Made of Honor Read Free

around—well, almost around—my waist. “Got you, didn’t I? Sorry about your eye though.”
    “You’d better be glad I love y’all,” I whispered as people packed in around us. Pain seared my scalp where Rochelle had raked a stem through my hair.
    “Maybe if you’d helped with the wedding errands, you could have taken care of those thorns,” Rochelle said, reaching back in her purse for her dabbing cloth.
    Ouch. That hurt way more than my eye. The truth always does. I pushed away Rochelle’s hand, preferring to blink my ownway back to health. In a minute, there’d be no skin left on the right side of my face. That girl was dangerous with a Kleenex.
    Tracey started to say something, but was called away…again. I took a deep breath, watching her walk to the punch table with her mother-in-law. Where was the groom? Why was I the one getting jealous instead of him? Shouldn’t her husband have been the one hunting her down?
    Like I said, he’s a little weird. This whole deal was. But there was no use trying to explain that to Rochelle. She wasn’t trying to hear it. So I did what I always do—tried to explain it anyway. “Look, Rochelle, I already regret not helping out with the wedding. But I just wasn’t sure about this. When I dated Ryan—”
    She tried the neck thing again. With success this time. “Dated? Is that what you call it? That mess was so boring he just stopped calling and came back to the singles group. So he wasn’t for you. No reason he can’t be the one for Tracey.” In a deft motion, she grabbed a napkin from the table next to us, wadded it quickly and removed several layers of my epidermis. “There’s just one last spot….”
    She reached out again, but I shook my head, thinking I should have thrown in some cookies with the Ben and Jerry’s waiting for me at home. The line we’d joined without meaning to inched toward the punch and some gruesome-looking cake with what appeared to be bubble gum toothpaste for filling. I definitely should have helped with the wedding plans. At least the punch looked good. It would have to be.
    The line crept on. So did the conversation, though I was reluctant to respond. “Just to be clear. I do not want Ryan. Never did. I don’t want anybody. And I don’t appreciate the insinuation.” My lips barely moved as we spoke through our smiles so no one would hear. Only a ventriloquist could do better.
    Rochelle nodded. “Okay, so that was a bit much.”
    “Quite a bit. I’m just not feeling Ryan, okay? I know you’ve got a chapter and verse for why I shouldn’t think that, but I’mjust being real. Tracey is like a piece of me. How can Ryan be totally wrong for me and totally right for her? I’m having a hard time understanding that.” I glanced toward the punch bowl at Tracey. She looked happy. So why did I doubt she’d stay that way? “I’m surprised Ryan put down his cell phone long enough to get married, actually.”
    “Me, too,” Rochelle whispered, in a moment of weakness. “But he married her,” she said, regaining strength. “Now we have to keep them lifted up in prayer.” She squeezed my hand.
    I squeezed back, knowing she’d prayed for me just that quick. She was right. I needed to let this go. “I can’t believe you thought I was jealous though.”
    I wasn’t, was I?
    Rochelle smiled. A knowing smile. “The real problem is that with Tracey gone, you’ll be alone like the rest of us.”
    My neck craned forward, as if to catch the truth of her words before they hit the ground. The punch bowl was almost close enough to touch now. I needed a cup. Bad. When my friends nail me, I get thirsty. And this time, Rochelle had me. Since my mother’s death, I’d only lived with Trevor years ago, the boyfriend I almost married, and Tracey. There were always Dad’s sporadic visits when he wasn’t drunk, but not frequent enough to count. Going it alone with God was frightening, but exciting, too.
    An older man, the color of ripe