Disclaimer: I wished on a lucky penny, a rainbow, and a cross-eyed, one-footed rabbit, but I still don't own Veronica Mars.
Chapter 1/7

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Off-Ecru-Creamsicle Wishes and Palatino Linotype Dreams

I'd managed to wedge myself deep into the tiny community of Kersey, Colorado. I'd burrowed in like a tick, but friendlier. Maybe like one of those so-ugly-they're-cute naked mole rats. Yeah, I was the naked mole rat of Kersey, CO.

Kersey was a nice place to live. It snowed in the winter and was all sunshine and seventy-eight in the summer. Denver was an hour away and so was a national park. It was the most Norman Rockwell town in the US of A. And most importantly, it was exactly 1,088 miles from Neptune, California. And there were mountains in between.

Now, don't get me wrong. There's a lot to love about California. Like, not having to shovel the aforementioned snow. And my dad still lives there. And my best friend. But, the big downside? My past also lives there.

That's what I was thinking about as I stood in my beautiful new kitchen (only eleven more interest-free months and the range, refrigerator, and hardwood floors would be mine!) in my beautiful old house (only twenty-nine more interest-intensive years and it, too, would be mine!) staring at a wedding invitation.

It was a shade of off-ecru-Creamsicle (or whatever it was that people were calling "white" these days) adorned with a bright red bow. When I'd pulled it out of it's matching whatever-white envelope, knowing full well that anything that comes hand addressed to "Ms. Veronica Mars" in that small of an envelope is some soon-to-be feared date on my calendar, the RSVP card tumbled to the floor and slid under my miniature wine cellar. Had I been the superstitious type, I would have taken it for the omen it proved to be.

"Mac, how could you do this to me?" I breathed. I was so astounded to hear my own voice spoken aloud, I startled myself. That alone should be indicative of my state of mind at that moment, staring down at the neat Palatino Linotype words that spelled marital bliss for one couple and horror for me. I actually scared myself!

The "Mac" who was currently ruining my life was now known as Cindy Mackenzie. Soon to be Mrs. Cynthia Casablancas (the freaking irony!) if the white square was to be believed. Her parents along with Dick's mom and step-dad-of-the-moment were requesting my presence at their nuptials. In two months. Which gave me a month to find a reason to back out. Or, better yet, contract some debilitating disease like leprosy. I mean, who wants a leper at their wedding?

I laid the invitation down on the carnelian black granite countertop and walked to my refrigerator. I couldn't be bothered to choose a wine and go through the process of unwrapping and uncorking it, so I grabbed a beer. I twisted the cap too hard, cutting my palm in the process, and drowned my sorrow and pain simultaneously with a pull from the longneck. I eyed the piece of paper warily as I drank, as though it were going to spontaneously combust or worse, explode into heart-shaped confetti.

I kept my eye on it as I tossed some leftover shrimp and pasta from a dinner date the previous night into the microwave and nuked it on high for forty-five seconds. I finished my beer and grabbed another.

My Friday night was effectively ruined. I had planned on making myself a thick pork chop and a baked potato drowned in butter and drinking white white while I watched everything I'd Tivoed from the past week. And, now, I was getting tanked at my kitchen island, having a staring contest with a piece of paper over a plate of day-old shrimp. And then my damn phone rang.

I rubbed the bridge of my nose and forced myself to look at my refrigerator magnets while I answered it.

"Hello?"

"Honey! I'm glad I caught you!" my dad's voice sounded so warm over the cold line. I had to smile.

"Hey, dad," I responded brightly. Even if "bright" wasn't what I was feeling, it wasn't exactly forced. "What's shakin'?"

"Apparently the defense in their shoes! I heard about the case!"

"You heard? I didn't think it was such a big deal," I answered. Of course, I was just being humble and I knew it. I smiled, knowing dad would call me on it. I wasn't disappointed.

"It's national news and you know it, kiddo," he chided gleefully. The pride skipped and danced along the line and wrapped itself around my heart. I beamed. At least there was one thing I still had control over. I threw a glare over my shoulder at the vile little scrap of paper.

"Yeah, well, all in a day's work. And, besides, I wasn't working alone on that case." That time, I wasn't being modest. It had taken a whole team of attorneys to bring down the embezzling scumbag that shafted 48,000 employees out of their 401-Ks. I just had been point on the case. I smiled again, proud. But then, ecru, Linotype, and red ribbons intruded once more and my smile fell. My dad, somehow, saw it.

"What's wrong, Veronica?"

I tried to sound light, but my question barreled out of my mouth like I spat a brick. "Did you hear about Mac and Dick getting married?"

My dad laughed, "Of course, honey. News travels fast around the old homestead. Of course, you'd have heard already, too, if you'd come home more often," he added. He always found a way to work that in. But, I held firm.

"Come on, dad," I pretended to moan back for old time's sake. The I continued, trying once more for light and not getting it, "I got an invitation today."

"Are you surprised? You and Mac were like this during college." Even though he was 1,088 miles away, I knew he'd twined his forefinger with his middle. The international symbol for "like this."

"No, it just stunned me. I mean, she never even called to tell me about the engagement. And, in fact, the last time I saw her, she was on the outs with him. I remember distinctly because I was so glad, I bought a round of Jäger Bombs for the bar."

"Yeah," he responded wryly, "I remember that, too. You woke me up singing 'I'm Too Sexy' and falling into the coffee table."

"I still am too sexy. And that table had it coming."

"Whatever you say, honey. You're coming home for the wedding, aren't you? Karen and I are going."

"Well..." I began. I wasn't sure. I loved Mac like the sister I never had and we'd been through a lot. But, facing Neptune was tough. It always brought something unpleasant to light. So, I stalled, "I don't know. I mean, I'm not partner yet and I really can't take time off until I get it. If I get it."

"Come Monday, you'll be a partner. I know it. After your little performance on that jackass, they won't let you go," dad came back. I smiled. Such faith. "So, just come. It's one day. And you know Karen, Allen, and I will be there to form a protective little entourage around you. You won't even be able to go to the bathroom alone."

"Gee, dad, sweeten the pot, why don't ya?" I sassed back.

And, then he brought out the big guns. "Allen was just asking when he'd see his big sister again. And, he asked if you hated him."

"He did not!" I shot back. Dad could play very unfair. Allen was eight and the spitting image of my dad, all twinkly eyes and mischief.

"Okay, he didn't say the second part. But, he misses you as much as the rest of us."

I nodded, though he couldn't see me. "I'll be there if I get the time off."

"You will," he insisted. He paused and I heard someone say something. "Karen said to tell you hello and that she'd proud of you."

I smiled. My dad's wife was great. She babied my dad, worrying over him in a way that neither I nor my mom ever did. He needed it. And, I really liked her. "Tell her hello from me. And kisses to that baby brother of mine."

I heard dad say as much and Allen shout back. "Your brother wishes to inform you that he is not, nor has he ever been, a baby."

I laughed. "All right, dad. Well, I'll let you go. I love you."

"Love you, too, honey. Go get 'em on Monday. And call me with the good news, okay?"

"I will," I promised and we disconnected.

And I did. Three days later, I carried my glass of champagne away from my friends and coworkers and into the quiet filing closet. I dialed home to share the good news: I was partner in the firm of Bridges, Howell and Associates.

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A/N: I also don't own Jägermeister or "I'm Too Sexy" by Right Said Fred. Boo. And, just a note, I wrote this all at once, then went back to chop it up into easily digestible bites. So, I can be persuaded into updating quickly ;)
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