Anchor

by M. Mabie

  Of course, all was forgotten when he said, “Ce-ce hug,” before he left. He was smooth for almost two and knew damn-well how to work a room.

  He got that from me.

  So when Blake’s dad brought up kids, the thought surfaced because it had been in the forefront of my mind anyway.

  “Well, Phil, even though you could learn a thing or two about golf, you’re a pretty damn cool dad. And I have a cool dad, so I know one when I see one,” I joked, but I really meant it.

  “I’ll be honored to give Blake’s hand over to you,” he said between sips of his drink. “Are you ready for this?”

  It wasn’t my place, and I knew Blake hadn’t talked about it with him yet, but maybe it would be easier for me to tell him what her plans were, with regard to aisle-walking.

  “Oh, I‘m ready. So damn ready. I’ve been chasing that girl for so long, and not that I wouldn’t do it all again, but I’m definitely ready to start our life together.” I second-guessed myself for a minute, then decided to wing it. I could read people, he’d be understanding.

  Plus, if I broke this to her dad for her, she’d really owe me a start-to-finish thank you. I knew she’d been dreading it.

  “Phil, can I talk to you about something that’s been on Blake’s mind? I know she wanted to talk to you about this herself, but since we’re already here, you’ve already handed me my ass on my home turf and drank half of your grandchildren’s college fund. I figure why not?”

  He leaned forward and nodded.

  I finished my half of his grandchildren’s college fund and went to bat for my girl and what I knew she wanted.

  “See, she loves you and she doesn’t want to hurt your feelings or anything, but we’ve been talking about things that we want for the wedding. Specifically, and not that she’d come out and say it this way, but she doesn’t want anything to be like the day … ” I stalled.

  I wanted to say the day violins almost ruined my hearing and my sanity. The day I thought I’d lost the love of my life forever. The day you handed her over to a piece of shit. But I settled for, “Well, you know what day.”

  After everything, after all was said and done, that wasn’t her first wedding day, not in her heart and I wasn’t going to call it that. I was just as stubborn as she was.

  I continued explaining, when his eyebrow quirked up, challenging me to keep going. “Damn it, back then she felt so obligated. Not forced or anything, but like marrying him was what she was supposed to do. Everything was so messed up. We didn’t know what the hell we were doing.

  “I think she wants to know, and wants me to know, after everything we’ve been through, she’s coming into this marriage on her own two feet. Does that make sense?” I ran a hand through my hair. It didn’t feel like it came out right.

  When I looked back up at the man who’d soon be my father-in-law, expecting him to be offended and probably a little hurt, that wasn’t what I saw at all. I saw empathy. I saw compassion. I saw a father who gave a shit. I saw the kind of dad I wanted to be in the future.

  “Son, didn’t you hear me before? It doesn’t matter if my little girl wants to have the wedding on Mars, the reception on Venus, move to Spain and buy an alpaca farm. If she’s happy, I’m happy. Your wedding is no more about me and my feelings than ours was about my in-laws and what they wanted.” He chuckled then added, “My father-in-law—God rest his soul—was a good man, but everything was his way or no way. End of discussion. So we did it his way. Our wedding was, next to the birth of our three children, the best day of my life. But if I had it all to do again, I think I’d have rather eloped.”

  In my eyes, her dad went from cool to Indiana-Jones-cool. I hoped when I was his age, in his position, I’d be as wise as him.

  “Now I’m getting hungry. It’s not easy whooping your ass all day.” He smacked the table, letting me know the topic was moot.

  I was hungry too. Then again, I was spoiled. Living with a chef will do that. Blake had been cooking up a storm lately. She said our kitchen was what she’d always imagined having when she had a home of her own. I was happy she liked it. I was going to gain a shit ton of weight.

  “All right,” I said. “Let’s do this. I miss our girl anyway.”

  We pulled up at my brother’s at the same time as the ladies. Three women piled out of Micah’s car, but I only saw one. The hot-as-shit one carrying the white garment bag. I knew it wasn’t like her to buy much. She hated shopping with a passion.

  As I walked around my car, following Phil, I asked, “What did you buy me?”

  An ear-to-ear smile reached across her pretty face.

  “Well, I’ll have you know, I bought my wedding dress today.”

  I knew they were looking for dresses, but I kind of thought those things took a little longer. I wasn’t worried about her finding one, she’d look phenomenal in anything, but knowing the dress—the dress—was in that bag, well, it just hit home again that it was all real. And for the thousandth time in those few short weeks, I thanked God.

  I approached and Micah said, “Hey, let’s just leave all this stuff in the car. We’ll come and get it later. Cory’s about done with dinner.” She took the dress from Blake and quickly hung it on the little doo-hickey in the backseat of her car.

  “Yeah, your dad is starving.” And I was too.

  “Okay,” she said. “Did you have fun?”

  I wrapped my arm around her shoulders and walked her around the side of the house. “We had a good time. And you, for sure, without a doubt owe me.”

  She stopped. “Why? What happened?” Her tone was worried, but her expression wasn’t too concerned.

  “I told him about how we want the wedding. How it’s going to be ours and that we’re doing things a little differently and that you’re walking solo.”

  Her face turned legitimately serious and she looked back at her parents, who were only a couple of feet behind us, and whispered, “What did he say?”

  I kissed her forehead. I knew she’d been anxious about it, and I was happy she didn’t have to stress about it anymore.

  “He was cool and said he only wants to see you happy. That it was our wedding and, ultimately, our choice how we did it.”

  Relief seemed to surround her and she kissed me. I know I’d bargained for a thank-you hummer, but I was satisfied with her thank-you kiss. It was sincere and it tasted like ease and contentment.

  “Thank you, Casey. I love you.”

  Her imaginary debts were paid and I walked us to the fence door. Being the height I am, I saw it all before she did.

  “Surprise!” sang through the air as the wooden door swung open in front of us.

  It was both of our families, our friends, and our colleagues. And I laughed my ass off.

  “You fuckers!” I accused. “And you!” I turned to her dad. “You were in on all of this?”

  He only nodded and grinned.

  “Holy shit,” Blake said under her breath. “Look at all of this.”

  My brother’s backyard looked like a hell-of-a-good time. Tables were set up with games and presents. Food was spread out on tables from one end to the other. Nearby was a photo booth. A sign hung on the back wall of the fence: Congratulations, Blake and Casey.

  “I knew you were up to something,” Blake accused Micah as she bound up with open arms.

  “I know. We almost blew it. What do you think?”

  “I don’t know. I’m still a little stunned.”

  My brother came up behind his wife and wrapped an arm around her waist as he kissed her cheek. “She’s been planning this since the morning you guys called,” he confessed.

  Micah, the little sprite that she was, bounced on her toes. “It’s an engagement—slash—couple’s shower. Since you two set the date so quickly, there wasn’t enough time for both. So I improvised.” She waved an arm toward the backyard full of guests. “It’s not much, but it’s something to say we’re so happy for you.” She looked lovingly up into Cory’s eyes and he smiled
back at her. “We knew it was only a matter of time.”

  The party was one for the books. As I looked at her from across the yard, showing off her ring and retelling about how we got engaged, I couldn’t really believe it. I mean, I believed it, but it was better than I’d imagined. Then I heard a familiar voice that put me in check.

  Aly.

  What in the living fuck was she doing there? Had they invited her? I pulled another Bay Brew from the cooler and spun to see if I was right. Of course, I was. Not three feet away, talking to my dad and Carmen, was Aly … and Nate?

  And he had his arm around her?

  And what the fuck?

  I wasn’t sure what to think. Aly was sly. She knew how to manipulate things. Situations. People. She wasn’t my favorite person. Sure, I worked with her, but that’s where my loyalty ended.

  Nate noticed me about that time and nodded in my direction. It was a Friday night, so he must have made special arrangements to get off work at Hook, Line, and Sinker. I scanned the patio for Blake. I didn’t want this to upset her, not after everything was going so well.

  “Hey, man,” Nate said and held his free hand out to shake. “Congratulations.”

  I took it and said, “Thanks,” shaking my head to get my bearings.

  Blake, as if I’d conjured her there, appeared at my side laying a silent, but very obvious, claim to me. Over the past few months, we’d both gotten used to touching in public. I know it sounds like a weird thing to admit, but when you’re kind of not a thing, but really a huge thing, for over a couple of years—touching in front of people is a revelation. It’s a claim. It’s territorial. I knew all about that. Blake was mine. It wasn’t a barbaric thing, it just was. My girl wanted everyone to see who I belonged to.

  “Congratulations,” Aly said—to Blake. I was skeptical. Honestly, I wanted to get the fuck out of there. It was awkward, to put it mildly.

  “Thank you,” Blake said politely. I knew she had a temper. I’d seen her temper and felt it in full force, but she had no reason to freak out. And she didn’t. Her hand ran long lines up and down my back as she spoke, “And congratulations to you two. You look good together.”

  I know. You could probably imagine the sarcasm, but I shit you not, it wasn’t there. It felt like a fucking episode of the Twilight Zone. My head swiveled to see Blake's face. Stoic and genuine, she stood there next to me like it was the most normal thing in the world.

  Nate looked down at Aly and she gazed back up at him. The look was something private, and one that had nothing to do with us. Blake was right. They did look nice together. Happy even. Why hadn’t I ever thought of that? Then again, I’d been a little preoccupied to play matchmaker.

  Before I could filter myself, I misspoke, “You know she’s bat-shit crazy, right?” Real smooth. I felt my fiancée pinch me in the back.

  Aly looked a little embarrassed, but Nate didn’t.

  “I know,” he smirked, not taking offense to my shitty timing. “But I like it.”

  I’ll be a son-of-a-bitch. Had he always liked her? There was the time he almost beat my ass for being a dick to her after the violins tried to kill me. And the time after Cory’s wedding when he allegedly drove her home after I ditched her. I didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but that shit kind of added up.

  Aly smiled. I still didn’t trust the loon; she’d tricked me before. I worked with her, but since the time in my office when she’d assumed I was through with Blake and had to be corrected, she’d been professional. That was what … about eight months ago? Being an outside sales guy, I was rarely there. I hadn’t seen her much at all.

  I’d been busy and out of town. Then Blake was hurt and I was in Seattle for a few weeks. I hoped to God this wasn’t a trick. I also hoped she didn’t fuck with my bud. Nate was a great guy.

  Then again, he was full-grown fucking man. He could take care of himself.

  I must have looked like a psycho, I certainly sounded like one, but in the spirit of moving forward—Aly being there with Nate was perfect. I wasn’t going to question it.

  “I’ll drink to crazy women,” I said, trying to clean up my faux pas and I raised my bottle.

  I wasn’t about to stand around and beat a dead horse, so when Blake excused herself to introduce me to her bosses, I didn’t hesitate to go with. As we walked over to where Lance and Bridgett were talking to Melanie, who worked with them, I asked her, “What do you think of that?” I rolled my eyes back to Nate and the possibly reformed head-case I’d once dated.

  “I think it’s great,” she said easily.

  “You do?” Where was my Blake and who was this bygone-tolerant saint?

  “I do. Nobody’s perfect. I’ve made my fair share of mistakes and done some pretty idiotic things. It’s nice to see her with someone who seems to accept all that.” She grabbed my hand and we walked. “Plus, now she might leave my man the fuck alone.”

  Have I ever mentioned how much I love it when she said fuck? I’m sure I have. Something about that pretty little mouth saying something so off-color. Like when a child says it and it’s cute, or something. Sure, she was trying to be bad-ass, and I’d pretend she totally was, but her swearing had the opposite effect on me. It made her more endearing.

  The party lasted late into the night. Most of our co-workers left early, but our family pretty much hung out until we decided it was time to call a cab. Funny how just last year any mention of what was going on with Blake and me was cause for argument, and now I laughed when they made fun of how whipped I was. Had always been.

  And, best of all, we were getting fucking married.

  Saturday, August 7, 2010

  “WE’RE GOING TO GET so married, Casey,” I said. I was drunk so it probably didn’t sound like that. Not to mention on the way home from our engagement/couple’s shower, I told him about thirty times. I couldn’t stop myself.

  “I know,” he insisted. “You told me.”

  “But I don’t think you get it. I’m marrying you. You’re so hot and fun and hot.” Did I say hot twice? Well that was fine, because he was two times the hotness anyway. I lay my head on his lap as the taxi drove us home. The streetlights made everything so blurry.

  Bright. Dim. Bright. Dim. It was making everything spin.

  “That’s a lot of hot. You know I’m not just a pretty face, right?” He looked down at me and grinned just like the time he told me I was trouble at Hook, Line, and Sinker.

  Why didn’t he sound as drunk as me?

  I closed my eyes. Those fucking pole lights were tempting my stomach.

  “I know. You’ve also got a great co—” Then my mouth was covered and I felt the rumble of him laughing against my ear.

  “We should talk about this when we get home,” he suggested quietly. “We don’t want the driver to get jealous.”

  That was a good point. Maybe the car driver had a tiny penis. Casey was so thoughtful. Always thinking about others.

  “You’re so sweet. I love you.”

  I felt the car go over the hump in our driveway and slow to a stop. Casey leaned over my face and handed the guy money.

  “Thanks, I’m going to get her to bed,” he told him.

  I lifted up on my own, and the whole car did a three sixty-nine. Or a thirty-six. Or whatever. The car spun around. Casey opened his door and held a hand out to me. I think he was dicking with me because it took two tries for me to get it. Doesn’t he know it’s not polite to mess with drunk people?

  I got out of the cab okay, but I did not stand up okay. My ankle twisted, probably because I wasn’t wearing cocktail-safe shoes. So I tried to sit back down in the car; I could walk if I took those damn shoes off.

  “Oh, no you don’t.” Casey picked me up before my ass hit the seat.

  “I can walk. These shoes aren’t working.”

  “I’ve got you. Let’s just get inside before you start stripping. Then you can take off whatever you want.”

  “I’m not a stripper-er. I’m a chef. Well, I was.
Now I’m just a person on her computer who talks to chefs.”

  He unlocked the front door, with me in his arms, and kicked it shut behind us. He plopped me down on the couch in the living room and squatted down to work on my heels.

  “Do you miss cooking at work?” He slipped off the first and began working on the second. I swayed side to side as I watched. My fiancé always took such good care of me.

  “Yeah, I like doing it myself. I like when people like my food. Not just food I told them to make, Casey. The food I made. Myself.”

  He sat completely down on the rug and then I thought I was going to die. He held my left foot—or was it my right foot—in his hands and worked them over. His thumbs pressing into the achy soles of my feet.

  “Shit. That feels good.”

  I heard him laugh at me, but I didn’t care. I lay back into the soft couch and relished the feeling of his fingers as they masterfully squeezed and kneaded me in the most delicious way.

  “Well, can you do more of that at work?”

  “No. They don’t need me for that. They have chefs for that. I’m thirsty.”

  “You know what? That’s not a bad idea. You need some Gatorade. Can you make it to the bedroom? I’ll get drinks and some stuff for the headache you’ll most definitely have in the morning.”

  My feet felt better and the spinning had come to a stop since we weren’t in the car anymore. “Yeah, I’m cool. I’m gonna go to bed.”

  As I walked down the hall to our room, I kicked off my skirt and flung it into the hamper … and made a basket. From like a hundred feet away.

  Why isn’t anyone ever around when I do that?

  I took my shirt off and stood in the same spot. Going for two.

  I shot.

  I missed.

  “So close,” he said from behind me.

  “No, you didn’t see it. I just made it.”

  He gently swatted my ass as he passed me. “You made it on the floor, Betty Ford.”

  “Uh,” I protested and followed him. Nobody would ever know how good I was.