Permanent Bliss (Bliss #3.5)(10)
Author: B.J. Harvey

The resulting cut on my bottom lip didn’t require stitches, but it was swollen as f**k until a few days ago. I’m just lucky I could check in with the dentist straight away to repair the damage of what we now refer to as the ‘drunken sexing’ incident. There should be a warning on liquor bottles. ‘Drink and screw at your own peril.’ At least it was a fun, if not extremely painful, experience.

I lean back and turn the television up, scanning through the channels until I find the baseball game replay.

Mac is at her final dress fitting with our moms and Kate. As her stress levels increase, I keep having to remind myself that there is just one week to go until we can return to our previous stress-free existence. Well, relatively stress free. Fittings, tastings, venue visits and last minute checks and both of our families are a mixture of excited and exhausted.

What I’m most looking forward to is having Mac all to myself afterwards. Our honeymoon in Cabo San Lucas, sans kids, is going to be one of the highlights of our year. I love Jared and Riley to the moon and back, but those two kids are the world’s best c**k blockers. But even beyond that, away from Chicago, just the two of us, we’re going to be starting the next part of our lives. The part where Mac knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that I’m hers for life, and vice versa.

And let’s face it, Mac in a bikini in the hot Mexican sun, or better still, not wearing anything at all for seven days, total and unadulterated bliss.

I just hope I survive long enough to make it to my wedding.

Speaking of which, I pick up my phone and dial Noah’s number. “Hey, Taylor.”

“Hey, is there some best man duty I missed out on?”

I chuckle. Surprisingly, Noah has taken his role very seriously since I asked him. My brother is overseas, and the last update we had was that he was stuck in New Zealand, so Noah was the obvious choice.

“You’re fine. Well, you won’t be soon. You need to tell Mac, Noah.”

There’s an awkward silence over the phone filled with guilt and foreboding. “Uh, yeah. You sure you want me to do that?”

“If you want Nikki at the wedding as your plus one, you have to tell Mac. I’m not causing a shit storm a week before my wedding with my future wife who is well overdue for a freakout.”

“But they’re so entertaining,” he comments offhandedly.

“Taylor,” I growl. “You need to call her and make sure she’s okay with it. ’Cause if you don’t, and she gets pissed off when you turn up to the wedding with my ex-girlfriend, you’ll be answering to me. Nothing, and I mean nothing will ruin what should be the best day of Mac’s life. She deserves this. She’s earned this. If she’s not happy, I’m not happy.”

“Yeah, yeah. I get it, man. I’ll call her once I get off shift. A few hours tops.”

“You better. You remember you’ve gotta go pick up our suits this week, right?”

“Yep. All organized. Rings, Suit, beer. We’ll be sweet for Saturday. You nervous? Cold feet?”

“Nope. They’re tropical. But fix this with Mac if you want there to be a wedding.”

“Fuck, man. You’re starting to sound like a chick.”

“Whatever. See you Friday at the dinner, if you’re still alive that is.” I end the call, taking a deep breath to steady my nerves.

If anything, at least my day is about to get interesting.

Mac

Two glasses of wine, and half an hour standing like a plastic mannequin being poked and prodded by the dressmaker as I have my final dress fitting, and you’d think I’d be agitated. But I’m not. I’m on cloud f**king nine.

With the moms and Kate, we’ve had the trial run for our hair, a boozy lunch, and now our final dress fittings for the ‘wedding of the year’ as my mother-in-law is calling it. I’m relaxed, happy to be sharing this experience with the three important women in my life, and wishing the next week to fly by.

Everything is arranged: the church, the reception, the rehearsal dinner, the flowers, the cake, the ceremony, the suits, the kids, and finally, my dress.

“Where’s my bra?” Kate shrieks from the dressing room at the back of the shop.

“You can’t wear a bra with your dress. When we changed the straps you had a VBL, so we decided you had to go without.”

“Where was I when this happened?”

“Probably drunk,” I mutter under my breath.

“I heard that!”

“I know. I wanted you too!” I retort with a smirk.

“What’s a VBL?” Daniel’s mother Jenny asks, her face perplexed. “I’ve heard of a lot of things, especially with Makenna as a daughter in law, but never VBL.”

My mom, bless her cotton socks, leans over the couch and places her hand on Jenny’s forearm. “Visible breast line.”

“Bra line, mom. Bra line. No one says br**sts anymore. Boobs, jugs, tits, knockers, sweater puppies, hooters, the twins, traffic lights, bazoongas. Boobs, mom.” A lifetime of freakouts has made me an expert of holding my breath and speaking quickly.

The moms start hooting with laughter, and Kate and I join them. I realize how ridiculous my rant sounded. Anyone would think we were a bunch of giggling teenage girls laughing about boys.

“Turn around, Makenna,” instructs the dressmaker. I spin around and freeze in place as I see the whole package in the floor to ceiling mirror.

The whole damn package.

Dress, hair, everything. Holy f**k, I’m getting married.

My eyes go wide as I catch Kate’s face behind me. Her eyes glisten with tears as she covers her mouth with her hand and just stares at me. It’s a look of shock and awe. Worried that something is wrong with me, I look at the moms who are both dabbing their eyes with handkerchiefs that I didn’t know middle-aged women even carried around anymore.

“What?” I ask, anxious as hell, unable to tear my eyes away from the sight in front of me.

“Breathtaking,” Jenny whispers hoarsely, her voice tight with emotion.

“Exquisite,” my mom spits out through her tears.

I lock eyes with Kate, not needing words to tell her how I’m feeling and what I need in that moment. “Hon, you are the most beautiful bride I’ve ever seen.”

I can’t hold back a grin as I slowly run my hands over the satin-smooth, built in corset of my dress, down to my hips. I gently move my hips side to side, watching the gentle sway of the material in amazement. If ever I was to have a dream wedding dress, a childhood fantasy of what I would look like as one of those saccharine-sweet Barbie brides we all thought we’d become, this wouldn’t be it.