Best Man

This is a big problem.

We’ve been in a non-moving line of cars for about forty minutes.

Darkness is falling fast. Everything is a dismal gray. I can barely see up ahead, with all the snow blowing around. Red taillights, stretching out into oblivion, are occasionally visible in the whiteout.

Miles drops his hand onto the brake, wrapping his big fingers around the knob. He rolled up the sleeves of his flannel as he drove, probably because I’m blasting the heat, since my toes are ice cubes. His forearm is veined and masculine and threatens to flash me back to the rest of his perfect body parts. They might be covered, but I have intimate knowledge of them, and having them this close is seriously a recipe for disaster.

Why did I ever think this was a good idea?

Oh, right. I never did.

I should’ve done this alone.

Or maybe I shouldn’t have done it at all. Why was I so insistent that everything be absolutely perfect?

Cars have been steadily coming down the hill. But going up isn’t happening. Next to me, Miles cranes his neck again to try to see what’s going on. “Why didn’t we stop to get something to eat, again? I’m starving.”

“Because we hate each other and don’t want to spend any more time together than absolutely necessary,” I mutter, my foot up on the dash as I try to lacquer my little toenail. “Quit moving.”

“It’s the wind, dumbass.”

I know that. It still feels better to yell at him. Even though we haven’t moved in the better part of an hour, I can’t keep my hand straight because of the way the wind’s bouncing the car around.

This is what I’ve been reduced to. Where today I could’ve gotten the whole-body treatment, now, I’m forced to take desperate measures. Which means, giving myself a shabby little pedicure in the passenger seat of my Mini. I had a dull file and some lavender nail polish, which is better than nothing. Tomorrow, I can wake extra early and get everything taken care of so I’m perfect for go-time.

I’m trying to ignore the fact that even if we did the speed limit the whole way to the Midnight Lodge, we’d still end up there a half-hour late for the rehearsal dinner.

As I finish with my pinky toe, my phone lights up with another text from Eva: Oh god. This is awful!

I text back: It’s okay. It’s just a squall. It should end soon.

Then I get a text from Aaron: Hurry back soon, babe. I’ll be ready. Can’t wait for tomorrow.

I smile as I blow on my toenails. What was I so worried about, again?

Then I look at the next text that came in from Eva: Sorry to break it to you, but your mom was just watching The Weather Channel in her room and says that the snow isn’t supposed to stop until tomorrow morning.

What? I almost spill the little vial of nail polish I have on the center console, rushing to flip the radio station. I whirl the dial, not coming up with anything. “Can you find that station you listen to? Boredom 105? I need to hear the weather.”

He snorts. “Forget it. We’re out of range for all the Denver stations.”

I grab my phone and check the weather. Sure enough, for the town we’re in—someplace called, aptly, Desperation—it shows snow until seven in the morning. There’s also a blizzard warning in effect until six AM.

Oh, fuck.

Making plans to write a strongly worded letter to every weatherman in the metropolitan area, I throw my head back and groan. As I do, a sharp gust of wind rocks the car, sending a jolt of fear down my spine. Have cars ever been picked up on this mountain and sent airborne into the ravine? Specifically, little cars?

I hope not.

When the wind calms, I bang my fist on the armrest. “What the fuck! Move already!! Did you hear me?!”

Miles just looks at me. “Hey. Headcase.”

I pout. “It appears that it’s a little more than a squall.”

“You don’t say.”

Yes. Actually, I didn’t say. He was the one who’d been saying that. Memo to me: When the guy you’re traveling with is a genius and a wizard and has a history of never being wrong, listen to him.

Chicken wire sure is looking good, right now.

Hope dares to bloom inside me when the cars in front of us start to move.

Yes. Yes. Yes. Keep it going.

I wince when they suddenly stop. I should’ve known it was too good to be true. So we’ve gone about twenty feet in sixty minutes. At this rate, we’ll get to the Midnight Lodge when I’m in dentures.

My toenails are now dry. They look awful, but they’re better than before. I start to file my fingernails. I keep them short because of my biting habit. At least they’re not bitten down to the quick and bloody, per usual. I’ve actually resorted to sleeping with bags on my hands lately because I sometimes bite them when I’m sleeping, and I wanted them to look good for the wedding.

But like Miles says, they’re still awful.

As I’m filing away, red and blue lights appear in the rearview mirror. A police car’s driving up the shoulder, followed by an ambulance.

“Accident,” I sigh, saying a quick prayer for whoever might’ve been hurt.

Miles drags a hand down his face and yawns. “Well, if they get it cleared out, we should be able to keep going.”

“You think?” I check my phone. If we could perhaps go over the speed limit, maybe we won’t be all that late.

“I don’t know.”

“If we can get clear, and you gun it all the way there, we might not be that late for the rehearsal.”

He gives me a skeptical look. “Seriously?”

I nod.

“So let me ask you a question. Do you know how weddings work?”

I nod.

“Have you imagined your wedding since you were a little girl?”

“Well, yes.”

“Do you know how to walk straight and say the words I do?”

Now, I know where he’s headed with this. “Yes, but—”

“Then why the fuck do you need to rehearse any of that?”

I grip the nail file like a weapon, aimed at him. “Well, obviously, because I need to know where to stand and how to proceed in and all that.”

“So, you’d rather us die on this mountain trying to get to your rehearsal than accidentally stand in the wrong place at the altar tomorrow?” He scratches his temple. “Makes perfect sense to me.”

I hate him. I really do. But I laugh for some reason—maybe to hide the fact that he pushes my buttons far more than I’m comfortable with. “You’re stupid. Besides, there’s not going to be an altar tomorrow, dummy. It’s a secular ceremony. And it’s my once-in-a-lifetime, so it has to be perfect.”

He laughs as the fleet of emergency vehicles passes us and disappears up ahead, beyond the curve in the road.

“Right. Too bad. Because if I were you, right now, I’d be praying that we get over this hill tonight.”

My heart does a nervous little flip, though obviously, I am praying. “What do you mean? You just said it should be okay once we get past the accident.”

“I was trying to keep you from stabbing me with that weapon of yours,” he growls, staring straight ahead.

The cars ahead of us begin to move. We climb a little way up the mountain. In the lane with the opposing traffic, many cars start to pass by us. I hope that means that they’ve cleared whatever accident is up ahead. I start to applaud when we actually get over ten miles per hour.

But when we get around the mountain, my stomach drops.

All of those cars that are reaching the flashing lights? A police officer is directing them to turn around and head back down the mountain.

I’d started to paint my fingernails, but now I’m curling my hands into fists, smudging the polish something awful. “No,” I whine. “No, no, no!”

“Relax,” Miles mutters. “And put the fucking file down before you hurt someone.”

I’m gripping it so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t become a permanent part of my body. I loosen my grip. “Do you think I’m ridiculous? Because I didn’t want chicken wire?”

“Chicken wire?”

“Yes. Aaron said I shouldn’t go back for the rings because it was only a symbol. He said we could use chicken wire. But I wanted things to be perfect, and…” I cover my face with my hands. “I’m an idiot.”

“You can’t use chicken wire,” he mumbles.

I twist my head to look at him, stunned. Is he actually, for once in his life…agreeing with me?

“But I never would’ve been so fucking stupid as hell to leave my wedding rings at home. Not if it meant that much to me.”

I stiffen my shoulders, because his words are like an ice pick to the heart. “What are you insinuating? That Aaron’s marrying me doesn’t mean anything to him?”

He shrugs. “No. Just that he and I are different.”

Right. I know that. Those differences are why I love Aaron, and I hate the man next to me.

But I hate admitting that Miles is right. He never would’ve forgotten the rings in the first place.

An officer is standing in the middle of the road, directing traffic. Miles pulls the car up to the officer and powers down the window. His tone of voice changes; he speaks to the officer like he’s an actual human. “Hi, any chance we can get through?”

The officer shakes his head. “We’re not recommending it. Cars are sliding all over the road out there.”

I clench my teeth. “Miles. If we have to turn around and go to Boulder, we won’t make it back for the wedding.”

As the words are out of my mouth, I realize what I’m saying.

I’m going to miss my own wedding.

I start to shake.

Miles looks over at me, drumming his hands on the steering wheel again. He’s probably nervous because he’s trying to be nice to the police officer, and it’s so unlike him to be nice to anyone.

I’m so wired I can’t even blink. Behind us, cars are turning around and heading back towards Boulder, their headlights making arcs on my windshield.

He points at me. “Listen. Her wedding’s tomorrow morning. At the Midnight Lodge? If she doesn’t get there, it’s going to be a pretty big deal. She has five hundred guests waiting.”

The officer comes closer and shines a flashlight into the car, at me. I give him my most pitiful look.

“No kidding. You two kids are getting married? Mazel tov.”

Miles doesn’t bother to correct him. “You think it’s passable?”

“You’ll probably be fine, if you go slow. There’s a bunch of yahoos on the mountain going too fast, a lot of stopped cars. Just take your time. I’ll let you through.”

I clasp my hands together. “Oh, thank you!” I gush. “Thank you so much!”

Miles rolls up his window and waves at him as he motions to another officer, and they guide us through the emergency vehicles, past an SUV that’s slid into a mangled guardrail.

And just like that, we’re off again.

After a few minutes, I have to say it. Begrudgingly, I mumble, “Thanks.”

“For what?”

“For telling the officer we needed to get through and not just giving up.”

“Well. It’s against my better judgement.” His jaw is tight. “And I’m not doing it for you. I’m doing it because I think I’d rather slide off a cliff than have to spend the night with you in Boulder.”

I scowl at him. “Same.”

He grunts like he’s happy with the agreement.

The car feels like it doesn’t have any traction. It’s slipping over the snow-covered roads, and there are no tire marks here to follow.

“I guess we should go slow,” I tell him, rubbing my hands together as he revs the engine to get us up the mountain.

“I get it. I’ll go the fastest slow that I can.”

I smile. Maybe I don’t hate him all that much.