Addison Blakely: Confessions of A PK (40 page)

For me and for Dad.

“I wish you’d have come Sunday night.” Dad leaned back in his seat, draping one arm around the back of the booth. “There was a certain young man in the back row who might have caught your attention.”

I picked up my drink for one last sip. “Who?” If he said Luke, I might just have had to throw my french fry holder at him.

“Wes.”

I spit Coke onto my lap. “What? Wes? At church?” I parroted on like an idiot, unable to stop. “Our church? Wes Keegan?”

“That’s right. I saw him myself from the pulpit.” Now it was Dad’s turn to hand me a napkin, and I took it, mind racing.

What did this mean? Had Wes shown up for me? What about all the stuff he had said about his parents and hypocrites?

“Did he ask about me?” My voice sounded tiny again—and far away. I coughed, my pop still lingering in my throat. Only Wes could choke me up while not even being in the same room.

“I didn’t get to speak with him. He slipped out during the invitation.”

Equal parts relief and regret filled me with those words. Relief Dad hadn’t embarrassed Wes by singling him out, regret that I didn’t know more about why he was there. Would he have talked to me if I’d come? Would I have even seen him in the back row?

Ha. The rate I was going, I’d probably have felt his presence from the parking lot.

Dad stood and picked up our tray. “Who knows, maybe he’ll be back.”

I followed Dad to the trash cans, absently tossing my empty cup before we stepped outside to the parking lot. Secret hopes warred for attention, battling reality and logic with fantasy. Maybe Wes would be back. Maybe he’d decided to make an effort for me. Maybe I’d somehow reached him like I’d somehow reached Mr. Keegan and Claire.

Maybe this wasn’t “the end” after all.

M
arta sashayed toward the lit three-way mirror, bouquet in hand.
“Here comes the bride….” She whipped around at the foot of the makeshift stage and tossed the bouquet to me.

I quickly caught it and tucked the flowers behind my back as the bridal consultant shot us a dark look—one almost as snooty as the giant sign on the door proclaiming No F
OOD OR
DRINKS in a font bigger than the store name. I couldn’t imagine how this place did business. Here it was almost Christmas, yet not a single garland or berry graced the entire place. Everything remained white, crisp, clean—practically sterile.

I was almost afraid to sit down in the viewing area for fear of wrinkling the fabric on the love seat.

Marta giggled as the woman turned away, and I thrust the bouquet back into her hands. “Will you give this to Ms. Hawthorne already before you get us kicked out?” Not that I’d mind going home. Obviously Crooked Hollow didn’t have a bridal store, so we’d ridden an hour outside of town with Ms. Hawthorne and Marta singing show tunes the entire way.

Scratch that. Maybe the snobby boutique was the lesser of two evils after all.

“Sorry. I just love weddings.” Marta tapped on the door of Ms. Hawthorne’s dressing room. “Here you go!” She passed the bouquet over the top. “Almost ready to model?”

“Not quite. This is one stubborn zipper.” My teacher’s muffled voice grunted from the other side of the door.

I carefully sat back on the plush sofa where I’d suffered through six other dress showings and crossed my arms. I
so
wasn’t in the mood for this. As much progress as I’d made with my dad and Ms. Hawthorne—er, Kathy—I just couldn’t totally jump on board with this wedding yet. Not when she and my dad spent every waking moment at our house going over plans for the Big Day this summer. Not when I, in a moment of insanity, agreed to be the maid of honor.

And not when every stupid piece of lace and tulle in the bridal store made me wonder where the heck Wes had been the past three weeks.

Ever since my talk with Dad at the diner, I’d been trying to find Wes. I spent more than half of my Thanksgiving break inside Got Beans at random hours of the day, trying to catch him playing the piano, to no avail. I’d staked out the music shop, almost accidentally stole a Christmas CD I’d carried around the store for an hour while stalling, and spent hours walking casually around the block, hoping to find him cruising on his motorcycle among the holiday traffic.

Nothing.

It was like he vanished, riding out of my life as quickly as he rode into it. And why wouldn’t he? I’d given him no reasons to stay and far too many to leave. If he really meant he was done with his dad, he could have easily left town. But wouldn’t I have heard about it? And where would he go? Certainly not back to his mom.

“Maybe this is the one.” The dressing-room door finally swung open, and Kathy emerged. I had to admit, she looked beautiful in the fitted dress with a subtle shimmer of sequins lining the sheer sleeves.

But beautiful or not, I couldn’t get used to the idea of a grown woman having a full-fledged wedding with a white dress and the works. Since it was Kathy’s first wedding—and only, Dad joked—he insisted she do it right. In my opinion,
right
was in the eye of the beholder—and at the moment, I envisioned a clearance-rack purchase from the mall and a justice of the peace.

Hoping my hesitancy didn’t show on my face, I joined the two in the front of the mirror, ready to perform my reluctant duties of maid of honor—whatever that meant.

“Ja. But maybe not long sleeves in the summer.” Marta tapped her chin with her finger as she studied Ms. Hawthorne’s reflection in the mirror. “Though it is an evening wedding, right?”

“Oh my.” The bridal consultant popped back up like a bad dream and immediately began fussing over the full skirt. “This one is ravishing.”

Sure she thought so—the price tag dangling from Ms. Hawthorne’s hip was five hundred dollars more than the two dresses before it. The suit-clad saleswoman might as well have had a giant commission sign on her forehead. I might not know where to stand or what to do during the ceremony as maid of honor, but I
could
handle some things.

“Excuse me.” I smiled politely at the worker exclaiming over Ms. Hawthorne’s dress. “Can you tell me where I could get a supersized fountain drink like the one that girl just walked in with?”

I didn’t know saleswomen could fly.

“Thank you.” Ms. Hawthorne shot me a grateful look in the mirror as she smoothed the front of her gown. “They like to hover, don’t they?”

“Like a UFO.” I joined her in the reflection. “What do you think?”

She nibbled on her lower lip, the most indecisive movement I’d ever seen my teacher make. “I’m not sure. What would your father think?”

Ew. This conversation was heading down a path I had no interest in venturing. I opened my mouth to mumble some sort of response but was thankfully saved by Marta.

“It’s lovely.” Marta grinned as she took the bouquet from Ms. Hawthorne and posed in front of the mirror. “But I am a wedding—what do you call them?—fanatic! Maybe my opinion is biased. I actually want you to buy all six dresses.”

Oh good grief. “If you want my opinion, I think this shop isn’t you.” I plucked at the yards of fabric and wrinkled my nose. “You have great taste in clothes, Ms. Haw—Kathy. I think you could find something better for yourself back at home without busybody customer service and elaborate props distracting you.” I snatched the bouquet from Marta’s hand, ignoring her whine of protest. “I’ve always heard when it’s the right dress, you just know.” At least that’s what they said on TLC.

“That’s a great point.” Ms. Hawthorne smiled, her features relaxing for the first time in an hour. “Sort of like with love. When it’s the right man, you just know.” She nodded at her reflection, having obviously come to some sort of conclusion for herself, then disappeared back inside the dressing room.

Leaving me alone with her words rattling around in my brain.

“When it’s the right man, you just know.”

I wouldn’t be seventeen for another thirty days. I had no business trying to figure out who I loved or if I loved anyone. I should be focusing on me—on my schoolwork, on the fact that college was only a year and a half away. On figuring out how to live my faith for the first time. On my dad’s upcoming marriage and all these major life changes barreling toward me.

So why wouldn’t Wes’s image go away?

“What do you say we ditch this place, snag one of those holiday milkshakes from Sonic, and head home?” Ms. Hawthorne called over the dressing-room door.

Marta and I grinned and slapped each other high fives.

Now
that
was the teacher I knew and loved.

This was the first year Christmas didn’t hold nearly the amount of magic I’d remembered. Maybe it was the pile of wedding-planning books stacked beside the nativity set on the coffee table, or maybe it was the gifts labeled “Kathy” under the tree for the first time, or maybe it was the dining room table set for three.

Or maybe I just missed my mom.

I curled up on the couch in the dark, inhaling the steam from my cup of hot chocolate, and drank in the sight of the lit Christmas tree. The stacks of presents were long gone from that morning. The bracelet my dad had given me dangled from my wrist, and I watched the jewels catch the light of the tree.

It’d been a fun day, full of homemade cookies, juicy turkey, and torn wrapping paper. Yet something just didn’t quite resonate, despite my earlier attempt at having a quiet time in my room reading the Christmas story from the Bible.

I couldn’t stop thinking about Wes, wondering what he was doing with his dad, if they were celebrating the holiday or avoiding each other. Wondering if they had anyone to cook Christmas dinner, if they’d bothered to put up a tree or buy presents.

If Wes had stopped by Sonya’s house again.

The lamp by the door suddenly clicked on, illuminating Dad standing in his new monogrammed robe. “You’re up late.” He yawned. “Can’t sleep?”

“Too much sugar, I guess.” I gestured with my mug. “So Ihad to get more.”

He chuckled and joined me on the couch. “You sure were quiet today.”

He noticed? I pulled my feet up to make room, not really up for a deep conversation but unwilling to lie about my feelings anymore. We’d never make progress with each other if I refused to talk.

I drew a deep breath. “I miss Mom.” I didn’t add that Kathy’s presence just made Mom’s absence even starker. There was honesty, and then there was cruelty.

Dad stared toward the tree, his expression morphing into shadow. “I do, too.”

“You do?” I couldn’t help the incredulous tone of my voice. “I mean, I know you did. As in, past tense. But I thought now, since the engagement …” My voice trailed off as the hole I’d talked myself into opened wider.
Way to ruin Christmas, Addison
.

“I will always love your mother.” Dad finally met my gaze, tears glazing his eyes. “I’m thankful the Lord brought Kathy back into my life. But no one will ever replace my first love.”

How could such depressing words make me feel better? I was the worst daughter on the planet. I scooted sideways on the couch and leaned against his arm in a half hug. “I like Kathy. This is just—weird. And not because she’s my teacher, though that definitely ups the weirdness factor.” To put it mildly.

“I know it is.” Dad opened his arm and wrapped it around me, his familiar Dad smell enveloping me like a second pair of arms. “There will be a lot of changes for all of us. But I’d like to think they’ll be good ones.”

“They will be. I’m just melancholy tonight.” I sipped my now lukewarm chocolate then set the mug on the coffee table. My bracelet jingled, and I held it up for Dad to see. “Did you pick this out? Be honest.”

“I did.” Dad beamed. “I can promise you, Kathy wasn’t even in the same store.”

“It’d be okay if she had helped.” Still, I was glad Dad did that one himself. It showed me he was trying just like I was. I eyed him. Though on second thought, maybe I should have bought his robe one size bigger.

“Did you know Kathy almost broke up with me a few months ago? Before the engagement?”

I was glad I’d set my mug down already because I surely would have dropped it. “What? Why?”

“Because of you.” Dad shook his head with a little smile. “She told me she didn’t think you were having an easy time adjusting to the idea of us being serious, and she refused to be the reason our relationship suffered or your life at school suffered.”

“Wow.” Speechless, I fingered the beads on my bracelet, suddenly wishing I’d gotten Kathy something more personal than candles for Christmas.

“She really cares about you, Addison. She’s also the reason we’re waiting until the summer to get married—so she won’t be your stepmother and teacher at the same time.” Dad let out a small laugh. “Those were her conditions immediately after I proposed, before she’d even say yes.”

I couldn’t help but smile at that mental image of Dad down on one knee, holding out a ring while Ms. Hawthorne ticked off conditions on her fingers—conditions about me. Maybe I’d been too hard on her. It’d been two steps forward, one step back between us ever since they started dating. If she was going to be so considerate of me, I should return the favor.