{"id":1775,"date":"2019-03-06T13:20:28","date_gmt":"2019-03-06T18:20:28","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/read.whitefire-publishing.com\/?p=1775"},"modified":"2022-08-10T13:55:49","modified_gmt":"2022-08-10T17:55:49","slug":"weddings-willows-and-revised-expectations","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/whitefire-publishing.com\/read\/weddings-willows-and-revised-expectations\/","title":{"rendered":"Weddings, Willows, and Revised Expectations"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
\"\"<\/figure>
\n


Weddings, Willows, and Revised Expectations <\/h3>\n\n\n\n

by\u00a0V. Joy Palmer<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Seventeen years after being orphaned, Apryl Burns and her twin sister Courtney have their own expectations for life. While Courtney continues to shine at everything, Apryl holds fast to the mantra that as long as her potato chip stash remains intact, then she’ll be fine.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But when their beloved grandmother ends up injured and unable to manage her struggling antique store, Courtney makes it their mission to revamp the business and save what’s left of their family’s legacy. Despite rampant doubts in her abilities, Apryl finds herself trapped under the weight of family<\/a> loyalty as they transition to a wedding venue decorating service. Soon shes forced to ask (translation: blackmail) their grandmother’s renter\/handyman, Chance McFarland, for help, an arrangement that is made even worse by the fact that Chance is her former (ahem, and current) crush.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Chance knows a few dozen things about family loyalty, which is why he begrudgingly agrees to Apryl’s insane plan. While Apryl claims they’re archenemies, the girl Chance only glimpsed in their teens starts to emerge, stealing what remains of his heart.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But expectations are a powerful thing. Amidst the glamorous weddings and swaying willows, can those old expectations be revised into something new?<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n\n\n

\n\t\t\t\t\t

Prologue<\/span><\/span><\/h3>\n\t\t\t\t\t

A\ngreat philosopher looks at his various struggles as fodder for his innovative\nthinking, but, since I am not a great philosopher, I look at my struggles as\nsomething akin to stepping on a bee the size of a Komodo dragon. Painful and\nhorrifying. Like I said, I am not a great philosopher. I\u2019m a hairdresser who\nusually misspells innovative.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Correction:\nI was<\/em> a hairdresser. Now I\u2019m not sure\nwhat I am. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

So,\nyeah. I\u2019m not sure how to begin this. Maybe if this chair weren\u2019t grinding my\ntailbone to dust, I\u2019d be able to think straight and tell you this story. I\nalways complained to Gram about this chair. She would just say that I was\nsitting in it wrong. No amount of shifting, however, relieves the pain. Or\nmaybe that\u2019s just the hole in my heart. Cheery, right? Well, I\u2019ve never been a\nsunshine and rainbows girl. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\nshould get a grip and start at the beginning. What expression isn\u2019t already\ncoined by a multimillion-dollar movie franchise? Oh, never mind. As Solomon\nwould say, \u201cThere\u2019s nothing new under the sun.\u201d Also a cheery thought. I\u2019m just\nfull of those today.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Anyway.\nOn a cold November night, after three days of labor, a happy couple welcomed\ntheir beautiful baby girl into the world. They just knew this little angel had\ngreat things in store for her. Then eleven minutes later, I was born. Once again,\nthe happy couple imagined their second darling babe\u2019s future, sure it would\nalso be great and wonderful. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\nknow what you\u2019re thinking. It\u2019s the same thing I think every day.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Boy, did I prove\nthem wrong.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

But\nlet\u2019s skip ahead to my\u2014our\u2014fifteenth birthday. Because I blame everything\nhappening right now on that day.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I glance around the\nwillow grove. Courtney is standing by the present table, sipping a cup of\npunch. It looks like Queen Courtney is holding court, surrounded by all the\npopular, smart, and perfect boys and girls. She laughs and tosses her glossy\nhair over her shoulder. The way the boys stare, I\u2019m convinced it contains some\ntype of drool-inducing spores. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

If I tried to flip\nmy hair, I\u2019d probably fall over. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Whatever. I roll\nmy eyes like the \u201caverage\u201d teenager I am and keep searching. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

For him. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Gram set up our fifteenth\nbirthday party in my favorite place, the willow grove. Courtney said we should\njust do it inside, in the kitchen, but I begged and begged. The idea of a\nfluttery party in the willow grove on a warm summer day just seemed enchanting.\nAnd it is. Our theme is purple because we couldn\u2019t agree on a color, so Gram\npicked one for us. Twinkle lights\u2014thanks to an extension cord\u2014and streamers\nsway in the breeze. Tables with purple tablecloths dot the field surrounding\nthe grove. People mill around, laughing, eating, and just enjoying one\nanother\u2019s company.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Where is he?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I have no idea why\nChance McFarland and his father have been coming around so much. Gram hasn\u2019t\ntold us\u2014yet. But I have the feeling it\u2019s important. What I do know is that my\nheart feels like it will fly with the birds whenever Chance talks to me. A\nscary condition (especially because I\u2019m afraid of heights) that I\u2019ve been\nliving with for a year, ever since the new, joint junior high and high school\nfor the county opened its shiny steel doors. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Still no luck. I\nmight just eat my body weight in cake today\u2026<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

When Chance said\nhe\u2019d be at our birthday party last week\u2014and I don\u2019t want to be dramatic or\nanything\u2014I thought I was going to die. Be still my heart! He actually winked at\nme when he said it too. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I search the\nthrong of teenagers, pretending that I\u2019m engrossed in organizing the cookies on\nthe snack table. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Did Joe Cutly\nseriously try to do a mohawk?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Whoa, step back! That\u2019s\na lot of fuchsia. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Oh, look. Another\none of Gram\u2019s friends dyed her hair blue. Hope Gram isn\u2019t next.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Anxiety thrums in\nmy stomach, and I finger my locket. Seriously, where is he? Maybe he\u2019s not\ncoming. Oh, man. He\u2019s not going to come, is he? If he doesn\u2019t come, that\u2019s all\nI\u2019m going to remember about today. Whenever I look back on this birthday,\nthere\u2019s going to be a big black smear on this otherwise wonderful memory. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

However, like the\nlovelorn fool I am, I keep searching for him.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Finally, I see\nhim. Chance leans against a willow tree. Despite the fact that his back faces\nthe crowd, I see him reach down, pluck a blade of grass, and pop it into his\nmouth. Apparently, he\u2019s trying to be all cowboy. Why do guys do that? He knows this\nis New Hampshire, right? Not exactly the Wild West. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I start toward\nhim, prepared to tease him about the grass chewing. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Except a hand\nclamps down on my shoulder. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Um, creepy. Fight\nor flight? Fight or flight?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHi, Apryl. I just\nwanted to catch you and wish you a happy birthday.\u201d <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Oh, it\u2019s Chance\u2019s\ndad, Mr. William McFarland. \u201cThank you, sir.\u201d <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

He smiles and\nreaches for a cookie. Laugh lines crinkle all over his tan, weathered face,\nespecially around his eyes. He rambles on and on, but I don\u2019t hear what he\u2019s\nsaying. However, the way he\u2019s studying me makes me feel self-conscious. I\nsmooth the black lace on my dress skirt in an attempt to calm the anxious\nfeeling trying to overtake me like the hives I get when I eat shellfish. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

How long do you\nhave to wait until it\u2019s no longer considered rude to leave? <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I think it\u2019s been\nlong enough.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019m just about to\nexcuse myself when I see a girl saunter around the trunk of the willow tree\nChance continues to lean against. He takes her hand. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I can\u2019t feel my\nface.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cApryl, did you\nhear me?\u201d Mr. McFarland asks.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWh\u2014What?\u201d I feel\nlike I just lost a slap bet, face stinging from seven or eight smacks.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mr. McFarland\nfollows my gaze and nods. \u201cAh\u2026\u201d The breeze flicks at his full head of salt-and-pepper\nhair.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I lean against the\ntable. My hand grapples for something to hold. My brain only registers that\nI\u2019ve stuck my hand into something sticky when the unknown substance glues my\nfingers into a half-curled position. I am so dumb. Of course he\u2019s with another\ngirl. He\u2019s always with another girl.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAh, that son of\nmine. Barely sixteen years old and flirting with every girl he can see.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Yeah, I can see it\ntoo.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI remember what\nit was like to be young.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Oh, boy.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI understand he\nwants a girlfriend.\u201d <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Clearly. I look at\nmy jelly-covered hand. Gross.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI just wish he\u2019d\ngo for a different kind of girl.\u201d Mr. McFarland looks at me, his brown eyes\npiercing me where I stand. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Gulp.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

A different kind\nof girl?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Am I a different\nkind of girl?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThose girls\naren\u2019t good for him. He needs a girl who can understand the kind of legacy\nwe\u2019re building. And don\u2019t think I haven\u2019t noticed the way you guys spend time\ntogether. You certainly seem to get along.\u201d His eyes pierce me once again\nbecause he <\/em>knows. I thought I had been playing it cool. But\ncool doesn\u2019t have permanently rosy cheeks. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cUm. Yeah.\u201d I\nswallow. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cGood. That\u2019s\ngood.\u201d He fixes me with his dagger-like stare once again. \u201cDon\u2019t you think?\u201d <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYeah, I do.\u201d <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

He clears his\nthroat. \u201cYes. I agree.\u201d <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then he smiles.\nOnly it\u2019s not a nice, knowing, shared-secret kind of smile. It\u2019s the kind of\nsmile that would make a happy baby wail for their mom. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYes, I think\nCourtney is a good match for him.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Once again, I\ncan\u2019t feel my face. But that only lasts for three seconds. Then it burns like\nlava as shame, humiliation, jealousy, and mortification consume me alive. If I\ncould get away with it, I\u2019d rip my locket off and throw it at someone.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cShe\u2019s just the\nkind of girl Chance needs. I intend to make sure he\u2019s spending time with a\nproper young lady.\u201d He places his hand on my shoulder once again, and I swear\nit weighs a hundred pounds. \u201cYou understand what I\u2019m saying, young lady?\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Oh, yeah. I understand.\nI nod, my neck stiff and my head wooden.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSo, please, stay\naway.\u201d He gives me one more pointed look before walking over to another group\nof partygoers.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

There it is. I\u2019m\nnot good enough for his son. I\u2019m no good. I\u2019m not a proper<\/strong> young lady. A girl forever destined to be average. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

And who would ever\nwant average?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n