To Have and To Hold

Chapitre Trios

Annabeth, in the five years I'd known her, always liked things big.

Her wedding reception was no exception.

Her and her fiancé—now husband—rented out a rustic white barn for the reception, a space that could hold up to five hundred people. They used it as a house for all of the food, the wedding cake, and a few lime green tabletops. The outside was where the real party was at, with the DJ and the dancefloor and the tables where someone could munch on the plethora of food offered inside. The centerpieces were much more intricate out here, accenting perfectly well with the string lights Annabeth had strung up across the dancefloor. Paper lanterns lit up the pathway that led to the parked cars.

It was something out of a magazine.

I held a flute of champagne by the stem, swilling the expensive and sweet tasting liquid against the sides. It was made of plastic, provided by the renter of the barn at an additional cost. I remembered Annabeth saying that they had to list every glass item that they'd brought, since if something broke and someone were to get injured, the renters would be liable. I should've been more careful sipping mine, since I was underaged, but not with a few plastic flutes of alcohol in my system, I didn't care.

And Annabeth, by the way she was swaying her white chiffon hips against Josh's, didn't seem to care either. Not about anything but the music in her eras or about anyone but Josh. I was happy for her.

"Why aren't you out dancing?" Jasmine came up out of nowhere, finding where I was sitting at one of the expensive centerpieced table. The neckline of her silk Maid-of-Honor dress hung slightly lower than it had before. If I looked closer, I could see that her lipstick was smeared along the corner of her mouth. "You've been sitting here for, like, years."

One of my knees was crossed over the other, and I lifted up a battered and blistered foot for her to inspect. "Look at this," I said, shaking it in her face. "My heels attacked me. I might have rabies."

With a twisted expression of disgust and fascination—perhaps she had one too many flutes as well—she peered at my foot, moving back so that it wasn't in her face. "Gross."

"Yeah." I lowered it. "Thus me sitting by myself and sipping this delightful champagne."

"You're just milking it," she said, shaking her head at me. "You're just afraid to have fun."

Like a child, I stuck my tongue out at her. "You're right, I am. In fact, take your fun away from me, it's making me nauseous."

Jasmine, with a smile, swatted my knee and then was gone, weaving onto the dancefloor. She found someone almost immediately and began to dance with them. She was good at that; I was not.

And wait a second—I wasn't afraid of being fun. I wasn't. I could be fun. It was just that fun took so much energy, and sitting at a table drinking amazing champagne while watching drunk people wave their arms like they were noodles was fun. I wasn't the kind of person that could just waltz right up to a stranger and begin to dance with them. I wasn't the kind of person who chatted up some rando in a grocery store.

I had been so consumed by my thoughts, by the past, that I hadn't realized that people were starting to file inside the barn, Katy and Greyson leading the pack. I could tell, because I could see her dainty hands up in the air, as if saying, the bride's right here, come follow me!

I stood, my feet screaming at me from the weight I'd put upon them. Now that I was out of my heels my dress pooled on the delicate brickwork. My hair had fallen from its romantic up-do—my hair was a frizzy mess almost constantly, and I knew it was only a matter of time before the hairspray loosened—and I was certain it looked like a chaotic disaster, or perhaps an intricate house for birds. I patted at the tangles, pulling whatever stray bobby pins I could find and setting them on the top of the table. A few stray curls touched the bare skin of my shoulders.