Eight o’clock on Thursday night, and Chuck’s phone is still off. I’ve texted Sarah, and she’s assured me the guys all got back in one piece an hour ago. So why hasn’t he called me?
I could drop by his house and check in person. But if I told my parents what I was up to, Mom would freak out and insist the bride and groom shouldn’t see each other the night before the wedding. As if a little bad luck could stop this wedding from happening; at this point, even the Goddess of Fortune herself would be powerless to stop it. The universe seems intent on getting Chuck and me to walk down that aisle, come hell or high water.
And even if I lied to my parents and went to Chuck’s house, Abigail wouldn’t let me through the door for the same superstitious reason. An in-person visit is out of the question.
Of course, I could always just walk downstairs and confess everything. But the idea makes my skin crawl. The thought of the look of hurt in my parents’ eyes, the disappointment…
So you’re going to get married tomorrow just so you don’t upset your parents? a little voice asks in my head.
I stare at the cellophane-covered white dress hanging outside my closet.
What is it going to be, to confess or to walk down the aisle?
Neither option sounds good, and anyway, I shouldn’t decide alone.
The only other sensible thing to do is to try Chuck’s home number. Even the night before the wedding talking to my fake fiancé is allowed, isn’t it?
Abigail picks up on the fourth ring. “Hello?”
“Oh, hi, Abigail, it’s Kate. Is Chuck there, by any chance?”
“Hello, Darling, yep, he got home an hour ago and went straight to bed. The guys made him party pretty hard last night, I suspect.”
“Could you still please put him on the phone, I really need to talk to him.”
“Everything all right, Darling?”
“Yeah, yeah, sure. I just want to”—I quickly search my brain for a plausible excuse—“hear his voice real quick.” I make a silent mock gag at my corniness.
“You two young turtle-doves, you’re too cute,” Abigail coos. “Just a second, Darling, I’m on the kitchen’s phone. Let me go grab the cordless in the studio.”
The line clicks, then silence, then shuffling noises as Abigail meanders through the house. She knocks on Chuck’s door and gets in, I hear them battle as she tries to wake him up, and he groans and tells her to go away.
Until, finally, a sluggish, groggy Chuck speaks into the phone. “Hullo.”
“Chuck!” I yell. “What are you doing?”
“Please keep your voice down.” I can practically see him lift the phone away from his ear as he winces. “My head is killing me.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry I’m inconveniencing you, but in case you’ve forgotten, we were supposed to tell our parents about us yesterday before you ran off to do heaven knows what with your friends.”
“Hey, I was kidnapped. I had no choice.”
“Yeah, okay, whatever. I hope while you were busy getting wasted you came up with a plan, because unless you really want to get married tomorrow, we have to do something.”
“Kate, I have a splitting headache, I only slept an hour last night, and I’m still hungover. I need to sleep it off.”
Typical Chuck. Irresponsible and inactive.
“Fine,” I snap. “Guess I’ll see you at the altar, then. I’ll be the one in white.”
Okay, maybe I can be a little passive-aggressive from time to time. But can you blame me? Look what I have to put up with!
“If you don’t want to come just run off, brides do it all the time.”
“Yeah, so you can play the victim while the entire town paints me as the villain. Why don’t you run away?”
“Okay,” Chuck says.
I blink. “What do you mean, okay?”
“I won’t show tomorrow, all right? No groom, no wedding.”
“Are you being serious?”
“As a migraine. Which I currently have. Can I please sleep now?”
Not a perfect solution, but if Chuck doesn’t show at the church, I won’t have to walk down the aisle. Our parents will have to come up with a believable excuse to get rid of the guests. And once the waters settle, we’ll be able to explain everything to our families. Okay, sure, the canceled wedding will remain the gossip of the century in town, but at this point, it would have, anyway.
“All right, Chuck. Let’s do it your way. Guess I won’t see you tomorrow.”
He doesn’t reply. Instead, a sound that suspiciously resembles snoring comes through the line. He must’ve already fallen back asleep.