I Don't: A Romantic Comedy

by Andrea Johnston

  Flattered, I thank her but decline. She’ll call.

  When I watch reality television I’m often filled with envy. The women on most of the shows I watch have these lavish lifestyles and their daily lives seem to be full of lunches, shopping, and glamorous parties. While I recognize “reality” is a loose term when it comes to television, I suppose their lives are exactly like that.

  You know why? Because the people who are planning those glamorous parties are covered in sweat, tears, and probably two-days’ worth of soy sauce on their clothes.

  That’s how it is for me, anyway

  I never fathomed working twelve to fourteen hour days just to plan a wedding. I was naïve to think it was as simple as planning my own special day. What I hadn’t considered was the celebrity factor and the little secret baby bump. The stress level is through the roof.

  While I’m exhausted and plan to sleep for the rest of my life as soon as this wedding is over, I am grateful for the opportunity. Kathryn has been an amazing bride to work with, even as she fights morning sickness and the stress of all the decision making. I’m learning so much working alongside Suzette, and although I’d prefer my first major event not be so rushed or chaotic, I’ve never been more certain of my decision to switch careers.

  “Ladies, I cannot take another night of sweet and sour anything. We’re going to have to switch things up tonight,” my co-worker Leslie declares. I couldn’t agree more. I think we’ve had some sort of Asian inspired meal every night this week and I’m over it.

  “Normally I’d vote pizza, but I think the carbs will only make me more tired,” I say as I push the name cards I’m filing out aside and lift my arms above my head to stretch. With only two weeks left until the wedding, we’re in the details portion of the planning, and I need to be focused not more tired.

  “I wish that Mediterranean place off Fourth delivered. I could go for some deep fried feta and a few kabobs,” another teammate says as the group begins naming off a bunch of options from my favorite restaurant.

  “You guys, we’ve busted ass for weeks. How about we order all this food you’re killing me with and I’ll go pick it up. My treat. We deserve it,” I offer as the group cheers in response.

  Leslie jots down the orders, and I’m checking the website for the restaurant when the conference room phone rings, startling us all. Since I’m closest, I stand and walk to the phone to answer.

  “Hello?”

  “Yes, may I speak with Ms. Wheeler?”

  “Speaking,” I say, confused as my co-workers stare at me, some confused and others curious.

  “I have a delivery for you. If it’s alright, I’ll send the delivery man up.”

  A delivery? Who would be sending me something at eight o’clock at night? It’s probably the custom made cocktail glasses we ordered they were guaranteed delivery by tomorrow.

  “That’s fine, thank you.”

  Setting the phone back in the cradle, I return my attention to the group for their food orders. Just as I tap the contact option on my phone, I hear a throat clear from the doorway and turn. Eyes wide, I smile at the delivery man and the way my stomach rumbles, he’s here just in time.

  “Jonah.”

  “Hey, girl. Sorry,” he mumbles clearing his throat. “Miss Whitney Wheeler?” His tone is official, like an announcer, not a guy who knows it’s me.

  “Jonah, what in the world?” Rolling his eyes, he shakes his head obviously unhappy I’m not playing along. I suppose I’ll need to play the part if I want the amazing food in his hands.

  “I’m Whitney. May I help you?” I match his tone and he chuckles. The rest of the group is whispering among themselves, probably confused how a gorgeous man, who looks like he stepped out of a superhero movie, appeared before us with bags of food without me having placed the order.

  “I have a delivery for you. I believe your preferred meal, the Souvlaki with a small Greek salad to start is in this bag,” he says, thrusting the bag toward me. Stepping toward him, I accept the offering as I inhale the spices and goodness that sends my stomach on another grumbling rampage.

  “These are for the rest of you,” he says toward the group. Leslie jumps up to grab the bags from him, offering her gratitude.

  “Jonah,” I begin but he cuts me off.

  “There’s a note, Miss.”

  Peeking into the bag, I spot a piece of paper folded in half sitting on top of the round container. I raise my eyes to Jonah who has a small smile on his face. My previously grumbling stomach is in full somersault mode.

  Lucas.

  “Okay, I can’t do this fake delivery dude shit. Look, babe. He’s fucking dying. Please read the note and call him. Even if it’s to tell him to leave you alone, just call the kid. Because, if he asks me to do this again, I’m going to have to kick his ass.”

  Laughing through the tears forming in my eyes, I don’t trust myself to speak so I nod in response.

  I stand in place watching Jonah’s retreating back. He really does have a nice body. Big teddy bear that he is. Who knew he was such a romantic to help Lucas with this?

  “I don’t know who that was or what’s in that note, but if you don’t want it, I’ll take it.” I turn to see Leslie standing behind me, a huge smile on her face.

  “That one,” I say, gesturing toward the door, “is very taken.”

  “By you?” she asks.

  Shaking my head, I set the bag on the table and take the note from inside. I know Leslie well enough to know she’s followed me the few steps, waiting for an answer.

  “No, by his girlfriend. He’s my . . . well, he’s a friend of a friend.”

  “Well, whoever he is, thank him for this dinner. To think we were just about to order all of this. What are the chances?”

  Not answering her, I know the chances are pretty high when Lucas DeCosta is involved. Deciding I’ll probably need a little privacy for my note, I excuse myself from the group and retreat to my cubicle. The office is dark except for a few of the cubicle lights so in true Whitney fashion, I run into a wall or two along the way. When I kick the edge of my desk sitting down I swear up a storm and am grateful there are only a few of us here tonight.

  With a deep breath, I open the note form Lucas.

  Whitney,

  I miss you.

  It’s as simple as that. You’ve become my best friend and it sucks not talking to you. I meant what I said. I don’t regret saying it but I also know you don’t think you’re ready. I’m here when you’re ready.

  All my love,

  Lucas

  P.S. I have also been told my gifts may be a little more on the creepy side of things, so this will be my last present.

  Tears stream down my face as I read the note over and over. Each time I read it, I take it a different way. Uncertain if it’s a goodbye or an olive branch, I can’t stand not knowing. Drowning in my thoughts of Lucas, my eyes settle on his name at the bottom. He signed it “Lucas” and not “Luke.” He did that for me. He’s my Lucas.

  My tears turn to sobs as the exhaustion of the last few weeks overwhelms me, and I realize as much as I want to call him, I don’t have time. The voices at the end of the hall are loud, and I know I must get back to the work at hand or everything will derail. Instead of calling, I pick up my cell phone and tap his name out for a text message.

  Me: Thank you for dinner.

  Lucas: You’re welcome.

  I watch as the three dots dance around my phone so I don’t type a response. That’s also because I have no idea what to say.

  Lucas: Did you actually eat?

  Me: Um . . .

  Lucas: Whitney.

  Me: I will. I just wanted to say I miss you too.

  Lucas: I meant what I said. When you’re ready.

  Me: I don’t know what to say.

  Lucas: You don’t have to say anything.

  Lucas: Go eat. Be safe going home.

  Me: Thank you.

  Me: Night.

  Lucas: Goodnight,
Whit.

  Tossing my phone on the desk, I lean my head back and sigh. Sigh in frustration, exhaustion, and sadness. I love my job but I love Lucas more. I want to tell my team I need to leave. I want to drive to his house, tell him how I feel and beg him to love me.

  I want a lot of things but the reality is, I have responsibilities and those take priority over my conflicted heart. Plus, I smell like dry shampoo, soy sauce, and a lifetime of regret. I need to at least shower before I declare my undying love.

  Two minutes. I will allow myself two minutes to wallow in my loneliness and the sad state of my love life.

  I’m about twenty seconds into my wallowing when I realize it’s been weeks since I’ve had a bikini wax. Flying out of my seat, I pull up the app on my phone to schedule an appointment with my waxer. If I’m going to see Lucas in two weeks and tell him he’s my forever, I better not be channeling a seventies porn star.

  With two quick taps of my finger, I schedule an appointment, which happens to be at the same salon as Kathryn’s hair and makeup run through. Two birds. One stone.

  Feeling like a ton of weight has been lifted from my shoulders, I make my way back to the team and my delicious food. No matter what life-altering decisions I have going on, a girl’s gotta eat.

  I wasn’t sure what to expect from Whitney after I sent her dinner. A text message admitting she wasn’t sure how to react to my gift or my note gave me hope. She didn’t shoot me down or friend-zone me, so that’s a positive. She didn’t call me and tell me she feels the same way, so that’s a negative. I’m trying to focus on the good things that have happened in the past two weeks instead of what hasn’t.

  Good thing number one: The guys are adjusting to the new choreography better than I expected. Switching up a few of the routines was easy enough but adding completely new sets and costumes was my worry. Thankfully, the transition has been easy, and although I’ve had to adjust my budget a little and take on an extra transport gig, I’m okay with that.

  Good thing number two: The new transport gig came with a case of beer as a tip. If they all did that, my loss of income wouldn’t be as much of an adjustment.

  Good thing number three: Jessi sent me a text telling me to up my manscaping and steam my suit.

  I’ll admit number three had me confused, but I did as instructed. In my line of work, the manscaping is already part of my regular life, but I’ll admit to stepping it up a little. My navy suit is pressed and the crisp white shirt I picked up last week is laundered and hanging in my closet.

  School should have been added to my good thing list. Last week I met with a professor who commented on my work and suggested I stop by his office to discuss my future in medicine and the next step in my education. Not wanting to slack on school, I take the unusual break in my schedule to study. Sitting on my bed, I grab my laptop from my book bag to get a little studying in.

  Some days, my choice of the medical field for a career path seems daunting and never ending. This has always been my dream and while I always knew it would be hard, I had no idea how fucking boring it could be. Medicine itself is great but some of these fucking assignments make me want to stab myself in the eye.

  I’m deep into my work when there’s a knock at my open door. Glancing up, I see Carmen staring there with an envelope in her hand and smile on her face.

  “Whatcha got there?” I ask, motioning to the envelope.

  “Delivery for you.”

  Confused, I turn my head as if it will help clear up my understanding of her words. It doesn’t, but I take the offered envelope.

  “Open it, already.”

  “Relax it’s probably just a bill,” I mutter as I flip it over and see my name written in a fancy scroll. There’s no return address, or my address for that matter. Strange.

  I look up to see Carmen bouncing on her feet as Jonah steps in my room behind her. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he rests his head on her shoulder, a smile to match hers on his face.

  “What are you two up to? Eloping?”

  “Bite your tongue, Lucas DeCosta. I’m going to have a beautiful wedding, and you won’t need an invitation. The ring bearer always knows where to be, it’s part of his job.”

  Scoffing, I roll my eyes as Jonah chuckles at her tease and she smiles.

  Slowly, just to piss her off, I slide my finger under the tab and open the envelope. Sliding out a note card, a huge grin takes over my face as all the of the knowing glances of these two in front of me and the strange suggestions from Jessi jog my memory.

  Lucas,

  Please meet me tonight at ten o’clock at the Huntington Creek Country Club. I’ll be the girl biting her nails and hoping you show.

  Xo,

  Whitney

  She’s ready.

  Holy shit.

  She’s ready.

  Looking up at Jonah and Carmen, I return the smiles they’re both offering. I open my mouth to say something but stop when Carmen squeals and jumps up and down clapping.

  “Babe, our Lukey is growing up. He’s going to get his woman!”

  “Dear God, Carmen. Stop shouting. We’re right here,” Jonah teases as he swats Carmen’s ass and throws me a knowing smile before dragging her out of the room in protest.

  Looking at the clock, I realize I have three hours until I see Whitney. Food. I should eat. Tacos. I can always eat tacos. Why the fuck am I talking to myself in fragmented sentences? Because you’ve waited for this night your entire life, dipshit.

  Grabbing my wallet and keys, I head for the door to find some tacos. I hope the next few hours fly by, because as much as I want to play it cool, I’m far from cool. I’m just a nerdy science kid hoping he gets to tell the most beautiful girl in school he loves her.

  Those three hours did not go by quickly. The damn taco truck didn’t have a line for the first time ever, I hit every green light there and back, and, for some reason, I showered like someone was going to turn off the water.

  Basically, I finished getting ready an hour ago and can’t sit still. Jonah left for work shortly after I opened the envelope and Jessi arrived about five minutes after I came home with tacos.

  Now, I’m wearing out the carpet with my pacing, checking my watch every five minutes. I’m sweating like I’m dressed in a down parka, walking through the Sahara Desert. Meanwhile, Carmen and Jessi are sitting on the couch drinking wine and making fun of me. And taking bets on how early I’ll leave.

  “You two as friends was a bad idea.”

  Feigning shock Jessi says, “Why I never!”

  “Yeah, Luke. Jessi is the best. Thank goodness Jonah introduced us. You’re jealous because we’re drinking and going to spend the night with Ryan Reynolds, and you’re all dressed up.”

  “I think my plans are far better than creating a hangover and watching romantic comedies all night.”

  “Dude, we’re watching Ryan shirtless. We fast forward to those parts. Duh.” Jessi rolls her eyes dramatically and I laugh.

  “You know that’s totally demeaning, right?”

  “Says the male stripper.” There’s a lot of eye rolling happening between the three of us, this time it’s my turn. “Look, Luke, don’t judge us. We’ll watch all of The Proposal. It’s The Proposal,” Jessi says as she lifts her glass to Carmen who taps the corner before lifting it to her lips.

  “And, on that note, I’m out. Wish me luck, ladies.” Patting my pockets, I confirm I have my keys, phone, and wallet when Jessi stands and places her glass on the table. Stepping up to me, she places her hands on my biceps and closes her eyes.

  “Sorry. You’re really muscular. Anyway,” she says, waving her hand dismissively between us, “no matter what happens tonight, treat my girl right and make her happy.”

  Leaning down, I place a kiss to Jessi’s cheek. “Always and forever.” With tears in her eyes, Jessi nods and makes her way back to the couch and her wine.

  The nerves hit me the closer I get to my truck. I know in my heart this is Whitney making her grand
gesture, but regardless, nerves hit me like a ton of bricks. The drive to the country club isn’t long, but it feels like an eternity as I pull up to the valet and hand him my keys.

  Turning toward the entrance, I note security and wonder if I’ll be able to get in. When I approach the two large men in dark suits at the door, I am surprised when my name is on the list of attendees. It isn’t until I walk into the main foyer and see the sign that I realize where I am.

  Jones-Hamel wedding.

  I want to throw up. No. I need a shot. No. I need to throw up.

  Ah hell, I have no idea what I need. I’m a fucking mess.

  I woke up this morning after only a few hours’ sleep, feeling confident and ready to face the day. This is the event I’ve worked hard for. I deserve this day and know that while we may run into a few little hiccups, for the most part everything will go fine.

  Kathryn and Truman have been fantastic clients. We’ve managed to keep the pregnancy under wraps and while Kathryn began showing this past week, it’s nothing her dress won’t hide. She told me in confidence yesterday they’re telling their families tonight during photos about the baby and will share the news publicly after their honeymoon.

  I’ve come to admire Kathryn and Truman’s relationship, and it is part of the reason I invited Lucas here tonight. I knew I was going to talk to him after this job was complete and I had a few days to sleep. And shower. But, spending the last few days with the couple made me realize how much I want this with him. I want the fairy tale and the perfect night celebrating how much I love him.

  Hitting the button on my phone, I check the time for the fifth time in as many minutes. Fifteen more minutes. I can handle this. We’ve checked all of the wedding boxes and the bride and groom are on the dance floor with their friends, enjoying the last few hours of their reception. My duties ended when the cake was served, and I handed my tablet over to Leslie to supervise the end of the event.

  The song is a popular dance song from the nineties, and I smile as the bride and groom bump and grind like a couple of teenagers. I love how unlike each are from their television persona. I never would have expected the woman who delivers some of the most devastating news stories in our area to also know the words to “Baby Got Back.” Not just know them but have a dance routine to the song as well.