Free Paige Torn by Erynn Mangum Page A

sauce,” she says, in a hushed, reverent voice. “Don’t forget the sauce. It’s exactly the same menu Mom and Dad had for their wedding. I’ve heard about that sauce since the day I was born.”
    â€œWith Burgundy sauce,” I add.
    â€œWe’re not cutting the meal.” She squints at me. “We can cut the cost of the invitations. I can hand deliver some of them.”
    â€œThat would probably save you about fifteen dollars.”
    She snaps her fingers. “Shoot.” She looks at the picture again. “You really think we can make this?”
    â€œLook, print a picture of it, I’ll work on a mock-up over the weekend, and then you can see what you think. If you don’t like it, you still have plenty of time to order them before the party.”
    She sighs. “Okay. Are you sure? I mean, I want it to be nice.”
    â€œPositive.” I’ve been itching to get my glue gun out anyway.
    â€œWell. Okay. I guess we can try it.” She closes her computer and looks up at me. “I’m going to make spaghetti for dinner. Want some?”
    â€œWith your mom’s homemade meatballs?” My mouth starts watering just thinking about it.
    â€œYeah. She sent me home with three huge gallon Ziplocs filled with them at Christmas.” Layla walks over and opens her freezer door just to prove her point. All that’s in her freezer are the meatballs and a frozen pizza.
    â€œWhat can I do?”
    â€œYou can sit. You’ve been doing a lot for me, and I want to make dinner for you,” she says. “So, I was thinking about going to look for a wedding dress this weekend.”
    I sit on one of the bar stools at her tall counter that overlooks the sink. “Oh yeah? Don’t you think it’s a little bit early?” The wedding is a little over nine months away, after all.
    If there’s one thing I am dreading about Layla’s wedding, it is looking at bridesmaid dresses. Not only are they incredibly expensive for something I will wear only once, but they always look so uncomfortable. I’ve never been a bridesmaid before, but it just doesn’t seem like a lot of fun to me.
    But I am Layla’s best friend, and of course I will wear whatever dress she picks for me.
    â€œWell, true …” she says sadly. Then she grins and starts bubbling about the kind of wedding dress she is searching for. “I want strapless but not skanky and lace but not overdone, and I really like the Cinderella style but I don’t want to seem like I’m playing dress up.” She dumps about twenty meatballs in a dish and sticks it in the microwave while she pulls a jar of spaghetti sauce and a box of noodles from the pantry.
    Layla is not really a homemade kind of person. Which is just funny because her mom is about the most crazy-talented cook in the whole world.
    Layla told me once that she just felt like it was a lot to live up to, and she decided one day that she was going to be totally different and not cook at all. She said that lasted until she gained ten pounds eating out all the time.
    A copy of a magazine called Wedded Bliss is lying on the counter in front of me, so I thumb through it while Layla gets water boiling for the noodles. “Here’s one.” I hold up a page with the most awful dress I’ve ever seen in my whole life.
    Layla glances over at it. “That’s not too bad.”
    â€œThe wedding dress, Layla.”
    She squints at the picture again. “Ew. That looks like moss grew on that girl.”
    â€œThe dress is white.”
    â€œIt has a greenish tint to it. Pass.”
    â€œI was joking, anyway.”
    â€œI would hope so. Just think about all the ideas this is probably giving you for your wedding someday, Paige!”
    â€œMmm.” I shrug. Layla and I have such different tastes in everything that our weddings will probably be like night and day.
    In ten or so years, when I get