Page 1 of One More Chance

Harper

I can barely seethe line I need to sign through the blurred mess my tears have created, but I scrawl my name in blue ink across it as fast as I can and it’s done. I’m officially divorced. It would have been sooner, but my now ex-husband Charles is an asshole and decided to draw it out for a while. Why? I’m not sure. To torment me, is my best guess. We’ve been over and done with for more than a year and a half now. And still, crossing the “t” in my reclaimed maiden name of Whitney on my divorce paperwork, hurts in a way I can’t exactly explain. I don’t miss him, but I hate this sense of failure.

The next envelope in the pile of mail I’ve avoided cuts in a way it shouldn’t. I run my fingers over the embossed stamp on the back before slipping my finger inside and tugging it open.

Mr. & Mrs. Whitney

request the pleasure of your company

at the celebration of marriage between

Lyla Elizabeth Whitney

&

Gentry Tucker Bodine

on Saturday, June 20th

at six o’clock in the evening

Whitney Farms

The Big White Tent

100 Whitney Way

Dinner and Dancing to follow

I don’t know why my sister insisted on giving me an invitation. We live on the same property. I helped her stuff the damn envelopes myself. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to see my sister’s day coming. But the “plus one” she slapped next to my name on the front of my envelope feels more like a slap to the face. Despite telling her several times there’s no way I’m bringing a date, she still suggested keeping an open mind in case an opportunity presented itself.

I gave that advice a big eye roll.

After Lyla moved back to the farm, she and Gentry took the old cabin I once shared with Charles at the back of the property, and I moved into the main house with Nan and Paw. I suppose moving back in with my grandparents post-divorce really completed the small-town narrative. Married my high school sweetheart, never left town, got cheated on, got divorced, and still haven’t left town. Pathetic.

In my nearly two years of single life since Charles left, I’ve done a lot of reflection, and I’ve generally arrived at the same conclusion. My life is small. And there’s a big difference between a simple life and a small life.

I check my calendar because I’m terrible at remembering what day it is. We’re two weeks out from Lyla’s big day but that doesn’t mean anything around here is chill. People are arriving tomorrow actually—including her friend Cora, who’s coming in from Boston for all the wedding shenanigans. We have the bridal shower, the bachelorette and bachelor parties, a brunch, rehearsal dinner, and the list goes on. The Whitney family, along with almost everyone in the South, takes weddings pretty seriously. This is an event. One to be talked about. It’s been in the local newspaper. Everyone in our small town is talking about it. Roughly two hundred people will be in attendance.

After Cora arrives, we’ll still have so many details to finalize. Thinking about all this only dredges up my own wedding memories. When I married Charles, there was a similar chain of events. Charles was so annoyed by all of it, he made me cry three times in the week leading up to our wedding day. The morning of, he told me he wished I came without the package of my family. But here I sit, with tears in my eyes as I sign the divorce papers.

I walk out onto the porch and watch the setting sun cast long shadows over the fields. Taking a seat on the porch swing, I’m just in time to be greeted by Lyla and Gentry pulling up. They’re back from town. Mack, their German Shepherd, jumps out and rushes toward me as soon as their door is open. I lean down to be greeted with his gentle licks and nudges.

“Hey, Mack baby. Who’s a good boy?” I say in my best baby voice.

“Hey, Harper,” Lyla says.

“Hey, where are ya’ll coming back from?” I ask, and my sister holds up a bag of dog treats and an iced coffee. “Isn’t it a little late for coffee?” I add, laughing at her buzzed cheerfulness.

“Never,” she says. “Listen, I’m glad I caught you. I was thinking. Starting tomorrow when Cora gets here and up until the wedding, I vote Cora and I stay here in the big house with you and Gentry, and Cora’s brother can stay in the cabin. What do you think?”

“Oh, sure,” I say. “Sounds fun.”

“Not to me,” Gentry interjects, his bottom lip jutting out. He’s clearly not happy about this arrangement.

“Not happy about your boy’s only slumber party?” I tease.

“You sister thinks it’ll be fun not to have any sexy time until our wedding night,” he pouts.