THE JUNIOR BRIDESMAID (3 page)

My mind went
straight back to the events I witnessed earlier in the day. Something about
that confrontation Darcy had with that definitely-not-Hugh guy just didn’t sit
right with me. My mouth contorted at the thought, not like Angela’s but close.
That’s how much I could feel it in my gut. Darcy was pregnant but the baby was
not Hugh’s. I left the kitchen with a quick but quiet step. I hurried to my
room and went straight for my computer. I Skyped my best friend, Julia.

“Hey,” she
answered. Julia was sitting at the computer in her bedroom. I knew this because
I could see her bright tangerine comforter in the background.

“O.M.G.” I spelled
out. “I have to tell you something. But you have to swear on all that is sacred
that you won’t tell another soul for the rest of our lives,” I started.

“Dee, Dee, Dee,”
she sighed heavily disgruntled that she needed to share her wisdom again, “we
have gone over this a thousand times. Caffeine does not make you grow excessive
pubic hair. Drink all the coffee you want it’s not that kind of stimulant.”
Always the drama queen, she threw her body back and slouched in her bright pink
chair. Apparently she found my theorizing exhausting.

“No, no, no.
That’s not what I am talking about. And just so you know. That could still be
true. That has not been disproven. Anyway, this is much bigger news,” I
confirmed.

I saw Julia
straighten her posture and lean forward toward the computer. I nodded affirming
that the news was big enough that it warranted her full attention. “And?” she
began.

“Do you swear to…”
Julia cut me off.

“Yeah, yeah,
yeah…all that is sacred,” she raised her eyebrows prompting me to go on.

I knew deep down I
shouldn’t be sharing the news but Julia knew how deep my love for Hugh Rowen
ran. And, for goodness sake, I had to tell someone. “Darcy Strong is pregnant
and the baby isn’t Hugh’s,” I whispered.

“Holy crap,” she
barked.

“Shhhhhh,” I
scolded.

“How do you know
this?” Julia was looking for some sort of proof. It was understandable. I
tended to come up with some pretty crazy scenarios from time to time.

“Okay. So. I was
at the bridal place today getting fitted for my Junior Bridesmaid dress,” Julia
rolled her big blue eyes at the mention of my status, “and I saw Darcy having a
verbal argument with a guy. He was waiving his hands at her. I even saw him
pointing at her belly. She of course was sporting an attitude to end all
attitudes – not that that says anything because she is always sporting an
attitude,” Julia’s mouth twisted in agreement. “Then just a little while ago I
heard my mother on the phone with her mother saying that maybe she should push
up the wedding,” I nodded as if that said it all. Well didn’t it? I waited and
waited for Julia’s response. Then I could tell that she caught up by the look
on her face and gave me what I wanted.

“EEEEEE!” She spun
out of her chair and started jumping up and down on her bed. I told you Darcy
was a bitch. Even Julia knew this rumor would put a kibosh on the Strong/Rowen
wedding.

I stared at the
computer screen and made a face. I swallowed hard as I was beginning to get
motion sickness. “Can you stop jumping? You’re making me sick,” I shared.

“Holy crap, Dee,
this is huge!” she squealed her response and dropped to her ass on the bed.

“I know but,
Jules, you can not tell a soul. You promised,” I reiterated even though I was
happy that she shared my enthusiasm.

“I know. I won’t
tell a soul. Double cross my heart with my friendship-ring-finger.” Then she
double-crossed her heart with her finger that sported her friendship ring.

Whew!

“Now what do we
do?” I asked naively.

“We watch her get
served,” she educated.

I nodded enthusiastically agreeing
that Darcy deserved to be served. But served what, I wasn’t quite sure.

As expected a few
days later the news hit that the Strong/Rowen wedding was going to be moved up.
Needless to say this was not the outcome I was hoping for. Lots of speculation
circulated but I knew the true story. That specific morsel of information and a
bus transfer would get me cross-town. But I kept my mouth shut because I figured
the news would come out on its own. Another tidbit Mama selflessly shared was
that ‘all the dirty laundry came out in the wash.’ I had no idea how this
advice applied to social life lessons but I understood enough that she was
trying to tell me that it was always best to keep quiet. So, naturally, I
followed my wise mother’s sage advice.

Since the wedding
was approaching faster than we had initially anticipated, Mama informed me that
I had to go back to Angela’s so she could do some final alterations on my
dress. I just nodded at her when she shared my after school plans. Her eyebrows
pinched together as she questioned why I didn’t give her any lip. I knew that
look so I answered her with my own easily translated physical response of
shrugging my shoulders, which communicated to her that I had accepted my fate.

The ride to town
was mostly silent. Like most of our car rides, I stared out the window and she
asked me pertinent questions like ‘did you remember your shoes’ and ‘do you
need any fresh make-up from the drug store.’ I answered accordingly but didn’t
share much more. My mother pulled up in front of the boutique and I swung my
door open.

“Pick you up in an
hour,” she alerted me.

“Okay, Mama. See
you in a bit,” I answered. I slammed the car door and took a single step back
on the curb. I watched as she drove away and I gave a little wave. That’s when
I felt the tap on my shoulder. Slightly startled, I spun my head to see who was
standing there. Much to my horror, my quick head snap inadvertently whipped the
love of my life in the eyes with the long strands of my brown hair, which was
held high in a ponytail. Then, unable to believe the magnitude of my bad luck,
I gasped in horror.

For some strange
reason, after my sudden sharp inhale, the air in my lungs refused to leave my
body. My heart began to beat faster and thumped a bizarre rhythm.

“You alright,
Junior?” Hugh asked rubbing both of his eyes with the thumb and pointer finger
of one hand.

I nodded
frantically hoping my paralyzed lungs would kick in and fast. He raised his
eyebrows and blinked uncontrollably while one side of his mouth shared the most
beautiful grin I had ever seen.

“I’m okay,” I
managed. My voice was a cross between a squeak and a whisper.

“Good. Can’t lose
my only Junior Bridesmaid,” he added.

I shook my head
agreeing. “That would be a shame,” I struggled.

“For certain.”
Then I think he winked at me but it could have been the residual effects of the
corneal damage that I had just inflicted.

Luckily, even
deprived of the much-needed oxygen to exercise my brain, I was able to form a
coherent question in return. “Are
you
alright?” I finally found the ability to ask.

“I think I’ll
live.” Then his smirk became a smile. And, damn, wouldn’t you know that it made
him that much more gorgeous. Why did he have to get better and better looking
each time I saw him? It just wasn’t fair.

“I, um, have to,
um, go,” I shared on a shiver.

“Mmm,” he agreed.
“Go on, Junior. Go get prettier,” he teased.

I stared at him in
shock. I would have sworn he said prettier, which would mean that he thought I
was already pretty. Which of course was impossible. But at least I was smart
enough not to argue. However, I wasn’t smart enough to keep my mouth shut
entirely. “It’s, um, Delilah. You know. My name. It’s not Junior. It’s
Delilah.” I don’t know what the heck I was saying. I was rambling. But I just
couldn’t leave with him under the mistaken impression that my name could
possibly be Junior. I stared at him waiting to see if his reaction to learning
my name was as bad as I thought it was going to be.

“I know exactly
who you are, Delilah,” Hugh said this in a way that somehow gave the statement
greater significance. He wasn’t just saying he knew my name. I wasn’t sure if
it was the inflection or the tone of his voice but somehow that one sentence
struck a cord in a very nice way.

I stared at him
for a few seconds blinking. I was a little unsure of how to respond. His gaze
was intense and I was staring back at him in awe. All signs of the comedic
name-game banter were all but gone.

Uncomfortable and
unsure, I broke the spell and just nodded. “Oh, good. Cause I didn’t want you
to think that my name could possibly be Junior. Not that Junior is a bad name.
It’s a nice name. It’s, um, just not
my
name,” I added turning my hand over accentuating my point. At that point some
sensibility kicked in and I realized I should make a hasty retreat. Things were
digressing and fast. So I knew it was time for me to go see my good friend with
an impressive scowl, Angela. It was either that or attempt to dig a hole in the
sidewalk with my fingernails and bury myself in it. I turned awkwardly and
robotically made my way to Angela’s front door.

I approached the
double glass doors. My arm extended and my fingers gripped the door handle when
I heard, “Bye, Junior.” He was smiling again. I knew he was smiling because I
could hear it in his tone. Luckily my back was to him because I rolled my eyes
at my own stupidity before I made my way inside.

Somewhere along
the way, Angela lost her scowl. She was finally looking at me with kinder eyes,
which communicated to me that she liked what she saw. I was glad because I
liked what I saw, too. I stood on the pedestal in my blue dress with a little
less tulle than it had started (thanks to Angela’s sheers) and perfectly
balanced lamb chops. I looked amazing. Even to my own critical eyes.

“Bellissima!”
Angela declared.

I didn’t have to
ask what she meant. So I nodded at the vision that she had created. “Thanks to
you,” I added.

Angela smiled
extending her arm toward me and gestured with her fingers that I should step
down from the pedestal. “Do you want to take it-a homa?” she asked.

“Si,” I answered
respectfully. “How do you say ‘thank you’ in Italian, Miss Angela?” I asked
looking back at her creation. But before she could answer my eyes settled on a
different image in the mirror and I froze solid. Not because of how I looked.
But because in the three-way reflection I saw the guy that Darcy was arguing
with. But this time he wasn’t with Darcy. He was with Hugh.

“Holy shit,” I
murmured.

“No, no,” Angelo
shook her head. “No, holy shit,” she said with indignation. “Grazie. Grazie iz
thank you in Italiano,” she corrected.

“I beg your
pardon?” I asked completely forgetting that I had asked her for the Italian
words that would express my gratitude.

“Grazie,” she
reiterated.

“Oh, you’re
welcome Angela,” I answered as I jumped from the pedestal to go quickly change
my clothes. I heard a ‘Madonna me’ as I ran into the dressing room already
peeling off my dress. I was in a hurry as I had finally recognized the guy that
Darcy, and now Hugh, was with. There was a reason he looked so familiar. He was
Hugh’s older brother. And even though I had only met him one time, I remember
thinking that they didn’t look very much alike. I found out later that they
weren’t full brothers. They had the same father but different mothers, which
explained why they weren’t raised in the same home. But he was invited to the
engagement party and he would be at the wedding. Then it occurred to me that
there was a good chance he would be in the wedding party. I rubbed a hand over
my brow unsure if I would be able to stand across the aisle from Hugh and his
brother knowing what I knew. But what choice did I have? I didn’t have actual
proof the baby wasn’t Hugh’s. There was just something about the way Darcy
and…and… Ryan. That was his name. The way she and Ryan squared off. I knew in
my heart of hearts that it was true. I just didn’t know what to do about it.
Maybe it was time to come clean.

Chapter 2

“You can’t say a
word.” I pulled the phone away from my ear as Julia snapped her gum so loudly
the crack made my eyeballs momentarily lose focus.

“But…” I started.

“No buts. Zip it.
Lock it down. Stuff a sock in it and keep it quiet. Do you hear me, Dee? No
matter what happens. I know how to handle this shit. Trust me.”

Julia definitely
had a certain kind of worldliness about her making her seem mature beyond her
years but how she knew how to handle
rumored-premarital-not-whose-you-think-it-is pregnancies I wasn’t sure. “No
matter what you say or how you say it, you will be the bad guy. Do you want
Hugh Rowen to think of you as the bad guy?”

Of course I didn’t
want Hugh to think of me as the bad guy. Julia knew the answer to this
question. “No,” I said forcefully. “You know I don’t.”

“Then listen to
your BFF. The messenger is always the bad guy,” she shared her wisdom.

I had heard a
similar phrase before, probably from my mother, so I guess she had a point. I
would zip it, stuff a sock in it and keep my mouth shut. This was the plan
until, of course, I totally and completely lost it at the wedding.

My eyes rolled at
the sight of her. The bride sat in a pink tufted chair with her hair in rollers
and a very sexy undergarment that Hugh Rowen would be removing from her
curvaceous body in mere hours. She looked a little dazed as the make-up artist
she had hired beckoned for her to come to the dressing table. I stood in a
corner trying to get dressed where I could insert my lamb chops with no one seeing.
The last thing I needed was one of Darcy’s bridal party bitches witnessing the
best kept secret on the planet. Of course, no matter how hard I tried, there
never seemed to be the perfect opportunity to slide those suckers inside my
bra. I kept them tucked inside the bag I had packed which still had my shoes,
necklace and jeweled hair clip. Just as I was about to reach into my bag to go
for the gusto, the flower girl sauntered over.