Thirty-Three Going On Girlfriend (The Spinster Series Book 2)

by Becky Monson

  Silverware clinking against a glass sounds from somewhere down the head table. The maid of honor and best man stand up. It must be time for toasts.

  The toasts are more like roasts. We all now know that Betsy was called “Wetsy Betsy” in middle school after an incident of water spillage that landed in an unfortunate area. No wonder she likes going by Brown. Too many embarrassing memories associated with the name Betsy. We also learned that Matt was a bit of a player in college, and there is a long list of hearts he’s leaving behind now that he’s settling down. Just the kind of info anyone would want to find out at a wedding. There will be none of that nonsense at my wedding—if/when that happens. When the long-winded best man finally sits down, the DJ takes over and the dancing commences.

  “Well, that’s my cue,” Paul says, sitting up straight in his chair, getting ready to stand.

  “You’re a dancer, eh?” I move to the edge of my chair and place my palms on the table so I can lean my way up out of this chair and balance in my shoes.

  “Totally. I was a ballroom dancer in college,” he says, looking dead serious.

  “Really?” I ask. I don’t mean to sound so shocked, but he doesn’t seem the type.

  “No. Not really. I’m actually going to go have a cigar with the rest of the groomsmen.” He jerks his head toward the door, and as if on cue, another groomsman gestures for him to join them.

  “Well, have fun,” I say as I start to get up. He jumps up before me and offers his hand, which I take because I honestly wasn’t sure if I was going to be able to balance myself. The exhaustion has caught up and swooped right by. I feel like I’m barely functioning at this point.

  I try to take my hand away, but he holds it in his, covering the top of it with his other hand. “I’ve enjoyed being your escort tonight, Julia.” Something about the sound of his voice catches me. “If you ever get sick of that guy you’re dating, give me a call.”

  With that, he gives me a wink, drops my hand, and walks away.

  It takes me a moment to realize that my mouth is slightly open and I’ve forgotten to swallow. Well that was unexpected. But also quite flattering.

  “Hey there.” I hear Jared from behind me, and I jump slightly from the sound. I also feel suddenly guilty, for absolutely no reason. I mean, it was Paul who said that to me, not the other way around.

  I turn around and Jared puts his arms around me. “Wanna dance?” He gives me a devilish grin, knowing fully well that I’m not going to step on that dance floor, especially when a fast-paced song by Beyoncé is playing. The song ends, quite suddenly, and then, as if Jared had paid the DJ off, a slow song starts.

  “You will at least dance with me to this, right?” he asks.

  “Okay, fine. I guess I can. But be forewarned, I have two left feet, and it’s almost a guarantee at least one of your feet, if not both, will get stepped on,” I say, pleading my case.

  Taking my hand, he drags me to the dance floor. “I’ll take my chances.”

  I’m not sure because my high school dance experience was pretty much non-existent, but if this were a school dance, I think Jared and I would be disciplined for how close we are dancing. There’s not even enough space between us to slip in a ruler.

  He’s a good leader and I let him guide me around the dance floor. The only thing I’m paying attention to is keeping my feet to myself.

  “How have you been keeping these dancing skills away from me?” I say as he swings me around with little effort.

  “Bobby made me take lessons in high school. I hated it, but it’s become very useful with the ladies.” I lean my head back to see a mischievous smile playing on his face. If I didn’t know better, I’d think otherwise, but Jared has never been a player. The last relationship before I came along was three years, and before that was another long relationship in college.

  He leans down and kisses me lightly on the lips. Once again, my vow to never engage in PDA goes right out the door.

  The music ends and something faster starts to play. Someone nearby us yells, “Oh, yeah, this is my jam!”

  This is so not my jam. We walk off the dance floor and over to Jared’s table, where Anna and Jonathon are still sitting. They appear to be celebrating something. Maybe it’s the yearly anniversary or the day that . . . Wait, they haven’t been dating long enough to have an anniversary.

  “What are you two toasting about?” I ask as Anna and Jonathon clink their glasses together. “Or was it wedding plans? Oh, wait, I forgot, you don’t like to do any of that, Jonathon.” I couldn’t help myself.

  “Julia!” Anna says, appalled. Jonathon gives me a strange expression.

  “No, we were just celebrating because Jonathon won another big case today,” Anna says, giving me a smug look. Then she goes back to ogling Jonathon with sappy, in-love expressions.

  Fantastic. Just what I wanted to hear right now.

  Jonathon starts to open his mouth to talk and I quickly cut him off. “Just a second. We’ll be right back.” I take Jared by the hand and pull him a few feet away.

  “So how about you tell me what’s been going on with work,” I say in his ear. This probably isn’t the best time to bring it up, but it keeps me from having to hear Jonathon brag. Besides, I really want to know, and Jared has been in a much better mood these days. It seems like things have worked themselves out.

  “Yeah, that . . .” he trails off, his mouth pulling into a frown. Okay, so things may not have worked themselves out, and I probably just opened up a deep wound for Jared. I have the best timing ever.

  He takes my hand. “Let’s go outside.” He gestures toward the front of the ballroom.

  “Okay,” I say, suddenly feeling reluctant. He made it all too serious when he said we should go outside. Maybe we should just stay and listen to Jonathon talk about his favorite subject - himself.

  Before I can protest, Jared is leading me away from the table and toward the exit. I give a little wave to Anna and Jonathon, but they don’t even notice. They are too busy giving each other googly eyes.

  The night air outside is cooler, and it feels so good to get some fresh air. We find a bench to sit on, not far from the doors to the ballroom where everyone else is still dancing and celebrating.

  “So, what’s been going on?” I say, not wanting to fuss around. The fact that he had me come outside is making me feel a little insecure. It’s unfounded, but it’s there nonetheless.

  “Well,” he reaches up and runs his fingers through his hair. “It’s my job, my company.”

  “I thought as much,” I say, feeling relived that it has nothing to do with me, even though he has already told me it has nothing to do with me. I’m such a dumb girl sometimes. “What’s going on with your company?”

  “Well,” he reaches up, scratching the side of his jaw. His five o’clock shadow is pretty sexy. “It turns out, I’ve been outed.”

  “You’ve been what-ed?” I say, furrowing my brow.

  “I pretty much pissed off the wrong person.” He shakes his head slightly, as if he still can’t believe it happened.

  “Who?”

  “Just another company I did some consulting for. One of the guys that made the list.” He nods his head once. He knows that I know what “the list” is. No need for an explanation on that one. I was once on such a list.

  “Okay, so what happened?”

  “Well to make things short here, this guy basically used every avenue he possibly could to make it known what kind of work I do.”

  “Oh, no, Jared,” I say taking his hand. No wonder he’s been so stressed. “So what does it all mean?”

  “It means that my next three jobs have canceled.” He stares at the ground, his shoulders slouching. He seems, I don’t know, kind of defeated? This is a new look on Jared. I’m not sure I like it.

  “Are you serious? Why?” I put his hand in my lap, holding it tightly.

  “Because if everyone knows what I do, then I can’t do . . . what I do. Not in that industry, a
t least.” He looks up at me.

  “Then change industries,” I say simply. Seems like a perfectly good solution to me.

  “It’s not that simple.” He runs his fingers through his hair once again. “That industry—backup software—is my expertise. It’s a niche market, so it’s easy for me to get word-of-mouth work, plus I know the business structure in and out. I can’t just switch industries.” He gives me a little shrug.

  “So, what’s going to happen now?” I ask, still not sure where this is all leading. Jared is a man who’s always with a plan. He’s not one to sit around and wait for things to come to him. That’s something I do.

  “Well, my company is officially out of business. I’m closing it down. As of,” he glances down at his watch, “two days ago.”

  “Wow, that’s . . . just . . . really . . . wow . . .” I trail off. I’m not sure what to say, but I’m also feeling a little upset that all of this was going on and he wouldn’t tell me. “Why couldn’t you tell me?” I ask.

  “I didn’t want to stress you out with everything going on. I talked to Bobby,” he says, like that’s supposed to reassure me that he was okay without me.

  I realize I’m a relationship baby here, but when you’re a couple, aren’t you supposed to share things like this with each other? Rely on one another? I suddenly feel put-off. I try to tell myself that it’s stupid of me, but really, it’s not. I think I’m justified on this one.

  “So what are you going to do?” I ask, instead of going into some relationship discussion that my inner-crazed-girlfriend wants to have right now.

  “Well, that’s the good news. I hope it’s good, at least.” He angles his body toward me, holding my hands in his. “I’ve been offered a job. A more permanent one, that’s kind of my dream job, actually. I mean, if I can’t own my own business, this is the next best thing.” His countenance brightens at this piece of info.

  “That’s great news,” I say, feeling my heart lighten a bit. My stomach is still slightly knotted. I’ll have to talk to him about being more open with me, even if he thinks I can’t handle it at the time. I don’t want to go there right now, though.

  “What’s the job?”

  “A large backup software company.” He gives me a small smile. Of course, duh. I don’t even know why I asked that since he already said he can’t switch industries.

  “It’s a big title. His face lights up even more. “Great salary, stock options . . . a lot of money if I play my cards right. It could be life changing.”

  “Wow, that sounds amazing,” I say.

  “It is.” He nods his head just once. “But here’s the deal.” He tightens his hands around mine and looks me in the eyes. I tilt my head, concern washing over me. There’s a “deal?”

  He swallows hard. “It’s in New York. Manhattan, actually.”

  “What?” I pull my hands away from his. The job is in New York? “What does that mean? You’re moving to New York?”

  “Well,” he puts a hand through his hair, “yes. I accepted the job yesterday. I start a week from Monday.”

  I feel sick. My stomach actually feels sick. “You’re leaving Denver? You’re moving to New York? In a week?” I don’t know why I need to ask him, when he just told me. I think I needed to hear it again for it to be real.

  “Yes, but Jules, this means nothing for us.” He points his finger back and forth between us.

  “What do you mean? This means everything for us,” I say, my voice escalating on its own. “You’re moving across the country. How could that mean nothing?” I put my face in my hands, leaning my elbows on my knees.

  Is this really happening? His traveling all the time was no fun for me, but now it’s going to be a permanent thing?

  “I’ve already thought this all through. I know I can’t ask you to move to New York with me, with the bakery doing so well, but we’ll make it work. I’ll fly back on the weekends and you can fly out there to see me, too.” He reaches over and puts a hand on my back, reassuringly.

  But it’s not reassuring at all. I find the gesture suddenly non-comforting. His touch makes me cringe back, my body reacting before my mind can tell it not to.

  “Oh, well, I guess you’ve already thought it through, then,” I say sarcastically, although I’m talking through my hands so the tone might have been lost.

  “Jules, look at me,” he demands, attempting to pull my forearm so he can see my face.

  I look at him, my eyes glistening from unplanned tears that start to form.

  “Jules,” he says softly as he moves closer to me on the bench, putting his arms around me. “It’s going to be fine. We are going to be fine. We can make this work.”

  This should feel convincing, him with his arms around me, telling me it will be okay. But it isn’t.

  “Why?” I stutter through a near sob that I manage to stifle.

  “Why? I had no choice. The last consulting job I did wiped me out. Right now, they are refusing to pay and don’t have a lot of liquidity. I need a job, Julia.” His voice carries a hint of condescension.

  “No.” I wipe my now dripping nose with the back of my hand. “Why didn’t you even think to talk to me about it first? Didn’t you want my opinion?”

  “Of course I wanted your opinion,” he says, his tone more gentle. He wraps his arms around me, pulling me into him. “I just didn’t want you to worry about any of this when you had everything going on with Cupcake Battles. And then there was no time to wait. They needed an answer. It all happened so fast.” He rubs my back with his hand, soothingly.

  But it’s not soothing. Something is erupting inside of me that I’m having a hard time controlling.

  “Oh, I see,” I say, pulling back from him, pushing him away.

  “What?” He looks confused.

  “It’s not that you didn’t want my opinion, it’s that my opinion didn’t matter. You would have taken the job no matter what I’d have said.” I keep my arm out, holding him away from me.

  “Julia.” He tries to pull me close to him, but I don’t let him. Instead, I stand from the bench, not entirely sure where I’ll go. But I don’t want to be here.

  “Don’t,” I say as he stands up next to me. “I just need to be alone for a bit. I need to think about things before I say something I’ll regret.”

  “Okay,” is all he says, which doesn’t help my anger. It only fuels it more. Why do men take things so literally? Women want to be fought for, for heaven’s sake. But he doesn’t fight. He just stands there.

  Without making eye contact, I turn and walk toward the ballroom. This was certainly not how I envisioned this evening going. Not even close.

  CHAPTER 15

  “Mm-hmm,” I say into the phone to a panicky Anna as she goes over everything that still has to be done before the wedding. The girl is freaking out.

  I’ve never had a full-blown hangover before. You know, the ones that have all these weird food and drink concoctions that are supposed to fix it? I’ve never had to try that. But now I’m wondering if I should try something to help this crying hangover I have this morning. My head is pounding. Anna isn’t helping.

  “Anna, I know I’ve asked this before, but can’t Jonathon do some of this? I mean, he’s the groom after all.” I don’t know why I bring this up. It never ends well.

  “Julia,” she says in a weird, calm voice. “He’s too busy. He’s a lawyer, after all. An important one.”

  Oh, geez.

  Not wanting to say something that will make this conversation go down a path I don’t feel like going down, and because I need to find myself some aspirin for my throbbing noggin, I tell Anna to text me whatever she needs me to help with, and I’ll get right on that. And by right on that, I mean maybe sometime tomorrow. Maybe. I’ve got my own crap to deal with—like feeling sorry for myself and finding something sweet to drown my sorrows in.

  I’d so love to talk to Anna about the Jared situation right now. I looked for her last night after I dramatically walked a
way from Jared, but she was already gone. It probably wouldn’t have mattered anyway. If the topic is not about her wedding, then it pretty much goes in one ear and right out the other.

  Jared must have gone after I left him sitting on the bench, because I didn’t see him the rest of the night. I numbly went back to my wedding duties, trying in vain to appear happy and be there for Brown. Luckily for me, Brown was so busy with everything—talking to everyone, cutting the cake, throwing the bouquet (which in a horrible twist, I caught—that was a cruel move, karma), that she didn’t have time to notice the heartbroken face I was probably carrying around. She would have been the only one there that would recognize it anyway.

  With the people that I usually dump my problems on off doing their own thing, I’m on my own, I guess, although the devil and the angel are back on my shoulders, duking it out to try and persuade me to their side. The devil says I should just tell Jared where to go (hell, obviously), that apparently I’m not a priority in his life, not enough for him to even ask me my thoughts on the matter or seek out my opinion. The angel says I should let him speak and says something about forgiveness mumbo-jumbo. I think I’m siding with the devil on this one.

  I honestly don’t know how to feel about it all. I feel sad, but I also feel angry and slightly betrayed. That feeling came out of left field. I mean, it’s not like Jared chose what happened to him and then did it all to spite me. But I feel minuscule in his eyes. Like he thinks I’m so desperate that I’ll just hang around for him. Which, let’s face it, I am. And maybe I hate myself a little for that as well.

  I also just want to think that I’m important enough for him not to want to go, that our relationship means more than that, that he’d be willing to work as a janitor as long as he was near me. But that only happens in chick flicks, and I’m pretty sure that would bring up a whole other set of issues—resentment being the main one. I don’t know if I’d want him to choose me and then resent me for it. Not that he’s even offered that as an option.

  A knock at my door makes me jump out of the blanket cocoon that I’ve been all wrapped up in on the couch. It’s an eighty-degree May day (not normal for Colorado), so I cranked my air-conditioning down just so I could snuggle up with a soft blanket and feel sorry for myself.