Chapter 12
Shelby
"What the hell is in this thing?" I mumble to myself as I carry the big-ass suitcase down the stairs. I'm trying to be quiet, but the number of times I've stumbled should be in the world record book. I kick the luggage with my foot as I get down each step. "This is legit a workout," I huff when I get halfway down the steps and have to take a one-second break.
"I told you that you were overpacking last week when you packed it," Clarabella reminds me. "Every single time I said don't pack it, you just threw it in the luggage." I'm just thankful I brought my luggage here, not knowing what the fuck was going to happen.
I ignore her as I try to make it down the rest of the way, my hand sweating as I hold the handle. "This is a good idea?" I look down the steps and see my mother just watching me. She wears the white plush robe that she wore two nights ago that says Mother of the Bride, except she took a black Sharpie when we got home last night and crossed out the bride. "You think this is a good idea?" She tilts her head to the side to talk to Clarabella, then follows me down.
"It's a good idea, Mom," I mumble, ignoring my throbbing head. It feels like a jackhammer is going a million miles mixed in with a horn honking repeatedly.
"I don't know why you think this would be a good idea," she huffs, shaking her head with the coffee cup in her hand.
"I think this is a good idea," I say once I get down to the bottom of the stairs and push my luggage. The sound of the wheels rolling against the floor goes until it hits the wall right beside the front door.
"Is that bacon?" Clarabella says from behind me, sniffing the air. "Mom, did you make bacon?"
"Of course, I made bacon," she snorts like it was obvious.
"It's four o’clock in the morning," I huff, walking to the kitchen, and I can smell the bacon now.
"I cook when I'm stressed," my mother says, coming into the kitchen with us. I stop when I see a buffet of food sitting in the middle of the island. When I woke up on the couch, I sat up but immediately had to lay my head back on the cushion. When I was finally able to move without stumbling all over myself, I found the party going on in the event space. The music was going, and the six of them were dancing as if my wedding day didn't end in a fucking disaster. I walked to the bar, and that is where my memories start to fade in and out. I do remember eating a burger while sitting at the bar, but then my head and eyes suddenly got too heavy to keep up or open, so I took a nap in my plate with the burger clenched in my hand. "I had no idea what to do with myself."
"Cooking is always the right answer," Clarabella blurts when she pushes me to the side to get herself a plate. "Are there biscuits?"
"Of course, I made biscuits," my mother says. "What kind of a savage do you think I am to make gravy without biscuits?" She stares at Clarabella as if she grew another head.
"I don't care what Clarabella and Shelby say about you, Mom," Presley mumbles and walks into the kitchen. "I think you're great." She stops by my mother and kisses her cheek. She is still wearing her silk dress from the wedding. Her hair looks like it's been yanked out on one side while the other side still has the hairpins in it.
My mother gasps and looks at both of us, who just shake our heads at her. "Don't listen to anything she says. She's still drunk." I point at Presley, who is filling up her plate.
"I am still drunk," she confirms to us all. "And I was trying to sleep off my stupor when I kept hearing clunk, clunk, clunk." She glares at me with one eye still closed. "How is anyone supposed to get some sleep around here?" I look at Clarabella, who just glares at her.
My mother just shakes her head, looking up at the ceiling. "She had sex." I point at Presley, and she just stares at me with her eyes big.
"I did not," she denies, shaking her head. "She wasn't supposed to wear white at her wedding." She points her fork at me, and I'm ready to fire back at her when Mom holds up her hands.
"Can we not do this?" She looks at the three of us. "My nerves are fried after yesterday."
"Oh, is it because you've had another child get left at the altar?" Clarabella asks in a soft voice, but she rolls her lips.
"I didn't get left at the altar,” I fire back, walking to get a plate. "I got there and walked down to it, and then I left."
"That doesn't make it better," Clarabella says, grabbing a piece of bacon and biting it.
"Can you not make fun of your sister?" My mother wrings her hands together now. "Look at her."
I look down at myself dressed in tights and a sweater, the bun at the top of my head falling down. "What's wrong with how I look?"
"You're still wearing your makeup from yesterday," my mother informs me between clenched teeth. "And I think you have a French fry in your hair." She points at the top of my head.
My hand comes up, and I feel it. "I fell asleep while I was eating fries." I touch my hair and pull it out. "I drank a lot of whiskey and sweet tea." I close my eyes when my stomach rises and then falls. "I'm never drinking whiskey again." I look at my sisters. "How did I get home?"
"Dragged you here," Clarabella says at the same time Presley says, "Unicorn."
I shake my head, sitting down and drinking the coffee black. When I walk out of the house, my mother gives me a huge hug. "Did you put on deodorant?" she asks, and I gasp. "I'm just checking, gosh."
I shake my head and get into the car, waving goodbye as we drive away. "Mom is right," Clarabella says from the driver's seat.
"I fucking put deodorant on as soon as I woke up," I huff at her, and she laughs.
"No, not that." She shakes her head. "I also wouldn't worry about you smelling like B.O. when you smell like you bathed in whiskey." I put my head back on the passenger seat and close my eyes. "Are you sure you want to go alone?" Clarabella asks, her voice going soft.
I turn my head and open my eyes, looking at her. "Someone has to stay and face the music." I smile at her. "I'll give it a couple of days, and if it gets to be too much, I'll come back early."
"Don't you dare," she warns when she pulls up to the airport. She gets out of the car. "You go and sit your ass down on that beach and have vacation sex." She opens the trunk and takes the luggage out and huffs when it lands on the ground. "Just don't bring home anything that causes you to itch."
"Oh, God." I roll my eyes and grab the handle of the luggage, moving it to the back seat and grabbing my big carry-on purse. "Thanks for the pep talk," I tell her, giving her a hug. "Call me if you need anything."
"See you next week," Clarabella says, walking to the car while I walk inside the airport and check in. I get to the gate and sit, looking out of the window at the plane waiting at the gate. The lights from the runway slowly fade as the sun starts to come up.
I cross my legs and watch the darkness fade into the light. I close my eyes for a second and picture myself walking down the aisle. I open my eyes, seeing the pink sky, wondering how different it would be if everything worked out. "Ladies and gentlemen, we will be boarding flight number seventeen forty-seven nonstop to Turks and Caicos."
I stand, grabbing my bag and getting in line to board the plane. "Good morning," the attendant says, and I smile, walking down the jetway. A flight attendant is there when I walk in.
"I'm three A," I say, walking as I look up at the numbers and see my seat. I sit in my seat and tuck my bag under the seat in front of me.
Opening the shade, I put on my seat belt. "Can I get you something to drink?" the flight attendant asks.
"I'll have a mimosa," I say, and she smiles at me as she walks away. A couple of people trickle by as the time passes.
"Here you go." She hands me the crystal champagne glass, and I take a sip as I look out the window, watching the sun rise. I finish the mimosa in three gulps as I count down the time until we take off. My heart speeds up as the nerves start to come on full force.
"I'll take that," the attendant says of my glass, and I hand it to her. "We are preparing for takeoff."
I smile at her and put my head back as I hear the overhead bin doors being shut. The captain comes out and gives us his whole speech. "Excuse me." I hear a voice and open my eyes. "Is this seat taken?" Ace says, smirking at me, and he looks just as good as I do. Seeing him there fills me with a sense of calmness, and I can't help but smile. He wears blue shorts and a blue and white button-down short-sleeve shirt. His Rolex is the only thing on his arm. His hair looks like he just stepped out of the shower and brushed his hands through it. His Ray-Ban glasses are sitting on his head. His eyes look bloodshot, and I'm pretty sure mine match his, but I haven't looked at myself in the mirror, afraid of what will be looking back at me.
"That depends," I say, looking around and sitting with my back against the window. "It's only available if your fiancé cheated on you and you are here for a good time?" He shakes his head. "If this is not you, then you can't sit here."
He throws his head back and laughs. "Excuse me, sir," the attendant says, "if you can take your seat."
He sits down and fastens his seat belt, then looks over at me. "So what changed your mind?" I ask, not really caring since he's here.
"Getting home and seeing Sheila's shit all over the place," he shares, putting his hands in his lap. The plane jerks, and I yip out and jump.
"Are you okay?" he asks, and I look out the window seeing the plane moving down the runway.
"I hate flying," I admit, looking to make sure that nothing is burning on the plane and we have to abort the mission.
He grabs my hand. "I gotcha," he says, his voice calmer than I've ever heard before. "I've always gotcha."