Page 42 of I’m Not Yours

“It’s a typical MacKenzie family affair. It’ll be loud, eccentric, edgy. Relatives will be rollicking around loose, uncaged, unguarded. They’re looney. Looney but loving. There are strange traditions and family dances to be danced. Bagpipes. Possible gunshots. Ouija boards.”

“I like bagpipes. Gunshots, as long as they’re not aimed at me, get the blood pumping, and I find Ouija boards amusing.”

“And Ben’s family. They’re proper, conservative, blue blooded. Who knows what will happen as the families unite and clash?”

“Who cares? It’ll be fun.” He picked up his guitar and strummed a few chords. “ Woe is me, I’ll miss it, though. Woe is me, ” he sang.

“Woe is you!” I threw a handful of satin at him.

He caught it, and caught my gaze. “I’d be a good date. I want to meet your parents.”

“You mean the hippies?”

“The hippies and the rest of the gang.”

“Even though many will be dressed as Scotsmen and women during the festivities?”

“I love Scotland, I’ve been twice.”

“We have a watermelon-seed spitting contest.”

“I have some talent in that particular area.”

“We have a scavenger hunt. It gets competitive.”

“I play to win.”

“You need to know that I cannot predict my family and, most particularly, my Great-uncle Seamus, who says he’s coming dressed as Abe Lincoln, my Great-aunt Lolly, who sings songs with swear words, and my twin cousins, Chuck and Duck.

Those are their nicknames. Their given names are Cornell Brown Balashov and Harvard Yale Balashov.

Their parents thought they were so brilliant they’d go to Ivy League schools.

Didn’t happen. They literally joined the circus and travel the world.

Daredevil trapeze artists, they do tricks with this giant ring they run on top of, stand on each other’s heads, et cetera.

Anyhow, they’ll be there. One cousin, Marci Shinola, recently was paroled.

She shot her neighbor.” Reece’s eyebrows rose again.

“The neighbor stole her dogs. He said they barked too much. She shot him in the knee.”

“Oh,” he mocked. “Only the knee. Did she get the dogs back?”

“Yes, she did.” I put the iron down. “Reece, if you want. . . .”

“Yes?” He strummed his guitar.

“If you have nothing else to do . . .”

“Don’t think I’m busy that day.” Strum, strum.

“I’ll be swamped with the bride and the bridesmaids . . .”

“I’ll find the groom and hang out.”

“You might be asked to do . . . crazy things.”

“I’m good at crazy.” Strum, strum, strum.

“I might be crazy, too. It’s my sister’s wedding.”

“We’re friends, June. I will bring you martinis and hugs for your craziness.”

“You’d be alone.”

“I won’t be alone. I’ll be with your relatives, including the shooter, the cousins who stand on each other’s heads, and Abe Lincoln. Would you ask me?”

“Ask you?”

“Yes. Formally. Invite me.”

I took a deep, deep breath. “Reece, this is going to be the bizarrest wedding ever, but if you are brave and want to come to August’s wedding, I would be happy for you to be my date.”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“I’ll be your date. I would love to be. I’m a date! June’s date!” He smiled, blew me a kiss.

I could hardly resist that man. Some people might say I’m rebounding, but I’m not. It’s been over two years since I left Grayson. My marriage was only two years long. The last year of the marriage was dead and I did my best to hide from it. I could fall into Reece’s smile and stay there forever.

He stood up, towering over me, and I took a step closer. He wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me in. I closed my eyes, shivered on the inside, and tilted my head back. I wanted to kiss that man so much I could hardly breathe. I felt myself relax into our sweet, hot passion . . .

The stairs shook as Estelle and Leoni clambered up, Morgan’s laugh only somewhat muted by her astronaut’s helmet.

Reece held my gaze, his chest rising up and down, up and down, and I knew that he was struggling as much as I was. He had such a nice chest and I wanted to wrap my arms around him, my legs around his hips . . .

I actually shuddered. What do you call a shudder like that? A lust shudder?

Oh, my friend Reece was irresistible, yes, he was.

The three burst through the door and Morgan shouted, “Four, three, two, one, liftoff!”

Estelle growled, “You can cut the passion in this studio with a pair of sewing scissors.”

Leoni piped up, “We’ve interrupted the softness of the romantic moment. Sorry, June!”

There’s a good reason for chaperones, you know.

Five Things I’m Worried About

August’s wedding and the dresses. Will they all be done in time?

Reece. What’s the point of falling in love only to be smashed by it?

What if a lightning storm crackles down on August’s wedding?

Morgan. Her father is such a lout.

The article. What if people hate the dresses and I am laughed right off the beach?

I played online Scrabble. Again, I lost.

I spelled these words: “sexy,” “loon,” “songs.”

I had a slice of the seven-layer chocolate cake that Reece had brought me the other day. Okay, two slices. I hoped I wouldn’t eat the entire thing.

Over the next weeks I worked on high-speed fluster, spending maniacal hours in the studio, as did Estelle and Leoni.

I saw Reece, too, how could I resist? He was a magnetic pull yanking at me, and every single time I was with him, his strength and gentleness, his humor and wit, and his inherent goodness and honesty worked its way further into my soul.

Not to mention that the barely restrained physical attraction I had for him about knocked me on my head.

He strummed his guitar and penned songs in my studio, I threw in words and phrases while I sewed at my machines or sewed by hand.

We listened to classical, country, and hard rock music.

We laughed as we jumped over waves, we built a sand castle, we buried each other in the sand and took photos.

We walked hand in hand for miles along the shoreline and flew kites shaped like parrots.

We went searching for whole black butterfly shells, those green eyes smiling into mine like liquid emeralds.

He said, with all seriousness, “You are the most beautiful person I have ever met.”

And, “June, I’ve never been happier. All my songs are happy . . . I’m supposed to write songs about broken hearts.” He winked at me. “Can’t seem to do it right now.”

And, “I love watching you sew. I think I could watch that for the rest of my life.”

And, “When your divorce is final, June, we will have our first official date. I can’t wait. You’ll definitely be getting a kiss good night. Hopefully you’ll be getting a good morning kiss, too. This has been torturous for me, waiting, trying to be patient, saintly. You know that, right?”

It’d been torture for me, too. I was so happy when I was with him, he felt right, we felt right, but I also felt skittish and totally unnerved. Worried, unsettled, a mite lost, as if I was being carried along on a frothing wave and had no control.

I told Estelle how I was feeling.

“That’s because, June,” she said, her voice more gentle than I’d ever heard it, “you don’t know you yet.

You don’t trust yourself. You don’t trust your own decisions.

You’ve been hurt and battered about and you’re still legally attached to someone else.

” She patted my shoulder. “Sometimes the only person we need to be with is ourselves. We need to be alone because that’s the only time we can hear that teeny-tiny voice inside us talking. ”

“I can hear a teeny-tiny voice in my head, but I can’t hear her loud enough.

I lost June during all my years of incessant work chasing stupid stuff, and then she completely ran out the door when I was married and I haven’t put the pieces back together yet.

I’m unsteady, that’s the word for it. I’m off-kilter.

I’m not confident, not strong in myself.

I feel like I’m half me, floundering about and scared and insecure. ”

Estelle tapped me with a ruler on the shoulder.

“Be in your quiet, June. Think, but don’t overthink.

Don’t be afraid of love. But remember that you can’t be a healthy couple until you’re emotionally healthy.

He’s not going to make you happy, you have to make yourself happy and whole.

After that is when you can be a whole couple. ”

She is a ragingly smart lady. I gave her a hug.

“Fine then, we’ll get mushy for a second if we must.” Estelle kissed my cheek. “Lovey-dovey. Huggy-wuggy. Now get your butt back to work, June, we are crushed for time.”

On a Thursday morning, at 6:00, not having slept at all, I packed my truck with August’s wedding dress, the bridesmaids’ dresses for September and me, and three flower girl dresses.

Leoni had spent the night, along with Morgan.

She and Estelle and I finished at three in the morning.

August’s dress had one stitch still not done, as was Scottish tradition.

On her wedding morning, she’d sew it up.

I threw my suitcase into the truck with assorted other things I needed/August needed/my mom needed. I left a map taped to Reece’s door, giving him directions to my parents’ house in Eugene.

I stood at his door for long seconds, imagining him sleeping, that long body stretched out, eyes closed, blond hair over his forehead, vulnerable and soft, warm and cozy and strong.

I teared up, then turned to leave.

I waved to the beach as I passed.

I would miss it.