Diary of a Single Wedding Planner (Tales Behind the Veils Book 1)

by Howe, Violet

  “How did you meet your husband?” I asked.

  “Remy?” She looked shocked, then raised both eyebrows and scrunched her face like she had to think about it in order to remember.

  “We worked together. His father owned the hotel where I worked as an executive. I had the utmost respect for Remy’s father, and he for me. I think he feared what would happen when he died and Remy took over the business. In some ways, I provided an insurance policy to ensure his legacy would survive. And it has. Without me, it seems.”

  She sipped her coffee and looked out the window. How odd that her answer seemed more about her father-in-law and less about her husband.

  “Did you love him?” I asked.

  “My dear, we are not here because I slid down walls in my business suit last night. Any love life of mine is ancient history and best not discussed lest the cobwebs overtake us both. Now, I have an assignment for you. I want you to come up with goals for your life. What do you want to achieve? Where do you want to be? In regards to travel, status, job, location, life? Write down some goals. Where you want to find yourself in three years, five years, ten. Where you want to be in a year. Then figure out the steps necessary to get you there. I will be more than happy to help you with that part if you wish, but you simply must have a destination before you can map out the trip.”

  Lillian gathered her purse and left a generous tip under her saucer. I took one last bite of the pancakes and drained the rest of my coffee before following her out.

  We drove back to my apartment in silence.

  “How did you know where I live?” I asked as she pulled into the parking lot.

  “I am your employer, dear. I do have your address, and technology-challenged though I may be, I can use my GPS.”

  “Right. Got it.”

  “Now, you have the afternoon off, I believe. So you have plenty of time to figure out who Tyler wants to be. Until you know that, leave these silly men to their own devices. When you have yourself all figured out, there’ll be plenty of time for them. You may be surprised what caliber of men you can attract when you know what you want.”

  I thanked her for breakfast and got out of the car feeling drained. The whole situation with Cabe, the past dredged up in Dwayne’s call, and the disastrous wedding last night gave me a lot to process. Now to have Lillian show up on my doorstep with pep talks and life lessons proved too much. I considered taking her advice and writing out some goals, mostly out of fear she would ask for them tomorrow. But then I fell asleep.

  I woke up around six, starving and needing a shower. My phone showed four missed calls. One from an unknown number, one from my mother and two from Cabe.

  Guess who I called back?

  “What’s up, Buttercup?” he said.

  I worried he might launch into an apology or an awkward conversation about the drunken events Friday night. He didn’t. He rattled on about the football game he was watching for a few minutes before I blurted out, “Dwayne called.”

  “What? Like, Dweeb Dwayne?”

  “Yes, Dweeb Dwayne. He got divorced and thought he’d call to say hi.”

  “Wow. No shit. When?”

  “When did he get divorced or when did he call?” I asked.

  “Both.”

  “He got divorced like a month ago, I guess, and he called yesterday.”

  “Okay. How’d that go?”

  “Weird as all hell. He kept calling me darlin’ and he asked if I was married.”

  “Really. How’d he get your number?”

  “My mother gave it to him.”

  Cabe snorted on the other end of the line and said, “Nice!”

  “I know, right? Strange hearing his voice after all this time. Surreal. Suddenly talking to him and hearing him. Took me back.”

  Cabe was silent.

  “So yeah. That was my fun weekend highlight.” I winced a bit as I said it, hoping the comment didn’t lead into a conversation about our encounter on Friday night.

  I certainly enjoyed kissing Cabe more than listening to Dwayne, but I didn’t think it quite appropriate to mention that. Nor did I think I should tell him about completely destroying someone’s wedding thanks to him and Dwayne screwing with my head. Or my boss showing up unannounced on a Sunday morning to tell me to drop all the men in my life and get a life of my own.

  “Stellar,” Cabe said. “Sounds like good times. You okay?”

  “Yeah. I am. Just shaken up, I guess. He asked if he could call again.”

  “I hope you told him hell-to-the-no! What is he thinking?” Cabe said.

  I rolled my eyes and bit my bottom lip, embarrassed to admit I’d said yes. Cabe read the answer in my silence.

  “Oh no. Ty, you didn’t say he could call you again? Why? Why would you do that? You’ve finally gotten over the guy and stopped moping around about him. You don’t need him in your life. The dude dumped you. He left you for another woman. He doesn’t get to just show up when he’s done with her and pick back up where he left off.”

  “Nobody said he’s picking back up where he left off, okay? I am well aware he dumped me, thank you very much. He caught me off guard. I didn’t know what to say,” I said.

  “You just say screw you. It’s pretty simple.”

  “Really? So if Monica called tonight and asked if she could call again sometime, you’d say screw you?”

  More silence.

  “I don’t know what I’d say,” Cabe finally said. “But I really hope I’d say no. I hope I’d tell her to kiss my ass and not give her the satisfaction of thinking I’ve been sitting here waiting for her to call.”

  “I don’t think I gave him that impression, Cabe. I told him I was at work. He asked if he could call again. He probably just wants to catch up. He’s bummed about his divorce and wants to talk someone.”

  Cabe laughed a sinister chuckle. “Yeah, okay. You just happen to be who he wants to talk to five years after walking out on you to marry someone he cheated with? Come on, Ty. Don’t let this guy sucker you in. You’re smarter than that.”

  As much as I hear what Lillian and Cabe are both saying, and as much as I know they’re right, I can’t not talk to Dwayne Davis. Call me a moth, call him a flame. But if that boy calls, I’ll answer.

  Monday, December 2nd

  I didn’t have to wait long this time. Cabe and I went bowling after work. Cabe had just left to head back to his mom’s when my phone rang, so I figured he forgot something. I picked up the phone and said, “Hey! What’s up?”

  “Nothing much, darlin’. What’s up with you?”

  That familiar drawl immediately put a smile on my face. Am I crazy for that? I know it’s been a long time, and I know he did me wrong. But back in the day, this was my guy. My first love. The one who made my heart beat faster. Old habits die hard.

  “Just got home,” I answered. “I went bowling.”

  I don’t why I felt the need to add that. I think I wanted to let him know I had stuff happening. Out and about on the town. Not sitting home waiting for his call. Although now that I think about it, bowling doesn’t exactly scream life of the party with a kicking social calendar.

  “Bowling, huh? I haven’t been bowling in years. Do you still throw the ball under-handed and use the bumper guards?”

  I laughed, remembering how foolish I must have looked as a college student using bumper guards. “No, I’ve graduated to holding the ball with my fingers and throwing the proper way. You’d be proud of me. I even have a nice little dip thing going with my ankle crossing behind me. I look hot bowling.”

  Okay, as if it’s not bad enough that I tossed out bowling as my social event to identify with, I professed that I look hot doing it.

  “You always looked hot bowling, darlin’. Hell, you looked hot no matter what you was doin’. You tore the hell outta some bumper guards, that’s all.” He laughed, and I laughed with him.

  Crazy or not, I felt young again. Beautiful. Wanted. Adored. All the things he used to make me feel when l
ife was fresh and opportunities lay endlessly out in front of us. Before I knew what love could do to you.

  “At least I never bowled in cowboy boots,” I said, full-on flirting and teasing.

  “I wouldn’t be caught dead in them sissified bowling shoes. They was like fourteen different colors. What if lightning struck me dead and I had to be buried in them shoes?”

  “Yes, because they have so many lightning strikes inside bowling alleys. Besides, just because you got struck in those shoes doesn’t mean they would bury you in them.” I said.

  “Well, I sure as hell hope not. I wanna be buried in my boots.”

  “I am sure you will be, Dwayne Davis.” I laughed.

  “I love the way you say my name. You know, the first and last name together like that. Nobody says my name the way you do,” he said softly.

  If I was crazy, then so be it. My heart soared on cloud nine. It seemed like no time had passed, no hurts had been done, and no life-shattering betrayal had ever happened. I realize it did happen, and this was probably an unhealthy phone call to indulge in, but God, it felt so good. I was taken back to a different time in life on that call, and it was freakin’ awesome.

  “How’s your mama doin’?” I felt my drawl creeping in, as it often does when I talk to someone with a thick Southern accent. I had all but lost mine since moving here, but I slipped back into it easy as pie when I heard it.

  “She’s hangin’. Tough as ever. I told her I talked to you. She said hey.”

  I wondered what Martha Jean thought of him talking to me, if she had liked his wife and if she was okay with how he ended things with me. I always thought she and I had a pretty good relationship, but when I never heard one word from her after he broke things off, it added to the confusion and betrayal I felt.

  “Tell her I said hello. I hope she’s feeling better soon.”

  “I see your brother every now and then,” Dwayne said. “Hard to believe he’s in college. Makes me feel old. I remember him riding around with us all the time. Never shut up!”

  I laughed as memories warmed my heart. So many good times. I had been deliriously happy once. I’d kept those happy memories stuffed deep inside me, scared to allow them to surface. Remembering good times with Dwayne always intertwined with the pain of him leaving, so I made a conscious effort to never think about them. Now they came rushing back, a sappy movie montage playing soft-focused in my mind.

  My brother Brad had just turned eleven when Dwayne and I started dating. He idolized Dwayne. He started listening to country music because Dwayne did. He asked for cowboy boots for Christmas because Dwayne wore them. He wanted to dip tobacco because Dwayne did, but my mother threatened to kill him if he did.

  “He adored you,” I said.

  “What’s not to adore?” Dwayne asked.

  I chuckled. “You really want to ask me that?”

  My mind quickly switched from soft focus montage to replaying every fantasy conversation I’d ever had in which I got to tell him exactly what I thought of him and what he had done. I opened my mouth to vent, but my heart shut it, enjoying this time with him too much to ruin it by reminding us of the pain. He brought it up for me, though.

  “Nah, I probably know what you’d say. I owe you an apology, girl. I did you wrong. I know that, and I know me saying I’m sorry ain’t gonna do a whole helluva lot, but I’m sorry. Young and stupid. Scared. Didn’t know what I wanted. What can I say other than I was a total ass and you didn’t deserve it?”

  Bam! I got the apology I’d waited five years for. The apology I thought I’d never get. Yet there it was, freely offered without me asking for it. Whether it held any merit in it or not, hearing him say he was sorry actually healed me a little bit. I felt vindicated. Restored in some small way. I’m sure he only reached out to me to make himself feel better because his wife left. I’m not stupid. I know apologizing had more to do with him than me, but it still felt good. Really good. So good that I wanted him to apologize more.

  “You’re right,” I said. “There’s not a whole lot else you can say. But why don’t you try?”

  I held my breath and waited to see what he would come up with. I wanted him to say he was never happy with her. That leaving me had been his biggest mistake. I wanted him to make up for the last five years and the tears I’d cried over him.

  Instead, I got, “There ain’t nothing I could say that you don’t already know, girl.”

  I did know, but I still needed him to say it. I wanted him to make me feel better.

  “Dwayne . . .” I stopped. I wasn’t going to ask for it. It had to come from him. He left us in silence for a minute or two, maybe unsure of what I expected. More likely, unsure of what he wanted to give.

  “So what are you up to now, darlin’? Your mama said you do weddings? Like what, you marry people—like a preacher?”

  He had changed the subject. He had given me all I would get. I exhaled loudly, letting go of my anticipation and my hope.

  “No, not like a preacher. I plan everything out for them. Help them book everything. Then I’m with them on the wedding day to make sure everything goes smoothly.”

  “Oh, like the movie? The Wedding Planner?” he asked.

  “No,” I said. “Same basic concept, but there was nothing realistic about that movie.”

  My mood had changed, and I no longer felt like riding the high of a stroll down memory lane. His attempt at an apology and his refusal to fulfill my unspoken request for adoration and groveling had made me irritable. I was ready for the conversation to end.

  “So no groom for you, huh? I mean, your own. I would’ve figured you’d been married a long time ago. How’d you stay single this long?” he asked.

  My anger flared, and I lashed out at him. “Everyone doesn’t just up and marry the first piece of ass that comes along, Dwayne. Some of us want to take our time and find someone worth the wait. Something that will last.”

  “Ouch. I guess I deserve that. You always could put me in my place like nobody else, darlin’. I loved that about you. You never were afraid to stand up to me and give me what-for.”

  “You want a what-for, Dwayne? I’ll give you one. You don’t tell someone you need time and aren’t ready to make a commitment, and then up and marry somebody else a month later. What were you thinkin’?”

  “I don’t know. We’d been together so long. Hell, everybody thought we was getting married. You wanted me to move off somewhere and live in some city or something. I didn’t know if that was what I wanted.”

  “That makes no sense, Dwayne. You don’t just dump one person and marry another because you don’t know what you want. Did it ever cross your mind you could have talked to me? You could have told me you were having second thoughts? That you didn’t want to move away?”

  “Aw, hell, girl. You would have freaked out. Your world was a whole lot bigger than mine. You were dead set on leaving here. You wouldn’t have been happy staying. I knew that. You knew that, too. Look where you are now. Far away from here, and you don’t ever come home.”

  “I don’t ever come home because—” I stopped. No way was I going to tell him I avoided coming home because of him. “You know what? Never mind. None of this matters. You did what you did, and I did what I did. It’s all water under a bridge that washed out long ago. I gotta go, Dwayne.”

  “Aw, now. I didn’t call to upset you. That wasn’t my intent. I know I screwed up. With you, with my marriage, with my life. I just wanted to hear your voice. I’m sorry, darlin’.”

  I didn’t speak. I couldn’t speak. I hated him. I hated what he had done to me, and how he made me feel. I hated him calling me and being all sugary-sweet with me.

  At the same time, I knew the young girl inside me would always love Dwayne Davis. My first serious relationship. My first real heartbreak. He was a part of me. Part of my history and my life. I didn’t want to hang up angry. As much as I never wanted to hear from him again, I also wanted to think I would.

  “I go
tta go, Dwayne.” I said, softer this time.

  “Okay.” We were both silent for what felt like an eternity, neither of us wanting to be the one to actually end the connection. Finally, he said, “Can I call you again?”

  I leaned my head back against the sofa and closed my eyes. How was I supposed to answer that? I knew what Cabe would say. What Lillian would say. What I should say. I even opened my mouth to say it. But that young Tyler inside me told him yeah before I had the chance to talk her out of it.

  “Whew!” Dwayne said. “You had me sweating bullets there, girl. I ain’t never held my breath so long waiting for a girl to say I could call her.”

  His attempt to lighten the mood and be flirtatious made me irritated. With him and with my younger self for hi-jacking my voice.

  “Good night, Dwayne.”

  “Good night, darlin’.”

  I wanted to call Cabe when I got off the phone, but the clock had long ago struck midnight. I already knew what he’d say, anyway. I could hear his voice over all the others in my head, expressing his warnings and disappointment.

  If only I could sleep. If only they would all shut up in my head and just let me sleep.

  Wednesday, December 4th

  Cabe and I met up after work to do the Food Truck Festival downtown. We couldn’t have asked for a more beautiful night, just crisp enough to wear a sweater without being cold. We sampled the lobster truck, the burrito truck, and one billed as the “World’s Best Cuban Sandwich.”

  Cabe had a heyday with that one.

  “How did they determine this?” he asked me. “Was there a statewide competition? Did they take the truck cross-country and earn a nationwide title before taking on the world? Can you imagine them loading the truck up on a cargo ship and unloading in . . . say, Madagascar? ‘Excuse me, sir. Would you say this is the best damned Cuban sandwich you’ve ever had?’ ‘What’s a Cuban sandwich?’ ‘That is. Now is it the best one you’ve ever had?’ ‘Why, yes. Yes, it is.’ They could take Africa by storm. I can see this truck driving across the desert to all the malnourished children who don’t even have clean water to brush their freakin’ teeth. This guy’s feeding them a sandwich with all this meat and butter and asking them, ‘Is this the best sandwich you’ve ever had?’ I mean, what goes into winning this title? Who declared this? Were there regulations?”