Page 4

4

JESS

I feel like a wet paper bag. Soaked in my wedding gown, I race to the hotel across the street from the theater where we’d planned to spend the night before leaving tomorrow for our honeymoon.

Three-quarters of the way there, I have to stop because I get a cramp in my side.

The shred sessions Sorsha insisted I offer up to the skinks in homage so I fit into my dress—there was a lot of Bundt baking in the lead-up to the wedding day—did not prepare me for this kind of workout.

The relentless sobbing also causes me to suck wind. While at the cross signal, a garbage truck takes the turn a bit too fast and splashes the hem of my gown with filthy puddle water—I think there’s an empty food-to-go container and an ookey baby wipe floating in it.

Instead of going inside the swanky hotel, freshening up, and hiding under the bed like a normal person, I get behind the wheel of my Nissan that came off the factory floor the same year I was born.

Before I realize it, I’m on the freeway, heading northeast.

I thought today was the first day of the rest of my life.

Rexlan wasn’t late. He was eloping.

Sorsha’s final comment echoes in my ears.

You’ll pay for this .

I wasn’t using the Coogan family to strike it big.

When I was looking for a room to sublet in Los Angeles, Sorsha welcomed me. Sure, I thought it was odd that she only wore green and her entire house was outfitted in the same color with a reptile motif, but the rent was right and she offered me a job managing her website.

Considering I was an unemployed, aspiring actress, how could I say no?

Some people follow experts and others believe in the healing power of teas and tinctures. Sorsha purports that skinks are the solution to all of life’s ills and the Skink Society holds secrets to success, health, and wealth.

With her encouragement, and lizard love potions (which I merely pretended to consume) Rexlan and I clicked … maybe … when we were together ... under her watch.

Looking back, I should’ve seen the warning signs. When his “friend” from high school moved back to town, he was away a lot. Sorsha was not enthusiastic, but supposedly he was gaining traction and signing big deals for her to host conventions and give talks all over the world.

Turns out he was with Cassleigh.

I’m such a fool.

The ruined wedding cake rides in the passenger seat. I gather a clump and stuff it into my mouth as my thoughts flail, much like my life, much like the red windsock tube man outside a car dealership gusting in the wind with a sign that says Zero Percent Financing .

I feel like a big zero. So far, the scoreboard of my life has me down points and the opposition in the lead.

Today, I went from the highest of highs to plunging into the pits of despair.

Driving in silence, I don’t stop until the little red low gas indicator light dings when I’m still outside Las Vegas. That means I’ve been driving for about four hours since leaving Los Angeles, primarily on autopilot. That also means I could stop, track down Rexlan, and give him a piece of my mind—but not a piece of the remaining and slightly lumpen, soggy wedding cake. No, instead he deserves a knuckle sandwich, but even that might be too good for him and I tell myself not to waste another thought on the jerk.

Running on fumes and—okay, fine—some very nasty fantasies of Rexlan accidentally falling out of a window (into the hotel pool), I don’t want to make his new wife a widow, but maybe he can experience that terrible swooping in his stomach as his world speeds by. Or losing every last cent at a casino or waking up outside a twenty-four-hour club (I’ve heard the sidewalks can get mighty gross).

I tap the dashboard. “Come on, Shy Eye Good Guy. We can do it.”

I’m heading back to the small town I declared home after years in and out of the homes of foster care families until I landed at a little house on Silver Queen Street and my life changed forever.

On the upside, I’ll soon be in Grandma Dolly’s meddling arms. At least there will be cookies.

After getting gas, I head toward the rest stop building. I can’t help but feel people staring at me. A little girl’s lips quiver and she whispers to her mom about the scary lady. It’s getting late and I’ve taken a personal safety class. I prepare to attack if anyone comes at the pair as they get into their car.

After going to the bathroom, I gird myself as a terrifying woman emerges from the stall. Her hair is plastered to her head like a wet cat. Makeup streaks down her cheeks, reminding me of a sad clown, and her beauty pageant gown droops like a tulip in desperate need of water and sunlight.

Oh, wait. That’s me.

My hands slap my cheeks. I’m the scary lady!

I tug on the paper towel from the automatic dispenser, but the machine doesn’t refresh them quickly enough. I need a bath, now. My look is horror movie bride and it’s not pretty.

Rubbing the rough paper against my face until my cheeks are pink, I manage to remove much of the waterproof makeup. Using my fingers, I try to add body to my limp and damp hair while smoothing it at the same time, resulting in my looking like a windblown ball of yarn.

Head down, I hurry outside and get behind the wheel of the Nissan. I drop my forehead against it.

What. Am. I. Going. To. Do?

In a fit of embarrassment and uncertainty, I started driving out of LA. But now what? My whole life is back in Los Angeles. At least I have my purse, which contains chocolate. Three pieces, which will not be enough no matter if I return the way I came or press on.

Even though I look like a zombie bride—at the next rest stop, I grab a variety of chocolates, reminding me of Granny Dolly’s cure for everything.

Chocolate chip cookies.

It will be nice to visit her, especially since she couldn’t come to the wedding that wasn’t … because I didn’t invite her. I realize now that perhaps I was lured a little farther down the Skink Society path than I realized. But for once, it was so nice to be wanted, to feel like I belonged somewhere, even if it was a thinly glazed lie.

My responsibilities back in Los Angeles are minimal, namely the houseplants I can’t seem to keep alive. Maybe this means marriage, motherhood, and family life aren’t in the cards for me.

Wilting, I hang my head.

After a canceled wedding, I’d expect my phone to beep with messages and ring with calls from people checking on me and offering support, or to get the juicy gossip. However, it remains painfully silent, highlighting the life I had with Rexlan and his family was more in my mind than rooted in reality.

Likely, I’m part of a social media post about a jilted bride. I don’t dare check.

After also getting a large coffee, I resolve to continue north to Nebraska. When I cross the Colorado border, a sane person not dressed in their wedding gown would book a hotel room, but I’ve been battling insomnia for months. My mind wanders down a rabbit trail as the beams of headlights pass in the other direction.

My sleeping issue started shortly after Sorsha insisted Rexlan and I get married. During the next hours, I try to connect the dots, analyzing situations and circumstances that should’ve been red flags, warning me that the long hours he spent with Cassleigh were suspicious.

But the painful truth is that my relationship with Rexlan and the idea that I was part of his family was one big stamp of approval.

The girl who’d been abandoned was adored.

The girl who was guarded could trust.

The girl who came from nothing had a future.

Or so I thought.

The prolonged silence and darkness presses against me from all sides. I tune the radio until I land on a Taylor Swift breakup song which is oh-so perfect. I sing along until it turns to static. Unable to find another station, I switch to the AM frequency. It isn’t lost on me that it’s past midnight, technically a.m. now as I barrel north.

A late night, er, early morning talk show comes on and the DJ invites listeners to call in to discuss their love life woes. Before the commercial break, I catch the back half of a guy concerned that his girlfriend won’t introduce him to her BFFs. Sounds familiar. When DJ Melody comes back on the air, I learn the show is called Love Lines After Dark. Dawn still feels far away, so I tell my phone to dial the number.

DJ Melody’s cool, soothing voice welcomes me to the live call. “Give us the report on your relationship and we’ll see if we can dial it in.”

I blurt, “I’m a jilted bride on the run.”

Belatedly realizing that might sound like I committed a crime of passion, in barebones detail, I relay what happened.

DJ Melody says, “That’s how it ended. Go back and tell us how it started.”

As I cruise along the empty ribbon of road, I retrace my steps back to the beginning when Rexlan kissed me after a particularly intense fight scene on his video game followed by his character getting cozy with the woman he rescued from a belligerent bear.

DJ Melody chuckles softly, sweetly. “We’ve all been there. Well, not there , but when physical feelings get the best of us, reason goes out the door.”

“His mother encouraged it ... I think it was because she didn’t like the woman who turned out to be his real girlfriend.” I don’t say Cassleigh’s name, but from what I’ve gleaned, she didn’t buy into the whole skink thing. I didn’t either, but I do have a habit of looking on the bright side, smiling, and nodding politely.

“Do you think Sorsha was the type never to find fault with her son?”

I snort a laugh through my nose. “You got that right. I take it you’ve heard stories like this before.”

“Every night. So now what? What’s next for our jilted bride?”

“I guess I’m going home to pretend this didn’t happen.”

“That seems like it will be hard to do.”

I say, “Not really. My grandmother makes really good cookies.”

She chuckles. “I mean the forgetting part.”

A long sigh escapes because she's probably right, but in the last hours, I’ve gone from feeling panicked to dazed, but now something like a wave of relief washes over me.

DJ Melody says, “I only know part of the story and it’s still fresh, but in case we never speak again, I’d like to suggest something. Take it, stash it somewhere in your mind, and it’ll be there waiting for you when you’re ready.”

Even though she can’t see me, I lean in, eagerly wondering what she’s going to say.

“In time, allow yourself to forgive your ex-fiancé, Sorsha, and everyone who hurt you, maybe even going all the way back to when things happened that made you cling to a need to feel wanted.”

The advice is like pouring alcohol on a wound. It stings for a moment, but I know it’s for the best and will ultimately help me.

“And don’t discount love in your future. I don’t think your ex was the one. Perhaps you came close to jumping into things with him before you were ready and this was a wake-up. A rude one, but still. Maybe you came across a prince when really what you deserve is a king.”

We end the call, but DJ Melody’s words stick with me for the remainder of the drive. I did think Rexlan was my prince charming, which would make me a princess—something I could only dream of as a child before I realized that the world is made up of rakes and rogues, bounders and cads, more than real royalty.

Will I find a king? Doubtful, but I lift my chin and keep on keepin’ on.