by Sydney Logan
“Please make yourselves at home.”
“Mrs. Martinez,” I say softly, “we’re happy to come back—”
“Nonsense. I live for this. Have a seat, please. I understand I’m approving the invitation?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Lynsey offers her the sample invitation. Mrs. Martinez holds it reverently, trailing her frail finger along the embossed letters. Her eyes well with tears. Mine do the same.
“It’s absolutely perfect,” she whispers, wiping a stray tear off her cheek. “You have the guest list?”
I nod. “We’ll get them printed and mailed this week.”
“That’s wonderful. My Juliana is such a silly bride. Leaving town for a conference when there’s still so much to do. I’m sure you’ve noticed neither she nor Caleb are into the finer points of this wedding, but you know young couples today. They’re far too engrossed in their careers to enjoy the little things. They don’t realize that, someday, the little things are actually the most important things of all.”
It’s quite a speech, and she sags against the bed tiredly.
That’s our cue.
“Thank you, Mrs. Martinez. We’ll let you rest now.”
“No, thank you. This wedding . . . you just have no idea how much this means to me.”
My throat constricts with emotion as the butler helps her lie down. We offer to see ourselves out, and Lynsey takes my hand as we walk down the long hallway and out the front door.
The drive back to the office is a silent one, each of us lost in thought while I try to make sense of what I just witnessed. I now have even more questions than I had before, and I wouldn’t have dreamed that was possible. Clearly, Juliana’s mother is sick. To what extent she’s sick is a mystery to me, but I have a feeling her illness has something to do with the bride and groom’s complete lack of enthusiasm when it comes to this wedding.
By the time we get back to the office, I’ve made a decision.
“I’m ready.”
Lynsey nods. “I thought you might be. Call him.”
She heads inside while I gather my courage. This could be an epic mistake, but I have to know. I want to know.
With trembling fingers, I send him a text.
I’m ready to listen.
I want to meet somewhere neutral . . . a place I won’t be tempted to jump into his arms as soon as I lay eyes on him. We decide on the playground at Burger Palace—Eli’s favorite restaurant and where we ate the first day we met. Sure, it holds memories, but it’s a public place, and I’m hoping that being surrounded by a bunch of screaming kids will keep my emotions in check.
Naturally, the playground’s empty today.
I’m sitting on a bench, gazing at the playground equipment and lost in my anxiety, when I feel someone watching me. I turn around, and there he is, staring at me through the glass door. His eyes, usually so beautiful and blue, are cloudy today, mixed with sadness and just a hint of relief.
Caleb walks through the door and over to the bench.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
“May I sit?”
I nod and slide over to make room. He’s careful not to touch me as he settles himself on the bench. I’m grateful. And disappointed.
“Thank you for the daisies, Caleb.”
“Did you like them?”
“I loved them. I bet the florist did, too. Pansy can probably retire now.”
He chuckles. “She was pretty excited when she handed me the receipt.”
“I can imagine.”
He sighs softly and reaches for my hand.
“Don’t,” I whisper. “I won’t be able to think straight if you touch me.”
“I can’t think straight if I don’t.”
I finally allow myself to look at him . . . to really look at him. What I see breaks what’s left of my heart. Dark circles rim his bloodshot eyes. He looks pale and tired and miserable. I wonder how I look to him.
“I met Juliana’s mother. She’s very sweet.”
“She is. I love her almost as much as I love my own mom.”
“What’s wrong with her?”
He takes a deep breath and reaches for my hand. This time, I let him take it. I’m asking him to share something very private and painful. The least I can do is let him hold my hand.
“We were on vacation in Colorado when Luisa complained of a severe headache. She’s never been one to complain about her health, so we knew she had to be in a lot of pain. We rushed home. Her doctor ran a bunch of tests. The diagnosis wasn’t good, so they got a second opinion, and then a third. All the doctors said the exact same thing.”
“Cancer?”
He nods. “Brain tumor. She’d live a year, maybe. Her personal doctor gave her six to eight months. The cancer hasn’t spread, but it’s inoperable. Chemo has helped slow the progression a little, but all it’s doing is buying her some time.”
“Enough time to watch her daughter walk down the aisle.”
“Yes.”
A tear trickles down my cheek.
“Luisa took the news like a champ. People die, she said. That’s life. Her one and only regret was that she wouldn’t see her daughter get married. In the grand scheme of things, it seemed so inconsequential, but to her, it was the most important thing in the world.”
Luisa’s words echo in my brain. They don’t realize the little things are actually the most important things of all.
“Jules is my best friend. Has been since college,” Caleb says softly. “Her family’s become my family, treating me like a son for the past six years. Luisa always pushed the two of us to be more than friends, but that’s all we’ll ever be. With that in mind, I asked Jules what she thought about giving her mom the wedding she’d always dreamed of. Neither of us were dating. It seemed like a very easy wish to grant. At first, Juliana was totally against the idea, but as her mom’s health deteriorated, we wanted to do something—anything to ease her suffering. Anything to make her smile.”
“So you got engaged.”
“I’ll never forget the look in Luisa’s eyes when we told her we were getting married. Jules didn’t think we could pull it off. We’d protested for years, and now we’re engaged? But Luisa didn’t question it. Maybe she didn’t want to. So, I made a promise to my best friend. We’d plan the wedding of her mother’s dreams, and then we’d get an annulment just as soon as . . .”
Caleb’s aching voice breaks, and he bows his head. He doesn’t have to finish the sentence. I know exactly what he’s going to say.
They’ll get an annulment . . . just as soon as she dies.
We’ve planned a lot of weddings. Many of our couples are still together. Others didn’t make it to their first anniversary. Lynsey likes to joke that some didn’t even make it past the honeymoon. But this is the first time we’ve planned a wedding where the bride and groom are planning to get an annulment just as soon as her mother’s dead and buried.
It’s wrong, what they’re doing. But it’s also admirable. Obviously there’s a lot of love there, and wouldn’t you want to ease your loved one’s suffering if you could?
I know I would.
“I think it’s amazing what you’re doing, Caleb. Giving this wonderful woman something to look forward to when everything else looks bleak. I totally get it.”
“You do?”
“Everything makes sense now. I’ve never met a bride who didn’t give a shit about her wedding dress. We’ve never planned a wedding where we were given zero direction but an unlimited budget. Now I know why.”
“You have to believe me, Skye. If I’d known you were coming into my life, I never would have agreed to this.”
“I do believe that.”
Caleb smiles then, his blue eyes twinkling with hope.
“So . . . what does this mean?” he asks, squeezing my hand. “For us?”
I’m not sure what he expects me to say. I’d never ask him to break his promise to Juliana. Is that what he wants? Does he want m
e to offer an ultimatum? I refuse. I won’t be the reason he breaks his engagement, even if the whole thing’s a farce.
That’s his choice to make, and I certainly won’t beg him to choose me.
Still, I have to know.
“Caleb, you said you never would’ve made that promise if you’d known you were going to meet me.”
“That’s right.”
“But you did. You’ve met me. Everything has changed. Or . . . nothing has changed. I’m afraid that’s up to you.”
He frowns. “I’m not sure I understand.”
“Are you still getting married?”
“Yes, but I won’t be married long.”
I know he doesn’t mean it the way it sounds, but it makes me rage just the same.
“I see. So, what are you asking me, Caleb? Are you asking me to wait for you? Are you asking me to sit around and count the days, just waiting for this poor woman to die?”
“It’s not like that—”
“It’s exactly like that. You’re asking me to wait until this woman is in the ground. Then we can be together?”
Caleb bows his head. “I know . . . I know it’s a lot to ask.”
He’s out of his mind. Is he seriously asking me to bide my time? Wait my turn? As if I’m supposed to take some sick, twisted joy in that poor woman’s death? Besides, what if the doctors are wrong? What if she lives six more months? Or a year? Or, what if the idea of grandchildren suddenly gives her a new lease on life and she outlives us all?
That would be wonderful.
But he’d still be married.
And I’d still be waiting.
“I made her a promise, Skye.”
“I know. I would never ask you to break that promise. And you shouldn’t ask me to wait.”
The expression on his face breaks my heart. With a sad smile, I place my hand on his cheek.
“I think you’re wonderful, Caleb Lynch. Loyal. Selfless. Kind-hearted. Those are important qualities in a man—especially in a man who has completely stolen my heart. I would never ask you to choose.”
His eyes brighten, and I die a little more inside.
“But you have to understand that I can’t do this. I will not put my happiness in this dying woman’s hands. That’s not fair to her, and it’s not fair to me.”
“It’s not like that, Skye . . .”
“It is, Caleb. It’s exactly like that. I won’t be the other woman in any scenario. Fake wedding or not. I will not play that role. And you shouldn’t ask me to.”
“You just said you wouldn’t ask me to choose. You’re asking me to choose.”
“And the fact that you think there’s a choice to be made absolutely breaks my heart.”
Blinking back my tears, I stand up from the bench. His arms encircle my waist, and he pulls me to him, resting his forehead against my stomach. I slide my fingers through his hair and hold him close. We need this, just one last time. Very gently, I lift his head so that I can look into those beautiful blue eyes that I love so much. And I do. I love them. And his heart. And I think I might love him, too.
Sometimes love just isn’t enough.
“I don’t want to be a choice you have to make. I want to be your heart’s only option.”
Caleb chokes out a sob. “You are . . .”
That’s not true. Not really. And knowing it’s not true gives me the strength to pull myself out of his arms and walk away.
Raising the bottle to my lips, I wince as the burning liquid coats my throat. Flames erupt in my stomach as the booze settles there, and I lean my head back against the wall, forcing my eyes to adjust to the shadows of my pitch-black living room.
She won’t wait for me.
I’d been stupid to think she would. When Skye said she understood—that what I was doing was admirable—I allowed myself a sliver of hope. They say the truth shall set you free, but that’s not true. Not for me. In my case, the truth only tightened the shackles around my heart.
“I don’t want to be a choice you have to make. I want to be your heart’s only option.”
Maybe if I keep drinking, I’ll forget the heartbreaking sound of her voice and the wounded look in her eyes when she said those words to me.
Suddenly, I hear the click of a lock, followed by someone walking through the door. The room is suddenly flooded with light. With a groan, I lift the bottle to shield my eyes.
“Oh, Caleb.”
Her voice is just a whisper, but I can still hear the sorrow in it.
Another woman whose heart you’re bound to break. You’re good at that.
I struggle to focus on her face. Finding it impossible, I take another drink and close my eyes. She must take pity on me, because she flips a switch, and the room is once against blanketed in blessed darkness. She walks closer and reaches down, grabbing the bottle out of my hand. With a weary sigh, she slides down to the floor next to me.
“Did you come home early?” I ask, trying to remember the day of the week.
“Yes, I came home early,” Juliana says softly. “It’s a good thing I did. Otherwise, you’d be in a drunken coma by morning.”
I shake my head and regret it immediately. Why won’t the room stop spinning?
“Why are you home?”
“Because we need to talk. Not tonight, obviously. But first thing in the morning.”
“I have school in the morning.”
“No, you don’t.”
This is good news.
“Does that mean I can drink some more?”
“I think you’ve had enough. Come on.”
Jules stands up and takes my hand, helping me to my feet. I stagger all the way to my bedroom, not even bothering to change before I collapse on my bed. My mind goes blissfully black, and I fall into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.
When I stumble into the kitchen the next morning, I’m surprised to find Jules there, standing at the island and pouring coffee. I vaguely recall something about the living room floor and a big bottle of whiskey, but it’s all kind of jumbled in my brain.
“You’re home?”
“I am.”
“What’s today?”
“Saturday.”
Thank God. I sit down on a stool and bury my throbbing head in my hands.
“Do you want some coffee? Juice?” she asks.
“Juice sounds good. My throat feels like sandpaper.”
Juliana pours me a glass and places it on the island.
“Take these,” she says, handing me two aspirin. I swallow them down as she climbs onto the stool next to me.
“Why are you home? I haven’t been passed out for two weeks, have I?”
“No. We need to talk, Caleb. You said you’d explain everything when I got home. I’m home.”
Sighing tiredly, I close my eyes and finish my juice.
“More?” she asks.
I shake my head. “I didn’t mean for you to cut your trip short. I’m sorry, Jules.”
“Don’t be sorry. Just tell me what’s going on.”
Taking a deep breath, I turn toward my best friend and try to think of what to say. I’m not even sure where to start. But because she’s Jules—and she knows me better than anyone—she doesn’t need me to say a thing. She already knows.
“You’ve met someone.”
The kindness in her voice nearly breaks me.
“It doesn’t matter, Jules.”
“Of course it matters. And it’s wonderful.”
“It’s not. She doesn’t want me.”
“I find that very hard to believe. Any woman would be crazy not to fall in love with you.”
“Really? You never did.”
She laughs softly. “No, I never did. I am somehow immune to Caleb Lynch’s charms. And he’s immune to mine.”
“Maybe we should force ourselves. Life would be so much simpler.”
“You shouldn’t have to force it, Caleb.”
I don’t want to be a choice you have to make. I want to be your heart’s o
nly option.
The words rattle around in my brain. Bile rises in my throat.
“How did you know?” I ask. “How did you know that I met someone?”
“When I was leaving, you asked if I’d ever met someone who took my breath away. I could tell by the look in your eyes that you had.”
“It doesn’t matter. She won’t wait.”
“Wait for what?”
“For me.”
“Why would she have to wa—?”
“I’m in love with our wedding planner.”
The words spill out before I can stop them. Silence hangs in the air as my best friend tries to make sense of my confession.
Juliana frowns. “I . . . don’t understand.”
“I didn’t mean for it to happen, I swear.”
“No, I mean I really don’t understand. You fell in love with Lynsey?”
“No! I fell in love with Skye.”
“Oh! Skye . . .”
“Yeah.”
Juliana gazes at me with an expression I can’t describe. Shock. Wonder. Surprise.
“You’re in love with our wedding planner.”
I nod.
Juliana bursts out laughing.
“What the hell, Jules?”
She keeps cackling. “I’m sorry. I’m just so relieved it’s not Lynsey! That never would have worked.”
I climb off the stool. “It’s no problem, Jules. I’m just having a nervous breakdown. And I’ve broken the heart of the only woman I’ve ever really cared about, but sure . . . laugh it up.”
Stalking out of the kitchen, I head to my bedroom and slam the door behind me. I fall down on the bed and throw a pillow over my face.
Less than a minute later, she’s knocking.
“Can I come in?” she asks faintly.
“Whatever.”
Slowly opening the door, she walks in and sits down on the bed.
“I’m sorry, Caleb.”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine. You’re obviously really crazy about this girl and seriously stressed out about it. What I don’t understand is why.”
I roll over onto my side. “We’re engaged, I’m in love with our wedding planner, and you don’t understand why I’m stressed out about it?”