Free for the Wedding

  Free for the Wedding

  By Laura Briggs

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright 2012 Laura Briggs

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com to purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Cover Image: “Wedding Wheels: Vintage Wedding Art Collage No.4.” Altered art digital image. Used with artist’s permission.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  CHAPTER ONE

  This could be your red carpet moment–sort of.

  That was Val McCray’s thought as she penned the final details for the big convention. Although, technically, she wouldn’t be among the crowd of wealthy investors and celebrities gathering for three days in June to toast the country’s hottest software company.

  Only her impeccable taste would be present. In the choice of location, the decorations, the entertainment. Even the seafood-themed buffet at the convention’s after-party bore her special touch.

  “We’re pleased with what we've seen of the event's plans,” the company’s representative told her over the phone, a young low-level executive from e-Volution, the multimillion dollar software company that used a monkey shape for its symbol.

  “Very pleased,” he continued, “and if all goes as planned, we’ll be recommending your firm to all our subsidiaries.”

  A nervous giggle threatened to escape; Val smothered it with a napkin from her lunch sack. Stay professional, always professional. “Thank you, sir," she replied, in a professional tone which landed somewhere between perky and a murmuring purr. "We love to meet your expectations at ‘Eventful Moments’. Let us know if anything else is necessary before the big day.”

  It sounded as if it were a wedding, instead of a business conference. The unveiling of e-Volution’s latest gadget: a mobile computer known as the Genus IV, this newest tablet touting a smaller screen, a bigger battery life, and a stylus pen among other features.

  “Perfect,” said the executive. "Keep up the good work." He clicked off to take another business call.

  Val hung up the phone with a smile of relief, the reward for sealing another landmark deal for the Delaware agency known as ‘Eventful Moments’. Val–who never had so much as a surprise birthday party–had an intuitive knack for crafting special occasions for others. Arranging business conferences and holiday bashes for big corporations, training seminars and retreats for upscale firms and the independently wealthy. Planning anniversary parties and birthdays for the city’s elite residents. Even the occasional university class’s foreign trip wasn’t beyond her capabilities.

  This transformation spanned her short career from errand girl to manager assistant, then to full-blown coordinator in a three year process. In that same time, her personal life transformed from that of a twenty-four year-old with acne and a few extra pounds, to a stylish and competent businesswoman.

  “World’s #1 Sidekick ”–that was something her childhood friend Heather wrote in her high school yearbook. Probably she meant it as a joke (at least she was grinning when she wrote it), but Val had secretly agreed.

  The support, the backup, the comic relief: that was her role in the drama of life. If she were a character in a movie, her part would have been labeled “the friend” in all her scenes. The girl with the cheerful smile and snorting laugh, who advised the heroine to buck up, because she was just too great not to land the man/job/ life of her dreams. The supportive scenario and helpful persona fit Valarie McCray to a tee. At least it did three years ago, before careful planning began to erase the signs of a hopeless, helpless second-string personality from her life.

  A strict routine of personal hair and skin care, a morning jog routine at the park behind her apartment complex to form little muscles worthy of notice. Careful tone modulation to avoid being the voice of the passive-but-perky volunteer instead of the cool and confident executive type. A little makeup, a few wardrobe changes and bam! –she was a woman of confidence. Or at least a woman with the ability to feign confidence in any situation, personal or professional.

  This morning, Val operated in the world of her professional transformation; but tonight, she would engage in the hardest part of all her changes, the personal part. A dinner date, this one with a handsome banker, whose charity fundraiser she arranged two weeks before. A nice smile and a giving nature–what woman wouldn’t feel lucky to have him ask her casually to dine?

  Pleasant anticipation and e-Volution's enthusiasm was the reason she hummed “Walking on Sunshine” beneath her breath, one high heeled foot swung rhythmically as she opened her email message, “Once again, everyone, the break room’s fridge is not the responsibility of the cleaning crew–-so please remember to chuck those lunch leftovers before they grow some fuzz!”

  When she typed her latest update to e-Volution's event contact, her fingers flew over the keyboard with words rendered in curly cue font. It was informal, she knew, but Val preferred her communications to appear upbeat at the outset, transformed into formal lettering at the last moment. A habit from her school days, when she dotted i’s with hearts and turned her u’s into smiley faces.

  She was highlighting a paragraph on the convention’s possible parking situation, when the phone rang. Cradling the receiver against her neck, she said, “This is Miss McCray with ‘Eventful Moments’.”

  “Valarie?” A man’s voice, his tone young but with the depth of maturity. In the background, the shouts and scuffling noises of a gymnasium.

  “This is Valarie,” she answered, racking her brain for who could be placing a social call. Not her date for this evening, since he possessed a mellow voice and had mentioned he gave up athletics after spraining a thumb playing table tennis.

  No exes in her past, of course. Just a series of acquaintances that seldom made it past the casual luncheon and a string of crushes who were never aware at all that Val glanced longingly in their direction.

  “It’s Jason,” the voice on the other end continued. “Jason Cotter–you know, from Wardruff High School? Aka, the good old days?”

  Val fumbled the computer mouse, inadvertently launching the half-finished memo into cyber space, although she was barely registering her mistake in the wake of this unforeseen development. Clutching the receiver with both hands–in order to keep from dropping it–she managed to choke out a reply.

  “Jason! Of course, how are you? It’s been–”

  “–forever,” he supplied with a laugh that threatened to make her heart wobble. And instantly brought to mind the youngest member of Wardruff High’s football team, the running back hero, with his carefree smile and effortless golden hair.

  She knew from spying on his social network page a couple times–until he switched from public access to private–that he’d developed a lean physique and many more muscles since their days of sharing a lunch table in the school cafeteria. His picture was the only update she had access to these days. It had never occurred to her to 'friend' him or expect him to do the same–much less have him actu
ally phone her up.

  “So are you needing an event planned?” she joked, with a little laugh to keep herself from completely melting down as her heart pounded. The crush of a lifetime, the love of her life, she had believed as an adolescent in braces and a teenager who lurked outside the football field on practice days. She remembered those feelings keenly, explaining why her knees were weak and her grown-up self was yearning towards the sound of his voice.

  “That’s a good guess, but it’s not exactly why I called. By the way, sorry to phone you at work like this, but I couldn’t find a listing for your home number.”

  Jason Cotter wants my number? Her eyes sank closed, her fingers clutching the edge of the desk in a surreal moment. As if she were fourteen again and gazing at the back of his head in math class as the teacher droned on about polynomials.

  “I–I just changed apartments,” she stammered. “Which is probably why you couldn’t find me. Because it’s not like I’m hiding or anything.” With a cringe for how nervous she sounded, babbling on like some girl with a crush. Which she had been–over a decade ago, of course.

  “Yeah, that makes sense,” he chuckled, the shrill note of a whistle echoing somewhere close behind him. “Sheesh–I know that was loud. I’m kind of on the job here. Covering a basketball game for the Richmond Tribune.”

  “You’re a journalist?” She waved away a work colleague who paused in the doorway to hoist a coffee pot invitingly.

  “Sports columnist,” he said. “Big surprise, right?”

  She had pictured him still playing football somehow. His profile picture certainly indicated he was fit enough for the task.

  “Anyway,” said Jason, “the only address I’ve got for you is from a Christmas card you sent a couple years back and I guess I sort of lost it. I didn't want to use one online, because I’d hate for the invitation to get lost...”

  “Invitation?” Val frowned, a new wave of confusion flooding her. A small stirring of foreboding which put an end to the blushes over his sudden call.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Do you remember that class reunion the school held last May?”

  “Ummm…” She stalled for time. She hadn’t gone to her high school reunion for a variety of reasons, but mainly because she was still an office assistant as Corky Simmons had predicted their senior year, and was still sporting a slight spare tire around her waist which her cocktail dress didn't hide.

  There was a slim chance in her mind at the time that someone like Jason might be there and that she didn't want to face him as the same old helpful, wide-eyed Val who traded papers with him in chemistry study group.

  Was he inviting her to another one? She couldn’t imagine the classmates getting together for something impromptu and hoped another five years would be passing before she would face them as a group. Long enough for her to become a senior event planner, buy the perfect house in Connecticut, maybe even have a serious relationship or engagement.

  “I had to work that weekend,” she said, finding the first viable excuse. “I heard it was a real blast though–I mean, some of our old classmates mentioned it on their twitter feeds.”

  “Hey, I can’t speak for anyone else,” he said, “but it was pretty much the best day of my life. It’s where I ran into Heather again. You still know Heather Sykes, of course. ”

  Heather. As in her best friend from grades four-through-twelve Heather. As in tall, blonde Heather with the perky smile and revolving door of admirers, from whom Val was inseparable from the moment they first played Barbies together in Forest Park's concrete playground.

  “Yeah,” she said faintly. “Of course I know Heather. We still talk–” Actually, it had been a long time since their last phone or email exchange, she reflected. Over a year maybe. Heather's form of communication tended to be sporadic and flighty, centered on major events or a desire to vent frustrations.

  The gymnasium sounds grew fainter, as if he’d ducked down an empty corridor. “We talked for hours and it turns out we’d both been living in Virginia since college,” he said. “Crazy coincidence, right? So after the reunion we started dating and one thing led to another and well…we’re getting married in June.”

  “Wow.” Her lips felt numb as they formed the word.

  Was she surprised? Jealous? Surely not–not given all the time that had passed since the three of them were gawky teenagers and high school friends. She fought back her momentary shock quickly enough to add in a warmer tone, “That’s great, Jason. Congratulations.”

  “I can’t believe it either.” He was laughing now, excitement audible in his tone as he launched into his story. “There she was, standing right by the big fish tank in the recreation room. They started playing that song we all used to love so much–the one by that band something-or-other–”

  “Hootie and the Blowfish,” said Val automatically, the song lyrics to "I Only Want To Be With You" popping into her head. Then blushed as she realized how weird it sounded that she still remembered.

  “Yeah, yeah,” he said. “That’s it. So I worked up the courage to ask her for a dance, and I could tell she wasn’t exactly swept off her feet, but we took to the floor ...”

  Val’s head sank slowly onto her desk as the voice on the other end continued on. Her head snapped back to attention as he finished with, “…and when I mentioned that note I gave her back in ninth grade, well, it just seemed kind of destined.”

  Her heart dropped, her eyes growing wide. “The note?” she echoed. Oh, no. Not the note. Please, please don’t let it be what I’m thinking…

  “She claimed she didn't even remember getting it,” he said, laughing, although Val detected a twinge of disappointment with this admission. “I guess a girl like her probably got a lot of love notes in school. Still, I’ve never forgotten that reply.”

  “You still have it?” There was a strangled quality in Val's voice with this question, which she seemed powerless to control. Her breathe froze as she waited for his reply.

  He gave an embarrassed cough. “Afraid not–my mom threw out all my old school stuff while I was at Richmond University. But I still remember it. It was all about how she wasn’t ready for a boyfriend yet, but I shouldn’t give up hope because true love doesn’t fade...really poetic stuff.”

  “Yeah,” she murmured, her gaze dropping to the desk. Where a red button was flashing on her phone. “Jason, listen I have another call coming in–” she paused. It was bittersweet to disconnect from the sound of his voice, even though this topic was bringing her dangerously close to tears. “Again, congrats. Really, I’m happy for you both.”

  She meant it, despite the regrets and long-ago aches which were stirring to life again after years of quiet. For what, she wasn’t quite sure. Perhaps her younger self, the door closing on that dream of finally winning his heart over with just the right smile or glance.

  Before hanging up, she gave him her address. Her mind was now forced to be occupied with a very different sort of event, as she clicked the flashing button and greeted a new client for ‘Eventful Moments’.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Heather Sykes hadn’t changed much since her school days. She was still tall and slender, with an open smile and honey-colored hair. In her presence, Val was reduced to the person equivalent of yesterday’s leftovers before her friend's flawless complexion and cotton tank top.

  They sipped mocha lattes beneath the canopy of an outdoor café in downtown Dover, where Heather had begged for them to meet. Her phone call was the first in almost a year, surprising Val almost as much as Jason's.

  “Isn’t this fun?” asked Heather, wrinkling her nose in the same smile which had accompanied countless sleepovers and movie matinees. Her long legs sporting a perfect fake tan and sequined sandals. “I’m so glad we could do this. I really needed someone to ground me amidst all this this wedding hoopla.”

  Her "someone" had already unearthed her brightest and most chipper smile from the mists of time. “I can imagine," Val answered. "I mean, being an eve
nt planner helps me understand this stuff better than most people.” She shifted her position, her finger swirling the straw in her Styrofoam cup.

  Why did this seem really awkward? Maybe because you had a crush on the groom, a voice chided within. And you always secretly hoped he might notice that you were his perfect match. Somewhere behind your baggy clothes and badly trimmed bangs, that is.

  “Too bad your agency doesn't do regular weddings, right?” said Heather, bringing her back to the present with a tiny jolt of guilt. “But then, you’d have your hands full giving me advice. You know me–always changing my mind, always second-guessing myself.”

  This was true. In school, Heather changed her taste every other week, it seemed. Tearing down one heartthrob’s poster to put up another; tossing her Hanson CD’s in favor of Backstreet Boys. Changing her hair color and lipstick brand the way some people changed their clothes.

  “Sometimes I think I haven’t matured at all,” added Heather, with a laugh that seemed more nervous than apologetic. “If anybody knows how flighty I am, it’s you. Didn’t we once figure up I had sixteen jobs before Landmarks?”

  A reference to her current position designing greeting cards for a successful online company. Before that had been a bartender, a fact checker, even a guide at a zoo. At this point in life, most of the list had been absorbed by Valarie's mind and become jumbled with other recollections from the past. The pink color of Heather's elephant erasers in middle school, the smell of permanent kits being applied in the upstairs bathroom on Saturday mornings.

  Val shook her head, placing her latte on the patio table. "I can't remember," she answered. She was struck by the strange way Heather compared a lifelong commitment to something like job hopping–with a lifetime of Jason on the other end instead of merely good dental or a retirement account.

  “You're not actually thinking there's any resemblance between getting engaged and working the donut crew at the diner?” she answered. “Come on, Heather. You guys have a history based on friendship, a great story and a real past together. And Jason sounded really happy on the phone that you said yes.”