Sips & Strokes: Love wasn't part of the deal

by Sarah Skye

  “Well,” I say to the empty car, “so much for that dream.”

  4

  Lily

  A collective “aww” echoes around me. Harmony holds up yet another fine china set from where she’s sitting in the party room of the local country club.

  Her glossy pink lips stretch into a grin. Her blue eyes sparkle as she glances at the woman sitting at the table next to her. “Brittany, you shouldn’t have. It’s too much.”

  A soft wave of chuckles and more “aww” sounds follow. A handful of gloved servers drop off tiered silver trays of flavorless finger sandwiches and pots of tea at the tiny table I’m sharing with Mom. I try to shift in my chair, but I can hardly move in this floral cap-sleeve shift dress that I dug from the back of my closet. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from groaning. This must be what hell is like.

  There are a million things I’d rather do on a Saturday afternoon than attend the bridal shower of my ex-boyfriend’s fiancée. Get a pelvic exam. Stand in line for hours at the DMV. Get run over by a bulldozer. But alas, Harmony’s bridal shower is where I am because I can’t say no to my mother.

  My phone buzzes in my purse, and I quickly grab it.

  Morgan: Are you surviving?

  Me: Ha. Barely.

  Me: If you were still here, you know I would have dragged you to this.

  Morgan: And I would have gone kicking and screaming...but I still would have come with you ;)

  Me: How’s your grandma?

  Morgan: Okay overall. Still having mobility issues, but I think she’ll be okay with some physical therapy.

  Me: So glad to hear that.

  Me: On an unrelated note, WHY THE HELL DIDN’T YOU TELL ME YOUR REPLACEMENT MODEL WAS THE SEXIEST MAN ALIVE?

  A loud throat clear makes my head pop up. Mom is flashing her disappointed stare at me, so I put my phone away and focus on the scene happening at the front of the room. There Harmony sits in some plushy upholstered chair opening up a designer luggage set.

  Mom smiles as she looks on, then leans over to me. “Thank you for agreeing to come today,” she whispers. “I know it means a lot to Harmony since you missed their engagement party this summer.”

  “Right.” I fiddle with the microscopic slice of finger sandwich on my tiny plate, recalling how Mom texted me right after I agreed to attend the wedding while I was busy teaching class, insisting that I come to Harmony’s bridal shower.

  “When I told Harmony the good news that you’ll be going to the wedding, she texted me and asked that you come to her shower,” Mom had said over the phone while I walked through campus to teach my next class.

  “Did she really?” I said. “Um...that’s a surprise.”

  “Why is it a surprise? You two have known each other since you were kids.”

  I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from going off yet again. As kids, Harmony bullied me for a million random things. Sometimes it was for the gap I had between my two front teeth before I got braces. Sometimes it was because of my thick-rimmed glasses. Sometimes it was because my last name was hard to pronounce. And sometimes it was for being biracial.

  Her biting words from long ago flash to the front of my mind.

  Lily, what even are you? You’re too pale to be your mom’s daughter, but you don’t even look like your dad. Are you sure some other family didn’t take one look at you when you were born, freak out at how ugly you were, and then dropped you off at your parents’ doorstep?

  Laughter would always follow her taunts. Never once did I say anything in response. I was too embarrassed and scared of her. She had a gaggle of friends with her always. I was quiet and shy and wanted to blend in with everyone to avoid calling attention to myself. So I just ignored her whenever she said anything to me. When it got to be too much, I’d run to the girls’ bathroom and cry.

  I never told Mom and Dad the worst of it. I didn’t want them to know what a loser their only child was. And Harmony was always an angel around other people’s parents, so they never suspected a thing. The most I ever said were vague comments about her having a mean streak.

  Thankfully Harmony went to a different high school, so I didn’t have to deal with her as a teenager. But then by some weird twist of fate, she started dating Marco right after we broke up.

  “You and Harmony were friends when you were kids, right?” Mom asked the other day on the phone.

  “Nope. She was pretty mean to me in elementary school, actually. Remember?”

  “Well, it’s nice to know that she grew out of that stage and is being a mature adult,” Mom said pointedly. “I think it’s wonderful she’s going out of her way to invite you to her shower, Lily. What a nice gesture.”

  I scoff into my water glass as Harmony opens another lavish gift. Harmony might be nicer now, but that doesn’t erase how awful she was to me. I swipe a scone from one of the silver plates on the table and take a bite, wondering why in the world Harmony Daniels cares to be nice to me now after all this time.

  The servers walk back into the room carrying bottles of champagne. I flag down the one closest to me and hold up my empty flute. “Fill it up. All the way to the top please.”

  The young server nods, a focused look on his face as he studies the pour, careful not to overfill.

  I quietly thank him, then down the full glass, coughing softly as the bubbles hit my nose. Mom frowns at me before smoothing her hand along the slicked-back bun she sports. I turn my head away, ignoring the judgment in her deep brown eyes, and immediately ask for a refill.

  “You guys don’t have something harder you can serve, do you?” I ask him quietly.

  He flashes an apologetic smile. “Sorry. The future Mrs. Woodruff wants to stick to a bubbles-only service for her shower.”

  There’s a soft murmur to my left. When I glance over, a couple of the women sitting there immediately stop whispering to each other and look away from me, their faces red.

  I grit my teeth and down my next glass, then dig a twenty out of my purse and hand it to the server. “Leave the bottle at my table?”

  His polite smile turns into a full-fledged grin. “You got it.”

  I thank him and fill my glass once more. Mom’s dissatisfied sigh hits my ears, but I don’t care. Everyone who’s not currently watching Harmony open a plethora of expensive gifts is probably watching me right now, wondering to themselves and each other why I’m here.

  Sitting quietly as your ex’s fiancée basks in the joy of her impending wedding while everyone quietly gossips about you is a whole new level of discomfort. I deserve every drop of champagne I can get in this hellfire of a situation.

  “Pace yourself,” Mom whispers to me while staring. Her brows knit in annoyance.

  Just then a tall, slim, and smiley blonde I’m pretty sure is Brittany stands up while tapping her champagne flute.

  “I’d like to make a toast.” She turns to Harmony, who’s still sitting in the plush chair-couch thing that looks more like a throne the longer I look at it. Brittany raises her glass. “To the beautiful bride and my best friend in the entire whole wide world.”

  As Brittany drones on and on about Harmony’s endless incredible qualities, I tune her out and guzzle more champagne. I’m very much not in the mood to listen to what a saint my elementary school bully now is. I look back at my phone to the message that Morgan sent me.

  Morgan: I thought it would be a nice surprise. You walk into class and bam! There’s a hottie as my replacement ;)

  Me: Seriously, he is the dictionary definition of hottie

  Morgan: Well, the least I could do after ditching you for a whole semester is to leave you with some eye candy ;)

  I tuck my phone back in my purse before Mom can passive-aggressively scold me again.

  A light buzz hits from all that champagne and my mind starts to wander...to Calder—even though I know I shouldn’t.

  But I can’t help it. He was insanely charming during our first class together the other day, and he’s been on my
mind ever since. Yes, that’s creepy. It’s probably even creepier that I searched him online. But I had to look. I was very, very intrigued at his “I do a lot of naked things for a living” comment.

  And boy oh boy was he right about that.

  I blink, and a million images from his Instagram account collide behind the darkness of my eyelids. There’s Calder standing on a deserted beach at sunset, his back to the camera and his perfectly sculpted naked ass the focus of the photo. There’s Calder lying in a hammock with zero clothing, a linen sheet draped over his naughty bits, that killer smirk tugging at his mouth. There’s Calder smiling in a kilt as he holds a glass of whisky to his lips, his eyebrow raised. There’s Calder’s chiseled chest and abs on the cover of a romance novel I remember seeing at the grocery store months ago.

  The simple act of mentally running through these images has me sizzling from the inside out. I take another sip of champagne, but it doesn’t cool me off, not even a little bit. Because from my online stalking, I’ve learned that Calder is a famous Instagram model and romance cover hero who’s got millions of adoring fans...and I get to work one-on-one with him for the next four months. I get to see him every week, naked in my classroom, showing off that perfect physique of his. I get to ogle him on the reg for my job.

  It’s more than just physical appeal, though. Even though he’s nude in all of his photos, they’re not gratuitous or in your face. Every shot is beautifully composed. Lighting and setting are artfully done in each frame. It’s like he employs an artist’s eye to create his very deliberate aesthetic: sexy but also inspired.

  I’m gulping water from my glass when I catch Harmony standing and thanking everyone for attending. I silently thank Calder. Thinking of him made that last chunk of the shower fly by.

  I start to grab my purse so I can leave, but then the door flies open. Gasps echo around me. When I look up, I see the last person I ever want to see standing in the doorway.

  Marco.

  Another wave of “awws” follows. Harmony cups her hands over her mouth. She runs over and pulls him close by the lapels of his gray blazer. When she finishes kissing him, she smooths his dark brown hair, then strokes a dainty hand over his clean-shaven cheek.

  My arms and legs instantly still. It’s a weird kind of shock to see him after a year of zero contact. Like a punch to the gut.

  Someone at the next table leans over and says something to Mom about it being a tradition for the groom to make an appearance at the end of a bridal shower. I would have loved to know that. I wouldn’t have come if I did.

  A second later, the whispered murmurs start.

  “God, can you imagine seeing your ex with someone new right in front of your eyes?”

  “Poor girl. I’d be in tears.”

  “Can you believe she broke up with him?”

  “And she’s going to the wedding! I wonder if she has a date.”

  I frown at my purse in my lap, digging for nothing in particular. Anything to keep from looking up and having to see three dozen pairs of eyes staring at me, pitying me, silently shaming me.

  “You should say hi before you leave, Lily. It would be the polite thing to do,” Mom says.

  When I glance at her, I notice the faintest hint of shock in her eyes. She probably wasn’t expecting Marco either, but she’s all about keeping up appearances.

  “I think I’ll pass,” I say before pouring the last of the champagne from the bottle into my glass and taking a long sip.

  “That’s enough for you,” Mom says as she slides my glass of water closer to me.

  As everyone chats and mingles around me, I eye the door, which is just a few feet away from where Marco and Harmony stand as they bid guests farewell. Maybe I can slip out of here while everyone is preoccupied.

  While Mom chats to the table next to us, I stand up. I’d rather wait for her outside than spend another minute sitting here.

  I’m on my way to the door when the sound of my name halts me mid-step.

  “Hey, Lily,” Marco’s deep voice calls behind me.

  I freeze and bite the inside of my cheek. There’s no way I can ignore him and continue walking. Everyone will see.

  I slowly turn around to face him. “Hey, Marco.”

  “You’re looking well.”

  The way he says those words combined with the quick once over he gives me makes me want to spit in his face. His future wife is standing a handful of feet away from him. He absolutely shouldn’t be looking at me like that.

  He flashes that trademark dazzling grin of his, the one that displays all of his perfectly white and straight teeth. It used to make me weak in the knees. Now it makes my skin crawl.

  “It’s been a while,” he says.

  “It has. Fortunately.” I purse my lips and cross my arms, hoping my defensive body language broadcasts just how much I’m hating this forced small talk.

  Marco’s deep brown eyes dart away from me when I say nothing more. I’m guessing my “fortunately” comment rubbed him the wrong way.

  He frowns the slightest bit. “Still doing that art thing?”

  I bite down at his dismissive tone. “If by ‘art thing’ you mean to ask if I’m still working as an art teacher, yes. I am.”

  “Glad to hear you’re still surviving.”

  I cringe inwardly at the way he emphasizes the word “surviving.” To anyone who happens to overhear this conversation, what he says sounds benign. But I know better.

  That word triggers a painful memory. The day I walked out on Marco flashes in my mind like a sad highlight reel.

  I met him at his house so we could go to dinner. When I followed him to his living room, I noticed his fireplace mantel and shelves were barren. All the sculptures and sketches I had made for him as gifts for holidays and birthdays were gone.

  “What happened to all the artwork I gave you?” I asked, my head pivoting around the room.

  “Huh? Oh, that. I sold them.”

  “You what?” I barked, whipping my head to him.

  His gaze was glued to his phone. And when he finally looked at me he shrugged, like he couldn’t have cared less. Just thinking about it now cuts me right in the center of my chest.

  “Here,” he said, before showing me the screen of his phone. It was an online account with a balance listed in the thousands. “I sold your art and used the money to start a retirement fund for you.”

  “You did what?” The volume of my voice jolted him so much that he stumbled back. He looked like a surprised Ken doll.

  A second later, he reined in his expression. “Come on, Lily. Don't be mad. It's the sensible thing to do.”

  “You sold the gifts that I gave to you—the artwork that I put my heart and soul into for you—to start a retirement fund?”

  He tilted his head to the side before ruffling his short-cropped jet black hair. “Lily, listen. I know your parents are well off. I know they’ll help you out if you ever needed it. And I’m sure you’re going to get an inheritance when they pass someday, but until then it’s time you took some financial responsibility for yourself. You’re an art teacher. We both know your job doesn’t pay a ton of money. On a salary like that, you’re surviving, not living. We both know just how little you’ve got in your long-term savings. I was just trying to think of that—of your future. Can't you appreciate that?”

  My blood simmered like lava on the cusp of eruption at his condescending tone and the way he sighed. Like he was exhausted and annoyed that he had to explain any of this to me.

  All those times that he smiled and nodded along when I explained to him my love for my job, how art was my passion and I couldn’t imagine doing anything else for a living...all those times I told to him why it was important for me to forge my own path independent of my image- and money-obsessed parents...all those times he said he admired me for my conviction and my willingness to strike out on my own...he didn’t mean any of it.

  That’s when a whole new realization took hold of me. In that moment, Marc
o showed me just how little my passion, my art, my heart and soul, meant to him. In that moment, he showed me that he didn’t give a shit about anything if he couldn’t assign a monetary value to it.

  Tears flooded my eyes. And then I blubbered, “I don’t want any money from you. We’re over” before walking out of his house.

  When I told my parents, they were upset that I broke up with him.

  He was just watching out for you, Lily. He wanted to help take care of you financially. It's kind of sweet and romantic when you look at it that way.

  I can't fault a man for thinking in such a fiscally responsible manner.

  Just then Harmony walks up to Marco. She swipes her perfectly barrel-curled long blonde hair out of her face, then clutches his arm.

  She eyes me, her smile tight. “Thanks again for coming, Lily. And thank you for your gift. Marco and I will put that gorgeous crystal wine decanter to good use.”

  “Thank my mom. She picked it out.” I’m careful to keep my tone from turning too exasperated. I don’t know how much longer I can keep up this proper facade during the world’s most awkward post-bridal shower conversation.

  “You’ll have to help me pick out a bottle of wine to christen the decanter this weekend.”

  “Sorry, what?”

  Harmony shifts slightly, the full skirt of her white lace knee-length dress swaying with the movement.

  “My bachelorette party. We’re going wine tasting at that really cute vineyard just outside of the city, then doing a bar crawl downtown. You’re coming, aren’t you?”

  My heart races in pure panic at the thought. Spending an evening binge drinking with Harmony and all her friends? Dear god, no thank you.

  My head spins as I try to think of an excuse not to go. “I don’t think I can. I’ve got a ton of work to do.”

  Harmony frowns, then sighs. Then she glances up at Marco, who looks like he’d rather be just about anywhere else than observing this conversation between his fiancée and ex-girlfriend.