We’ve been driving a few hours, passing the time with games of Twenty Questions and I Spy. He’s told me about medical school, and I’ve bored him to death with stories of my job. We’ve reminisced, and he’s apologized another dozen times for what I overheard in high school, or at least the version I’ve believed all these years. I’m embarrassed for how I held on to something so small and trivial. How I allowed that single moment to dictate my emotions the rest of high school and how many years I missed out having Lucas as my friend. Through it all, he still hasn’t asked about Trenton.
“You haven’t asked me about Trenton,” I say after our third game of Twenty Questions.
“Nope.”
“Why?”
“It’s none of my business.”
“Lucas,” I sigh, “we’re traveling thousands of miles together in this small space and you don’t think it’s your business?”
“Whit, I said, or didn’t say, something years ago, and you didn’t talk to me again. I’m not going to go down that road again. It’s your business.”
“Huh.”
“Huh, what?” he asks, but I don’t answer. Instead, I stroke Fred’s head as he curls up in my lap while Wilma cuddles on the seat next to me. It isn’t like I want to talk about what’s going through my mind about Trenton. And that’s mostly because there’s nothing. It’s blank. Nada. Zilch. Nothing. I have no feelings about it at all. It’s almost like it never happened, but at the same time it’s like I feel a sense of relief, and that scares me.
When Trenton and I first met, I was smitten almost immediately. He was so handsome, and his smile was contagious. He was holding court at a fraternity party and owned the room with his charisma and confidence. I was mesmerized and thought for sure my gran had sent him to me on a silver platter. Everything I wanted was wrapped up in an idea of perfection and Trenton Carmichael was perfection. He still is. He’s ridiculously handsome, smart, and successful, has a good sense of humor, likes to live his life with a plan, and doesn’t make a major life decision without carefully assessing each aspect.
Loving Trenton wasn’t immediate, but over time I fell in love, and we fell into a comfortable relationship. With Trenton I felt safe and never wanted for anything. Contentment isn’t a bad thing, and that’s exactly what we’ve been—content. To me that was perfection.
I’ve waited for my wedding day since I was ten years old and to know I could simply walk away from it all and not be bothered . . . well, it bothers me. It irks me and frustrates me. That’s what I feel. Frustration. With myself and with the situation.
“I’m not upset,” I say more to myself than Lucas. “I should be upset like I was Friday. I’m not. It’s weird to say out loud. I’m angry I’ve put so much work into this wedding. Everything is perfect. My dress is amazing and the flowers, gosh the flowers are out of this world. We’re going to have a band and a DJ. Did I tell you that?” I ask, looking to Lucas as he glances my way and shakes his head.
“I wanted an eighties band, like in that movie The Wedding Singer. Trenton lost his mind. Said it was childish and only compromised with them playing for the first two hours of the reception, after I agreed to a ridiculous cocktail hour. A cocktail hour. So stupid. If we follow my itinerary, there’s nothing but four hours of cocktails.”
I continue my tirade over my wedding, and as I tell Lucas about each aspect of the reception, I realize it’s further from my idea of perfection than I realized. Sprinkles of my dream wedding are there. My dress is exactly as I’ve always dreamed. The venue and the menu, a compromise. Our first-dance song, my favorite growing up because Trenton had no opinions or memory of us sharing a special song.
How did we get here? How did I go from having the ideal wedding planned to the smallest detail all my life to a woman compromising those same plans? The wedding I planned wasn’t the wedding I dreamed of, it was the wedding I settled for. That has me wondering what else I’ve settled for.
Nothing. I love my life. I have, minus what I saw Friday, a good solid relationship. We are compatible in most ways and different in enough to keep it interesting. My job isn’t overly challenging, but I make a decent salary. Working as an executive assistant to a bank president allows me to put my superior organizational skills to use, and it gives me a lot of days off. Banker’s hours don’t suck, that’s for sure. I have a supportive and loving family, and my friends are the shit. Life is great.
“Whit, can I ask you something? I promise it’s the only question I have.”
“Sure.”
“Why are you with this guy?”
“I love him,” I say matter of factly.
“So you say, but why? I haven’t heard you say anything about your relationship or him as a person. I’ve only heard you talk about this perfect wedding. I get it, women love their weddings, and it’s supposed to be the happiest day of your life. It just sounds, well, it sounds like you loved planning a wedding, not necessarily the man you were marrying.”
“Am marrying,” I spit. His look in my direction is one of confusion, so I clarify. “You said ‘were’. I am marrying him. He screwed up, and I’m pissed, but we’ll get through it. You don’t give up on a three-year relationship because of one hiccup. We have history and a life together.”
On instinct, my arms cross over my chest defensively. It’s true. Three years together, a home, a life, you don’t walk away from that because he slipped. It happens. People make mistakes. What kind of person would I be to walk away from this life we’ve built?
But what kind of person am I if I stay? Am I pathetic? Am I inviting those same decisions the rest of our marriage? What if I hadn’t forgotten my contacts? Would I ever have known he was cheating on me? I can sit here all day asking every question under the sun, but the reality is, only Trenton has the answers. Maybe I should catch a flight back home and face this. Face him.
Hours pass and the tension from our earlier conversation dissipates. It helps that we stop at a park and play with the puppies for an hour after eating our lunch. It’s no wonder people have emotional service animals. These little babies really help my stress. I can see the benefit they bring to people with severe issues.
“Thank you,” I say to Lucas as the GPS cuts off the music to remind him of the upcoming turn off. We’re only a few miles from the place Fred and Wilma will call home.
“For?”
“This. Just being my friend. The girls are amazing, and I love them to death, but they’re in my life and their opinions are never ending. It’s been nice being able to just be for a bit.”
“Well, you’re welcome. I’m glad I could take my clothes off for you and reconnect.”
I burst out laughing and he chuckles a little too. “Maybe we don’t repeat that in front of people who have no idea what we’re talking about. Also, I think I’m convinced I need a puppy in my life now. You’re to blame for that.”
“Don’t blame me. Also, don’t name him after me. I’d hate for you to cuss me out constantly.”
I don’t have a chance to reply because the GPS tells him to turn onto the next driveway. As he parks in front of the house, I feel a twinge of sadness knowing the babies are leaving. I’ve had a blast playing with them, and their snuggles are the absolute best.
“After we leave here, how about we stop for your essentials and go to a hotel? I could use a good hot shower, but I’m also starving. Dinner too?”
“Sounds great.”
We hop out of the truck and Lucas finalizes the transaction with Fred and Wilma’s new owners. The couple is about a decade older than we are and explain that they are surprising their twins for their birthday with the puppies. It makes me happy to know they’ll be with a young family and bring joy to the children. I’ve grown attached to the pups, and my heart hurts a little knowing they aren’t leaving with us. It occurs to me I’m going to miss Fred and Wilma more than I’ve missed Trenton.
Once we’ve said our goodbyes and Lucas confirms the transaction has been made online, we climb i
nto the truck and head to the nearest store to pick up a few things for the remainder of the trip.
The big red and white logo calls to me like a beacon in the night. I send Lucas on his own way to meander through the store while I make a quick perusal through the women’s department. First things first, I grab a few panties and toss them in my basket. A cute pajama short and tank set catches my eye, and I sort through the sizes until I find mine. My next stop is the athletic wear for a few pairs of leggings. I know some people don’t think leggings are pants and others believe athletic wear should be reserved for actual exercise. I am not one of those people. I think comfort trumps gym time any day of the week. Plus, I could go for a run or down to the hotel gym, one never knows.
After tossing in two pair of black leggings, two T-shirts, and a cute red button-down blouse in my basket, I set the basket on the ground in front of the rack of jeans. Jeans are not always my friend. I’m on the petite side and while only one-half Hispanic, I have been blessed with a little more junk in the trunk than the average girl. I don’t want to waste time trying on jeans, so I throw caution to the wind and grab a pair of skinny dark wash jeans with extra stretch in them. I’m two steps out of the clothing section when I think better of it and grab another pair of the same jeans only these are black with strategically placed rips in them. A little edgier than I would usual go for, but they’re kind of cute, so why not.
I’m about to text Lucas when I see him walking toward me. He’s holding a hanger over his right shoulder, a few shirts flapping in the wind behind him like a cape. I guess I’m not the only one with the shopping bug.
“You get everything you need?” he asks.
“Yeah, and then some. Oh,” I screech. “We should get some snacks. And wine. Yes, wine for sure.”
Not waiting for his response, I start walking toward the food section of the store. The upside to doing a lot of your shopping with a chain store like this, you know where everything is, regardless of the location. After selecting two bottles of wine from the shelf, I grab a box of crackers and some of my favorite chocolates before turning where Lucas is picking up his own twelve pack of beer. Looks like we’re going to have a nice relaxing night in our hotel rooms.
After we’ve paid and are settled in the car, Lucas cues up the GPS to take us to our hotel. Last night we stayed in a pet friendly motel but tonight, we agreed to splurge for a nicer place, and I cannot wait for the hot shower and fluffy bed later.
“I was thinking we could get cleaned up and then, from what I can tell, there’s a steakhouse walking distance from the hotel. How about we go there? We can both have a few drinks and not have to worry about driving.”
“Sounds fantastic.”
You know those moments when you think you hear something but are convinced you misunderstood? Like when you think your doctor says you have crabs but really, she’s asking if you’ve had cramps. Or when you’re a waitress and you think the customer is flirting with you when his girlfriend goes to the restroom so when she comes back you ask if he really wanted your telephone number, and he says no, he was confirming which number meal you recommend. Only one of those scenarios was a misunderstanding. And I’m hoping what this woman at the hotel is telling us is the second misunderstanding.
“I don’t understand. I made the reservation online.” Lucas is visibly frustrated and yet still manages to look like a model.
“Sir, so you’ve said. Unfortunately, that isn’t what I’m showing, and we’re booked otherwise. I can refer you to another hotel if you like.”
“Give us a minute, okay?” The clerk nods in agreement to his question and motions the next people in line to the counter. Lucas and I step aside, and I see the exhaustion on his face as he rubs his hand from his forehead to his chin and lets out a long sigh.
“I’m sorry, Whitney. I know I marked two rooms. I don’t know what happened. Why don’t we try another hotel? I’m sure one around here has two rooms.”
I should agree. I should not consider sharing a room with Lucas. But the room they’re offering us does have two beds, and the clerk has already told us most of the hotels are likely booked with a big convention in town. Biting my bottom lip, I scrunch up my face with indecision. To hell with it.
“No. Let’s take the room. We’re already here. It’s fine.”
“If you’re sure. I don’t want to make this awkward. At least there are two beds, I guess.”
“Exactly. Come on. We need to get you a beer, and I could go for a glass of wine and a hot shower.”
Lucas smiles, and we return to the front desk to finish our check-in. The clerk hands us two keys, and we take our belongings and turn toward the elevator. And, like there’s some sort of tracker on me, my phone begins ringing with Jessi’s designated ringtone. My hands are too full to answer so I ignore the call and let it go to voicemail. Which I know she won’t use and, in a few minutes, my phone will ping with a text message before it rings again.
Shrugging I say, “Jessi.”
“Kind of figured with the ringtone.”
When we arrive at our floor, we exit the lift and confirm which direction we need to go. Exhaustion hits me the moment we reach our door. If I’m this tired, I can only imagine how tired Lucas must be from driving. You’d never know with how much pep is in his step. More pep than usual, I notice.
“Excited to get in the room?” I tease.
“I have to take a piss like no other.”
Laughing, I wait for him to toss the door open and drop his bag on the floor before setting his beer on the counter and rushing into the bathroom. As I step into the room, I see it is an upgrade from the room we stayed in last night. Neutral earth tones are the theme. A large window overlooks the pool, which is lit up with a rainbow of lights. Families are playing in the water, and it makes me smile.
There are two large, and what look to be quite plush, queen beds flanking either side of a side table that has a docking station and lamp. A large television, probably at least fifty inches, sits atop a huge piece of furniture. Opening one of the large doors, I find the refrigerator and grab my wine from the bag and place it in there. I’d grab Lucas’s beer, but it’s close to the restroom and I don’t want to be a creeper.
As expected, my phone dings with a text message. I retrieve the phone from my tote and open Jessi’s text message.
Jessi: Just checking on you.
Me: I’m good. We just checked into the hotel. We’re going to get showered and head out for dinner. Portland tomorrow!
Jessi: Sounds great. All is well here. I’ve confirmed with the wedding planner everything on the Monday list and sent out the Tuesday emails.
Me: Wow. You’re so efficient. I should’ve had you helping me all along.
Jessi: Yeah well, I’m trying to make sure dickhead doesn’t feel the need to come by my place again.
Me: I should call him.
Jessi: No. Let him stew. You have fun and tell Lucas hi. TTYL xo
Me: Thanks again. Xoxo
“Was that Jessi?”
I jump at the sound of Lucas’s voice and when I turn around my breath catches. Standing before me is a wet version of what I had a front row seat for just two nights ago. Sweet peppers, he’s hot.
“Uh, you showered,” I stammer. No shit, Whitney.
“Yeah. I figured I’d just bang it out while I was in there.” I gulp and wonder how bad my wine would taste warm because it suddenly got hot in here, and I can’t help but wonder what else he “banged out” while he was in the shower. “I used their shampoo and stuff. It’s all yours now if you’d like to get ready. I’ll get dressed then get us some ice to speed along the cooling process for the beer and wine.”
“Uh . . . yeah . . . oh . . . uh.” I have no words as I watch a drop of water slowly run from his pectoral down to his abs. Like a luge, that baby slid right on down. Holy crap. You could drink champagne off this guy’s body, and I bet it’d taste fantastic.
Laughing, Lucas steps aside and gestures for
me to pass him toward the bathroom. Blinking out of my daze, I offer a smile as my face heats with embarrassment before grabbing my suitcase and shopping bag.
“I’ll take this all with me and will be quick, I promise.”
“Take your time,” he says as he bends at the waist and picks up his bag. My eyes widen as the side of the towel opens a little, and I see a glimpse of his thigh. I need to get hold of myself and fast. I’m like a goddamn dog in heat.
There is no way I can go one more day without washing my hair. Especially after having Fred and Wilma climb all over it last night. As the water heats and fills the room with steam, I rummage through my luggage and locate my toiletries and a clean bra, as well as a pair of new panties from the shopping bag, before stripping off my clothes and climbing into the shower. Lather, rinse, and no repeat tonight; I need to move my ass.
Thirty minutes later, I’m pulling my new jeans and top from the shopping bag and snapping off the tags. My mother would kill me if she saw me doing this. She swears ripping the tags is a sure-fire way to get holes in your new clothes. She’d really be freaked if she saw me use my teeth on the thicker tag on the shirt. Whoops. Sorry, Mom.
Once I’ve finished dressing in the edgier black jeans and one of the T-shirts I picked up at the store, I grab a necklace and set of bangles from my toiletry bag. Slipping my feet into the pair of flats I had in my luggage, I assess my appearance. Not too bad for a thirty-minute rush to get ready. Normally, I’d spend more time on my hair but tonight, I’m going with the natural look.
When I turn the corner from the vanity area to the main part of the room, Lucas is lounging on his bed. Sockless, dressed in a pair of dark jeans and a collared polo shirt with a beer raised to his lips, he looks relaxed. And sinful.
I Don't: A Romantic Comedy Page 6