Made of Honor - By Marilynn Griffith Page 0,2

made me mad. Tracey approached slowly, waving like she always does after doing something crazy. I felt my anger wash away at the sight of her silly grin. Still, this was a bit much. “Thorns? You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Wish I was.” Rochelle dabbed my face with a napkin from her clutch. No doubt there was a first-aid kit, needle and thread, makeup bag and two shades of pantyhose crammed in that tiny thing. How she’d even managed to hold on to it while trying to drag me to safety was beyond me, but I’d long given up on trying to figure out Chelle’s superhuman womanhood. She just has skills like that. I’m lucky to keep my shoes on. Although I did manage to keep my contacts in. A new accomplishment.

Just before Tracey reached us, someone from the groom’s family intercepted and wheeled her away. The beginning of the end. She was no longer my roommate, my best friend. She was someone’s wife. We walked past Tracey, giving us the “be right there” signals.

Rochelle smiled.

I sulked. “Knowing Tracey, she probably thought it was more Christlike to leave the thorns on.” Mock disgust sounded in my voice. I was trying to be mad and couldn’t.

“Hush you,” Rochelle said, using our code phrase for when one started in on another of the three. It was the standard defense, but right now I felt like pushing past it.

Tracey joined us and slipped an arm around—well, almost around—my waist. “Got you, didn’t I? Sorry about your eye though.”

“You’d better be glad I love y’all,” I whispered as people packed in around us. Pain seared my scalp where Rochelle had raked a stem through my hair.

“Maybe if you’d helped with the wedding errands, you could have taken care of those thorns,” Rochelle said, reaching back in her purse for her dabbing cloth.

Ouch. That hurt way more than my eye. The truth always does. I pushed away Rochelle’s hand, preferring to blink my own way back to health. In a minute, there’d be no skin left on the right side of my face. That girl was dangerous with a Kleenex.

Tracey started to say something, but was called away…again. I took a deep breath, watching her walk to the punch table with her mother-in-law. Where was the groom? Why was I the one getting jealous instead of him? Shouldn’t her husband have been the one hunting her down?

Like I said, he’s a little weird. This whole deal was. But there was no use trying to explain that to Rochelle. She wasn’t trying to hear it. So I did what I always do—tried to explain it anyway. “Look, Rochelle, I already regret not helping out with the wedding. But I just wasn’t sure about this. When I dated Ryan—”

She tried the neck thing again. With success this time. “Dated? Is that what you call it? That mess was so boring he just stopped calling and came back to the singles group. So he wasn’t for you. No reason he can’t be the one for Tracey.” In a deft motion, she grabbed a napkin from the table next to us, wadded it quickly and removed several layers of my epidermis. “There’s just one last spot….”

She reached out again, but I shook my head, thinking I should have thrown in some cookies with the Ben and Jerry’s waiting for me at home. The line we’d joined without meaning to inched toward the punch and some gruesome-looking cake with what appeared to be bubble gum toothpaste for filling. I definitely should have helped with the wedding plans. At least the punch looked good. It would have to be.

The line crept on. So did the conversation, though I was reluctant to respond. “Just to be clear. I do not want Ryan. Never did. I don’t want anybody. And I don’t appreciate the insinuation.” My lips barely moved as we spoke through our smiles so no one would hear. Only a ventriloquist could do better.

Rochelle nodded. “Okay, so that was a bit much.”

“Quite a bit. I’m just not feeling Ryan, okay? I know you’ve got a chapter and verse for why I shouldn’t think that, but I’m just being real. Tracey is like a piece of me. How can Ryan be totally wrong for me and totally right for her? I’m having a hard time understanding that.” I glanced toward the punch bowl at Tracey. She looked happy. So why did I doubt she’d stay that way? “I’m surprised Ryan put down his