Any Way Out - 13. Insert pithy title here

Sarah Dawes opened smiling eyes onto the gray stillness of her lodgings. Even if she were wearing her glasses, there wouldn’t be much to take in. Light streamed through the studio’s lone window behind her head, filtering through a fine haze to illumine the back of the love seat beyond the foot of the bed, then mirror back from the blank screen of the television. Wandering right, her gaze considered the door, then onto the right side, the kitchenette and bar. Hard against her right elbow was the partition containing closets and the bathroom.

Her left elbow, however, brushed the brightest spot in the whole place. Sergeant Jeff Sands lay unconsciously heaving with his susurrant breath. The side sleeper faced away from her, taking in a few extra winks; normally he’d have been gone an hour already, but he was on a -- a four day pass? That was right. Although there weren't technically any groomsmen at Ashlee and Felicity’s big gay Thursday wedding, he was as good as in the bridal party, besides being a handsome escort to the maid of honor.

Slumbering in his lateral pose, his fresh haircut was on full display. The hair had been a surprise for her. The Army man had it cut every other Wednesday, wedding or not. Caressing his brushy head had been a revelation to her, but what she really couldn’t resist was running her lips through it, something he thought was funny, crazy, but still sexy. It threw her back to Summit City Scholars, when a teacher had held a laser pointer’s beam to her lips, explaining that she could feel the heat because of the particularly sensitive nerves there.

SInce then she had been secretly passionate about textures on her lips. His hair, unfortunately, was the kinkiest part of Jeff’s body they had touched. He had set his limits strictly at mutual masturbation, and the couple of months marked the longest time she had shared a bed with one man without -- well -- “sharing a bed”. Recently, she had dared to take his erect cock in her hand and attempted to provide full service, but after a few vigorous strokes, he had smiled tenderly, gently pushed her away and whispered, “Let me.”

Jeff was waiting for something, most likely marriage, but he implied that engagement might also be sufficient. He was already living with her full time, splitting her rent and barely using the barracks room on Fort Myer. If it kept up like this, she would be able to afford her own car again. He was smart, funny, responsible and solvent. A couple of Sundays ago they’d visited dad’s grave outside Richmond, then mom who was working off a third divorce, south of Fredericksburg. Privately, she’d let her mother know that Jeff was probably the one, as meaningless as it might be to such a woman. The looming nuptials of her university chum put her in mind of her future; Sarah would say yes, but how long was Josh going to wait?

Her phone buzzed an alarm under her pillow. Arm candy, future husband; whatever he was, he had work to do. Stilling the device by her ear, she assembled the to-do list in her mind. Now, would Jeff get the kiss or the kick for his reveille?

Jeff groaned at the knee in his tailbone. “Just five more minutes, mom,” he protested.

Sarah crawled up close and buried a cheek, then her lips, into his hair while stroking his chest. From her peripheral vision, she saw the corner of his smile, and he reached back to squeeze her thigh. “Is it time to go to work?” he asked.

She kissed his cheek, then sat up, cross-legged in bed, Her blond curls frizzed out in every direction, and she had to clear a path for her glasses through the foliage. In her newly clear vision, she saw Jeff swivel into a seated position with feet on the floor, then pop up and stand at near attention awaiting instructions. Sarah slapped her knees and supplied them.

“Okay, I need to be at Uyen’s at eleven, but we have to get the party stuff first. You’ve got to go to the florist after you drop me off …”

“Take a breath, Sarah,” insisted Jeff. He circumnavigated the foot of the bed, landing on the edge by her right hip. Jef wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

Sarah leaned into him, then yipped “I’m sorry,” as Jeff spat out the golden strands that had suddenly covered his face. She bound her locks in the tie on her wrist and tried again. They rested together for a long minute before Jeff started again.

“It’s not even seven. We’ve got this four day together. Let me do breakfast. What do you want?”

Sarah stretched her left arm out. It felt a little limp. “I haven’t been to the gym in forever. You’re going to turn me into a dependapotamus.” She tried out the pejorative for a military wife she’d picked up from him, but If he caught the hint, he didn’t let on.

“Nah, you could never. No kids, you’ve got your own health insurance; it would take a lot more than some breakfast from your man. There’s eggs and some fruit in here. I can do you a couple steam basted, keep it high protein. We can get a workout in tomorrow.”

“Thank you, honey,” she said, stroking his butt as he left to serve her. She was touched as always by his responsible care for her, and only a little put out by the certainty that he meant a workout in the gym. She went to the bathroom, and while bringing her hair to heel she heard Jeff calling out her her from the kitchen.

“This wedding is a lot of work isn’t it?”

“They tend to be.,” she agreed. “This is my third as maid-of-honor. I’m almost getting used to it.”

“Would you go through all this for yourself? Are you okay in there?”

“I just dropped the hairbrush, and, um, a couple of other things.” She sang back. Shit, is this happening now? she wondered as she shoveled a double handful of toiletries into the sink to rinse off. She’d been leaning in, and her suddenly numb fingers had sent the brush bowling through the objects perched precariously on the slim sink. “Why, how would you do it?”

“I dunno,” he called back. “It seems like a lot of money for one day, when it’s the rest of your life that matters. How much are these hair appointments costing?

Sarah shouted back over the water she was running over the things: “A couple hundred for each of us.” Blowouts, make-up and mani-pedi’s for four girls was easily costing Ashlee as much as Jeff spent on his hair in a year. “It’s for the pictures, really, speaking of things that last a lifetime.”

“I’m thinking, bride and groom, parents and a couple of friends, courthouse or church, doesn’t matter, would be enough.” Jeff had cast oblique judgment on the hurriedly spendy flurry of the five-week engagement, from time to time, but this was his most direct criticism yet. "When -- when it’s time for -- I just think I’d go quietly.”

He fell silent. Sarah stood in the bathroom door and regarded him, concentrating hard on the eggs through the glass lid of the frying pan.

‘What are you thinking about?” Sarah ventured.

“You have to watch till the moment the whites on top of the yolk turn completely translucent.” he answered. “I don’t want them to overcook.”

“I mean, anything else?”

Jeff whisked the lid away with a flourish and blinked in the cloud of steam. Artfully, he turned the eggs out onto a plate, then set it with a slight spin on the bar. “Not right now, no.”

*** 

Uyen stared into the blackness of her closed eyes, grateful for the running water around her ears that obviated the stream of “uh-huh” and “okay” that the beautician’s attempts at conversation had been obliging her to emit. Beside her, Felicity, on the other hand, had been gabbling with Paulette nonstop about the wedding. She heard for the twentieth time about all the people who would be there, about fifty guests from the ninety-six invitations that Uyen had hand-addressed a month before, none of whom Uyen would know.

Her beautician was a large woman named Genevieve. It was very specifically pronounced “Jean-vieve”, an affectation befitting her vocation. It also somehow fit the place in general, a salon in the city named “Lavender”. They catered specifically to gay men and transgender women, but as Uyen was Felicity’s escort/babysitter for the afternoon, they seemed happy enough to take care of her, too.

They weren’t too far from the office, either. Had she abandoned her post as bridesmaid, a sore temptation indeed, she could have been at her desk in less than half an hour. She would have been playing to an empty house, though. Mr. Hahn, the famous stickler for presenteeism, had declared Thursday and Friday virtual days in honor of the nuptials. So, instead of being productive, she was reclining at the salon, her head soaking in a black sink, her feet soaking in a pink basin.

The water stopped, and Genevieve massaged shampoo into Uyen’s scalp and pulled ever so slightly as she ran it out to the ends. Her hands were big. The only salons Uyen had frequented were with her mother, staffed only by other Asian women on the same scale as her. Genevieve was a big, pale, white redhead, and transgender to boot. Uyen hadn’t quite been prepared for that, and had nervously kept herself from asking either Genevieve or Paulette their -- what was it? -- gender assigned at birth.

Genevieve washed out the shampoo and asked, “Uyen, do you normally get a face massage when you have your hair washed?”

Uyen replied, “Er, I haven’t been to a salon in a while, but yeah, normally I do.”

“Would you like me to give you one?”

Uyen considered this paradigm shift. No Asian hairdresser had given her the chance to opt out. “Actually, no, I never liked it.” she declared

“You’re the boss, Uyen!” chirped Genevieve. She started with the conditioner. “You seem a little tense. Are you nervous about tonight?”

“I don’t know, I’m not big on parties,” she confessed. She wondered if she was hurting Felicity’s feelings, so quickly added, “I want to be there for Ashlee and Felicity, of course.”

“Hmm,” vocalized Genevieve. “Have you been a bridesmaid before?”

"Just once"

“Can you tell me about it?”

Uyen hesitated, then, “Why not? My sister got married when I was 15 and we had a pretty big wedding for her.”

Paulette jumped in. “You’re Vietnamese, aren’t you? Did you wear one of those red dresses, with the gold dragons and stuff?”

“Well, Dad’s from Vietnam; my other grandma was pregnant when she landed. I try to be American when I can.” Uyen felt the hands slow down, and caught Paulette glancing over, chagrin written on her face, which spread instantly into Uyen’s heart, so she relented. “But, yes we had them. Dad had them shipped from Vietnam for us. We did the whole traditional thing.” How could she make up for being an asshole just now? “You want to hear about it?”

The silence lasted a second too long before Felicity saved her: “Oh, I haven’t heard this one, Uyen. Let's hear it.”

Genevieve dried her hands. “I’m going to let that sit for a while and get started on the pedicure, okay?” Genevieve squatted on a stool at Uyen’s feet and lifted them from the basin, then toweled them off. Uyen felt a towel playing about her toes, then felt and heard the snip-snip of cuticle trimmers. “So what’s a Vietnamese wedding like? I want to hear about the dresses, too.”

“They’re called áo dài.” Uyen intoned the two syllables carefully, expertly dropping the pitch of the second word, zye. “Three red ones for my cousins and me and a white one for my sister. We didn’t put them on until we spent five hours cleaning the house, though.”

“What?” said Paulette.

“It’s not just a wedding, The groom’s family has to formally demonstrate its intentions to the bride’s family. They all came over to our house with red gift boxes and pots of food and we had kind of a huge tea party.” The interested murmurs of her audience drove her on. “I was up at five dusting off statues of saints, then moving furniture, then sweeping and mopping, before I even saw the áo dài. We took an hour off cleaning for mom and my aunts to dress us and do our hair so we could receive the groom’s procession.”

Genevieve switched from cuticle trimmers to emery board and said, “I’m guessing you didn’t get to relax?”

“Oh, no,” Uyen laughed. “We were serving tea for the next two hours, then we stood for a two hour Catholic wedding mass, then we were waitresses again for the reception. SInce that was Saturday, we were all in church -- again -- on Sunday morning with half the Vietnamese in Virginia.”

Genevieve asked as she labored at Uyens feet, ”I bet you can’t wait till you get to do that for yourself.”

“I’m hoping I can avoid it,” replied Uyen, “but I'm almost twenty-four and Mom and Dad are starting to worry about me. At Easter, they paraded me in front of every Van, Xuon, and Mihn they could find who was still single. I’m kind of enjoying being a rebel. Out of four kids, I’m the only one Mom can’t call on the carpet within five minutes.”

“I’ve seen pictures of those dresses, the high neck ones. They're so elegant.” This came courtesy of Felicity’s single track mind. “A lot different from what Sarah picked out. Tell us about the makeup today, Paulette!”

Paulette, now also at the feet of her own client, assumed the air of a French chef or an art professor: “Felicity, of course, is the centerpiece today. I wouldn’t put up that gorgeous har for a million dollars, so we’re blowing it out. Felicity’s got very strong lines in her face, which we’re bringing out, and it’s all going to be a little 80’s. All the girls except Ashlee are getting their contours accentuated; we’ve been in contact with the other salon.” Paulette sneered out the word "other”, and continued, “We’re also bringing out all your eyes to match Felicity’s.”

Genevieve cut in, “Uyen, you are going to love yours. I’ve been studying monolid eye makeup for a week, ever since I saw your headshot. You are going to look like a movie star!”

A couple of hours later, Uyen was in the mirror, trying vainly to tear her eyes away from the eyes in the reflection. Her left brain was telling her how much she hated the eyeliner and eyeshadow, how uncomfortable the huge false lashes were, but her right brain was screaming, “I’m an adorable anime Lucy Liu!”

Felicity came up behind, her own eyes blindingly bright in their frames of makeup. “Oh my God, Uyen, you look like a Bond girl! International Uyen of Mystery!

Uyen snickered in spite of herself. Both of them had enormous hair now and they looked like Cosmo cover girls from 1986. She could get used to this. “Come on, Felicity, we need to be in Arlington in an hour to get dressed. Tip the ladies and let’s get out of here!”

***

A balmy zephyr played through the twentieth floor balcony. Beyond the railing’s dizzying drop, the last rays of the setting sun shone on the alabaster walls of the Capitol and the Washington Monument, which wavered in the humid atmosphere. Sixty people sat slightly simmering in two adjacent companies of folding chairs, an aisle between them. On the left were a decent turnout of Chincoteague people for Felicity -- tourism moguls who would never be able to take a Saturday off from business in the Summer, but who could just manage a Thursday in Washington before dashing back to their businesses for the weekend. On the right, a mix of high school, college and law school, plus a dozen colleagues from Stetson Logistics.Waiting patiently off to the side was Pastor Jean Ryan, the Lutheran minister who had agreed, after a couple of counseling sessions, to officiate. In the center, sweating bullets under a gray tuxedo and purple cravat, stood Ashlee.

She had walked up to the front alone, after Pastor Jean,as the designated groom. Felicity had been adamant that she was wearing the dress, and Ashlee had not caught so much as a whiff of the thing, secreted as it had been in Uyen’s apartment. Something was up, though. Marisol Davis, Felicity’s mother,stutter-stepped up the aisle, trailing a long blue strapless evening gown behind her. She kept glancing back, but eventually found her seat by her sister and two nephews from Guatemala in the front row. Marisol and sister carried on a brief hushed conversation in Spanish, but the way they glanced up at Ashlee unsettled her greatly.

Sarah, Uyen and Yaidali should have been next, since no more parents would be in attendance. Ashlee had resigned herself to the expectation that she would not be hearing from them in a long time. Minutes passed, the DJ’s music looped, and the only sign of the wedding party was a clump of shadowy figures by the dressing rooms. A low-toned discussion between Sarah and the hotel’s event coordinator started turning heads, which at least took the attention off Ashlee, who thought she might pass out if nothing moved very soon.

At long last, Sarah came pounding out onto the balcony in her high heeled leather sandals, but instead of processing up the center, she was almost running, as fast as her snug purple cocktail dress would allow, up to the DJ. She barely paused for consent before wrenching a microphone from his hands and demanding, “Is this on?” The instrument popped and squeaked to life, and she announced, “Ladies and Gentlemen, keep your seats. There’s a last minute change to the program. Don’t worry, I’ll tell you when to stand up.”

This did little to quell the crowd, and even less when Sarah took Ashlee’s sleeve and manhandled her back up the aisle. She saw excited faces from her side of the aisle, belonging to girls from UVA who had pulled out their phones to capture the commotion. Ashlee noticed Uyen and Yaidali shoving the specter of a dark woman in a white dress back into the dressing room a second too late. She would have to lie and say she hadn’t seen anything, for at least five years now. This worry was splashed out of her mind, though, by the new guest that Sarah parked her in front of.

“Dad!” yelled Ashlee; for the short, gray haired man, mustachioed and bespectacled, was indeed he. He reached out for an embrace, but Ashlee shrank back, unexpected rage at seeing him here and now seeping in to fill in the opening shock. The next wave to fill her mind was regret at the instant pain that filled his face, but unrelenting pride held her back. The deadly cocktail of emotions was sure to start her crying, and she suddenly feared for even the scant makeup on her face.

Fred Vance swallowed hard and blinked away his own tears. “Mom isn’t here, but I’m damned if I’m going to miss the chance to walk my daughter down the aisle. We may not understand what’s going on here, but it’s your wedding and I’m going to do my job. What do you say?”

He extended a fist at the end of a bent arm, determination in his eyes. Ashlee couldn’t take it. He was wearing the face he did every so often that said he was overriding Mom, laying down all his marital capital and declaring that, by God, things were going to happen the way he wanted. Ashlee knew at once he meant it, and hooked her elbow into his.

Sarah and Yaidali high fived, while Uyen peered nervously down the aisle. Sarah took charge again. After signaling the DJ, she whispered, “Okay, let’s get this train wreck moving. Uyen, go! No, slowly, like we practiced! Yaidali, five steps behind her. I’ll be along next. Rick!”

The beanpole of a man had been camouflaging himself in a corner, but now he lurched into existence to receive his instructions, which Sarah supplied: “When I go, Ashlee and Fred are going to step into the chute, Fred on the right, Ashlee on the left toward the center,” Ashlee and her father looked down at their locked elbows and quickly switched positions. “Go, Yaidali!” she whispered over her shoulder. Felicity’s gorgeous sister departed with deliberate, measured strides. “When they're at the back of the aisle then -- and only then -- get Felicity out. When the music changes, escort her up with her on your right so she’s side by side with Ashlee. Got it? Good. I’m out.”

Sarah snapped to attention with her little bouquet at her chest, then spun about and paced up the aisle to catch up with her bridesmaids. Fred and Ashlee shrugged at each other, then stepped up to the back rows, The event coordinator stopped them, and they waited. At the head of the aisle, Sarah glared at the DJ, and at once organ music blared from the public address system.

The guests stood, and Ashlee heard the applause and felt the presence at her side before looking up. There was Felicity, tall and shining in a tea-length dress. Above the massive bouquet of purple and white carnations, the neckline was cut square and richly embroidered in abstract purple floral flourishes, which also spiraled up the white straps of the sleeveless gown. A sheer white veil hung behind the extravagant blow-dried back hair, attached to a tiara of tiny purple and white silk roses. The centerpiece though, were her eyes, scintillating on any day, by the beautician’s art now burned like new-born suns. They smiled out at Ashlee.

“I told you! I told you! I told you he’d be there for you.” Felicity squealed.

Ashlee nodded. “I know. Come on, let's go before Sarah has an aneurysm up there.”

***

“I, Ashlee, take you, Felicity, to be my wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and health, to love and to cherish, until we are parted by death. This is my solemn vow.”

“I, Felicity, take you, Ashlee, to be my wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and health, to love and to cherish, until we are parted by death. This is my solemn vow.”

“Ashlee and Felicity, by their promises before this assembly, have joined themselves to one another and are married in the sight of God. Those whom God has joined together let no one separate. Amen. Thanks be to God.”

Pastor Jean tried to get the assembly involved in the last line with only marginal success. Many of them were in uncharted territory when it came to religious services. She went straight for the big finish: “You may now seal your marriage with a kiss!”

Felicity leapt on Ashlee, causing Ashlee almost to lose her balance before she steadied herself and squeezed and kissed back. After a minute, the party had receded and the guests made a beeline for the adjacent bar and restaurant for the reception. They would get their drink on for the twenty minutes it would take the photographer to ply his trade on the balcony, and hopefully they would get their money’s worth out of the salon treatments, which had cost Ashlee something that rivaled her monthly rent. When the party broke up for the bar, Fred pulled Ashlee back.

He murmured to her tensely, “Um, Ashlee, you know Felicity is a man, right?”

Ashlee didn’t know what to do with this candid query. “Er, the term is transgender woman, but if you mean ‘Do I know she has a dick?’ then, yes.But she has a Virginia birth certificate that says ‘Felicity Anne Davis - female’, so that’s good enough for me. How did you --”

Fred grinned. “Just an intuition that I picked up in college. I’ll tell you about it when you’re older.”

Connections snapped in Ashlee’s mind. “You’re not going to go tell Mom everything’s okay because I married a man, are you?”

Fred shook his head. “Your mother has no idea. Don't try to explain any of it to me right now; I’m happy you’re happy, and it’ll stay our secret as long as you want. And, speaking of secrets …” he pulled an open envelope from his suit jacket. “This is for you. We’ve been saving this for you since we sold our last house.” Ashlee took it with a thumb and forefinger, and inspected the contents. It was a cashier’s check: Memo line “Hope Chest”; Pay to the Order of Ashlee Renata Vance; the amount of …

“Dad! This is almost fourteen grand!”

He nodded. “It’s yours. It’ll help you two get started.”

“Oh my God it will! I don’t know what to say! Thank you, Dad! How did you convince Mom?”

“I didn’t. It was a joint account. She’ll notice by the time I get back, but that’s my battle. Let’s see how the reception is going.” They joined the party, who entered to an explosion of applause.

***

Sarah did her rounds. Everyone was having a good time. Out of the Stetson crowd, the Finance guys were getting hammered and were going after the college friends, some even successfully. Josh was closeted with Mrs. Blake, apparently dishing out pro bono divorce advice; that was sad. Even Uyen was opening up. Her mysterious oriental femme fatale costume was attracting attention, but she had been snagged by Cristian, who, out of Felicity’s two cousins, was the cute one. They were still both handsome. Short in stature, dark and charming, and with the thick, perfect black hair that seemed to come naturally to their people.

She saw Jeff wander out to the balcony. He was absolutely adorable in his uniform, but he was also attracting a lot of attention, and was growing visibly annoyed. He must be needing a break, concluded Sarah, and she followed him to where he leaned on the railing, contemplating the lights of the darkened Capital.

She joined him, pressing her glasses firmly on to her face before leaning over.

“If you need to leave, the elevator’s safer,” she said.

Jeff chuckled and smiled. “A paralegal office manager can only handle so much ‘Thank you for your service’ with equanimity. I needed some air.”

Silence followed, but for the breeze and the babble of other guests on the balcony. Then Jeff added, “You know you could almost see my barracks from here. If it were winter and the trees were bare you could. I should probably go check on my room, just in case there’s an inspection. Just one benefit of living off-post.”

Sarah held her breath, hoping against hope that this was going where she thought, but he fell back into rapt contemplation.

“Jeff,” she finally started, “they’re throwing the bouquet in a few minutes. How hard do I need to work for it?”

“Up to you, I guess.”

In her imagination, she was heaving him over the edge and dangling him by his ankles till he proposed, but in the real world, she took up an arm with one hand and turned his face toward her with the other.

“Jeff, I love you and I want to marry you. I think you do, too, but you won’t ask. Now what’s it going to be? If you’re the perfect guy I think you are, you need to shit or get off the pot.”

Jeff’s eyebrows arched, and she could see the alert status thoughts rocketing around behind his eyes. But Instead of acquiescing, he had a question for her: “Are you sure you know what you want?”

“Of course I do!”

Jeff made a minimal, noncommittal tilt of his head. “Sarah, you have a business degree. You have a career. I could move to the other side of the world tomorrow, for all I know, and then where would you be? Either you would never see me again or you’d be tied to me like an appendage for years to come. You would be moving every two or three years, always somewhere where your only friends are other Army housewives,, a lot of whom have given up their own identity for their husbands. Being a military spouse is no life for a professional woman like you. I can’t ask you to throw yourself away on me.”

“Bitch! I’ll throw myself wherever I want to!” declared Sarah. “Screw this place anyway! Don’t worry about me. I’m Sarah Dawes and I make shit happen for myself now! Those bitches won’t know what hit them! Show me the rock and I’m in!”

“A rock, eh?” Jeff grinned, reached into his jacket and flipped open the tiny green box that came out. “Like this one?”

“Yes!” Sarah screamed.

He returned the diamond ring to his jacket. “I’ll do it properly, right here, after you get that bouquet. Don’t let me down.”

On cue, Uyen stumbled out onto the balcony. “Sarah! Get in here! They’re waiting for you.”

Sarah charged back, but Uyen caught her, somehow arresting her progress and squeezed her waist hard. “Sarah, this is amazing. I love this! God, you look good in that dress.”

Sarah was nonplussed. Uyen had put her head in Sarah’s cheat and was --

“Are you grabbing my ass?”

“We deserve it. Look at mine!” Uyen slapped her own ass and admired the movement it produced. The tailors had done their work well, and the garment clung gracefully to her body like a cool headed climber on El Capitan. “Sarah, do you know how you’re, like, up to here on me?” Uyen reached unsteadily for the crown of Sarah’s head. “Cristian is only up to here.” Sarah didn’t know where exactly Uyen was reaching for, but the edge of her hand landed squarely on Sarah’s tits. Uyen laughed and started pulling Sarah toward the reception.

“So you fit pretty good?”

“All these white guys are fucking giants. Cristian is perfect on me. I can actually dance with him! I mean, he can push me around and I can kind of follow. Hey, can I get on your shoulders and catch the bouquet?” As she said this, Uyen suddenly leapt on Sarah’s back, and had almost wrapped her legs around her waist before sliding off, to the amusement of onlookers. Sarah took another look: flushed face, wavering steps, about thirty dollars worth of mussed hair escaping from the rest -- Uyen was lit all the way up.

“Look, babe, you’re cute, too, but I’m taken. And on that note --” Sarah rushed up to where Felicity was winding up and counting down, dragging Uyen, who was still gripping her hips. Sarah shook her off just in time to leap, arms outstretched, for the wad of carnations, taking out a couple of pretty young attorneys and sticking the landing like Superman.

The room was full of laughter and applause, but she focused on the brown-suited army man approaching, his golf clap frustrated by the green velvet jewelry box in his hands. Off to the side, Uyen and her two skinned knees were being escorted out to the hotel by the charming Cristian. She wavered a moment, until Jeff assumed the position, kneeling with an outstretched arm. The room went berserk with screams and hoots, all for her.

Uyen’s a big girl, she decided. She can take care of herself.