Happily Ever Madder : Misadventures of a Mad Fat Girl (9781101607107)

by Mcafee, Stephanie

  I go back to my desk and look at the online pictures of Beach House Bed and Breakfast again and get excited because it looks pretty fabulous.

  When I leave the gallery at five o’clock, I call to see if Mason could possibly meet me over there, and I’m not surprised and only mildly disappointed when he tells me that he can’t. I call Tia and she doesn’t answer and I call Jalena and she’s working late, so I take off by myself. I really wish Lilly and Chloe could be here, because this is the kind of things a girl is supposed to do with her friends. I turn up the radio and try not to think about how lonely I am.

  When I pull up in front of the Beach House Bed and Breakfast, I forget about all of that as I gaze in awe at the Greek Revival–style home surrounded by large oak trees filled with Spanish moss. Behind the house, I see the Gulf of Mexico.

  “This is it,” I whisper to myself. “This is the place.”

  As I follow the cobbled sidewalk leading to the guest entrance on the left side of the house, I imagine being here in my wedding gown. I glance around the edge of the house at the splendidly landscaped yard, beyond which I see waves lapping onto a narrow strip of snow-white sand. I think about how Lilly reacted the first time she saw Gloria Peacock’s estate.

  “Oh, Lilly,” I whisper, knocking on the door, “it’s magical.”

  I laugh at the memory and then realize that I miss her so bad I could cry. She should be here with me now. I shouldn’t be doing this alone. I get upset and think about running back to my car and going home, but I know I need to get this done, so I just stand there and tell myself that I can do this because I wear my Big Girl Panties every day.

  After the passing of three eternities, I finally hear the click of the lock, and a very elegant-looking lady opens the door and frowns at me.

  “Hello,” I say nervously. “I’m Ace Jones and I was wondering if I might have a look around.”

  “Do you want to make a reservation?” she asks, without even a hint of a smile.

  “I’d like to get married here,” I say and start to get a bad feeling about this.

  “It’s five thousand dollars to rent the place for one event, and I require half of that up front to hold the date.” She looks down at my flip-flops. “Are you still interested?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I say, trying to be as polite as possible. “I am.”

  She motions for me to come in, but it’s painfully obvious that she would prefer dealing with someone in pressed slacks and a silk blouse. In other words, someone dressed just like her. I tell myself not to let her attitude bother me, but it does.

  She shows me around the house, including the honeymoon suite upstairs, which she pointedly explains is not included in the price she quoted earlier. She takes me down a secret set of stairs to the kitchen and then out the door, where even her snidest comments cannot detract from the beauty of the lavishly landscaped backyard.

  She leads me back inside to her office, where she sits behind a desk that has no chairs on the opposite side. I ask her if the place is available for December 31, and she reluctantly admits that it is. I ask about the honeymoon suite and, after studying her date book for what seems like six hours, no doubt hoping against hope to find a reservation, she smirks and tells me it’s available as well.

  I tell her I’ll take it and she looks about as excited as a woman who just realized that she unleashed a loaded fart in a white dress. After I hand her the check, drawn on Mason’s account, she eyeballs my wide-leg yoga pants and asks me what the dress code will be. I want to tell her that no one will be allowed on the premises unless they’re wearing cut-off jeans, mesh trucker hats, and rubber boots. But I don’t. Because I’m nice.

  I politely inform her that I’ll get back with her on the details after I speak with my fiancé. Like she’s entitled to know, she asks who that might be. I want to say Larry the Cable Guy just to see her reaction, but I realize the reference would be lost on this snobby old coot, so I just tell her the truth.

  “Oh,” she says, and I can tell I just moved up a few rungs on her ladder of judgment. “The real estate lawyer? Why, what a handsome and charming young man he is.” She pauses and looks at me, and I can read her expression like a book. “That’s who this is for? For you and him?” She doesn’t even try to hide the fact that she’s aghast. “You’re engaged to marry J. Mason McKenzie?”

  “Yes, I am,” I say, and instead of jerking that check out of her hand and ripping it to pieces, I decide to leave it where it is and stand my ground. Mason’s money is good enough for her and I’m good enough to get married at her precious little bed-and-breakfast.

  “Do tell him that Mrs. Adday sends her”—she looks me up and down—“I guess I should say, kindest regards.”

  I decide to clear the air in the nicest way I can at this point.

  “Why don’t you just say what’s on your mind?” I say casually, like we’re talking about the weather.

  “Whatever do you mean, dear?” Mrs. Adday snaps.

  “Say that you can’t believe he’s marrying a girl who wears yoga pants and flip-flops during daylight hours?” I say with all the pleasantness I can muster, which isn’t much. “Because it’s written all over your face.”

  Mrs. Adday smiles as she says, “Why, no! I would never want J. Mason to think that! No! How dare you say such a thing?”

  “You’ve made it fairly obvious since you opened the door that you’d rather I take my business elsewhere.”

  “Absolutely not!” She starts fanning herself with the check. “Why, I never!”

  “You never what? Never thought anybody would pick up on your not-so-subtle hints?” I look at her like one might look at a naughty child. “Or did you think no one would ever bring it to your attention that they noticed?”

  Mrs. Adday puts the phony kindness on full blast and showers me with compliments and apologies, all of which make me want to vomit right in her face. She wraps up her monologue with what an idiot might think was a heartfelt, “Oh, Miss Jones, I think you will make a lovely bride.” She smiles and folds her hands in front of her, as if to pray, but she is still looking at me like I’m a maggot.

  I pluck the check out of her hand and give her a good stare down. “I most certainly will be, but not here.”

  “What?” she says, looking frazzled. “Give me back that check.”

  “I don’t think so,” I say. I rip the check in two and turn to go.

  “But I do think the world of J. Mason,” she says in a really pathetic voice as she follows me out of her office.

  “His name is Mason,” I say flatly, just before walking out the door. “Jeez.”

  25

  Jalena calls me when I’m on my way home and asks if I want to meet up at Credo’s for a beer, and I tell her that I would love to but I have to stop by and check on Buster Loo first. I call Mason just to check in, but he doesn’t answer. When I get home, Buster Loo is ready for a walk, so I take him for a quick loop around the neighborhood, and when we get back to the house, it’s clear he wants to keep walking. I decide then and there to start taking him to work with me so he doesn’t have so much little-dog alone time. I put him in the house and apologize for leaving again so quickly. Buster Loo stands at the door and watches me leave, no doubt feeling extremely betrayed.

  Mason finally calls me back just as I get to Credo’s, and after we talk a minute, he tells me that he was going to invite me to eat Chinese with him and Connor and Allison, but he’d rather I have some girl time with Jalena. I don’t even attempt to argue and slip my phone back in to my purse, relieved to escape dinner in the conference room.

  I walk into Credo’s, stopping short when I see Kevin Jacobs propped up in the middle of the bar with a giant mug of beer in his hand.

  “Ace Jones!” he calls. “Get over here and let me buy you a beer, pretty lady!” I look around and don’t see Jalena, so I go over and join him. Three beers and thirty minutes later, Jalena shows up and finds me sitting in between Kevin and his friend Reed, having more f
un than I probably should be. When Kevin sees her, he insists we all move to a table. He and Reed argue about whether to sit inside or outside, and Jalena says they can sit wherever they want, but she’s staying inside under the air conditioner.

  Jalena and I slide into opposite sides of a booth, and Kevin, after exchanging a look with Reed, sits down next to me. We talk and carry on, and I learn in the course of the conversation that Reed works with Kevin and they know Jalena because their favorite place to grab lunch is Frog’s Bayou, the marina on the north side of town that Jalena’s family owns.

  They tease her about spending her whole life at Frog’s Bayou and she tells them there’s nowhere else she’d rather be. We joke around some more, and then someone cranks up the jukebox and the four of us hit the dance floor and get with it.

  We dance and laugh and drink, and then the guys order a round of appetizers and insist Jalena and I eat with them. She’s flirting shamelessly with both of them, so I give up trying not to flirt with Kevin and lay it on thick. I make sure to flirt with Reed some, too. When we finish eating, I can’t finish my beer and tell them that I’ve got to go home or else I might pass out. Jalena, however, is still ready to party, and when she tells me she’s going to hang around a bit longer, Reed declares he can stay as long as she can. I pay my part of the tab and Kevin walks me outside.

  “Did you drive?” he asks.

  “I’m on foot because I’d planned on doing some heavy drinking,” I tell him as we walk down the steps to the dimly lit parking lot.

  “Yeah, well, you can check that off as done,” he says. He glances down at me and I feel like our minds are on the same thing. He puts his arm around me and says, “What time do you have to be home?”

  I stop walking and turn to face him. With his arm still on my shoulder, I look up, and it’s obvious that he’s had the same kinds of thoughts about me that I’ve had about him. He runs a hand through my hair, and at that very moment, there is nothing I want more than to go home with him and boink his brains out.

  “I really don’t know Tia that well—” I say, then stop. I’ve got to get this crazy train stopped before it runs off a cliff and ruins everything.

  “Well, I know Mason well enough to know I shouldn’t be standing out here with you like this.” He looks away and then lets his arm drop to his side. “I’m sorry,” he says. “Let me walk you home. It’s on the way to my house.” I look up at him in a panic and swear that I haven’t been this sexually frustrated since I was thirteen years old. “I didn’t mean anything by that,” he says quickly.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, taking a step away from him. “I don’t want you to think—”

  “I don’t,” he says. “Don’t worry. C’mon, let’s get out of here.”

  He buries his hands in his pockets as we move toward the sidewalk. We walk in silence to the entrance of my neighborhood.

  “I go this way,” he says, pointing left.

  “Thank you for walking me home,” I say, not looking up.

  “Hey,” he says, lifting my chin so I have to look at him. “We just had a good time tonight. That’s all we did.”

  I smile and nod, wondering if that’s how he really feels or if that’s just what he’s going to tell Tia.

  I walk home and find Buster Loo still sitting at the front door, and it’s all I can do not to start squalling before I get up the steps. I pick him up, go out back and light the tiki torches so the mosquitoes won’t eat me alive, and then slump down into a lounger. I cry until my eyes are almost swollen shut because I’m so ashamed of myself for being so disappointed that Kevin Jacobs didn’t kiss me. Buster Loo sits with me the entire time, periodically licking the tears off my face. My phone beeps and it’s a text from Mason telling me he’s on his way home. He asks if I’m home yet and I send him a text telling him I am. I run upstairs and get in the shower because I don’t want to look like a wreck when he gets here.

  “You went out to Mrs. Adday’s place?” Mason says later that night when we’re in bed. “I love her. Isn’t she the sweetest?”

  “She’s lovely,” I lie. I turn my head and roll my eyes.

  “Her place is beautiful,” he says, cuddling Buster Loo. “I would love to get married there. Ace, you’re the best!”

  “Wonderful!” I say, and then I lie some more. “I’ll call back tomorrow and see if we can book it.”

  “Great,” he says. I tell him I had too much to drink at Credo’s, then roll over and pretend to go to sleep.

  “Good night, sweetheart,” he whispers.

  “Good night,” I whisper back, and then squeeze my eyes shut and try not to start crying again.

  26

  Tuesday, I take Buster Loo to work with me, and he has himself a fine time exploring the gallery. When he’s finished prancing around, he comes into the office and snuggles up in the brand-new dog bed I picked up at the pet store on the way over. I sit at my desk, staring at my wedding planner, wondering what to do next.

  I push the wedding planner aside, check my e-mail, and then read a little celebrity gossip, but nothing can take my mind off the moment I had last night with Kevin. I send Jalena a text message and ask her to call me when she can. When she calls thirty minutes later, I try to gauge her response to the good time we had without being too obvious. I tell her that I had more fun with her last night than I’ve had in a long time.

  “Don’t get me wrong,” I say. “Girls Night In last week was the most fun I’d had in ages, but last night topped that.”

  “I had a good time, too,” she says. “Kevin and Reed are some pretty fun guys to hang out with. I see them in there all the time.”

  “Yeah, they were a blast,” I agree. She doesn’t mention them again, so I don’t either. We talk about Girls Night In and she mentions my brilliant idea to have it at the gallery every Thursday night, and even though I have no recollection whatsoever of saying that, it sure doesn’t mean that I didn’t. She tells me how much she appreciates that suggestion, because now she won’t have to worry about her house being clean on the fourth Thursday of every month.

  “I just don’t like to do housework during the week,” she says. “I’m too tired after working all day to fool with some mops and scrub brushes.”

  We get off the phone and I sit there and think about Kevin Jacobs until I feel like I’m going to lose my mind. I wish I had someone to talk to about this, but I don’t. Lilly and Chloe would die if I told them, I don’t want Jalena to think I’m a home wrecker, and I can’t discuss it with Tia for obvious reasons. I think about Avery, but that’s just not a conversation I’d feel comfortable having with her, so I sit and try to work it out on my own.

  I’ve been in love with Mason McKenzie for almost twenty years. He’s everything a girl could want in a guy. He’s good-looking and has a wonderful personality and a great career. He loves dogs, likes hanging out at home, and, most important, wants me to be his wife. He has plenty of money, a three-story house a block away from the ocean, and he loves to take great vacations. What fool would be distracted from a man like Mason by a big redneck country boy who is so obviously a ladies’ man?

  Me. That’s who. I am officially obsessed with Kevin Jacobs and I can’t help it.

  I can’t help that he had to come pick up those pictures for his aunt Ramona. I can’t help that he chose to buy his mother some painted daisies for her birthday. I can’t help that he showed up at the gallery the same time I did the morning after I found out he was Tia’s booty call. And I can’t help that he was in that bar when I walked in last night. I didn’t ask for any of that to happen. And I can’t help that I had the best time ever hanging out with him. I didn’t ask for that, either, but it happened and I almost wished that it hadn’t, because my life would be lot less complicated right now.

  What I’m really doing by entertaining this fantasy of Kevin Jacobs is creating a way to sabotage the best chance I’ve ever had of being happy. So what if Mason talks about work all the time? So what if it’s a whole lot on
the dull side? It’s not a crime for a man to love his job. I just need to adjust my attitude and try to be a better listener, and while I’m at it, I need to stop being so negative about having to sit through those unbearable dinners in the conference room.

  I tell myself that Mason will not expect me to live off him like his mom lives off his dad, but how in the world am I going to address that if he does? By saying something glib like “Thanks for buying me this nice building, but I’m not making any money, so even though it doesn’t matter to you if I make money or not, I’m closing this down and going back to teaching school so I can have reliable income and people to talk to on a daily basis?” I think not.

  I wish I didn’t have this notion that at some point in my life, everything is going to turn out perfect. Because that’s not the nature of reality. All I’ve wanted since the first time I laid eyes on Mason McKenzie was for him to be mine, and now he is and all I do is sit around and find problems with what should be an ideal life. What the hell is wrong with me?

  I think really hard for a minute about whether I might be finding fault with Mason because I met Kevin or if maybe Kevin is getting more appealing because I’m getting bored with Mason or if maybe I’m just crazy as a shithouse rat. I’m sitting here thinking about throwing my entire life away for a big sexy country boy who looks like he might be a blast in the sack? Am I really having this conversation in my head? A dream life with the love of my life or a roll in the hay with a midlife bachelor who acts like he’s seventeen? Really? Am I entertaining this as a viable option?

  Disgusted with myself, I push back from the desk and get up. This startles Buster Loo, who goes into a full state of guard-dog rage and runs barking into the gallery. I walk up to my studio, but my frustration has squashed my creativity, so I go back downstairs and play fetch with Buster Loo. I look up at my mermaid and ask her why she can’t bring me better luck.

  Mason calls just after I lock up and tells me they won’t be leaving as early as they’d planned, so I get to join him, Connor, and Allison for another dinner in the conference room. I try to muster up a positive attitude, but I can’t, because Allison has taken to assaulting my nerves with constant and never-ending tales of PoPo, yet she never thinks to ask about Buster Loo, whom I drop off at home before reluctantly driving to the law office of J. Mason McKenzie.