It’s very rare that any of us are given the chance to rewrite history, but that’s exactly what’s happening in the Hyder house this weekend. First, let’s rewind a couple of decades to the beginning of this story.
It was prom season. I was sixteen.
My best friend said, “Uh . . . so . . . I couldn’t get anyone to go to prom with me. Wanna go?”
I agreed, but with a promposal like that, is it any wonder I stood him up?
In my defense, I didn’t completely leave the high school quarterback hanging on prom night. My girlfriends and I met up with him at the dance. But, back at home, his mother was pissed. Her baby son’s senior prom would only come around once, and his date hadn’t shown up for pictures.
She’s my mother-in-law now, and I think she’s forgiven me. Yes, my first prom fail—and my second—was with my husband, Chris.
This photo was taken weeks after prom fail #1. Weren’t we adorable?
Prom was at the Biltmore House. (This is still my biggest flex from my high school career.) The center courtyard of the restaurant was our dance floor. Under its open roof, our group danced in the starlight. It was dreamy. Romantic. The perfect night for two best friends to fall in love . . .
Knowing what I know now, that was probably his plan.
Instead, Chris and I didn’t speak at all. We danced to ONE song. Ironically, it was “The Invisible Man” by 98 Degrees. Think I write good emotional turmoil and foreshadowing? I’ve got nothing on the universe. Seriously, listen to or read the lyrics of this song:
Crazy.
Fast forward a year to my senior prom. My girlfriends all got ready together. I wore a satin teal (shocker) dress, rhinestone heels, and makeup—something rare even today. Then I watched as one-by-one my friends’ dates arrived.
Finally, I called my “date.”
“I didn’t get my tux,” was his excuse.
It really wasn’t payback. Or even an oversight. I found out many years later that Chris didn’t get a tux because of another girl—but that is neither here nor there. (I married him, Holly, so suck it!)
Twenty-four years later, we’re finally making it up to each other.
For those who don’t know, my husband is a cop. This year, he took a position at a local high school.
Guess what that means???
Now THAT! is a promposal! In Bora Bora, no less! Swoon.
(Side note about the music: That year of prom, I dragged him to see Titanic at the movie theater eleven times. It’s a big deal in the Hyder house.)
In a way, our prom story (as flubbed up as it was) kicked off our life together today. The first book I ever published, The Bed She Made, is a very, very loose retelling of our history. The prom stories are fictionalized in that book’s prequel, To Be Her First.
To Be Her First is on sale right now through the weekend because . . .
Our third-time’s-a-charm prom is going down on Saturday!
I’ll be getting ready with our very own seniors—our two daughters. You can bet your fanny I’ll be posting lots of pictures online.
And for the record—his damn tux is already hanging in our closet!
I love this man, y’all. Life keeps getting better and better.
Who knows? Maybe it’s time to write a sequel. 😉
About the Books
To Be Her First and The Bed She Made are YA (Young Adult) and NA (New Adult) respectively. These novels are Friday Night Lights meets Dear John, set in the 90’s.
To Be Her First (Prequel to The Bed She Made)
At sixteen, Journey Durant hasn’t yet experienced her first anything. No first boyfriend. No first date. No first kiss. But, that’s all about to change.
More info →
The Bed She Made
Journey Durant’s father warned her, “Someday you’ll have to lie in the bed you’ve made.” But she didn’t believe him... until now.
More info →
Oh my god! Tissues please! So sweet and inspirational to others. The love is strong in the Hyder House!
Now THAT is a true love story! You two are cosmically linked… soulmates… and destined to be together in this lifetime…and forever. We should all be so lucky.