And then, in a flashback to adolescence, her body responded with an electric rush that raised goose bumps on her skin.
They hadn’t seen each other in years and she was right in the middle of the worst day of her life, but apparently her hormones still clung to out-of-date programming.
But she’d been able to hide her reactions back then, when she was just a kid. She could certainly hide them now.
Especially if she didn’t get any closer. If there was any social function in the world at which she could abandon Emily Post’s rules of etiquette, surely this was it. She wasn’t going to “graciously greet all her guests,” damn it—especially when it came to Ben.
“I don’t know about you, but I think this occasion calls for hard liquor,” Simone said.
“I agree,” Vicki put in immediately. “In fact, that’s the best idea I’ve heard all day.”
Kate Meredith, Jessica’s other college roommate and Simone’s best friend, grabbed her hand.
“What do you say, Jess? Do you want to get drunk?”
She hadn’t been drunk since college. She started to say no, but the bar was on the side of the room farthest from Ben.
“Yes. Yes, I do.”
The band started playing a few minutes later. As people got up to dance with more abandon than you usually saw at a wedding reception, the crowd of people around Jessica thinned out until it was down to Kate, Simone, Vicki, and her other bridesmaids, who were clustered around her at the bar and matching her shot for shot.
“What is this called again?” she asked as she downed her fourth without coughing, an achievement she was unexpectedly proud of.
“Jägermeister.”
“Why does it taste so much better now than it did half an hour ago?”
Simone tossed down her own shot. “That’s the Jäger therapy kicking in. It makes everything go down easier.”
“Even getting left at the altar by your gay fiancé?”
Simone grinned at her. “Even that.”
The band started a song Jessica didn’t know, and Simone burst out laughing. “Who requested this? What a genius choice.”
Jessica listened until the song reached its two-word chorus: “Love Stinks!”
For just a moment she was horrified. Then, as the song went on, she started to giggle.
If someone had told her an hour ago that she’d actually be laughing at this reception, she’d have thought they were crazy.
“Thank you,” she said suddenly, looking around at the bridesmaids who hadn’t left her side since she’d entered the room.
“For what?” Kate asked.
“For being here. For getting me drunk. For putting up with me for the last year. For everything.”
Before she knew what was happening, the breath was being squeezed out of her in a group hug.
“Whoa. Okay, I need to breathe,” she said.
Then she heard an older female voice.
“Jessica?”
As her bridesmaids gave her space, she saw Ben’s mother standing there. Her husband was with her, but not, she was relieved to see, her son.
Amelia Taggart smiled and took her hand. “We’re leaving now, but we wanted to thank you for inviting us. Seth says it’s the most fun he’s ever had at a wedding reception.”
“Good food and good music, just like you promised,” he said.
Jessica had always liked the Taggarts. “The afternoon didn’t go quite the way I planned, but I’m very glad you came. Thank you.”
“It was our pleasure,” Amelia said. She hesitated a moment, and then she gathered Jessica in her arms for a hug. “If there’s ever anything we can do . . .”
“I’ll let you know.”
As soon as they were gone she looked around for Ben. Had he left before his parents? Or was he still here somewhere?
Scanning the room for him, she was struck again by how much fun people were having. The liquor was flowing at the tables as well as here at the bar. People were dancing, talking, eating, laughing.
It had turned out to be a pretty good party.
But as she watched her guests enjoying themselves, a wave of depression brought her own alcohol-inflated mood back down to earth. After all this was over, she would go to the apartment she and Tom were supposed to share . . . except that she would be alone.
Even here, surrounded by all these people—including some who were better friends than she’d given them credit for—she felt alone.
The bartender set her fifth shot on the mahogany bar. But as she started to reach for it, she finally caught sight of Ben. He was making his way through the crowd, but not toward the doors.
He was coming toward her.
Oh God. What did he want? To rub her nose in her humiliation, or to say something kind?
She honestly didn’t know which she’d hate more.
She left the shot on the bar, muttered something about needing the restroom, and fled.
The hallway outside the reception hall wasn’t very crowded. She really did need a bathroom, so she was glad to see the sign across the hall.
She was sitting on the toilet when she heard the outer door open. Two college-aged girls were chattering together as they came into the restroom, and she recognized their voices, although she didn’t know them well. They were cousins on her father’s side.
“Someone started a hashtag on Twitter. #JessicaWeddingFail. Have you seen it? It’s hysterical. I tweeted out the picture I took of her standing alone at the altar.”
“Oh my God, classic. That dress probably cost twenty thousand dollars. And the wedding had to be at least a hundred thousand. Can you imagine spending that much money just to tell the world you’re a fag hag? She’s been lording it over everyone for, like, years, and now Tom dumps her at the altar—for a man.”
They must have come in for a quick makeup check, because they left without using the facilities. Once the door closed behind them the bathroom was silent.
Jessica stayed where she was for a minute. Then she left the stall and went to the sink, turning on the faucet with shaking hands.
This was what her mother had warned her would happen. This was what her friends had shielded her from, at least for the last hour.
Almost every decision she’d made for the last fifteen years had been to protect herself from feeling vulnerable. All she’d ever wanted was to feel safe, strong, unassailable. She and Tom had decided to get married for the same reason—so they could help each other hide from the judgment of the world.
Now all that had been undone. She was exposed, weak, defenseless.
Not since eighth grade when the “mean girls” had bullied her for being a fat loser had she felt so powerless. Ben had told her over and over again that it didn’t matter, that she was better than all the kids who tried to tear her down, that he’d be her friend no matter what.
But the summer before ninth grade, she’d turned her back on Ben in order to forge a new path for herself. Two things had happened that summer: her uncle Jeffrey had moved out of the city, and her parents had offered to send her to a fat farm.
Her uncle’s leaving had put an end to something she’d never told another living soul—not her parents and not Ben. Once Jeffrey was gone, she’d decided to put the ugliness behind her. It would be as though it had never happened. She had a chance to start over, to remake herself—starting with her physical appearance.
By the time that summer was over, she saw a new future unfolding. She would never again be a victim, never again be on the outside, vulnerable and exposed. She would be on the inside, where it was safe. She would be popular, she would be beautiful, and she would never let anyone see her soft underbelly ever again.
Her plan had succeeded. And when her uncle passed away a few years later, it had seemed as though that part of her life was behind her for good.
Jessica turned off the faucet and leaned on the bathroom counter, staring at herself in the mirror. The one promise she’d made to her teenage self was that she�
��d never be anyone’s fool. Now, here she was—everyone’s fool.
She was a punch line. A hashtag. And as grateful as she was to Vicki and to her friends for standing by her today, they couldn’t change that. For the rest of her life, she would be known as the Park Avenue bride who’d been dumped at the altar. The socialite whose fiancé had left her for another man. Whenever she walked into a room, what had happened today would be the first thing—maybe the only thing—that anyone remembered about her.
It would follow her forever.
At the age of fourteen, she’d decided to reshape her life. She’d done everything she could to make a total break with the person she’d been, and she’d succeeded.
At twenty-eight, that option was no longer viable. In the age of social media there would be no escape, no burying of the past. There would be no place to hide.
But she could at least hide tonight. She could turn off her phone and leave this reception.
She wouldn’t even go back to the hall to say goodbye. She was sure her friends would forgive her for that, and no one else would blame her.
But when she emerged from the bathroom, she saw one obstacle to her plan. Ben Taggart, his back to her, was standing between her and the hotel exit.
Her heart leapt into her throat. Afraid he would turn and see her, she ducked into an empty function room.
There must have been an event in here not long before. There were coffee urns on one side of the room and cups scattered around the empty tables. Jessica sat down at one of them, put her elbows on the table, and covered her face with her hands.
Ben turned in time to see Jessica disappear into an empty room.
He went to the doorway and looked inside. Jessica was sitting with her back to him, her shoulders slumped and her head in her hands.
He should probably leave her alone. That was obviously what she wanted, and if he left now, he could catch the beginning of the Mets game at O’Malley’s.
But she looked so fragile and forlorn that his heart tightened in his chest.
He moved into the room and took a chair next to her.
“Hey, Jess,” he said gently.
When she raised her head he could see she’d been crying. Her face was streaked with tears and her eyes were red-rimmed, and the sight tore at his heart.
She took a deep breath and straightened her spine. “Are you here to gloat? I know seeing me humiliated is a dream come true for you.”
Her lips were trembling, and she looked so defensive he wondered if it had been a mistake to follow her in here.
“I wanted to make sure you’re all right. And I wanted to tell you how proud I am of you.”
She stared at him. “Proud of me?”
“For standing by Tom. For saying what you did to him. That took guts, Jess. So did coming to this reception.” He paused. “It’s been a hell of a day. How are you doing?”
There was a flash of anger in her blue eyes.
“Well, let’s see. I walked down the aisle in front of everyone I know and got left at the altar by my gay fiancé. How do you think I’m doing?”
That made him smile. “If you’re snapping at me, you’re doing better than I thought.”
She frowned. “What does that mean?”
“When you were in that church, you looked numb. Like you were standing outside yourself, watching things happen to you. You looked like you’d given up. But if you can muster up the energy to be pissed at me, it means you’re still fighting.”
She shook her head slowly. “Fighting for what?”
“For yourself. For your happiness. That’s worth fighting for, Jess.”
She looked down at the table, a furrow drawing her brows together.
After a moment she looked up again. “Why did you come to the wedding? It’s not like we’re friends. You could have declined the invitation.”
“You want the truth?”
She shrugged. “When have you ever bothered to lie about anything?”
“My mother made me.”
For the first time, her mouth curved up in a smile.
“She did, huh? That sounds like Amelia.”
They were both quiet after that. This was probably a good time for him to leave—he’d said what he wanted to say, and he’d gotten her to smile. He should quit while he was ahead.
“What’s next for you?” he asked.
She blinked at him. “Next? What do you mean?”
“What happens tomorrow? What happens the next day?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Well, what was going to happen? If you and Tom had gotten married, what were you going to do next?”
He’d hated the numbness he’d seen in her at the altar—the mechanical way she’d moved and spoken. He wanted to know that Jessica had something to look forward to, some purpose for her life outside of getting married.
That’s what he’d been getting at when he’d asked her what was next. But the answer she gave was, “Our honeymoon.”
Okay, fine. He could start there.
“The honeymoon. Where were you going?”
She sighed. “Bermuda.”
He was surprised. “Bermuda? Seriously?”
That seemed to put her back up a little. “What’s wrong with Bermuda?”
He held out his hands. “Nothing. Not a thing. I just figured you and Tom would go to Europe or something. Bermuda seems . . .” He trailed off when he saw her glaring at him. “Sorry,” he said quickly. “Bermuda is great. What made you want to go there? Was it Tom’s idea?”
“No. It was mine.” She lifted her shoulders and let them fall. “They have this dolphin program.”
He wasn’t sure he’d heard her right. “Dolphin program?”
She looked a little embarrassed. “I’ve always had this thing for dolphins.”
He had a sudden memory of her room in eighth grade. “My God, yes. You had all those dolphin books and posters and that charm necklace . . .”
“Right,” she went on quickly, her cheeks turning pink. “So . . . Bermuda has this program. It’s called ‘A Day with Dolphins.’ You spend time in their habitat, swimming with them and learning from the trainers how to take care of them and work with them and . . . and . . .” She trailed off at the expression on Ben’s face. “I suppose that seems stupid to you.”
It didn’t seem stupid at all. This was the first time in fifteen years he’d gotten a glimpse of the girl Jessica had once been.
“No, it doesn’t,” he said. “It seems wonderful. I think you should go.”
She stared at him in disbelief. “On my honeymoon? Alone?” She rolled her eyes. “Sure, that’ll cheer me up.”
The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea. “Why the hell not? It’s not like you were going to get laid even if Tom had been there.”
She glared at him. “That’s a low blow.”
He grinned. “Too soon to joke about it?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, fine. But why shouldn’t you go? The trip’s paid for, isn’t it? And you can do your dolphin thing.”
She started to say no. But then she stopped, and he could see that she was actually thinking about it.
“You can’t tell me it wouldn’t be nice,” he said persuasively. “A week by yourself on an island, away from New York?”
Her mouth twisted wryly. “Away from daily reminders of my humiliation, you mean? Bermuda’s not far enough for that. Twitter makes embarrassment a global event. Do you know there’s a hashtag about me? #JessicaWeddingFail. Apparently one of my cousins live-tweeted the ceremony.”
“Well, then, your cousin’s an asshole. But who cares what anyone else says about you? That’s not what this would be about. This would be about taking some time for yourself, to figure things out. And to swim with dolphins,” he added.
She looked torn. Then:
“I couldn’t go on my honeymoon alone. That’s the most pathetic thing I’ve ever heard. I can’t possibly—”
“Jessica.”
“What?”
“Answer me this. When you say it’s pathetic, are you thinking about what other people might think, or what you think yourself?”
“Both.” She paused. “Okay, other people,” she went on grudgingly.
“That’s what I thought. Listen, Jess—if there was ever a time in your life to not give a damn about what other people think, this is it. And you really want to do that dolphin program. Don’t you? When’s the last time you did something just because you wanted to do it?”
A sudden spasm went over her face. “I’m a rich socialite living in Manhattan. Doesn’t that mean I always do what I want to do? Don’t you think my life is an endless series of indulgences?”
“No,” he said. “I don’t. Do you want to know what I really think?”
She looked a little wary. “Okay.”
“I think you’ve always had everything except the things you really want.”
Her eyes filled with sudden tears. She looked away, blinking, and took a deep breath.
“Go to Bermuda,” he said softly. “Do it for yourself.”
“I can’t stay alone in a honeymoon suite. I can’t. I—”
“Get a different room.”
She shook her head. “The hotel’s full. All the good places are booked up. There’s a yacht race and some big cricket match going on.”
“Take a friend, then.”
She shook her head again. “The plane leaves tomorrow morning. Who would drop everything to come with me on the most pathetic vacation ever?”
“Your sister.”
“She’s on call at the hospital.”
“One of your bridesmaids.”
“None of them could take ten days off with no notice. They’re not teachers like you, Ben. They don’t get summers off.”
Teachers like you.
Her words gave him a crazy idea—an idea he might not have considered if he hadn’t had a couple of scotches at the reception.
“I don’t have the summer off, but I have the rest of this month off.” After that he’d be getting ready for his move to Chicago, but he was a free agent until then.
Anything But Love Page 3