Slowly, completed bags filled the table in front of us.
“Thanks for helping with this,” Logan said. “Most brides can’t be bothered with the grunt work.”
“It’s no big deal,” I said, double-checking the contents of a bag. “Besides, there’s not much for me to do other than ask ‘how high?’ when the Network says ‘jump’.”
Logan laughed, but it sounded hollow. “Why won’t you look at me?”
The truth was, I felt bad about the flirting. I didn’t want to lead him on if the innuendo wasn’t a joke for him. If the Network hadn’t told him to flirt with me to create drama, I didn’t want to alienate someone who could become a friend. The Plan didn’t call for me to take advantage of other people. I decided to answer with a bit of honesty. About one percent.
“I thought you were embarrassed earlier when I compared you to Justin, and I felt bad,” I said.
“I’m not embarrassed,” he said. “There’s something between us. I feel it, too. But there’s nothing we can do with you getting married at the end of the week.”
Logan’s eyes met mine. He had the same expression as before, but he widened his eyes a touch too much. His gaze flickered, just a hair, but I caught it. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down, a bit too slowly. He was good, very good, but he was lying. And he needed a breath mint.
Two could play at this game. I summoned up a mental image of Justin, hoping it made my pupils dilate. When my tongue darted out to moisten my lips, Logan’s eyes followed. I didn’t know what to say, but I refused to look away first. We sat in a silent staring contest, each of us daring the other to make a move.
A voice from inside the house made me jump. “Jen? Where are you? Your dad’s here!”
My dad? Who the hell invited him?
Chapter 8
Jen in the Chapel, Sunday evening:
My parents divorced when I was a kid. I barely remember them together; I don’t remember a time when they were happy together. For a while, we’d visit every other weekend or so, but I haven’t seen my father in close to fifteen years. He stopped sending Christmas and birthday cards when I turned eighteen.
Never in a million years would I have considered sending him an invitation to my wedding—I’m surprised the Network even found him, to be honest. Especially on such short notice.
Jen to Mom:
OMG! 911!! The Network brought my father into this?
Tina Carter to My Favorite Daughter:
Impossible!
Jen to Mom:
I’d like to think so, but he’s here. What do I even say? I haven’t talked to him in fifteen years.
Tina Carter to My Favorite Daughter:
I’m so sorry, honey. The Network said they didn’t need me today, so I’m meeting an old college friend in San Diego. Zoo, then dinner. Do you want me to come back?
Jen to Mom:
No, it’s fine. I’m wearing my big girl panties. See you tomorrow. Love you.
Tina Carter to My Favorite Daughter:
You too, sweetheart. You’ll be fine.
I didn’t know which was worse: that someone had found my father and invited him to the wedding, or the fact that, if he’d walked out of the house to find me himself, our first interaction in years might have been him finding Logan’s lips much too close to mine. My father obviously didn’t know about the Plan, I couldn’t tell him, and I doubted he would understand even if I wanted to try to explain.
“Out here, Rach!” I called, breaking the ridiculously fake tension in the air. I shoved away from the table with more force than necessary, then stood with my eyes closed, willing my pounding heart to slow. My father. I didn’t want to see my father. And I couldn’t let anyone see how his appearance flustered me. Roll with the punches, that was the Plan.
“Are you okay?” Logan asked.
Not anything I wanted to share with him, but I needed to say something. “My father’s name shouldn’t have been on the guest list.”
“Well, then, let’s find out what’s going on.”
The two of us headed toward the back door. Logan walked a bit closer to me than he should have, his arm brushing against mine. I tripped over one flip-flop, letting my arm graze his hip when I reached out to steady myself. Let the Network dissect these moments. Before we got to the house, the glass door swung open.
Rachel stood in the entrance, as always looking as if she’d stepped off the front of a catalog. She looked from me to Logan and back. “What’s going on?”
Darn it. Rachel was too perceptive.
Since I couldn’t explain Logan’s pretend interest in me, I ignored her question. “Did you say my father is here?”
“Yeah, they took him straight to the interview room to talk about how excited he is that his little girl is getting married.”
I rolled my eyes. “He’s barely seen or spoken to his ‘little girl’ since the judge entered a child support order when I was nine. How do we get him out of here?”
“Oh, hell. I’m sorry, Jen,” Rachel whispered. “I had no idea you didn’t want him here. You never talk about your dad, but I didn’t think about why. Maybe there was some kind of mix-up?”
A withering look was my response. The possibility that this was some kind of mix-up defied all logic and probability.
“Right, sorry.”
Part of me wanted to go to the producers immediately, demand an explanation. But I knew what this was really about: drama. And I refused to make a scene on camera for them. So I’d play along. I’d go talk to the man who sired me, but I’d do it on my terms. Which meant he could wait until I was good and ready for him. After I took a long shower and cooled off. But first, I needed to text Justin and let him know that everything was proceeding exactly according to the Plan.
Justin couldn’t believe I came on to Logan by comparing him to a pineapple. By the time we finished texting, tears of laughter streamed down my face. The conversation gave me the strength I needed to face my father, but I still didn’t see any reason to hurry down the stairs. After all, I’d been waiting on him for more than a decade.
Once I felt a bit more together, I popped into the Chapel for an interview, hoping that by the time I finally made it to the living room, all the men in the Fishbowl other than Ed and Connor would have vanished from the face of the earth.
No such luck.
When I entered the living room, a dark-haired man stood with his back to me, looking out over the grounds. He was shorter than I remembered, only a few inches taller than me. But I suppose when you’re nine, all adults seem tall, the same way all thirty-year-olds seem ancient until you’re like twenty-nine and three hundred sixty-four days.
My heart pounded in my throat as I stood silently. My eyes devoured him as he watched the pool ripple in the breeze. If I didn’t say anything, hid in my room, would he walk away again, turn and leave this house as easily as he left me, Adam, and my mother? Or would he stay, fight for a second chance to prove himself?
I didn’t know the answer, and I didn’t know which I preferred. It never occurred to me that my father would attend my wedding. When Justin and I had been in charge of the planning, his name hadn’t been uttered once. I’d planned to surprise Brandon by asking him to walk down the aisle with me, but that wouldn’t work since his job wouldn’t let him appear on the air. Still, making the walk alone, a grown woman walking toward her new husband, was better than being “given away” by the man who tossed me aside as a child.
But then my father turned around, and the same blue eyes I saw in the mirror every day focused on mine. My resolve to hate him wavered. His face broke into a smile, and he stepped toward me, arms open for a hug.
My heart swelled, and I blinked back tears. Part of me felt like that little girl who just wanted her father to come back and love her.
The adult side of me remained pissed. I move
d backward, away from his embrace. “What are you doing here?”
“Is that any way to greet your father?”
“I’m sorry. Hey, so, how’s that child support you never paid?” My reaction surprised me. If someone had asked what I wanted to say to my father given the chance, I probably wouldn’t have started with an accusation. But the Network ambushed me.
He blanched, moving backward as if struck. When I said nothing more, his outstretched arms dropped, and he flopped onto the couch. “I should have known you wouldn’t be happy to see me.”
“I would have been thrilled to see you,” I said. “At ten. On my thirteenth birthday. At the father-daughter high school dance. At my high school graduation. Or college. What I’m not thrilled about is the way you disappeared from my life for about fifteen years and mysteriously turned up again just when I’ve got my own TV show. How much is the Network paying you?”
Part of me hated myself for saying these things. Not because I’d promised Justin not to get shaken up, but because none of it made any difference. Whether he showed up of his own volition or for the cash, that didn’t make it better. Even if he wanted to make up, I didn’t.
Forget the Plan. The moment I saw my father, all those years of pain came flying out of my mouth. The Network wanted drama, I’d give them drama. I was happy to tell this man—Patrick Reid, not Dad or Daddy or even Father—exactly what I thought of him before telling him to get the hell out of the house and disinviting him from all future events and reality shows I might participate in.
After more than two years of appearing in the media or on television, I was used to all the crap the Network constantly threw at me, but there was no way this man would get anywhere near my mother, which meant he needed to leave. She’d suffered enough. Her new boyfriend was on the way, they were planning to get married, and I wouldn’t allow her daughter’s wedding to be ruined by the appearance of an uninvited, unwelcome ex-husband.
“What are you talking about?” Patrick asked.
“Well, I assume you didn’t come to celebrate your joy at seeing me and Justin happy together,” I said. “What are you doing here?”
“You know what they say about assuming, right? I was thrilled to find out my little girl was getting married.”
“Yeah, right. Tell me another one.”
“Fine, I will. I’ve got a lot of stories for you, Jen. There’s a lot you don’t know about what happened between me and your mom. If you’d give me about ten minutes and let me apologize, I’ll tell you all about it.”
I hesitated, nibbling on a thumbnail Rachel had painted earlier. She’d throw a fit if she saw me. On the one hand, I didn’t have any interest in seeing or talking to this man. On the other hand, it would make great TV. I could hear the promos.
After almost fifteen years apart, Jen finds herself face-to-face with her father for the first time! Will she forgive him for disappearing? Will he approve of Justin? What will Jen’s mother say when they meet again?
Patrick’s voice broke into my thoughts. “Please, Pumpkin? You don’t have to sit. Just listen.”
Something in me stirred at his tone and the old nickname, a name he’d lost the right to use years ago. I was torn between wanting to hug him and wanting to smack him. Keeping my warring emotions off my face took willpower I didn’t know existed. “I’m listening.”
“I never wanted to leave you and your brother, but I was a total mess,” he said. “Your mother was absolutely right to throw me out. I’d go out, get drunk, stay all night in bars. I’d get a DUI, go into rehab, come out, get drunk, repeat. Tina gave me one chance after another, over and over, but I couldn’t get my act together.”
This was all news to me. My mom never said a negative word about my father. I knew he wasn’t paying support because I saw how she struggled to pay the bills, especially before she got her Realtor’s license. The rest of this…almost sounded scripted. As if the Network told him what to say to get back into my good graces. Did he mean any of this?
I probed deeper. “So what’s changed? Why are you here?”
“I’ve changed, Pumpkin. Thirteen years ago, I got arrested for my third DUI. In Washington, that’s a felony. The judge took one look at my record and put me away for three years.”
“Wow. I had no idea.” That explained why he vanished.
“Of course you didn’t. I begged your mother not to tell you kids.”
“I’m sorry. Really.” Maybe he didn’t deserve my empathy, but three years in jail didn’t sound like a picnic. Maybe it changed him, but he was too ashamed to reach out.
“Don’t be. It was the best thing that ever happened to me. I got healthy, haven’t had a drink since the day I went in. I’ve been doing AA for almost ten years now, and I’m here to make amends.”
My heart sank. I didn’t know why I let myself even hope he was here to see me, or why it still hurt to find out he wasn’t. “So that’s it? You’re here as part of some twelve-step program?”
“I’m here because I got a call extending the olive branch. One of the producers told me that my only daughter was getting married, that I’d regret it forever if I wasn’t here. She was right.”
Something about his words sounded off. His story still sounded too perfect. I didn’t trust it. “How do I know you’re even my father? Maybe you’re just some actor hired by the Network to tug on the audience’s heartstrings.”
“You think so little of me?”
“I think so little of them. Television producers have done worse things for ratings,” I said. “Tell me something they wouldn’t know. Tell me a story.”
“I’ll do better.” He pulled his wallet from his back pocket and pulled something out, offering it to me. “Look, Pumpkin. You and Adam, back when you were little kids.”
My hand shook as I reached for the picture. There I was, seven or eight years old, dressed as Bella Martinez for Halloween, never dreaming that one day I’d go on a reality show and she’d be the host. My brother Adam stood behind me, wearing ripped jeans and a fake studded leather jacket, holding a pair of drumsticks. I hadn’t thought about that night in ages.
“This was the first Halloween we let you two go out on your own,” he said. “I made you give me all the candy to ‘check’ before letting you eat anything. Remember?”
“You did! And then you stole all the gummy bears from both our sacks.” For years, I’d believed Adam and I were both allergic to gummy bears.
He chuckled. “Your mom ate most of them. I wanted the chocolate bars. Luckily, you had so many, you didn’t notice a few missing.”
The memory brought a smile to my face. I wasn’t quite ready to forgive, not yet, but it wouldn’t hurt to talk to him.
“Thanks,” I said. “I guess, since Mom’s not here, you can stay for dinner. I don’t want the two of you fighting. I’d rather you steer clear when she’s around. Where are you staying?”
“I can’t stay here?”
I glared at him and crossed my arms, lips pressed together stubbornly.
“Just kidding, Pumpkin. I’m at a hotel. Not the same one as your mom. Don’t worry, I’m not in a rush to see her, either.”
“Let’s be one hundred percent clear, here: I am completely on Mom’s side. I won’t listen to anything negative you have to say about her.”
“Understood,” he said. “It means so much to me that you’re keeping your name, after everything we’ve been through.”
Ugh. My decision to keep my name hadn’t even taken my sperm donor into account. “That wasn’t about you. I’ve been Jen Reid for twenty-seven years. I like my name, and I like who I am. You don’t change your name just because of one asshole who shares it. Besides, it’s not like I’m Jen Manson or Jen Trump.”
“Ouch.” He gave me a wounded look.
“I hope you’re not waiting for me to apologize.”
“No, I
deserved that,” he said. “Now, can your old man buy you dinner? Let’s get away from these cameras and catch up.”
“The cameras are coming.” I still didn’t trust this man. I didn’t want to spend time with him. But at least I could try to salvage some of the Plan by going along with what the Network set up for the evening. “But dinner sounds good.”
“Great! Do you still like burgers with chocolate milkshakes?”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
Chapter 9
SHOCKING ENTERTAINMENT NEWS ONLINE
I Promise not to hate you?
Awkward Notes Found that Appear to be Bizarre Wedding Vows
by Talky Ted
The Network has been tight-lipped about what type of reality show they’re planning now that Braden and Amanda 4-Eva has disappeared from the fall lineup. A small clue may have been uncovered, however: The Fishbowl’s Jen Reid was spotted shopping at Tiffany & Co. on Rodeo Drive. A search of the company’s online wedding registry revealed nothing, but surely Jen’s clever enough to have registered using a fake name? There’s definitely something going on here.
A source working with the Network found what appears to be wedding vows in the trash cans outside the fishbowl-shaped house where Jen and Justin originally started their relationship. But is there trouble afoot for our couple already? From “thanks for not being an obnoxious douche” to “I love that you don’t constantly speak in rhyme,” the snippets we found suggest our green-eyed lawyer may not be at the forefront of Jen’s mind while planning this wedding. Is she having a lover’s tiff with another man? Or is something else going on? What is the Network planning to air in September? Where is Justin, anyway?
Sources spotted the groom in a bridal shop in Miami with a gorgeous blonde, trying on wedding dresses. Justin, is there something you’d like to tell the rest of us? As storms brew off the coast of Florida, this reporter can’t help but wonder if there are thunderclouds in our couple’s future, too.
Reality Wedding Page 8