Always The Wedding Planner, Never The Bride Part 18

Without explanation, he maneuvered through traffic to the shoulder of the road, turned into a Sh.e.l.l station and parked near the hand-vacs.

"Andy, what's going on?"

"I have to tell you something," he said as he turned sideways in the driver's seat. "I've seen my ex-girlfriend twice since we've come to Atlanta."

Kerplunk.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Honestly, I don't know."

"Yes, you do."

"I don't."

"Andy, please."

He swallowed and leaned back against the headrest.

"Then why are you telling me now?" Sherilyn asked him.

"The first time, it seemed harmless. A few seconds, really. In the middle of a stadium filled with people. Just a chance meeting. Random, you know?"

She nodded.

"Then the other day was different." "What do you mean?"

"I went back to the house and found her sitting at the table with my mother, having tea. Like it was the most natural thing in the world."

She paused before asking, "Why was she there?"

"I don't know."

"Well, what did she say?"

He sighed. "She said she wished she'd said more to me at the Blackhawks game."

"Like what?"

"That she's sorry for everything that happened. She wanted to know if we could be friends . . . She hopes that we can be friends."

"Oh." Sherilyn looked a little like she did when she'd discovered she didn't like scallops at Half Sh.e.l.l in Chicago on their second date.

"I told her we can't."

"You did?"

Andy nodded, caressing the top of her hand with two fingers.

"Then why are we having this conversation?" she asked. "I mean, why does it feel so dire, like you have something awful to tell me?"

"It's not awful," he quickly replied. "Not at all. I just felt . . . I don't want to keep things from you. I don't want any secrets between us. In my experience, secrets have always been the start of relationships unraveling."

"That's it then?"

"That's it."

"You still . . . Are we still closing on the house today?"

"Of course," he answered.

"Really? You're not having afterthoughts? Like buyer's remorse?" Her beautiful turquoise eyes were as round as saucers. She tucked her reddish hair behind her ear, her hand trembling slightly, looking as fragile as a child.

"I just wanted you to know," he rea.s.sured her.

After a moment, "Okay." Another moment of silence ticked by before she asked, "Do you still have feelings for her, Andy?"

She didn't so much as breathe as she waited for him to formulate his reply. Once he weighed each word, certain about the honesty at the heart of them, Andy told her the truth.

"I have unresolved issues where Maya is concerned. But you are the woman I love."

Issues about Maya.

Those three words tapped out a sort of rhythmic beat at the back of Sherilyn's brain until she could hardly stand the repet.i.tion of them. Hurrying down the hallway into the master bedroom, the words clicked along with her shoes on the mahogany floor; and as she scanned the room for one large box, hopefully marked Linens, the tempo of the words matched her search.

Each of her purchased corrugated cardboard moving boxes were color-coded. Blue labels went in the bedroom; green in the kitchen; red in the office. But Andy's packing efforts had morphed into what looked like moving day at the college frat house. No two boxes looked alike, and many of them had seen better days long before he'd filled them with his belongings and ran a strip of tape along the top. Some were marked- CDs, Plates, Books, and the occasional BR, whatever that meant-but most of them were not. She'd finally instructed the movers to use their best judgment, but seeing a tattered box labeled BBall in the guest room closet told her that they'd taken it as a license to dump.

Since her double bed had been placed in the guest room and Andy's California king filled the master, she'd hoped to find his bed linens so that she could wash them and make up the bed for him. By the time he picked up the last of his things at Vanessa's and convinced Henry to join him on the ride, she supposed it could be quite late by the time he reached the new house. Despite the fact that the music in her head-Issues about Maya, Issues about Maya, I-I-Issues about Maya!-tried to persuade her to leave the boxes and the linens and the upsidedown chair in the corner for Andy to deal with, Sherilyn's inner Martha Stewart inspired her to press on.

She began opening box tops, peeking inside for some hint of a pillow, a blanket, one measly king-sized sheet. The hunt led her downstairs again, and she finally happened upon a large, battered Viva Paper Towels box that produced a pillow, popping out like so much melted marshmallow cream the moment she lifted one corner. Beneath it-the mother lode! Bed linens, a comforter, a Blackhawks blanket, and two more pillows.

Sherilyn stuffed the ugly comforter into the dryer with a fabric softener sheet while making a mental note to include a bedroom makeover on the Bed Bath and Beyond bridal registry. When she finally found a fitted sheet that matched the only top sheet in the box, she settled for three completely different pillowcases, then she tossed them all into the washer. She'd have plenty of time to get into the kitchen to unpack her Alessi stemware.

She'd just wiped down the second of eight Guido Venturini gla.s.ses when three quick raps on the front door drew her attention. She placed the gla.s.s lovingly on the shelf and was about halfway to the door when it opened and Emma poked her head inside.

"Sher?"

"Hey! Come on in," she greeted her friend. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to see the new digs. And see if you needed any help."

Sherilyn's happy smile melted away against her will, and she stood there in front of Emma with her face curled up and tears cascading down her face.

"Wh-what is it? Sher, are you all right?"

Sherilyn wordlessly shook her head, her eyes clamped tight, and Emma dropped her purse on the floor, slipped out of her coat, and let it tumble as well.

Wrapping her open arms around Sherilyn, she cooed, "It's all right. Everything's going to be all right."

For just an instant, Sherilyn almost believed her. Then the familiar rhythm of the day tapped against her heart, and the tears began to flow once again.

Emma faced her from the other side of the bed, and Sherilyn snapped the bright red sheet, letting it flutter down into place. They each tucked it under the mattress from their respective sides, and Sherilyn followed suit with the hideous black and red comforter bearing the Blackhawks' Indian brave logo.

"I'm guessing you did not buy this," Emma stated, and Sherilyn laughed.

"Um, no. This . . . This is Andy's."

"Ah."

"Its days are numbered, however."

"Thank the Lord."

They both sat on the foot of the bed, sliding pillows into cases.

"Issues about Maya," Sherilyn muttered.

"What kind of issues, I wonder."

"I wish I knew," she replied. Then, "Well, maybe I don't."

"Knowing is always better," Emma told her. "Don't you think?"

"I suppose."

"I wonder what she looks like."

A revelation dawned, and Sherilyn looked at Emma with wide, hopeful eyes. "You could ask Jackson."

"Jackson? Why Jackson?"

"He was there, the first night they saw each other. At the Blackhawks game."

Emma mulled that over. "He never mentioned it."

"But you could ask him, couldn't you? Find out if she's some kind of Angelina Jolie, all buxom and s.e.xy, trying to steal my Brad Pitt right out of my life?"

"Okay, Jennifer," Emma teased. "Settle down now."

"C'mon, Em. Ask him about her for me?"

"You know what would be better?" Emma suggested, and Sherilyn felt her heart drop a little inside her. She knew this tone of Emma's, all reasonable and logical and sensible. She hated that tone. "A hike."

She cackled. "A hike? Are you joking?"

"No. I'm not joking. I have my shoes in the car, and I was going to head out to Vickery Creek after I stopped in here. You're already wearing tennis shoes and jeans. Come with me."

Sherilyn didn't move a muscle; she just stood there, staring at Emma, wondering what had deteriorated between them over the years to bring them to this. An invitation to hike?!

"Have you met me?" she asked, curling up her face with a frown.

"Have you met me?" Emma answered. "Fresh air, a little exercise, and some inspiring scenery. It will bring your thoughts together, Sher." She tossed the fresh pillow at her with a chuckle. "Get the lead out. We're going hiking."

"You're delusional," Sherilyn said with a giggle, tossing the pillow back at her.

Without another word of protest, Emma rose from the bed and stood over her, her hand extended. When Sherilyn finally took it with a groan, Emma wasted no time. She yanked hard and dragged her toward the doorway.

"Oh yeah. You're going hiking!"

"Can we get something chocolate after?"

Top 5 Wedding Dress Superst.i.tions A silk wedding dress signifies many years of a happy marriage, but a satin dress denotes unhappiness and ill fortune.

If a bride helps to sew her own wedding dress, the number of st.i.tches multiplied by one hundred signify the number of tears she will shed in the first year of marriage.

If the bride happens to find a spider nestled somewhere within the wedding dress, the bride and groom will never endure an unhappy day.

Although many colors other than white (such as ivory, pastels, or even jewel tones) can be appropriate, a red dress is said to bring a future of misery.

Pearls on the dress take the place of the bride's future tears. However, if a pearl falls off the dress, the bride will cry before the honeymoon ends.

12.

Andy tugged the suitcase out of the back seat, and Henry came tumbling out with it.

Fumbling with the bag of deli takeout, he called, "Wait, buddy. Wait."

But Henry hadn't learned that word yet, which he proved by bounding across the front yard in pursuit of what turned out to be a disappointing broken branch. When Andy turned his new key in the lock and turned around to call out for the dog, he didn't actually get the chance. Henry flew past him and pushed through the door, his paws sc.r.a.ping across the hardwood floor as he headed straight into the kitchen.

A pastel square stuck to the front of the refrigerator caught Andy's eye.

Dog food and bowls in pantry. Staples for dog owner in fridge. No unnecessary messes out of either of you, please. S.

Andy grinned and surveyed the contents of the refrigerator. It looked like someone's art project: bottles of water and protein drinks meticulously stacked; red and green apples, oranges, a couple of tomatoes, and a bag of seedless grapes in the transparent crisper; four cartons of yogurt lined up like soldiers guarding half a gallon of milk, a tub of fake b.u.t.ter, some wrapped deli meats, and a package of provolone cheese. Standing alone in the center of the top shelf, just begging for a spotlight or special introduction . . . a jar of his favorite blackberry jam.

Sherilyn was nothing if not thorough.

He wondered if her attention to detail on his behalf was performed out of devotion or simply to make a point. Either way, it looked like she still intended to occupy this house with him, and for the last twenty-four hours, he'd waivered a bit on where she stood on that.

It couldn't have been easy for Sherilyn to hear that he'd been keeping a secret, even one that hadn't amounted to anything more than a couple of chance encounters with Maya, but in the end, she had appeared almost dignified as she nodded and accepted the kiss he'd offered. She hadn't removed her engagement ring or raised her voice, and he hadn't been slapped, so Andy figured he'd come out on the longer end of the deal. He'd give her time. They would ride the current back into the natural flow of their relationship. Everything would be normal again soon.

At least, he hoped it would.