Speak Now

by Becky Monson

  “Okay, ladies,” I say loudly and quickly, cutting Gram off. “This has been enlightening, but I better go. Early day tomorrow.” Everyone mutters disappointment, and I catch a “so boring” from Evelyn.

  I don’t care if they think I’m boring. Is this how the conversation normally goes at these things? If so, I’m thinking I’ve been saved from many awkward moments by not joining in.

  I stand up from my chair, wanting to exit this room as soon as possible.

  They each say their goodbyes, once again talking over each other as I leave.

  I’m not sure any of that helped, except to confuse me further and make me realize that I won’t be joining their bridge club anytime soon.

  I wish I could fast forward to the future to see what’s there. Then I could let all of this go and be done with it. But I hate thinking of a future without Ian in it, and that seems to be what my future holds.

  CHAPTER 35

  “I knew it,” I yell loudly. “I knew it would happen!”

  Ashley giggles and jumps up and down in her seat on Gram’s couch.

  “You’ll remember me when you’re a big star, won’t you?” I tease. Actually, I’m not teasing. She better remember me.

  “It’s only an understudy,” she says, the huge smile on her face faltering slightly.

  “Who cares,” I exclaim. “This is just the beginning for you, Ash. I can feel it.” I tap her on the knee.

  “What’s all the racket?” Gram says, coming out of her bedroom.

  “You’re looking at the next big Broadway star!” I say loudly and dramatically, presenting Ashley to Gram with arms outstretched, like she’s already a superstar.

  Gram gasps and then clasps her hands together and shakes them, yelling out some bravos.

  “Well, isn’t that exciting,” she exclaims. “And I get to say I knew you way back when.”

  “Don’t you two get ahead of yourselves,” Ashley scolds. “I’m not a star. Not yet, at least.”

  “Well, this calls for a celebration,” Gram says, walking toward the kitchen. We hear her rustling around, and then what sounds like a bunch of pans falling out of the cabinet.

  “You okay in there, Gram?” I yell out.

  “Yes, yes,” she grumbles, “just trying to grab something. Aha! There it is.” Her tone changes instantly.

  I look at Ashley. The perplexity on her face probably mirrors mine.

  Gram walks out of the kitchen holding three wine glasses and what looks like a bottle of champagne.

  “Gram,” I say, appalled at the sight. “You can’t have that. Doctor’s orders.” I point at her. We’ve yet to have the discussion about bridge night, as well.

  “Oh, pish-posh. I can have a drink every now and then.” She purses her lips, annoyed.

  “Yes, I’m starting to wonder if it’s more now than then,” I say, giving her my best accusatory glare.

  “Just stop it. You’re ruining Ashley’s fun,” Gram says.

  I decide to let it go for now, but she better know that the talk is coming soon, along with a complete prohibition, if I can arrange it.

  Gram sets the wine glasses down on the coffee table and, with ease, she takes the foil off the bottle and the wire. She twists the bottle, and the cork releases with a muted thud. A mist travels out of the bottle, but there is no big spray like I had expected. Obviously, Gram knows what she’s doing, which is no shock, really. She’s had years of experience. She pours us each a glass.

  “To Ashley,” she says, holding up her glass. Ashley and I follow suit. We clink our glasses together, very fancy-like.

  One and a half bottles later (Gram had another one in her stash), I’m feeling a little more than tipsy. I’m pretty sure Ashley is, too, because she keeps giggling at practically everything. We’re not totally drunk, but there’s just enough alcohol in us to make us do and say stupid things. Last time this happened we nearly ended up with matching tattoos. Thank goodness Justin was there to talk some sense into us.

  Gram only drank a half glass, surprisingly. She excused herself and headed off to bed not long after the giggles started. I’m pretty sure she was sick of it.

  “Hey,” Ashley says with an added giggle. “Have you talked to Ian?” She’s practically sprawled out on the couch, her feet nearly invading the square inch I’m squished into.

  “No,” I say, my buzz instantly tainted when I hear his name. He still hasn’t tried to contact me since the Central Park incident.

  “He never texted you after the last lunch?” she asks and then giggles. I’m not sure what there is to giggle over.

  “Nope,” I say. Leaning back on the couch, I close my eyes. The room spins a little less that way. “It’s probably for the best.” I mean it when I say it, even though I really, truly hate it.

  “Why don’t you text him?” she asks.

  “Because. What’s the point?”

  “Because,” she says, “he’s not married yet.” I look over at her. She gives me an insinuating eyebrow raise.

  “Oh, gosh. Not you, too? I’ve already gotten the third degree from Gram and her cohorts.”

  “Cohorts?” Ashley furrows her brow.

  “The bridge club gals,” I say.

  “Oh right. Well, whatever. You should do it. You know you want to,” she badgers.

  “I don’t,” I say, even though it’s a lie. “I’m not the kind of girl who goes after practically married men.” I hiccup, which does nothing for my defense. Ashley giggles.

  “You’re so boring,” she says through the giggles.

  Boring. Am I boring? Evelyn said the same thing. It was under her breath, but I heard it. I’m not boring. I’m realistic.

  “What about you?” I say to Ashley, turning the tables on her so we don’t have to talk about Ian anymore. “Have you talked to Justin?”

  “Oh, no.” She bats a hand at me. “I’m over that.”

  “I see you’re still lying to yourself,” I say, and go back to closing my eyes. The room is now tilting to the side.

  “No, I’m not,” she declares.

  “Liar.”

  “I’m not lying!” She grabs a decorative pillow from behind her and throws it at me. She misses.

  “Liar, liar, pants on fire.” Wow, I haven’t said that one in a while.

  “Okay fine,” she says, folding her arms, her lips pouting. “Maybe I’m not totally over it.”

  “I knew it!” I say loudly. My whole body turns toward her, eyes wide open. My head feels sloshy. “So, what are you going to do about it?” I ask, hiccupping again. Dang it.

  “Nothing,” she says and then burps loudly.

  “Nice,” I say flatly. It was actually quite gross, especially coming from the mouth of a petite redhead.

  “Anyway, if Justin wanted me, he would have told me by now. He’s obviously just not that into me.”

  “Not that again.” I roll my eyes.

  “What? It’s the truth.”

  “It’s not the truth. And anyway, I don’t think that’s the case with Justin,” I say, nudging her foot with my leg. “I mean, the guy had me tell you that he liked you. He’s clueless. Besides, he’s pretty miserable.”

  “He’s miserable? How can you tell?” She sits up a little too fast, from the looks of it. She wobbles slightly.

  He’s a bit more than miserable, truthfully. He tried to be okay the last time we hung out, but I could see it in his face.

  “Yes. Miserable. How can you not see it?” I scrunch my face.

  “Well, I haven’t really been paying much attention to him, if you haven’t noticed,” she says and shrugs.

  “That’s true,” I declare. That’s slightly an understatement. She’s been outright ignoring him. I see him try, even to say something just to say it, and she won’t even give him a courtesy glance.

  It’s so depressing, the whole thing. My two best friends are fighting, with me in the middle. Well, I’m only figuratively in the middle. They have both been great about not talking about i
t with me, and both too prideful to talk to each other. I swear, I would do anything to help make it better, to get things back to the way they used to be.

  “I think you should talk to him,” I say.

  “Yea, maybe.” She doesn’t sound convinced. I look over to her and she looks contemplative, or possibly completely zoned out.

  “Hey,” she says, after a few minutes. “I’ll make you a deal.” She juts her chin forward, a devious half-smile on her face.

  “What’s the deal?” I ask, only slightly intrigued, but mostly scared.

  “I’ll text Justin, if you text Ian,” she says.

  “What?” She must be tipsier than I thought.

  “I’ll text Justin and tell him how I feel if you text Ian and tell him how you feel.” She’s got her deal-maker game face on. I’ve seen it a few times before.

  “No way,” I say, shaking my head. “I have principles, you know.”

  “Oh, you and your principles.” Her eyes roll to the ceiling briefly, then back to me. “What if—”

  “No.” I cut her off.

  “Just hear me out. What if you don’t tell Ian and then he goes on to marry Maureen and lives a life of misery?” Her mouth twists to the side, in true smart aleck form. “You could be saving him a life of sadness.”

  “I could say the same to you,” I counter, my defense rather flimsy.

  “Hey, I’ve already agreed to do this, so it’s you who’s going to potentially ruin things for Justin, if you don’t text Ian.” She gives me a big, smartass smirk.

  “No,” I say again.

  “Come on, do it. Take a chance.” She nudges me. “I’ll do it, if you will.”

  Now peer pressure? I thought I was done with that in high school. She and Justin are perfect for each other. Are Ian and I? I know the answer to that. Yes. But I can’t be the one to break up what he and Maureen have. If he really wanted to do that, he would. Or would he? He’s not great at expressing himself. Would my telling him even change anything? It can’t make anything worse. Our “friendship” is clearly in ruins, as evidenced by the last time we were together.

  Oh, what the hell. I grab my glass, and I gulp down what’s left. I’m going to need more liquid courage to do this.

  “Okay, fine,” I say, feeling regret swarm around in my stomach instantly. This has “bad idea” written all over it.

  “Yes!” She sits up, grabbing our phones off the table. She hands me mine. I stare at it. What am I doing?

  Ashley starts texting Justin immediately. I can tell by how fast she’s working, she’s already written this text a thousand times in her head.

  I have nothing in my head. Absolutely nothing. I pull up his name in my messages and stare at the blank box.

  “Are you ready to hit send?” she asks, peering over at my phone. “Hey, you haven’t written anything,” she says, annoyed.

  “I don’t know what to write,” I say, still staring at my phone screen.

  “Just tell him the truth,” she says.

  “Okay, the truth.” I can totally do this.

  I should have told you I loved you that night. Because I did.

  I stare at the text I’m about to send. It’s the truth, staring me in the face. I’m going to leave out the part about how I’m pretty sure I’m still in love with him, though. Don’t want to give all my secrets away.

  “All right,” Ashley says. “On the count of three. One . . . two . . . three.”

  We both press send.

  CHAPTER 36

  “BRIDGETTE!” Ursula yells as she walks in the kitchen door off the main ballroom of the hotel where we’re currently working.

  Oh, crap.

  “Bridgette,” she says as she eyes me and starts to walk toward me. “Vat are you doink back here?”

  “What do you mean? I’m helping,” I say, showing her the napkins I’d been folding. The event is set to start in just under an hour.

  “Vell, you are not supposed to be doink this, you are supposed to be in the front helpink,” she says, her large head tilted to the side, her face oozing with aggravation.

  “Sorry, yes . . . of course. I will go back to the front.” I hand the napkins to Derek, and he puts them on the pile he was making. He shakes his head and laughs quietly to himself. I’m so glad I can be the entertainment tonight.

  I walk out to the front and look around. The service staff is running around like chickens with their heads cut off. It’s not entirely in disarray, but mostly.

  “The chair covers are not here,” Ashley says, as she walks toward me.

  “What? Are you sure? I ordered them,” I say, my eyes moving frantically around the room. Just as I’m about to go into full panic-attack mode, a door to my left opens, and in walks someone with a box full of chair covers.

  Thank you, gods of event planning, for covering my butt tonight.

  I had hoped by now to have settled into this assistant manager thing, but I still haven’t. It’s so much harder and stressful than I thought it would be … Oh, the stress! Apparently, you have to be assertive, and I’m not assertive unless I get tipsy, which would not be a good idea to do at work (although the thought did cross my mind).

  A little chill pricks my spine when I recall the last time I was tipsy-assertive. It was only a week ago, but, oh, to go back and redo that night. Ian never texted me back, and it’s just as well. He knows now (there was no room for interpretation on that one), so now I can let him go off to his new life with Maureen. The new life without me in it. I’m learning to be fine with it in my head, but my heart is more resistant to being convinced.

  “Come on, Bridge,” Justin says as he sees me standing there, mouth open. “Let’s get these chair covers on.”

  “Hey, you’re not the boss of me.” I give him some snooty duck lips. “Last I checked, I was the boss of you. So get to work putting those chair covers on.”

  He rolls his eyes. Ashley walks by us, and he quickly reaches over and gooses her as she passes. She giggles.

  “You guys,” I say through gritted teeth, my eyes wide, “I told you, not at work.”

  Not that it matters. Ashley gave notice and only has a little over a week left before she starts her understudy role. And although I won’t admit it to him, I now understand why Ursula keeps Justin around. He’s actually quite useful.

  Ashley’s text to Justin went over far better than mine did. Apparently, he texted back right away and they met up for coffee. Justin did the unthinkable and apologized for the fight that ruined everything in the first place. (He never apologizes.) This must have been enough for Ashley’s heart to melt completely. They both declared feelings and things moved beyond coffee. I didn’t want to know all the details. They weren’t taking things slow; in fact, they both jumped in head first. But I guess this was a long time coming.

  I’m still having a hard time getting used to them being together, although anything beats having them apart. That was tough. We are once again the three amigos, only they constantly have their hands all over each other as I sit by myself. We may have to have a chat about keeping it to a minimum when I’m around. No one wants to see that.

  “BRIDGETTE!” Ursula yells, and I jump.

  I hope I will get used to that someday, but I doubt it.

  ~*~

  “I think I want to cry. My feet are killing me,” I say, sprawled out on my side of the booth. Across from me are Mr. and Mrs. PDA.

  “Hmm? What did you say?” Ashley can barely peel her eyes away from Justin to acknowledge my existence.

  “I said my feet—never mind.” It was a stupid comment, anyway.

  It’s so strange to see either of them like this, but especially Justin. He’s so kind and doting and intuitive as a boyfriend. Yet, he is none of those things as a friend. Well, he’s kind . . . sometimes.

  “So, Bridge,” Justin says, finally deciding to acknowledge that I’m here. He has his arm around Ashley, and she’s nestled into him, her head leaning on his shoulder.

  “Yeah
?”

  “How you liking being the big boss?” he asks, and then he turns his head and gives Ashley a kiss on the forehead.

  Gag. I have to be careful here because while it’s annoying, it’s mostly getting on my nerves because I’m envious. I can’t let my two best friends—the missing pieces of my trio that I just got back—know or think that. So as much as I want to tell them to stop being so cheesy, I won’t. I can get used to it. Hopefully.

  “It’s a little crazy,” I say. “I’m not really sure if I’m ‘management material.’” I use air quotes and then get annoyed with myself for doing so.

  “Don’t say that,” Ashley commands. “It’ll take some getting used to, that’s all.”

  “You’re so smart,” Justin says in some sort of annoying baby talk I’ve never heard come out of his mouth. Ashley looks up at him and beams, and they kiss.

  I am so not going to get used to this.

  We sit in silence for a bit. Well, it’s silent because Ashley and Justin are talking low and quietly to each other while I stare at my horrid nailbeds trying desperately not to be that girl. I can’t be her. Yet, this whole Ashley and Justin thing is bringing out a side of me that hasn’t come out in a while. In fact, the last time was when I had to endure one of Ian’s conquests in college. I hate this feeling.

  “Tell her,” Ashley says to Justin, sort of under her breath, but definitely loud enough to hear.

  “Tell me what?” I look back and forth between the two of them.

  Justin eyes Ashley hesitantly. She nudges him with her shoulder and nods her head. Wow. They’ve already moved into the talking without talking mode in their relationship? That happened fast. Although, they were friends before, and I—of all people—should know the best relationships come from friendship. I just hope theirs ends better than mine did.

  “Tell me,” I prod.

  Justin gives Ashley the go-ahead head bob.

  “Justin’s written a play,” Ashley says, extra-enthusiastically.