June. One month before the wedding.
W hen I was a little girl there were a lot of things I imagined I’d be doing in the months leading up to my wedding. Going for a mani-pedi. Check. Trying on a million gowns. Check. Choosing a china pattern. Check. Groping the hairy legs of what I hope are men while trying to determine which one is my clearly up-for-anything groom. Nope. That was most certainly not on the Jillian Carew Dream Wedding list.
Nothing about this bridal shower in Juniper Cove is how I imagined it would be. I’m trying to grin and bear it. After all, I love Evan’s mom and this event means a lot to her. I just didn’t imagine that it would involve so much—what’s the kind word for this?—foolishness. Yea. Let’s go with that.
In the past hour I’ve witnessed grown women crawl around on the floor scooping cotton balls into frying pans while wearing oven mitts. I’ve participated in a game where soon-to-be relatives draped me in toilet paper. I’ve even played along with a game of Whisper, which was heavy on the innuendo of what Evan and I are going to get up to on our wedding night. And now this. Guess the Groom, they call it.
I can’t help but wonder if I’m feeling up Evan’s dad. There are a lot of cat-calls going on, and I know this particular leg is firmer than the others I’ve fondled. But it’s too thin to be Evan. It could be the leg of a man who spends his days walking over the barrens near the cove lugging wood and hunting birds. Yup. I might not have found Evan, but I’m pretty sure this is his dad. Time to drop my hand and feel up another.
This next leg is not Evan. I don’t need to waste time here at all. It’s thick but not with muscle. Move on. Quick. I overhear someone say, “Ahh, too bad, Dwight,” and I smile in spite of myself. Evan’s cousin Dwight might be a big man, but he’s sweet and kind and from what I’ve seen, is the sort of attentive husband and dad any woman would be lucky to have.
And then, I know I’ve found Evan. It’s not the leg that could rival a fierce gladiator that tips me off. Or the way the women in the room are a little more subdued all of a sudden. It’s the slight tremor I feel as I tentatively make that first touch. After two years together, I know how he reacts to me. It’s almost as powerful as the way my body reacts to him. I can’t help myself. I tickle behind his knee, right in the spot I know sends him into convulsions when we have an all-out tickle battle.
It’s admirable the way he manages to not yell or squirm.
“I’ve got it narrowed down to two,” I tell the room.
One more squeeze of Evan’s leg for good measure and I go back to Dwight. As suspected, more than a few people start to laugh.
“Okay. I’ve got it figured out.”
I extend a hand upwards in hopes either one of the two men will help me up. My left hand is gently pulled up by a soft hand. My right is taken in a much firmer grip by a hand that I’d know anywhere. Once I’m steadily on my feet, I move towards Evan. If I wasn’t sure before, I am now.
“Should I just name my choice, or kiss him?” I ask the room.
“If you’re that sure,” Evan’s mom, Mary, says.
“So sure that I’ll marry whoever I kiss.”
That elicits a few whoops, maybe because I know right now I’m standing in front of Dwight. If either of them lets go of my hand, I’ll be screwed.
That’s when I feel the tug and find myself pulled into Evan’s arms. Just before he kisses me he says, “There are some games I leave to chance. This isn’t one of them.”
PDA isn’t normally my cup of tea. But maybe it’s because I’m blindfolded, or just shocked by the possessive intensity of his voice, but I kiss him back as if there’s no one in the room. And I honestly wish there wasn’t at this moment.
When I finally catch my breath and pull off my mask, I’m surprised to find that I don’t mind my “around the bay” shower anymore. There’s something to be said for
W hen I was a little girl there were a lot of things I imagined I’d be doing in the months leading up to my wedding. Going for a mani-pedi. Check. Trying on a million gowns. Check. Choosing a china pattern. Check. Groping the hairy legs of what I hope are men while trying to determine which one is my clearly up-for-anything groom. Nope. That was most certainly not on the Jillian Carew Dream Wedding list.
Nothing about this bridal shower in Juniper Cove is how I imagined it would be. I’m trying to grin and bear it. After all, I love Evan’s mom and this event means a lot to her. I just didn’t imagine that it would involve so much—what’s the kind word for this?—foolishness. Yea. Let’s go with that.
In the past hour I’ve witnessed grown women crawl around on the floor scooping cotton balls into frying pans while wearing oven mitts. I’ve participated in a game where soon-to-be relatives draped me in toilet paper. I’ve even played along with a game of Whisper, which was heavy on the innuendo of what Evan and I are going to get up to on our wedding night. And now this. Guess the Groom, they call it.
I can’t help but wonder if I’m feeling up Evan’s dad. There are a lot of cat-calls going on, and I know this particular leg is firmer than the others I’ve fondled. But it’s too thin to be Evan. It could be the leg of a man who spends his days walking over the barrens near the cove lugging wood and hunting birds. Yup. I might not have found Evan, but I’m pretty sure this is his dad. Time to drop my hand and feel up another.
This next leg is not Evan. I don’t need to waste time here at all. It’s thick but not with muscle. Move on. Quick. I overhear someone say, “Ahh, too bad, Dwight,” and I smile in spite of myself. Evan’s cousin Dwight might be a big man, but he’s sweet and kind and from what I’ve seen, is the sort of attentive husband and dad any woman would be lucky to have.
And then, I know I’ve found Evan. It’s not the leg that could rival a fierce gladiator that tips me off. Or the way the women in the room are a little more subdued all of a sudden. It’s the slight tremor I feel as I tentatively make that first touch. After two years together, I know how he reacts to me. It’s almost as powerful as the way my body reacts to him. I can’t help myself. I tickle behind his knee, right in the spot I know sends him into convulsions when we have an all-out tickle battle.
It’s admirable the way he manages to not yell or squirm.
“I’ve got it narrowed down to two,” I tell the room.
One more squeeze of Evan’s leg for good measure and I go back to Dwight. As suspected, more than a few people start to laugh.
“Okay. I’ve got it figured out.”
I extend a hand upwards in hopes either one of the two men will help me up. My left hand is gently pulled up by a soft hand. My right is taken in a much firmer grip by a hand that I’d know anywhere. Once I’m steadily on my feet, I move towards Evan. If I wasn’t sure before, I am now.
“Should I just name my choice, or kiss him?” I ask the room.
“If you’re that sure,” Evan’s mom, Mary, says.
“So sure that I’ll marry whoever I kiss.”
That elicits a few whoops, maybe because I know right now I’m standing in front of Dwight. If either of them lets go of my hand, I’ll be screwed.
That’s when I feel the tug and find myself pulled into Evan’s arms. Just before he kisses me he says, “There are some games I leave to chance. This isn’t one of them.”
PDA isn’t normally my cup of tea. But maybe it’s because I’m blindfolded, or just shocked by the possessive intensity of his voice, but I kiss him back as if there’s no one in the room. And I honestly wish there wasn’t at this moment.
When I finally catch my breath and pull off my mask, I’m surprised to find that I don’t mind my “around the bay” shower anymore. There’s something to be said for
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