In the Stars Read online

  “Not true,” I counter stubbornly.

  “Yes true,” Josh interrupts and begins counting on his fingers. “While You Were Sleeping, which is your favorite movie in the world, has Sandra Bullock object and then that brown haired guy objects and everyone objects. She lives happily ever after. Bride Wars, when Anne Hathaway confesses to her fiancé that they aren’t meant to be after Kate Hudson tackles her in the aisle. She ends up with Kate Hudson’s brother. Made of Honor, when Patrick Dempsey flies through the chapel doors on a horse right when the priest asks if there are objections and it’s incredibly romantic.” Josh pauses for a breath. “Life isn’t Hollywood. Nobody in real life ever objects at a wedding. By the time the bride has made her way down the aisle, it’s too late.”

  “It isn’t too late,” I insist. “He has pre-wedding jitters. He is ashamed about looking foolish calling the wedding off. This way it’s not on him, it’s on me. I’m the one who’ll like a total ass by putting myself out there. All he has to do is say yes.”

  “Is there anything I can say to make you not go through with this?”

  I shake my head. “I have to. I can’t live my life wondering ‘what if.’ This way I can rest easy, knowing I gave it my all.”

  Josh gives me a funny look. “What did you say?”

  “I said, I have to be willing to take a chance, even if the chance makes me fall on my face. I’ve hit rock bottom before, what’s once more?”

  “You are a braver person than me,” Josh acknowledges. He pats my leg under the covers and then gets off the bed. “I’m going to go swimming. I hear this hotel has an amazing pool. Come on, it’ll take your mind off everything, give you time to think.”

  I eye him suspiciously. “Promise you won’t try to persuade me to give up on my plan?”

  “Scout’s honor.”

  We get changed into our swimsuits, me in the bedroom, and Josh in the bathroom. Then we grab a couple clean towels and leave our room. As we walk down the hallway to the elevator, I catch a glimpse of us in the mirror at the end of the hall. Josh’s body is amazing. He’s like Zac Efron who is photographed almost daily running shirtless on the beach and doing chin-ups on playgrounds.

  “You really look good,” I tell him. I ignore the immediate heat that courses through me and play it cool. “You never told me you had a six pack.”

  Josh ducks his head with embarrassment. “It never really came up in conversation. Besides, we’ve gone swimming before. You clearly lack good observation skills.”

  I think back to the handful of times we’d gone to the Talisman Center and Village Square Leisure. He’s right, I never really noticed. Why the heck am I noticing it now? And especially why is it making me all hot and bothered? Must be leftover emotions from the motel and Drew. That’s got to be it.

  “Well, you look great,” I finally say.

  We get down to the lobby and then I freeze. “Josh, look!” I point to the side, in the opposite direction of the pool. “A spa.” I breathe the sacred word and clutch his arm in glee. “This is exactly what I need to rejuvenate myself before tomorrow. Come with me!”

  “You mean pay for you,” he replies drily.

  “Not pay for me.” It stings that he thinks I am after his money. “Loan me some money and I swear I’ll pay you back. Or I can just put it on my Visa. So there.”

  Josh surveys the sign to the spa. “The Sora Spa offers beauty treatments, Thai massages and more, using holistic-botanical and marine elements to deliver exceptional results and supreme spa experiences.” He appraises me with a grin. “Sure, you of all people deserve a supreme spa experience. Let’s do it! And you’re not allowed to pay me back. This is my treat. Maybe the relaxation will knock some sense into that pretty head of yours.”

  I grab his arm. “Thank you! You’re going to love it!”

  And we do.

  I normally don’t believe advertising, but in this case, it is spot on. A manicure, facial and tropical escape wrap lift my spirits and calm my soul. I can do this. Tomorrow is my time to shine.

  The beautiful Asian woman who brings me my jasmine scented towel at the end bows low and declares, “You are radiant. No stress in your life, not today, not ever. Bless.” She inclines her head to me and I bow right back to her.

  “Thank you.” I find out at the front desk that Josh’s massage had finished an hour earlier and he headed back to the room. I thank the woman again and float back to the room. The spa worked wonders. I’m rejuvenated and refreshed and ready to do what I was led here by fate to do. A good night’s sleep is all I need now and then I can seize the day and win back my love.

  The good night’s rest never comes, however. Between Josh lightly snoring across from me and the occasional sound that drifts to my ears through the hotel, I am wired. I toss and turn, check the time on my cell phone every few minutes and then shut my eyes tight in a vain effort to fall asleep.

  Am I sure about standing up during the wedding ceremony? I ask myself one more time. If I don’t do it, I’ll never know for sure. And besides, Drew has to know that going through with the wedding is a mistake. He said he loved me. This is absolutely the right thing. I am positive.

  I finally drift off around four in the morning and a mere three hours later my alarm buzzes me awake. Wedding day.

  May you find the strength of an eagle’s wings,

  and the courage and faith to soar to great heights.

  And may you be granted the Universal wisdom to carry you there.

  —Ancient Navajo Blessing

  Chapter Twenty

  I dress carefully. My mini-dress that I wore out for drinks with Drew is fine as I pair it with my grey blazer and a thin strand of pearls. Instantly it goes from the type of dress a mistress would wear (at least how I picture a mistress would dress) to being a good girl-next-door type. I wash my hair, blow dry it and curl the ends under, Katy Perry style. When Josh wakes up, he showers and then throws on khakis and a dress shirt. We’d discussed it last night and reluctantly he agreed to accompany me. Moral support and friendship trumps all.

  The front desk calls a cab for us and ten minutes before the ceremony is set to begin, we arrive at the steps of Christ Church Cathedral, the gorgeous Anglican edifice that reminds me of Notre Dame. It is a stone’s throw from the courthouse on Quadra Street at Rockland and is one of the largest church buildings in Canada. There is a vast, old cemetery across from it, full of people who have already lived and died, their hopes and dreams snuffed out with their lives. With an elegant bell tower, historic architecture and beautiful stained glass and vaulted ceilings, I feel insignificant. They could not have chosen a more intimidating place.

  Josh pays the cabbie and we climb out. He takes my arm and helps me up the steps and into the nave. Pews line the room, pillars supporting and raising one’s view heavenward. The domed roof is intricate with details so lovely it is difficult to take them all in at once. Music plays softly from an organ at the front. An usher smiles, checks our invitation and directs us to the groom’s side of the room after inquiring who we are here to support.

  “This is incredible,” Josh whispers. “Look at the architectural detail in here. I wonder when this was built.” I am too nervous to pay attention as he talks about the gothic influences evidenced in the pillars and ceiling.

  There are people everywhere. I doubt I know this many people, let alone know them well enough to invite them to my wedding. Women kiss each other on the cheek, men shake hands. Children fidget on the hard pews.

  Suddenly the organ begins to play a song that sounds to me like a death march and the bridal party begins to file in. My hands are shaking. Josh reaches over and takes my cold, clammy one in his own and holds it tight. First the groom enters. Drew is more handsome than I have ever seen him. At my quick intake of breath Josh leans to me and asks, “Is that him?”

 
Strange that Josh and Drew have never met in person. I hiss “Yes,” and stare at him. I am willing for him to turn and see me and come running to me without me even saying a word, but to my chagrin, he does not. He makes his way to the front where he shakes hands with the Bishop of the Diocese of British Columbia (wow, they really did pull out all the stops for this wedding, didn’t they?) and then turns and surveys the room with a smile. The room beams back at him.

  More people make their way down the aisle. I don’t recognize any of the groomsmen, but I guess it shouldn’t surprise me that Drew didn’t stay in touch with any of our old crowd. College friendships rarely stand the test of time when all you do together is party and drink for a few wild years. I do spot the girls from yesterday, and sink in my seat. Jenna comes first, her cornrows done up in some elaborate piece of work that must have taken a stylist hours to complete. Belle bobs behind her, feet slightly off beat from the music. A third girl follows, one I have never seen before, and finally there is the sister, Monica. All the bridesmaids look lovely, wearing knee length, sleeveless dresses, royal blue. They have cream shawls draped over their shoulders and carry bouquets of baby’s breath and white roses.

  Belle sees me and mouths the word “Hi!” Monica also smiles when she passes. They still think I’m a cousin. I can’t smile back at them. They are going to despise me in about twenty minutes.

  Once the procession has made its way to the front, everyone stands. The energy in the room lifts me to my feet as well. The traditional wedding march begins. Here comes the bride.

  For the past week and a half I have hated this girl, whose face I only knew from that one, small photograph. I hated her straight, white teeth, and her fair skin. I hated her hair and her green eyes that would ensure that she and Drew have their own green-eyed babies. Yet now, when I finally see her in person, I feel a large amount of compassion.

  She has no idea that her fiancé loves another woman. She has no clue that the girl she just passed while making her way down the aisle is about to run off with him. My hatred for her evaporates. She seems nice, simple, like someone I would befriend under different circumstances.

  The organ stops and the ceremony begins. I draw a shaky breath and listen carefully for my cue.

  Do not use a hatchet to remove a fly

  from your friend’s forehead.

  —Chinese Proverb

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The bishop has been droning on for a few minutes, mentioning things like honesty and trust. I am on the edge of my seat, waiting, and then, there it is. In the same melodic voice, with the same majesty and beauty as the rest of his sermon. This is it.

  “If any of you have reasons why these two should not be married, speak now or forever hold your peace.” The bishop has finally uttered the magic words. I think of Joan of Arc, standing firm for what she believed in, I picture Martin Luther King proclaiming that he has a dream and I hold on to those ounces of courage.

  Josh looks down at the floor and I stand in the pew, grasping the pillar beside me for support. “I object,” I say, my voice quavering so much it is nearly incomprehensible. My words carry with more power than I felt, however, across the pews, throughout the enormous cathedral.

  Everything moves in slow motion. I don’t think anyone had even entertained the notion that this would happen. Gasps ring out from those around me, but the people in the front are slow to react. They mustn’t have heard, although it’s pretty obvious with me standing here that something is amiss. The bishop gapes at me then looks in shock at the bride and groom. “Did she just object?”

  “I object to this wedding,” I repeat. The second time is easier, and I grow louder. My words echo and resonate. There is a flurry of voices.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Who is that girl?”

  “Ooh, mom, I love her dress, can you get it for me?”

  “What did she say?”

  “Who the hell is that?”

  “Charles, we’re in a church! Watch your language, you old coot!”

  “I knew she wasn’t a cousin!”

  Dr. and Mrs. Adams rubberneck from the front row, disbelief written on their faces. “Isn’t that the girl who came by the house?” Mrs. Adams shrieks and then puts the back of her hand to her forehead and collapses into her husband’s arms.

  Monica is holding tight to her older sister’s arm. Both girls are paler than if they’d seen a ghost, although Sylvia doesn’t seem to be overly shocked. A single tear falls down her face, leaving a line through her foundation. Jenna, on the other side of her, glares at me, alternating between calling me names like whore, slut and bitch at the top of her voice and whispering into her best friend’s ear.

  I step out of my pew and walk up the aisle. I am oblivious to the chaos around me. I am looking only at Drew. I can’t read his face. His expression is inscrutable. He is not dashing down the aisle to meet me, but neither is he comforting his bride. My eyes meet his and words fall from my mouth.

  “I’m sorry,” I apologize, my voice carrying over the crowd and confusion. “I’m sorry to barge in like this. I’m sorry to interrupt. And I need you all to know I’m not the type of girl who rudely and crazily barges in on weddings, not usually. Sylvia, I am sorry to ruin your day. I wish we had met under better circumstances, and I am truly, deeply, sorry. Additionally, I want to make it clear that I am sane, I promise. But despite all this, I have to object to this wedding.”

  The bishop finds his tongue. “On what grounds, young lady, do you find yourself making this objection?”

  I am no more than ten feet from Drew. I stand in the aisle and regard him steadily. “Drew, you are my soul mate. You broke up with me and when you did you broke my heart.”

  “Jilted lover,” someone behind me says knowingly to their companion. I ignore them and continue.

  “I haven’t been happy since you left me. I’ve had nothing but bad luck. But this changed when I decided to come find you. You have the power to turn my life around. You made me live my life in crazy, unpredictable ways. You make me laugh. Your spontaneity and zest for living give me reason to plough ahead even when times are rough. You are the one who got away once, and I cannot live with myself if let you get away again.”

  The nave is so silent you could hear a pin drop.

  “Yesterday, you told me you loved me.” My voice is low and cracks on the word ‘loved’. I can sense that the guests in the back are straining to hear the rest of this, but it is not meant for them.

  Sylvia covers her eyes and lets out a moan. Monica and Jenna glare at me and I have no doubt that if either had a weapon close by, my life would be in grave danger.

  “You kissed me, Drew and brought me to the motel. You wouldn’t have done that if you were fully committed to your fiancée. This is why I object,” I nod to the bishop. “I object because Drew hasn’t been faithful to his betrothed and the reason why is me. He loves me.”

  Someone on Sylvia’s side of the nave blows her nose loudly into a handkerchief and the spell of reverence breaks. All hell breaks loose and for a few minutes everyone is on their feet, shouting at me, shouting at one another, shouting at Drew.

  “I knew that your son wasn’t mature enough to marry!”

  “He’s your son too, Marilyn!”

  “I couldn’t hear the whole thing. What did she say about him saying he loved her?”

  “Who is this girl?”

  “How dare you barge into this holy edifice and make such blasphemous accusations!”

  Even the Prime Minister, seated in the second row adds his two cents when he states, “This is the best wedding I’ve seen in years!” He grins and surveys the mess around him.

  The bishop raises his hands high above his head, the flowing sleeves making it seem like wings, and for a second I am worried that he’s about to call down fire fro
m heaven or something and smite me.

  “Silence!” he thunders in his deep voice. “This is a house of worship, not a den of unfounded accusations and confusion.” He turns to Drew who hasn’t moved from his spot.

  “Young man, explain yourself. Is any of this accurate?”

  Drew’s eyes dart from one side of the room to the other. He licks his lips and wipes his brow, where large beads of sweat have appeared. “Uh, well sir, okay, I can explain.” He shoots a pleading glance at Sylvia and then an equally pitiful one in my own direction.

  “This is Charley.”

  I half expect to hear everyone chant “Hi, Charley,” like people do in the movies at AA meetings and such. Nobody says a word.

  He looks ill, his face turning a decided shade of green. For a moment I expect him to throw me under the bus, to say that I’m lying and he has no clue what I’m talking about. Then he opens his mouth.

  “Charley and I dated. And it’s true, I loved her once upon a time, but it’s done. Sylvia, you’re the one I’m marrying.”

  Scumbag.

  “You may be marrying her,” I retort, “but you didn’t merely love me once upon a time. You told me yesterday that you loved me. Stop pretending. Why are you doing this?”

  The bishop stares at Drew. “Is this true?”

  Drew shifts from one foot to the other and grips the altar for support. “Uh, well, okay, let me start again. So I may have said that, and maybe I technically believe it. But the point is, I love Sylvia as well. Look, I’m about to get married and be a one-woman man for the rest of eternity. I think I’m entitled to a little fun beforehand, am I right?” He grins unsteadily, his eyes wild.