The Marriage Pact by Dinah McLeod

Becky, my Becky, the self-proclaimed least romantic person on Earth, was getting married! I guess it just took Seth to turn her around, because she clearly felt differently around him. Thinking about romance inevitably turned my mind to the man who neither of us was talking about. The picture I had of him in my mind’s eye sprang up instantly, like a mirage to a man dying of thirst.
    “Becky!” I called out. “Hurry up already!” I knew I sounded irritable and I wasn’t mad at her, but at my own weakness for a man I hadn’t seen or heard from in almost a decade. What a pathetic loser I’d turned out to be.
    “Keep your pjs on,” she said in a sing-song voice as she emerged from the bathroom, toweling off her hair.
    “I imagine I’ll be saying something similar to you a few hours from now,” I quipped.
    “Naw. The dress is paid for, the cake’s already in the fridge. What could go wrong?”
    I winced—I couldn’t help it, I’d always been a bit superstitious. “Famous last words, my friend. Famous last words.”
    “Oh, go get in the shower already!” she scolded, throwing her damp towel at me, sending me scurrying into the bathroom.
     
    * * *
     
    Everything that could go wrong, did. We’d accidentally left the veil, Cindy Lou had spilled grape juice on her dress, which didn’t complement pastel green at all. Patrice, in some act of misguided defiance, had dyed her hair a shade of strawberry pink that was better suited to a punk rocker. To say it was an eyesore would have been an understatement.
    The dressing room was a madhouse as problem after problem arose. Everyone was snapping at each other. Patrice and Becky’s sister, who had found a pastel green suit at Dillard’s, had almost come to blows. Yet, in the midst of the chaos, Becky sat among us, calm and still with a smile on her face. I strongly suspected it had something to do with the letter she was holding onto that had been delivered just before the madness began.
    “Beck?” I tried to capture her attention.
    The face she turned to me was serene. “Hmm?”
    “Honey, I hate to tell you, but the pianist is sick. So—”
    She surprised me by giggling. “That figures.” She took in my bewildered expression and quickly explained. “That woman hates me. Always has, ever since I dumped her son three years ago. Well, if she was aiming to ruin my wedding day, she’s got another think coming.”
    I marveled at her wide, beautiful smile. Most brides would be absolutely beside themselves. “What did he put in that envelope?” I whispered. “Valium?”
    She giggled again. “Of course not, Shan. If I wanted Valium, we both know you’d be the one I’d talk to.”
    “He seems…” I stared down at the envelope with her name scrawled on the front of it, along with a hand-drawn picture of an oak tree with their names carved in its trunk, trying to find the word. “Very sweet.”
    “He is,” she sighed, happily. “I’m going to enjoy it, too, before I completely ruin him.”
    “Becky!” I exclaimed, shoving her shoulder. “Don’t you dare!”
    “We promised to write each other letters, to read before the wedding, you know.”
    I wondered if she knew she was blushing. Once again, I couldn’t help but note the change in her. “I think that’s great, honey.”
    “Do you want to read it?”
    “Do I want to…”
    “Here.” She thrust it at me.
    “Um, OK.” I slipped the note card out of the envelope, noting it had the words ‘Thank You’ embossed on the front with another hand-drawn picture, this time of two doves. I flipped open the card and skimmed it. Thank you for being the love of my life… now and forever… my love will only grow as we age… I can’t wait to see you at the altar. “It’s sweet,” I said, sniffling as I handed it to her.
    “Oh, are you getting all teary-eyed on me?” she teased.
    “You know, I think your sister needs some help with makeup. I’ll—”
    Just then, all hell broke loose. Literally,