Face-Off at the Altar
Page 6
“I’m vertical.”
“Always a good thing,” she said, laughing a bit as she cleared her throat. “Is it ’cause of Skylar? Or the wedding? Or, dare I say his name—brace yourself—but Markus?”
Hearing his name hurt more than hearing her sister’s, which made her question herself. Skylar was her sister; she should be able to forgive her, but she hadn’t. She couldn’t. The betrayal was so intense and hurtful, and she was mad. Furious, even. How dare she? But the thing that drove Mekena absolutely batshit was, even after all that happened, she still loved him. Still yearned for him. And she was supposed to face him? After almost eighteen months of no contact or even seeing his face? She hadn’t even Facebook-stalked him. Nothing. Cold turkey. Yet, she couldn’t shake him, and she knew why.
She had a photo.
One photo of them.
The both of them grinning, carefree, and totally digging each other.
A photo she refused to delete.
Just closing her eyes, she could see his. Eyes that could pierce a soul. Her soul. They were such an alarmingly beautiful caramel color that complemented his dark skin perfectly. His unruly black hair had been extra fluffy that day since they were on the way to the barbershop. His grin, nothing could stop it. His teeth so white, so perfectly straight, while hers were a little crooked at the bottom. But she was grinning. Hard. For him. For the possibility of their future.
But that all came to a crashing halt.
“You know what, babe, you’re gonna be so busy being an awesome photographer, you won’t even know he is there.”
She scoffed. “I’ll know.”
“I know, but we can act like he isn’t.”
“Solid plan, except I can’t. I haven’t even seen him, and I just can’t,” she said slowly, and Avery’s voice dropped into an almost whisper.
“I know. I’m sorry. But at least you won’t see him but for one day. He is coming in late Friday evening because he has games and flying out the next night. So don’t worry.”
Letting out a relieved breath since she had been worried about that, Mekena smiled. “Thank God.”
When she pulled into her driveway, she put the car in park as she listened to Avery laugh with Ashlyn. “Hey, I’ll let you go. I just got home, and you’re busy.”
“Are you sure? Come see me!”
“I will. Promise. Let me do what I need to do, and then I’ll come out tomorrow.”
“Party. Bring Fatso.”
Offended, Mekena shook her head. “I will not. I refuse to subject him to you. You’re mean,” she joked. “I’ll text you.”
“Okay! Bye!”
Hanging up, Mekena smiled and got out of the car, heading into the house as she checked her emails, her camera hanging off her shoulder. Libby had shut the studio down for the two weeks they would be in Nashville, and since one of Mekena’s jobs was to answer studio emails, she figured she’d better get it done before she saw Libby. Stopping at the back door, she answered a quick one about appointments and then tucked her phone into her pocket before entering her old family home.
Growing up, Mekena’s family wasn’t rich, but neither were they poor. They were solidly middle class. Her father worked hard at the tire factory, and her mom was a teacher. They had everything they needed and never yearned for more. They were happy, and their home showed that. Entering the family room, Mekena studied the walls covered with memories. Skylar was one hell of a dancer, so the walls were plastered with her dance pictures. Since taking a picture of a young girl reading a book wasn’t something you put on the wall, there were only a few pictures of Mekena. Actually, the only pictures on the walls of Mekena were the ones of her with all her academic awards.
Walking through the family room, she entered the kitchen where she heard her parents and Libby talking about the latest in politics. At least no one was cutting anyone.
Yet.
“Hey, sweetheart, how’d it go?” her father, Stan, asked as he leaned against the counter while Libby and her mom, Linda, were sitting at the table.
“Went well,” she said, laying her camera on the table. “It’s a big place. We might need to hire a third shooter,” she said, more to Libby than her parents.
“Eh, we’ll be fine,” Libby said, waving her off. Mekena’s mother and Libby were twins, both with dark hair and brown eyes like Mekena. She favored them, while Skylar favored their father more. She was taller, darker, and stronger like him.
And some would say a whore like him too.
But that wasn’t very nice. And not really true, either.
“Any emails lately?”’
“Nope,” she said, sitting down beside her mom. Linda reached out, taking Mekena’s hand, and smiled. Mekena returned the smile. “What are y’all doing?”
“Just talking,” her mother said, squeezing her hand. “It’s so good to have you home.”
Mekena smiled. “I know, I’ve missed y’all.”
“No, she hasn’t. I’m better,” Libby joked, and her mother laughed.
“Please, you’re old.”
“I’m the same age you are!”
“Old,” she repeated, kissing the back of her daughter’s hand. “You should move back.”
“Mom…”
“Really, you can go back to school. A different one, this time.”
“Vanderbilt is awesome, baby,” her father suggested, and she nodded.
“Really great school.”
“Or you can hang with me,” Libby suggested, and Mekena smiled. “I know, hard decision since I’m so awesome and all.”
“You’re just so smart, honey. Use it,” her mother suggested. The thought had crossed Mekena’s mind a few times, that maybe she should come back home. But she just couldn’t. Not yet. Not now.
“I’m good,” Mekena lied, shaking her head as she looked around. Clearing her throat free of emotion, she asked, “Where is Mr. Right?”
“He’s napping,”
“Does he do anything else?” Libby asked, and Mekena glared.
“Hush, you.”
Her father laughed. “I watched him fart once. But he was out of breath for a good hour, so he might not do that again.”
That had everyone cackling while Mekena still looked perturbed. “I don’t know why everyone is hating on my cat.”
“Always a good thing,” she said, laughing a bit as she cleared her throat. “Is it ’cause of Skylar? Or the wedding? Or, dare I say his name—brace yourself—but Markus?”
Hearing his name hurt more than hearing her sister’s, which made her question herself. Skylar was her sister; she should be able to forgive her, but she hadn’t. She couldn’t. The betrayal was so intense and hurtful, and she was mad. Furious, even. How dare she? But the thing that drove Mekena absolutely batshit was, even after all that happened, she still loved him. Still yearned for him. And she was supposed to face him? After almost eighteen months of no contact or even seeing his face? She hadn’t even Facebook-stalked him. Nothing. Cold turkey. Yet, she couldn’t shake him, and she knew why.
She had a photo.
One photo of them.
The both of them grinning, carefree, and totally digging each other.
A photo she refused to delete.
Just closing her eyes, she could see his. Eyes that could pierce a soul. Her soul. They were such an alarmingly beautiful caramel color that complemented his dark skin perfectly. His unruly black hair had been extra fluffy that day since they were on the way to the barbershop. His grin, nothing could stop it. His teeth so white, so perfectly straight, while hers were a little crooked at the bottom. But she was grinning. Hard. For him. For the possibility of their future.
But that all came to a crashing halt.
“You know what, babe, you’re gonna be so busy being an awesome photographer, you won’t even know he is there.”
She scoffed. “I’ll know.”
“I know, but we can act like he isn’t.”
“Solid plan, except I can’t. I haven’t even seen him, and I just can’t,” she said slowly, and Avery’s voice dropped into an almost whisper.
“I know. I’m sorry. But at least you won’t see him but for one day. He is coming in late Friday evening because he has games and flying out the next night. So don’t worry.”
Letting out a relieved breath since she had been worried about that, Mekena smiled. “Thank God.”
When she pulled into her driveway, she put the car in park as she listened to Avery laugh with Ashlyn. “Hey, I’ll let you go. I just got home, and you’re busy.”
“Are you sure? Come see me!”
“I will. Promise. Let me do what I need to do, and then I’ll come out tomorrow.”
“Party. Bring Fatso.”
Offended, Mekena shook her head. “I will not. I refuse to subject him to you. You’re mean,” she joked. “I’ll text you.”
“Okay! Bye!”
Hanging up, Mekena smiled and got out of the car, heading into the house as she checked her emails, her camera hanging off her shoulder. Libby had shut the studio down for the two weeks they would be in Nashville, and since one of Mekena’s jobs was to answer studio emails, she figured she’d better get it done before she saw Libby. Stopping at the back door, she answered a quick one about appointments and then tucked her phone into her pocket before entering her old family home.
Growing up, Mekena’s family wasn’t rich, but neither were they poor. They were solidly middle class. Her father worked hard at the tire factory, and her mom was a teacher. They had everything they needed and never yearned for more. They were happy, and their home showed that. Entering the family room, Mekena studied the walls covered with memories. Skylar was one hell of a dancer, so the walls were plastered with her dance pictures. Since taking a picture of a young girl reading a book wasn’t something you put on the wall, there were only a few pictures of Mekena. Actually, the only pictures on the walls of Mekena were the ones of her with all her academic awards.
Walking through the family room, she entered the kitchen where she heard her parents and Libby talking about the latest in politics. At least no one was cutting anyone.
Yet.
“Hey, sweetheart, how’d it go?” her father, Stan, asked as he leaned against the counter while Libby and her mom, Linda, were sitting at the table.
“Went well,” she said, laying her camera on the table. “It’s a big place. We might need to hire a third shooter,” she said, more to Libby than her parents.
“Eh, we’ll be fine,” Libby said, waving her off. Mekena’s mother and Libby were twins, both with dark hair and brown eyes like Mekena. She favored them, while Skylar favored their father more. She was taller, darker, and stronger like him.
And some would say a whore like him too.
But that wasn’t very nice. And not really true, either.
“Any emails lately?”’
“Nope,” she said, sitting down beside her mom. Linda reached out, taking Mekena’s hand, and smiled. Mekena returned the smile. “What are y’all doing?”
“Just talking,” her mother said, squeezing her hand. “It’s so good to have you home.”
Mekena smiled. “I know, I’ve missed y’all.”
“No, she hasn’t. I’m better,” Libby joked, and her mother laughed.
“Please, you’re old.”
“I’m the same age you are!”
“Old,” she repeated, kissing the back of her daughter’s hand. “You should move back.”
“Mom…”
“Really, you can go back to school. A different one, this time.”
“Vanderbilt is awesome, baby,” her father suggested, and she nodded.
“Really great school.”
“Or you can hang with me,” Libby suggested, and Mekena smiled. “I know, hard decision since I’m so awesome and all.”
“You’re just so smart, honey. Use it,” her mother suggested. The thought had crossed Mekena’s mind a few times, that maybe she should come back home. But she just couldn’t. Not yet. Not now.
“I’m good,” Mekena lied, shaking her head as she looked around. Clearing her throat free of emotion, she asked, “Where is Mr. Right?”
“He’s napping,”
“Does he do anything else?” Libby asked, and Mekena glared.
“Hush, you.”
Her father laughed. “I watched him fart once. But he was out of breath for a good hour, so he might not do that again.”
That had everyone cackling while Mekena still looked perturbed. “I don’t know why everyone is hating on my cat.”
