Fourth Comings_ A Jessica Darling Novel - Megan McCafferty [37]
“I’m distracted.”
And so, with my invocation of this simple exchange from our past, the last few moments of awkwardness were forgotten. (Well, not quite forgotten; otherwise I wouldn’t have written about it.)
“I’ll see you tonight,” Hope said. “I shouldn’t be too late.”
“Sure,” I said, knowing that she never meant to be too late, but she lost track of all time when she was at the studio.
After we said our good-byes, Hope hesitated in the doorway for a moment. Her paint-stained fingertip touched the wall, tracing the intertwined vines in Claire’s name. Then she dropped her hand, gave me a shy, closed-mouth smile, and turned away without another word.
I rolled over and looked at the top of the bunk. Kirk was gone. In his place was Michael J. Fox as Marty McFly.
JESS:
YOU CAN TAKE ME “BACK TO THE FUTURE” ANYTIME.
LUV YA, MIKE
twenty-six
It is a testimonial to how much I value my friendship with Bridget that I agreed to be her maid of honor. I assumed this role would require my participation in certain bridal rites that rank well below other distinctly female activities, such as running out to the twenty-four-hour drugstore at midnight to buy high-absorbency tampons. But Bridget is my oldest friend, and her sunny optimism is a rarity in this city. Even rarer is the purity of Bridget and Percy’s love for each other.
I’ve known Bridget since diapers. I’ve known Percy since French I, when he was a tiny, hairless freshman, and I was the sophomore object of his comically misguided Pepé Le Pew–like flirtations. It’s been five years since Bridget and Percy were cast as the leads in the 2001 Pineville High production of Our Town, and yet I still can’t fathom how they progressed from mere acquaintances (through me), to friends in their own right, to more than friends, to a long-term couple who kiss and do other, uh, intimate things. It should be no surprise that I can’t quite wrap my head around the prospect of them uniting as man and wife. In fact, the only thing I consider to be even more extraordinary than Bridget’s ardor for Percy—whom she has been blissfully and abnormally dating since high school without a breakup or even so much as a major fight—is the fact that she has not made any progress on this wedding, which is supposed to be happening next September. Bridget has been the anti-Bridezilla, putting most of her energy toward more practical concerns, namely, making sure she graduates with Percy in June, because she lost a bizillion credits when she transferred from UCLA to NYU to be with him.
Lately Mrs. Milhokovich has been putting the pressure on her daughter: Is this wedding happening or what? So now, with a year left for planning, I assumed that Bridget had called for this brunch so we could sit down with our respective calendars and schedule appointments with the cake stylists, floral artisans, and favor specialists who would have me tied up in the Knot for the next twelve months. I have braced myself for these tasks ever since I agreed to be her number one bridesmaid last December.
I assumed that the first order of business would be the finding of the Gown, followed by the far-less-important search for the bridal party’s complementary couture. I’m still scarred by the memory of being dressed up like a banana for my sister’s wedding when I was sixteen. Though Hope had assured me that