Then He Happened

by Claudia Burgoa

  I prepared for everything, except this.

  She’s not coming. I never knew hurt until my heart broke into a million pieces. My insides were being excavated, prowled, and removed from within as the minutes passed. Mom whispers a few words. Dad seconds them with some others.

  Jack squats, patting my shoulder and mumbling more nonsense.

  I shake my head. Mom and Dad walk away after they assure me that everything will be fine. They are here to support me. As if it’s that easy. We had plans, a future.

  “Do you want me to call off the wedding?” Jack announces.

  I snort showing him the envelope. “Sorry, dude. I think she called dibs on that part.”

  Taking a deep breath, I find a smidge of strength. I get up in front of a few hundred people who are all staring at me with pitying frowns.

  “Thank you for taking some time in your lives to share this day with us.” I use part of the speech I planned on saying during the reception.

  “Unfortunately, there’s a change of plans. But don’t go just yet. There’s a ballroom with our name and lots of food waiting for you guys. It’s already been paid for, and we want to thank you for making it out here so, please enjoy,” I say with the most normal sounding voice I can fucking muster.

  Since instead of presents, we asked for them to donate to the animal shelter where Greta worked, we won’t be able to return any of the gifts. But at least they get a sweet write off during tax season.

  A couple of hours later, I head to the ballroom. Everyone seems to have fun at the reception. It’s still gorgeous. Greta’s family comes up to apologize at one point, but I wave them off. It’s not like they knew.

  Even if they had, they couldn’t have stopped her. Neither would I have wanted them to.

  The longer the night trudges on, the more everything falls into place in my fucking head. How evasive she was about planning the wedding and the honeymoon. How aggravated she got the closer we got to the wedding.

  For fuck’s sake, I chide myself. Crying at the engagement party, and at random points in the middle of the night every so often thereafter. Those were the signs.

  That fucking text. She was starting her new life, today. I wasn’t part of the plan.

  But why wasn’t she honest from the beginning? I tried talking to her about it. Confronting her. At some point I got so fucking tired of being pushed away and told “everything is fine.”

  What else could I do but believe her? I begged and I pleaded.

  She didn’t want to get married. Message finally received.

  I wonder if she ever wanted to get married. If the problem was us getting married or if our ship had sailed but no one had bothered to send me the memo. I guess that’s what I get for proposing in front of all her family.

  Fuck, I’m a dick.

  Sometime later, Josslyn pulls me into a secluded hallway behind the kitchen of the reception venue.

  “I tracked her down,” she says.

  “How?”

  “I have my ways,” she says neutrally. “She just landed in JFK. She had a one-way ticket to New York.”

  One way. “She’s not coming back.”

  Ever, goes unsaid.

  “I bet she got that internship she mentioned at the beginning of this school year,” I say out loud. All the pieces are coming together. “We could’ve gone together.

  “What a fucking moron,” I exclaim, this time with anger.

  “Was she ever going to show up?” I think out loud. “At least she could’ve had the guts to tell me to my face that I wasn’t part of her future.”

  I pull out the envelope she’d given me earlier. It has my name scrawled in Greta’s chicken-scratch handwriting.

  Jason,

  You’re a great guy.

  I snort at how she started the fucking letter. Really? You’re a great guy? She’s studying fucking law. I expected something fancier and more legitimate from her.

  I’m just a fucking good guy. The most stupid asshole in the history of human kind.

  Please forgive me. I’m not very good at this sort of thing. But please know that right now, my heart is breaking for us. We were good together. I remember that we were happy, but I’m a firm believer that happiness can only hold you together for so long.

  As the days passed, our time together became stifling. My plans on going to New York were stopped by your eagerness to do it just right. This isn’t about you, Jason. It’s about me and what I want for my future.

  I can’t do this.

  I can’t be your wife.

  There’s so much more for me than staying with you for the rest of my life. I know what you want, a house like your parents with just as many children, but what about me?

  I’ve worked hard to have a career. This is my time. I have to grow and reach for my dreams. Every person has her own destiny, and mine isn’t here.

  Not with you.

  Not with a husband, a minivan, and a bunch of children.

  I hope one day you understand me. Thanks for your years of kindness and support.

  All my love,

  Greta

  I take a shuddering breath. “Fuck.”

  This hallway is too fucking narrow and hot. My suit is like a boa constrictor. Something gets caught in my throat. I keep reading this one line over and over and again.

  Every person has her own destiny, and mine isn’t here.

  Not with you.

  Had any of this mattered to her? Did any of this matter?

  Did she ever love me?

  “Jason, listen to me,” Josslyn says somewhere above me. “Take a deep breath and hold it for five seconds.”

  I follow her instruction, or try to at least. She puts a hand on the back of my shoulder and rubs circles into it. Breathing gets a little easier.

  “You’re going to be alright,” she says. “It hurts now, but in the long run—”

  “She saved us both a lot of pain later on,” I say numbly. “Yeah, that’s good.”

  “And because you’re a good man who cares very deeply about things,” she continues.

  But I wave my hand to stop her. “I think I’m just a jackass,” I conclude. “Who bulldozed his way into a wedding no one wanted? I pushed her too far.”

  Josslyn clears her throat. “You can’t know that without talking to her. However, I’ve seen thousands of couples get married, and at the risk of sounding unprofessional, this is only the second time I’ve seen a fiancé so invested in their partner’s happiness and fulfillment as you.”

  I snort.

  “No, I’m serious,” she insists. “There’s a difference between being misguided but well intentioned and being a, quote, jackass.”

  She squeezes my shoulder. “Listen to me. You’re not a jackass, Jason Spearman.”

  I nod, not really caring if she’s just bullshitting me right now. I wouldn’t blame her if she was. I’m a fucking mess and I still need to give her the last ten percent of her pay.

  “If you ask Jack for the last check, he’ll give it to you and bill me later,” I say, not taking my eyes off the brick wall across from me. “You know, in case you wanted to get out of here already.”

  Surprisingly, she squeezes my hand. “You’re not very good at having friends, are you?”

  “Are we friends?”

  “Can you afford to hire me?”

  I laugh, lean on the wall, and lower myself until I’m sitting down. “No, you’re like... three years out of my budget.”

  Josslyn sits down next to me. “Then I guess you’ll have to settle for friendship.”

  “Okay,” I say, putting my head on her shoulder.

  She wraps an arm around my shoulder and honestly? It’s nice. There’s something wet in my eyes that’s probably sweat. I didn’t know how much I needed a hug right about now until this friend offered me one.

  “Hey, Jossie?” I say eventually.

  “Yes, dear,” she says.

  “What the fuck do I do now?”

  She shr
ugs.

  Yeah, that sounds about right. But I make a vow, because that’s why I busted my ass for the past year. To make a commitment. If not to Greta, at least to myself.

  I won’t allow anyone to hold me down again. No matter what, I’ll look after myself and never get attached because I arrived into this world alone and that’s exactly how I’ll leave it.

  25

  Jason

  5 Days until the Wedding

  Nothing says Armageddon like getting close to a wedding day.

  Poor Eileen. She has no idea that between now and the big day, the entire world can end. The only reason I continue humoring her is because I swear to God, this woman needs someone to watch over her or she’ll be trying to save the entire McBean clan.

  “You know Jossie’s going to have a conniption over this,” I warn her as she puts money in a street meter.

  Eileen stares at me incredulously. “Over getting Charlie’s dress altered?”

  I nod.

  She smirks. “Jossie is cool. I don’t get why you’re as afraid of her as if she was the big bad wolf and you were one of the three little piggies.”

  She laughs at her own joke, and after several seconds and a few confused glares from the people passing by, she takes a breath and says, “Why would you say that, little piggy?”

  I lift my chin, feigning anger, but I can only stay like that for so long when her lips have that fantastic smile that just makes me breathe easier.

  “It’s just a few stitches, don’t worry. She won’t notice.”

  “She will, and she’ll freak out over getting Charlie’s dress altered way too fucking last minute by someone Jossie doesn’t know,” I say pressing my lips together and giving her a disapproving look. “Or approves of for that matter.”

  Eileen grunts. “I told you, Seamus—”

  “—Seamus—”

  “—is a family friend who can do it in no time,” she explains. “He’s the one who altered Charlie’s baptismal gown to fit Sam and me too.”

  A baptismal gown?

  “I can’t believe you know a dude named Seamus,” I say instead of asking about this famous baptismal gown. Let’s hope Marek’s kid doesn’t have to wear it too. “That’s so funny, I don’t even need to make a joke for it.”

  “Good,” she warns me.

  As she opens the door to the shop for me, she gives me that gaze of you better behave or else and warns me, “If you make a joke in front of him, I’ll kick you out of here myself.”

  “Fine, fine.” I raise my hands as if surrendering, even though I’m carrying the freaking gown, but caution her, “If he shows up in a leprechaun outfit with a pot of gold, I can’t be held responsible for my actions.”

  She laughs at that one. Score.

  The shop isn’t as asphyxiating as the bridal shop we were in a few days ago. In fact, I find it cozy. On one side, Seamus has his altering shop and on the other, he and his family have a tattoo parlor. How badass is that?

  “Eileen,” a guy who’s about the same age as my father receives us. I stare at his tattoo sleeves and eye the chair.

  “Tattoos are like marriages,” the guy says.

  I swallow, wondering what he means by that. I have a couple of tattoos on my back but none of them are related to Greta or what I feel for weddings and the fucking institution of marriage.

  “How can those two relate?” Eileen asks curiously.

  “They are meant to be forever. So, when you think you’re ready for either one, you have to stop yourself and think about them thoroughly. Think about what you want, where you want it, and if you’ll be able to live with it for the rest of your life. If you can’t answer any of those questions, then stay away from the needle—or the commitment.”

  “Welp.” Eileen turns to me and claps her hand. “This wedding isn’t mine, and we’re not here to get a tattoo. So, let’s get to the point.”

  “Down the hall, my dear,” Seamus indicates the way. “After you change, go onto the pedestal.”

  I follow her but wait outside.

  “Okay, second point,” I say while she’s changing in the bathroom at this tailor’s...shop? Store? Office? Convenient location with multiple businesses. “If this is Charlie’s wedding dress why is Eileen getting fitted for it.”

  “Because Charlie wishes she had Eileen’s boobs and will stuff her bra regardless,” she explains. “So might as well give her the room to do that. Plus, she went to the doctor to make sure she’s healthy enough for her honeymoon.”

  “Wait, honeymoon?” I don’t remember approving the cost of a trip to Acapulco.

  “My grandparents from Mom’s side decided to gift her a honeymoon to The Keys,” she explains. “It’s not Acapulco like Marek wanted, but it’s a beach.”

  “I knew they would find some sucker to pay for it,” I mumble.

  “What’s that?” she shouts.

  “Nothing,” I say innocently. “You realize she’s taller than you, right? And don’t brides like, wear high heels?”

  “Can I reference your tragic backstory?”

  “As long as you admit it’s tragic,” I concede.

  “It’s extremely tragic,” she says indulgently.

  I’m satisfied with that. “Proceed.”

  “Well, not everyone wants to wear heels, pal,” she says. “You can’t supply what you know about one woman and apply it to every woman you meet after that.”

  Are we still talking about Charlie and her?

  That’s— “You’re saying I’m a dick.”

  “I didn’t say that!” she shouts through the bathroom door.

  “You just quoted misogyny 101.” I point emphatically. Damn, I wish she had x-ray vision to see through this door. “Don’t assume all women are the same, that’s like, elementary level shit.”

  “I guess,” she says. “If you know it, then I don’t understand why you still do it.”

  I run a hand through my hair. “And you’re calling me out for it. Wow.”

  “Well, didn’t you just assume every woman would wear heels to her wedding?” She protests.

  I think about it for a second. “Shit, wow. Yeah, my bad. Thanks for calling me out on my bullshit. I’ll keep that in mind next time I try to make a blanket statement.”

  “You’re welcome?” she says hesitantly. “You don’t need to thank me for anything.”

  I cross my arms. “Have you ever been apologized to or thanked by a dude? Or, you know, ever been apologized to or thanked in general, ever?”

  Her family doesn’t seem like the type to do either one period.

  Eileen laughs. “Apologies, that’s a good one.”

  “I’m being serious,” I argue.

  “I don’t even have time to see dudes,” she says with a grunt. “Let alone have a long enough conservation with one of them where they could mess up and then be convinced into apologizing.”

  The door creaks as she opens it. And wow, she’s gorgeous. I’m breathless, stunned, and speechless. The strapless top fits her perfectly, showing off her delicate shoulders.

  I want to run my mouth across her soft skin, feather kisses along her long neck. As she walks, the bottom just flows off like this ethereal, angelic cloud.

  Fuck, she’s breathtakingly beautiful. I could look at her forever.

  “What do you think?” she says with a smile as she walks toward me. She beams as she twirls a couple of times. “How do I look?”

  “Amazing,” I say without thinking.

  She frowns. “What?”

  “Uh... amazingly tall,” I say, producing a fake laugh. “How’d you get so tall?”

  This is so awkward I feel like I’m drowning in quicksand.

  She squints and shows her feet. “High heels. Remember?”

  “Yeah, but…” Shit, think fast. What the fuck do I follow up with— “You’re taller than Charlie normally is?”

  “Oh,” she says, shoulders sagging. “Charlie’s wearing heels to the wedding.”

  “Bu
t you just said—”

  “Don’t assume every woman wants to wear high heels to her wedding,” she says with a smirk. “I never said don’t assume Charlie wouldn’t wear high heels to her wedding.”

  I burst into genuine laughter. “I can’t believe you.”

  Eileen giggles, hip checking me as she heads to where the tailor is waiting for her. I tilt my head, enjoying the view. So fucking beautiful.

  My mind short circuits when the tailor asks her to lift her skirt. The heels make her toned legs look like a mile long. My eyes follow them up, up, and I wish I could undress her slowly.

  I fan myself. It’s too fucking hot and my pants are incredibly tight.

  “I need to use the restroom,” I shout before running toward the back of the store.

  This can’t be happening to me. I slam the bathroom door behind me, triple check that it’s locked.

  I slap myself. “Pull it together, dude,” I chastise myself. “You’re not jerking off in public just because you’ve got some sort of...”

  What is it? A crush? Lust for this amazing, smart, and funny chick? Or it’s just a wedding fetish?

  Yeah, I think to myself. Wedding fetish. That has to be it. I never got to see my bride wearing her wedding dress, so it must be why I’m just thinking about ripping that dress off Eileen and tasting her. No other reason.

  How do I get rid of it? Or her?

  26

  Jason

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” she asks holding my face with her soft hands. “You don’t look sick.”

  “It’s fine, just an upset stomach,” I lie.

  No way I’m going to explain to her that I had to talk myself out of a boner in a public bathroom, like a teenager.

  “You sure?” She moves my face closer to hers, and I stop breathing as I feel her breath across my face, and she’s so close to me, I can smell her sweet perfume.

  God, why are you torturing me?

  I can feel my pants shrinking in the groin area one more time. I have to go home. She should call an Uber. There’s no way I can spend one more day with her.

  “Would you mind if we go to an antique shop?” she asks. “It’s just a few blocks from here.”