Read Online The Chapel Wars by Lindsey Leavitt - Free Book Online

the bank account. No uptick of ceremonies.
    The first weekend in December was the Bridal Spectacular, a perfect chance to advertise and network. Early Saturday morning, Mom and Dad settled into the booth while Sam and I fiddled with the sign.
    “Your divorced parents look like the poster children for marriage,” Sam observed.
    We watched them laugh. “Doesn’t it make you wonder why they ever got divorced in the first place?”
    “They’re probably acting happy to overcompensate for deeper feelings. It’s the same brave face I’d wear if Camille and I ever broke up.”
    I analyzed them a beat longer. “I don’t know. They have really happy-looking brave faces.”
    The biannual Vegas Bridal Spectacular is a decent show, but using a word like “spectacular” only leads to a letdown. Cashman Center is nothing like the planet-sized buildings on the south side of the Strip. It’s old, you have to hike a hill to park, and the homeless trail up and down the street. Cashman is located even farther north than the wedding chapels, past downtown Las Vegas and the I-15, in a little nest of city buildings and museums. It took some bridal imagination, walking through wedding-dress and florist booths in this old convention center that smelled like old convention center, but tons of Vegas brides came, and we were one of the few chapels on the Strip that marketed to locals.
    “Hey, I’m grabbing a hot dog,” Sam said. “And some nachos. You want anything?”
    I waved him off. “I’ll eat some of your nachos.”
    “No, if you’re going to eat my nachos, I’ll buy you nachos too.”
    “But I don’t want a whole thing of nachos,” I said.
    Sam grunted. “Then don’t eat them all. Dude, you’re such a chick sometimes.”
    “I’m always a chick!” I yelled after him. Sometimes he was something that rhymed with “chick.”
    Mom laughed. “I wish you could see how cute you guys are together.”
    Annoying PS—despite Camille’s constant presence and the fact that I’d been friends with Sam for so long without any signs of feeling anything, Mom thought Sam and I were Made for Each Other. She was so into the idea of Sam and me hooking up that I exploited the crap out of it, telling her that I was going out with him so I could get a later curfew, always omitting the four to six other guys going with us. “Don’t go there, Mom.”
    Mom shrugged. “He’s a nice boy. Might be nice to settle on one guy for a while instead of dating an army of them.”
    “You’re dating someone in the army?” Dad asked.
    “You had to be there.” And I didn’t date an army. I had a policy on boys. I would go out with almost any boy who asked (well, there was a formula involved, but … I won’t go into it. Suffice it to say potential serial killers factored out of the equation). The more times I said yes—only to dinner, of course—the more boys felt comfortable asking. I wasn’t prettier/smarter/funnier/skinnier than any other girl. I was just approachable.
    By dating a lot, I avoided having relationship talks with guys, allowing me to say yes to another date at any time. No guy could object because we never had clear boundaries. Most guys didn’t go too far, because we weren’t together enough for too far to happen. Really, the theory was so golden, I could bottle it up and hawk it at county fairs.
Men! Get your men here!
    The slogan wouldn’t stop Mom’s relationship chiding. At least she dropped the topic and fell into comfortable conversation while I waved and grinned at anyone within ten feet of our booth.No one came by. We were boring, our space was boring, we needed a gimmick, something—I don’t know—
Spectacular!
    My parents didn’t seem too concerned about the lack of customers. Dad was telling Mom about his latest photography project—a series of fruit slowly rotting. He always had artistic projects on the side, though the chapel was his main gig. Mom told him about a local literacy charity she’d started