We both feel that way about each other, and that’s the most amazing thing of all.
But now, thanks to the universe’s absolutely terrible sense of humor, I’m stranded on the side of the road. I’m about to marry one of the richest men in the world, and here I am without a working phone or anyone to throw ludicrous amounts of money at to fix my problem.
“If we wait much longer,” I say, trying and failing to keep the doom and gloom at bay, “they’ll be halfway through the vows by the time that I show.”
“Well, those can’t really start without you, dear,” my mom says. As if we’re discussing the weather.
“But the wedding will.” My useless phone is at least decent at telling time, but when I look at it, my blood pressure spikes sky-high. “It’s about to begin right now! I should be standing at the double doors, waiting for my cue to go.”
A hysterical laugh bubbles up in my throat.
The image of Simon standing at the end of the aisle, waiting for me fills my mind. Convinced I’m not coming, after everything he’s done for me and my family. It’s enough to make my entire body ache.
“I have to get to him.
Now.”
“I hear you, baby girl. Drastic times call for drastic measures.” Mom pops the trunk and hauls out Grandma’s wheelchair.
She waves me over to help maneuver Grandma into her chair.
“It’s too far to walk or even roll,” I whisper, concerned her plan is about to take our day more off the rails.
“Not to the end of this road, where that busier highway intersects.” My mom grips the handles of Grandma’s wheelchair and points her in that direction. “Only one thing left to do…”
Warily, I ask, “And what’s that?”
A scary amount of glee lights her features as she digs in her good Sunday heels. “We hitchhike.”
Wait, what?
“In my wedding dress?”
Mom shrugs a shoulder and picks up her pace. “Do you want to get married or not?”
Victoria
Gathering the sides of my wedding dress in my fists, I kick it into high gear so I can keep up with my mom and my grandma. “I do,” I holler with enthusiasm, pun wholly intended.
“That’s what I thought,” my mom yells back, and soon we’re sprinting and giggling and panting our way to the intersection.
If anyone asks, my train is called a dust ruffle. And I mean that in the most literal sense. Some brides do ombre effects in colors-leave it to this farm girl to go au naturel with good old fashioned Texas dust.
We wave and scream when a truck passes by, but they probably can’t see us from the road.
Hope beckons, whispering that I’m actually going to find a way to get to the Rose Hotel. Not on time, and not in the pristine condition most brides arrive. But there to marry my man, to have and hold, for better or worse, to love and to cherish the rest of our lives.
The SUV that passes us by, fully in view as we’ve made it to the highway, makes my heart sink a little.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, let me,” Grandma pipes up from her wheelchair. She takes control herself, rolling forward another yard or so-she’s about to give me a heart attack, I swear. “Nobody can say no to an old lady in distress.”
It’s hard to argue with her about having the magic touch, because the next car pulls over at her boisterous waving of both arms.
“God bless you folks,” she says to Margie and Hank, the sweet older couple who take one look at us and usher us inside their minivan. It’s packed with presents like they’re the Clauses from the North Pole.
This entire trip home has given me a new appreciation for the place I grew up in. That’s why I’m paying tribute in my own way: under the flowy layers of my dress, peeking out here and there, are my trusty pair of cowboy boots.
“Wedding emergency?” Hank asks, putting the van in drive.
“You have no idea,” I breathe, still a little winded from our trek. “We need to get to the Rose Hotel, just as fast as we can. Safely, of course.”
“You’ve got it, darlin’,” says Hank, accelerating down the road. They’re visiting their grandkids and as fate would have it, we’re on the way.
About a half mile down the road, my cell picks up a signal. “Oh thank God,” I say, but then I hesitate.
Who do I call?
Will Simon even have his phone on him?
An idea forms, a lightning strike of inspiration in this plot-twist-of-a-day.
I hit the button to call up the newest contact in my phone, silently pleading for him to pick up, pick up, pick up.
He does.
Seven minutes later, we screech to a stop in front of the Rose Hotel.
Grandma lets out a whoop as Hank flings open the van door to assist her out of the vehicle and into her wheelchair. “Now, this is what I call an entrance.”
Thanking Hank and Margie profusely, I rush up the steps to the hotel, gown billowing behind me.
A doorman opens the door just in time for me, my mom, and my grandma to barrel into the lobby.
I’m twenty minutes late for my own wedding. I know they can’t go on without me, but technically, the ceremony has already started.
At the mouth of the hallway that leads to the event center, I spot the man I dialed up and asked for a favor.
Luis stands straighter as we approach, a feat I would’ve declared impossible if I hadn’t witnessed it myself. “It’s good to see you,” he says.
“Fingers crossed my groom will feel the same way,” I reply, smoothing a hand down my dress and my hair. “Do I look a mess?”
“You look beautiful,” my mom says.
“I know we’re already so late,” Grandma says at the same time. “But can we get twenty more minutes?”
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.