In six months, Gwen Johnston turns thirty, and when she does, she vows she'll have her life together. She'll no longer be jumping from one job to another, from one relationship to the next. A new, more mature, Gwen will have emerged. She's giving he...
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When I woke up this morning, I realized that for the first time in weeks, I didn't have a terrifying nightmare about either Gwen or Diana dying in my arms. I don't know what that means, but I'm hoping my subconscious has figured something out that my conscious mind is playing catch up on—something good.
One thing I'm not enjoying right now? Spending the majority of my last full day with Gwen not with Gwen.
This morning, I woke up at my normal ungodly hour, but rather than going for a run, I snuggled closer to Gwen and breathed in her citrus scent, tried to memorize what it felt like to have her curve into me, to have her rotate in my arms and seek shelter in the crook of my neck. Bittersweet bliss to sink into her warm softness and then step into the shower together, fingers tracing every line and hollow.
I didn't like how it felt as though we were already mourning the loss of each other, but I haven't quite wrapped my head around the compromises and sacrifices that would have to be done to prevent our demise.
"Blake, man," Adam calls from the other side of the living room in his parents' house. All of his groomsmen are bobbing and weaving around him. "Where's your head at?"
"Somewhere else," I admit, and I take a large gulp of my coffee. "What's up?"
"Ang just texted me. She wants you to meet her at the church a little earlier. She messaged you, but you didn't answer."
I drag my phone out of my pocket, and sure enough, there's a text from Ang with a revised plan for the pre-wedding timing. The last few months, I've used my phone more as a camera than a communication device. I slap my hands on my thighs and stand up.
"Guess I better get ready," I say.
"I know the rest of your family's not thrilled about you walking Ang down the aisle, but it really means a lot to her," Adam says.
"I don't care what the rest of them think." I grab my suit bag from where it's hanging on a doorframe.
"That'd be nice, wouldn't it?" Adam says with a little laugh. "Not caring is one of my favorite lies to tell."
"You'd better not aim any lies at my sister," I say with a scowl.
"I would never, man. Never." He raises his coffee cup to me. "I just meant that family is complicated, that's all."
Family is complicated, but I'm hoping for Ang's sake that Mom and Dad and Sam and Jamie make it a hell of a lot less complicated, at least for today.
~ * ~
I manage to make it to the church at exactly the time Ang asked me to arrive. But the place is deserted. Either Ang has become a scatterbrain, she's running late, or I've been setup for some reason.
Rather than turning around and going back to Adam's parents' house, I peek in the door of the cathedral, and there, standing near the alter is a vision in a figure-hugging floor-length dress.
