to label faces,
Micah comes over to, uh … help?
First he gives me a major once-
over. Whoa now. Don’t you look
kind of amazing? He ignores
my intense blush, turns to Bryce.
Don’t believe we’ve met. You
must be a friend of the bride?
But before Bryce can respond
(and say what? Sort of? Not exactly?),
Grandfather’s semi-feeble
screech interrupts, Holy shit
on a shingle. Look who’s here.
Can’t believe they had the nerve.
Conversation skids to a halt
as everyone assesses the new
arrivals—a stately older woman,
dressed to the nines. Her face
is familiar, but I would struggle
to place it, if not for the younger
man beside her. I haven’t seen
him in years. But I know who he is.
And if he is Trey, she must be
his mom. I’ve seen Maureen in Aunt
Cora’s photo album, her face
less creased then, and her hair
the color of mine. It’s gray now.
They approach Grandfather warily.
The three pull away into a corner.
The room echoes angry drifts of
accusation. Explanation. Denial.
I should go mediate. I should go tell
Aunt Cora trouble’s brewing.
But what I really want to do is run.
RUN, FLEE, FLY
The attack is sudden.
I am a rabbit, surrounded
by starved coyotes.
And like the hare,
certain
death is near, my pulse
guns. Accelerates,
hot flame in my veins.
Nears the point
of misfire.
They say, when facing
the onslaught of tooth
and claw, a creature’s
heart can simply quit.
My heart
issues a warning, and
though I keep my feet,
my brain disconnects.
A black ghost swirls,
threatens
to suck me inside.
Voices. All around me.
Can’t see who they
belong to, but I want them
to stop.
Stop. Slow. Silence.
GENTLE SHAKING
I am swimming up.
Voices make me want
to dive back down.
… you all right? Bryce.
… coming out of it. Micah.
… be okay now. Grandfather.
… freaking weird. Anonymous.
I am making an awful
scene at Aunt Cora’s
wedding. Oh my God.
… family resemblance. Maureen?
Hell, yeah. Just like me. Trey.
Leave her be. Grandfather.
What’s going on here? Preacher.
I am lifted. Supported.
Directed to a chair.
Someone hands me water.
I am mortified.
I AM ALSO CLAUSTROPHOBIC
With all these people clustered
around me. I feel like a grape,
being squashed into juice.
“Could I please have some air?”
Everyone takes one step back.
I can’t help but stare at Trey.
His dark hair is shot through
with silver. More salt than pepper.
The skin on his face is deeply
etched with a web of lines.
His eyes—black walnut—
are familiar. They are Grandfather’s.
He takes my interest as an invitation
to move closer again. Bryce stops
him with a hand to the arm. Excuse
me, but she asked for a little room.
Trey shakes Bryce’s grip.
Excuse me, boy, but I haven’t
seen my daughter in a long time.
I’m just taking a little inventory.
Bryce looks at me with eyes
brimming confusion. Daughter?
Autumn, is he saying he’s your father?
Because you told me …
I told him my parents were dead.
Why did I ever say that? Because
I never believed I’d have to tell
him the truth. “I—I’m sorry. It’s just …”
Grandfather, who has no idea
who Bryce is, or what I said to him,
nevertheless attempts rescue.
He’s never been a father to her.
Trey steps toward Grandfather,
on a collision course. And you,
old man, were never a father to me.
THINGS ARE MOVING
Light-year speed toward implosion.
Guests are turning around in their seats,
wondering what the commotion is.
The ushers push closer, suspecting trouble.
The minister bobs this way and that,
unsure of what to do next. Grandfather
and Trey are close to blows, and
Maureen is clucking like an old hen.
Bryce and Micah are measuring each
other, and the situation. Liam sputters,
then runs off to tell Aunt Cora that things
are going to hell. “Stop it!” I plead.
“You’re ruining Aunt Cora’s day. Can’t
all this wait? Can’t we at least pretend
to be a family, for her sake?” Silence
swells. Fists unclench. People return
to their places. Still, as the organ
begins to play, anger looms louder.
Aunt Cora appears, beautiful despite
the worry stamped into her face.
Maureen and Trey give her hugs,
then allow Micah to usher them forward.
Grandfather takes Aunt Cora on his arm.
Liam follows his best man to the altar.
That is my cue. I turn to tell Bryce
I’ll see him after the ceremony, but
he is nowhere in sight. The wedding
march begins. No time to look for him
now. I play my maid of honor role
exactly as rehearsed. As the ceremony
progresses, I steal sideways glances
toward the guests, but cannot spy Bryce.
What did I expect? That he’d never
discover the truth? That the shadows
of my messed-up life would never
appear in the face of his sunshine?
Through the pounding surf in my ears,
a watery, You may now kiss the bride.
My eyes overflow. Tears of joy for Aunt
Cora. The usual kind of tears for me.
WEDDING RECEPTIONS
Are good for one thing specifically.
Liquor. Mostly champagne, usually,
but Liam’s parents kindly paid for
a hosted bar. Now I’m definitely not
old enough to fool the bartender.
But I’ve got the sympathy thing
going on. Micah has talked his older
siblings into providing us both
with stiff drinks. Just think if your
father showed up after eight years.
Wouldn’t you want a nip of stress
reliever too? Anyway, we’re celebrating.
Aunt Cora issued strict orders:
No matter what, there will be no
fights. No
arguments. No name-
calling. Plenty of time to sort
this out tomorrow. Right? Yeah.
When she’s on her honeymoon.
Trey tried to make conversation.
So did Maureen. I asked for some
time to think things over. So far,
they’ve respected that. Makes me
happy. Or maybe it’s the mojitos.
Micah and I are sloshing them down.
THE MORE I THINK ABOUT BRYCE
And how he left without giving me
a chance to explain … how he left
without even saying good-bye …
the faster I slosh. By the time
Aunt Cora and Liam shove cake
in each other’s faces, I am completely,
amazingly, dizzyingly drunk. You
might even say I’m smashed.
I want to laugh. I want to cry.
Neither appropriate for where
I am right now. “I think I better
get some fresh air,” I tell Micah.
He is sitting very close to me,
leg hooked in front of mine.
Why didn’t I notice that before?
Good idea. I’ll come with you.
I’m a little unsteady on my feet.
Micah slips his hand under one
elbow, steers me toward the door.
No one notices our exit. Good.
The cool December air clears
my head a little. Also makes me
shiver. Micah slides an arm
around my shoulder, pulls me
against his warmth. Better?
Weird day, huh? Sorry ’bout
your boyfriend. What was up
with him, anyway? He stops walking,
waits for me to answer. Not
ready to talk about it. “He just …
was overwhelmed, I guess.”
He. Bryce. I should pull away.
But he isn’t here. He left me
behind. And I like how I feel
under Micah’s arm. This is messed
up. Oh God. I am going to cry.
Here, now, don’t do that. He kisses
the tears from the corners of
my eyes. His lips are soft as they
move over my cheeks. And suddenly …
WE ARE KISSING
And this is not like any first kiss.
There is no love here. Only want.
He wants me, but that’s not what
I want. Not now. Not with him.
And my head is spinning. And his
hands are all over me. “No. Wait …”
Ah, come on. You want this as much
as I do. And he pushes me against