by Sam Mariano
I shake my head, meeting his gaze. “You are not buying me a TV. If I wanted one, I’d buy it myself.”
“Come on. It’s more for me than you. I spend more time here than my own apartment.”
“That’s not my fault,” I tell him.
“Yes, it is,” he disagrees. “You never want to come over when I ask.”
I can’t argue with that. “Well, I like my house.”
“So do I, but I’d like it more if we could kick back and be comfortable while we watch a show in the evenings.”
“I’m comfortable in my chair,” I reply, stubbornly.
“You’re such a pain in the ass,” he informs me.
With an expression of mock-apology, I lift my shoulders in an exaggerated shrug.
Chapter Three
There is nothing quite like watching your blue-haired future stepmother do a shot off another woman's body to make you regret volunteering to be the designated driver.
At least she already has her ‘something blue’ taken care of. The wedding colors Bethany picked for her wedding to my father are blue and silver, so the bridesmaids (myself included) got short dresses with blinged-out bodices and blue tulle skirts. Bethany got blue hair.
Bethany is a unique woman, but I figure she’s just about the only woman I’ve ever met who could make Alex desire matrimony.
I suspect he will not be easily bored by her.
She’s really cute—not model-looks, like some of the girls Alex has dated over the years, but she has an interesting, expressive face. Tonight for her bachelorette party, she’s wearing Mickey Mouse earrings, a black skirt held together by safety pins, and a pink satin top tied together with royal blue ribbon. The top she made herself; she’s a seamstress by trade, which is insanely cool, because who is a seamstress anymore?
Bethany is.
Before Bethany had her six-year-old daughter, she was a circus performer—a trapeze artist, to be more precise. After that, she spent some time in Belize with a much older boyfriend.
I keep telling her she needs to write a book; her life is entirely too fascinating not to share with other people. I’ll publish the damn thing myself. She can’t sit still long enough to get down even a first draft though, no matter how much I bug her about it.
"Come here!"
I look up as Bethany stumbles over to me. How she’s still walking on 4 inch heels after so many drinks is beyond me. I would be on my ass.
I muster a smile and she pulls a long face.
"You don’t look like you’re having fun. Are you bored? I feel so bad that you're not drinking with us! Your dad offered to get us a party bus; it probably isn't too late if you want to join in."
"I'm okay," I assure her. "I'm not bored, I swear. I don't drink much, so I'm used to it."
"I still feel bad. I want you to have fun!”
One of her friends approaches and Bethany stumbles again, nearly turning her ankle.
"Dammit. I need to sit. I should've brought lower heels. My feet are going to be blistered tomorrow and I have to dance all night."
I very much agree with her, and that’s why I wore flats.
As Bethany takes a shoe off and massages her toes, I stare at her heels. God, they’re so high. And she has to wear heels all day tomorrow at her wedding. What was she thinking?
"What size are you?" I ask.
"My shoes? Either 7.5 or 8, depends on the shoe."
Sighing, I lean down and pull my own shoes off. "Here, see if these fit."
"Oh, honey, I can't take your shoes."
"You're the bride; I can't very well sit here and watch you destroy your feet. How will you walk down the aisle tomorrow?"
As if it just now hit her, her brown eyes widen. "Oh my god, I'm getting married tomorrow. How crazy is that?"
Nodding in agreement, I say, "That is pretty crazy. You guys are a great couple, though."
"I honestly didn't think I’d ever get married," Bethany tells me. "Too many jerks out there."
I can't help laughing. The idea of Alex being anyone's exception in jerk-world is a little hard to swallow.
She smiles like she knows why I’m laughing and slips on my shoes. Her shoulders slump in relief. "That is so much better. Are you sure you don't mind?"
I nod as I slip her heels on my own feet. “Positive.”
“You’re the best daughter ever.”
I grimace, given she’s only a few years older than I am. “Ew.”
Snorting, she says, “Sorry.” Then she gives me a sideways hug and hops up, heading over to her friends at the bar.
I glance down at the loud blue shoe, the heel of which has been blinged out with rhinestones. It looks so ridiculous on my foot, I impulsively grab my phone and take a picture.
Attaching the picture, I text Henry, "My shoes have been confiscated by the bride!"
A moment later, Henry responds. "Where's the other slipper, Cinderella?"
Smiling, I type back, "The prince only gave me one. I guess he likes Steve Maddens. And only has one foot."
“Why is this one-footed bastard giving you shoes to begin with?” Henry demands.
I type back, “We’re sort of a thing. Sorry, I tried to resist, but… well, he’s a prince.”
“I’m gonna kick his royal ass.”
“Your fault for sending me to the wedding alone,” I tease. “He assumed I wasn’t spoken for.”
“I knew you weren’t okay with that,” he sends back, immediately. “Why did you say it was okay if it bothered you?”
Rolling my eyes and smiling faintly, I assure him, “I was just kidding. I’m not bothered that you can’t make the wedding. It’s really not a big deal.”
"Are you at least having fun?" he asks.
"I'm watching everybody else have fun, so sort of?"
"Sounds about right. You're such a passenger."
I frown lightly. "I am not a passenger."
"You are. I'm gonna take you kayaking one of these days so you'll have to steer your own boat." He punctuates it with a wink, but I still give the phone a dirty look and slip it back into my purse instead of responding.
Screw him. I am not a passenger.
A few minutes pass before Bethany finds me again. She rounds up the bridal party for an impromptu photo op. Once a satisfactory image has been captured, another bridesmaid checks the picture, apparently finding her appearance suitable, then says, "Tag me."
“I’ll tag all of you.”
Within a few seconds, a notification pops up on my phone.
A moment later, Henry likes my picture.
Mere seconds after that, he’s texting me. "How come you never wear low-cut tops like that when we go out?"
I laugh a little, replying, "How come you’re too busy to come to the wedding, but not too busy to stalk my social media?”
"Now that you told me about Prince Charming, I feel like I need to pay attention. Make sure that bastard doesn’t try to steal my girl."
"Don’t worry, I’m not easy to catch and princes are pretty lazy."
"Ha, you don’t have to tell ME how hard you are to catch,” he shoots back, attaching a winking emoji.
I smile and close out my messages. Finished texting for now, I drop my phone back into my purse and look around for Bethany. She was standing right next to me a minute ago.
I finally spot her back at the bar—some guy is buying her a drink. She’s grinning, leaning in and playfully running her hand down his arm as she thanks him.
I shake my head, smiling to myself. She really is perfect for Alex.
***
I grimace as I tug up the blue, blinged-out bodice of my bridesmaid dress. Not only do I look like I’m going to my senior prom with Duckie, but it’s strapless and I loathe strapless dresses. They never want to stay up.
It’s been a hectic morning. The church is all decked out in blue and silver, tulle and flowers bringing Bethany’s dream wedding to life. As hard as I’ve tried not to think about all the work I’m not doi
ng today, I have snuck in a few email check-ins and responded to a few messages in my spare moments. I’m out of spare moments for now, though. Once we get to the reception, I’ll probably sneak in a little more work on my phone. The alternative is socializing, and I don’t see why I’d want to do that.
Once I’m satisfied my dress will probably stay up, I slip out of the bathroom the bridesmaids have turned into a dressing room to go check on Alex. I saw him a couple times this morning, and to say he looked nervous would be an understatement. I don’t want to walk in on any half-naked men, so I knock before entering.
“Come on in,” he calls back.
“You should have asked who was there,” I tell him lightly, stepping inside. “It could’ve been Bethany.”
“I was hoping it was. Banging my bride before the wedding would be a good reminder of why I’m doing all this.”
I grimace at him. “Hi; I’m your daughter. Gross.”
Alex merely rolls his eyes. “My apologies, I forgot you were such a delicate flower.” He turns around, frowning like he’s looking for something.
“What do you need from me?” I ask him. “Anything I can do?”
“Can you find my cuff links? Bethany gave me these damn cuff links she wanted me to wear today, her father’s or some shit like that, and I can’t remember where I put them.”
I push off the door I’ve been leaning against and walk around the room, checking surfaces where cuff links might reside. “Are you nervous?”
“Of course I’m nervous,” he states. “I shouldn’t be doing this. I don’t like marriage. This is probably a mistake.”
“You’ve never been married,” I remind him. “You don’t know that you hate marriage. I’m sure marriage with a compatible person can be… not awful.”
Alex snorts. “Thanks for the pep talk, kid.”
I shrug unrepentantly. “Sorry, if you need someone to talk up commitment, I’m not really the right person for that job.”
He sighs heavily. “I hate weddings.”
“So do I.” I grab a little wooden box and open it up. Sure enough, the cuff links are right where they’re supposed to be.
“You can tell who we love, based on who we tolerate weddings for,” he tells me.
I nod vigorously in agreement as I turn to bring him the cuff link box. “I would rather go to a funeral, and that means someone died, so….”
Sighing, he places a hand on my bare shoulder. “I raised you right, kid.”
Scrunching up my face a bit, I ask, “Did you, though?”
“Shh.”
He still hasn’t taken the box, so I thrust it toward him. “Put these on.”
“If I don’t put them on, I don’t have to go out there,” he states.
“You are not leaving that incredible woman at the altar. I will disown you.”
“Bullshit. If you haven’t by now, you aren’t going to.”
I don’t bother arguing since he takes the box and opens it up, extracting the first cuff link and affixing it to his cuff.
“Is she having doubts?” he asks, flicking a glance up at me. “Is she freaking out in there, or is she all cool and collected?”
“Don’t worry about it,” I advise him.
“I’m not the marrying kind.”
“Neither is she,” I point out. “Yet, here we all are.”
“It’s not too late to call it off,” he states.
“It absolutely is too late to call it off,” I state. “I took time off work for this. If you don’t go through with the wedding, in addition to all the money you’ve wasted on this ceremony and the reception, I will bill you for my time.”
“You’re so cold.”
“Like an ice sculpture,” I agree. “Which you bought two of, and they’re non-refundable.” I take a step forward, straightening his slightly crooked bow tie. “You’re going to be fine. It’s just a party. You love parties.”
“Not parties where I give up all my freedom,” he disagrees.
“She’s giving up hers, too,” I remind him. “For some reason, she seems to think you’re worth it, and you know she is, so you better lock it down while you have a chance.”
“See, she thinks I’m the catch.”
“That’s why you need to get out there and marry her before she wises up.”
Smirking as he glances from me to his reflection, Alex informs me, “Watch it, my head’s gonna get so big I won’t be able to get out of this room.”
“You’ve spent enough years having your ego inflated. If you’re having doubts about marrying the much-younger knockout down the hall, you need to deflate a bit.”
“She is pretty hot,” he acknowledges.
I nod my agreement. “And interesting, to boot. You scored a ten. You’re a lucky dog.”
His gaze slides back my way. Foreboding slides through me as soon as his gaze lands on me, so I shouldn’t be surprised when his next words are, “How come Henry isn’t here with you? I thought I was finally gonna get to meet this guy.”
A flicker of irritation moves through me; it always does when Alex asks about my love life. I know he means well, but since he’s the only person in my life who witnessed my first—and last—crash-and-burn romance, I don’t like mentioning guys to him. Obviously he isn’t a normal, protective father, but since he survived my mother, he’s a little more aware of the severity of my romantic dysfunction than the rest of the world.
“He’s busy,” I say, simply. “He has a big case right now and it would’ve been stressful for him to take time off when he needed to be working.”
Alex appears entirely unimpressed. “He sounds like an asshole.”
My stern gaze snaps to his. “He is not an asshole. Henry is wonderful. He was willing to take the time off and come if I asked him to, but I told him it was fine. It’s not a big deal.”
“Sure,” he says, deceptively casual. “It’s only your father’s wedding. Those happen like every day. He can just catch the next one.”
I glare mildly.
“He should be here,” he states. “I don’t care if you told him he didn’t have to take the time off, he shouldn’t have missed this.”
“This is a new relationship, Alex. You’re making a big deal out of nothing,” I inform him, taking a step back and letting my gaze sweep over his tux to make sure he’s ready.
“I’m not,” he states. “I’m reading the signs and trying to intervene so you don’t fall madly in love with another inconsiderate asshole.”
“Henry isn’t an asshole, I told you that.”
“He’s a lawyer. I don’t believe you.”
I roll my eyes and sigh. “You’re annoying me.”
“I’m worried,” he states.
“I am not in love,” I shoot back, meeting his gaze. “Relax. There’s nothing to worry about. I’ve known Henry long enough to know whether or not he’s an asshole, and he isn’t. I’m just a very low-maintenance girlfriend.”
“I think that sucks,” he states. “You deserve maintenance.”
“I have my own life. It’s more my choice than his.” To stop this conversation, I quickly add, “All right, you look altar-ready to me. I’m gonna run and check on Bethany. Don’t psych yourself out, okay? You got yourself a good one.”
After I’m done clumsily reassuring Alex, I rush back to the bridal suite, hoping at least Bethany will have her head on straight, but she’s frazzled, too. Her sister is pushing champagne on her while Bethany swats it away, saying she can’t have more or she’ll be walking down the aisle buzzed.
“Everything on track in here?” I ask, letting my presence be known.
Bethany spins around to face me, her wild eyes reminding me of a cornered animal. “I never wanted to get married.”
Instead of becoming alarmed, I smile gently. “I know.”
“What if this is a terrible idea? What if it ruins things? What if we end up hating each other?”
“Then you’ll get a divorce,” I say as I approach her. Si
nce she’s Bethany, I’m comfortable enough to say what she needs to hear. “It’s just a party. Don’t overthink it.”
“Bailey’ll get attached.”
I shrug and comment lightly, “Eh, I lived with him for a while and I didn’t. I think she’ll be okay.”
“Very funny,” she says dryly.
“Relax,” I tell her, gently massaging her shoulders. “Everything is going to be fine. You look awesome. This is your party, don’t stress about it, just have fun. It’ll be over before you know it.”
“I do love him,” she says, closing her eyes and visibly relaxing.
A hint of a smile graces my features. “That’s what’s important.”
Even as the words roll off my tongue, I feel like I’m lying to her, but I know that’s my own issue.
“You and Alex are great together,” I add. That part is true.
Bethany takes a deep breath and nods slowly, the wheels obviously turning. “Okay. You’re right. I’m overthinking it.”
I watch her closely as I release her shoulders and take a step back. “You good? You’re not going to run, are you?”
“I’m not going to run,” she assures me.
Checking the time, I see that the ceremony is just minutes from starting. Now that I’ve made sure the bride and groom aren’t both planning to bail, I should probably escort him outside.
I have the funniest series of mental images going through my head. Bethany and Alex come alive in my mind, a scenario I certainly hope wouldn’t actually happen, but I can see how it would play out if it did. Both of them bail on their wedding, leave each other at the altar, but they show up at the same bar afterward. She’s still in her white dress; he’s in a disheveled tux. He’s been driving around aimlessly, wondering if he just made the biggest mistake of his life.
When he walks in, he pauses at the door and looks at her sitting despondently at the bar. First he would watch her, noticing the little things she did earlier to prepare for their big day—like the rosebud pins in her blue hair, commemorating the first flowers he ever brought her. His eyes would catch on the proudly displayed dreamcatcher tattoo on her left shoulder that he’d brushed his lips across just last night. Longing would hit him in the gut. He’d know he screwed up by bailing on her, but he wouldn’t know if she felt the same way. Being him, he wouldn’t just ask.