My So-Called Perfect Life

by K. A. Berg

  “I don’t know what you are doing,” Daddy says, squeezing my hand in his before placing it on his arm, just as we practiced last night. “But I’m going to trust you to make that man pay with whatever plan you have in your head. I’m warning you now though. If this gets to the part where that minister asks if anyone objects, I’m going to make my feelings on my future ex-son-in-law known.”

  Picturing my dad standing up and telling everyone Scott is a motherfucker is enough to release some of the tension rapidly taking over my muscles. It feels good. I think my mother would pass out right then and there, pearls clutched in her hand.

  “I promise it won’t get that far,” I assure him. “But can you do me one favor?”

  “Sure, Sweet Pea.”

  “I want to be alone after this. Can you find a way to get me ten minutes to get out of this dress and slip out the back?”

  “Where are you going to go?”

  I shake my head. “Not sure yet. I just need to be by myself. I need to process on my own.”

  My world just flipped upside down, and I know a torrent of emotions and feelings are going to course through me like a flash flood once I let that dam break.

  “Okay, Sweet Pea. I’ll buy you some time.”

  The wedding march starts, and the rustling of everyone standing echoes behind the closed double doors of the banquet room being used for the ceremony.

  “You sure you know what you’re doing?” my father asks one last time.

  “I do,” I say to him since he’s the only man I’ll be saying that to for the unforeseeable future.

  Then, the doors open.

  Don’t look at his face. I chant in my head as I keep my eyes locked on Mercy as she stands at the altar with an unsure look on her face.

  This was the part I wanted most. The look in my future husband’s eyes as he saw me walking toward him. Walking toward our future. Walking toward everything.

  Last night, we practiced stopping in front of Scott and having Daddy give my hand to him. That’s not happening. I slow my pace a few rows before the end and stop before reaching Scott.

  His forehead scrunches slightly, and I can tell by his eyes that he’s trying to figure out why I’m deviating from the plan.

  I smile at Daddy as I turn to him. His hazel eyes are filled with sadness. He returns my smile, only his is weaker and worried. We lock eyes for a moment, and I can see the question in his eyes—do you know what you’re doing?

  I take the last three steps toward Scott, and rather than having a moment between us—a tender moment where he is supposed to tell me how beautiful I am and how he can’t wait to marry me and love me forever—I take my spot directly across from him.

  “Dearly—”

  That’s the only word the minister gets out before I start talking over him.

  I stare so hard at Scott, letting him see the betrayal I feel. I pack it all into that one glare. “I know,” I say evenly and low enough for only him and those near us to hear.

  His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “Know what, Danielle? What is going on?”

  Shifting my bouquet into one hand, I slip his phone out of my bra with the other. “Amelia found this on the roof. Mandy has desperately been trying to get ahold of you.”

  He is not a dumb man. He knows the jig is up, but I’ll give it to him. He tries to play it off.

  “I lost my phone, like, two hours ago. Dale probably had her calling it to find it. Why are we discussing it now, Danielle? This is the moment we’ve been waiting for.”

  He might try, but even if I hadn’t known the truth, that bullshit wouldn’t have worked. As if I would believe Dale, his brother, went to Scott’s assistant—office assistant, mind you, not a personal assistant—to find his phone.

  Dude, you’re an accountant, not a CEO.

  “I thought you’d like to read her last-minute pleas for you not to marry me,” I sneer, the betrayal bulldozing into the need for revenge fast. “If those don’t convince you, maybe the video of her with your dick in her mouth will.”

  The minister sucks in a shocked breath next to us as the crowd behind us murmurs, no doubt wondering what’s going on up here. Scott blanches. The white of his face almost matches the white of his tuxedo shirt.

  He stumbles to find something to say. “Danielle, it’s not what you think.”

  The flower stems of my bouquet snap as I grip them hard. Lying bastard. It’s exactly what I think.

  “It was a one-time thing,” he claims. “It didn’t mean anything. It was a mistake. I don’t know why I did it. I don’t even like Mandy.”

  And that’s supposed to make it better?

  Indignation flares in my chest. “Ohhh, it didn’t mean anything.”

  My anger hits an all-time high as I turn toward the gathering of our friends and families behind us and say, “It’s okay, everyone. Scott didn’t mean to sleep with his assistant less than an hour ago. He doesn’t even like her. It’s all a big misunderstanding. Her texts begging him to pick her and not marry me mean nothing.”

  A chorus of gasps fill the air as every pair of eyes in the room widens. Mandy’s the biggest. A few heads snap her direction, and her face turns the same shade of crimson as the lipstick on her lips.

  “You can have him, Mandy,” I tell her as the rest of the guests follow my gaze to where she sits in the back row. “I don’t want him anymore.”

  A glimmer of pride shines in my dad’s eyes as I pass him on my walk back down the aisle. Alone.

  The doors close behind me, and a ruckus breaks out after a few moments of hushed whispering.

  My dress suffocates me, and I want it off. I dash into the bridal suite and immediately strip out of it. I drop it on the floor, on top of my shoes, and proceed to shove my legs into the leggings I tossed on to come here this morning. I pull the clip for my veil out and slide my sweatshirt back on while slipping my feet into my flip-flops.

  I make it out the back exit before anyone comes looking for me. Thank you, Daddy.

  Two hours of the same questions buzzing in my mind, eating my brain alive.

  I’ve been walking and walking waiting for answers or at least something to help me figure out how my wedding just wound up ending with Mandy getting my man.

  Where did it all go wrong? I can’t get that question out of my mind.

  Everything was so, so good. Scott and I barely argued. We shared our thoughts and feelings, and I thought we handled our relationship like mature adults who loved each other. It was all a lie.

  Fishing my phone from my bag, I see about twenty missed calls and a hundred text messages. My battery only has ten percent left, so calling people back and answering messages will have to wait until I get home. Getting an Uber and having enough battery left for emergencies is more important. Plus, I don’t want to talk to anyone anyway.

  As I type in the address of my apartment, I’ve never been happier that I kept my place until the end of the month. Although I now have nine days to find a new place to live since my lease is up, and I was planning on moving in with Scott after our honeymoon.

  A honeymoon I now have to try and get my money back for.

  I have to call the airlines.

  And the hotel.

  And I have to cancel the movers.

  Focus, Danielle. You need to get home before you can do all that.

  The app tells me my driver will be here in four minutes.

  I stand idly on the corner, thinking about how my life just went completely off the rails, runaway train–style, despite my best efforts to keep my mind on anything else. Scott’s name appeared in the many notifications on my phone, but he is the last person I want to talk to right now.

  My phone dings, alerting me that my driver has arrived, and I look up to see the blue SUV at the curb.

  The city whizzes by as the images of Mandy and Scott fill my head. How long has this been going on? Did she come on to him? Did he pursue her? Does it even matter?

  The bodega on the corner
of my block comes into view, and I dig in my bag for my keys. I just want to get inside and lie down on my bare mattress on the floor. This was not how I was supposed to be spending my wedding night. But then again, there was also supposed to be a wedding.

  God, how could this have happened?

  Never in my worst nightmares of wedding mishaps did I think of this. A fire in the ballroom? Yes. Stepping on the train of my dress and tripping and falling right down the aisle? Check. Scott cheating on me right before it was all about to start? Never.

  It feels like I’m in a bad dream, waiting to wake up.

  I feel numb as I walk the hall to my apartment.

  There’s this thick cloud of emotions surrounding me, brewing like a thunderstorm on a hot summer day, waiting for the spark that will set it all in motion.

  I want to cry. I want to rage. I want to curl in a ball and ignore the world. I want to rip my heart out, so I can’t feel this pain for another moment. It’s crushing and scary, and it hurts like hell.

  As I enter my apartment, I wish everything in here wasn’t packed. I really want a drink. But the place is merely furniture and boxes. Everything was ready for the move.

  The banging at my door scares the shit out of me. It’s hard, loud, and booming in the barrenness of my apartment.

  My stomach drops to the floor as I think it might be Scott on the other side of it. I’m not ready. Do I want to punch him? Or do I want to beg him to tell me why? Do I even want to know why? All I do know is that I don’t want to see him.

  “We’ll just use my key if you don’t open the door,” my sister shouts, no doubt angering Mrs. Martinson next door.

  Mrs. Martinson complains whenever there is noise in the hallway. But the relief that courses through me, knowing it isn’t Scott, makes it worth her nagging.

  I’m not ready for Amelia and Mercy’s bombardment either. So far, I’ve done a good job of keeping everything inside, and seeing them will involve letting it all out. I want to get it out. I want to release this pain, but then I know there’s no waking up. The last part of my heart holding out hope that this is all a bad dream will be snuffed out. I’ll have to admit that this is real, and Scott and I are done. But I guess the quicker I get it out, the quicker I can begin healing.

  The life I planned with Scott is no more.

  There will be no shopping for homes in the suburbs. No children. No traditions of our own to start. No annual vacations. Nothing. Zip. Zilch. Nada.

  The weight of it all crashes down on me as I swing open my front door.

  “Holy shit,” Mercy says, pushing her way inside.

  “Where have you been?” Amelia asks, hands on her hips as if she were my mom and not my little sister.

  Mercy plants her ass in the corner of my couch and crosses her arms over her chest. “We’ve been trying to get in touch with you for hours. You just dropped a fucking bomb like that and skipped out without a word.”

  “Daddy said you wanted some time to yourself, but we were still worried. What Scott did was awful, and I just wanted to check on you.”

  My sister and I are very close. She’s a year and a half younger than me, and we’ve been best friends for as long as I can remember. My sister has been there for me through everything. I almost feel guilty for shutting her out tonight, but the pain I feel in my chest is something that I don’t know how to share.

  “I went for a walk. I needed to be alone,” I sigh as I close the door after Amelia stops glaring at me and comes in, joining Mercy on the couch. “I’m having a hard time figuring out how everything I’m feeling is supposed to be handled, if I’m being honest. I’m so hurt, down to my core. I just wanted some time before I had to accept that the life I had been about to start is no more. Does that make sense?”

  Compassion fills Amelia’s eyes.

  Mercy’s smile is sympathetic as she nods. “Where did you go?”

  “Yeah,” my sister adds. “You’ve been gone for over two hours. We’ve been sitting across the street at Santini’s, waiting for you to come home. We knew you wouldn’t answer the phone, and you really shouldn’t be alone all night.”

  It’s then that I notice the brown paper bag that Mercy has sitting on the ground next to her feet. She leans over and pulls out a bottle of wine and a Styrofoam container.

  “I knew you wouldn’t have food here,” Mercy explains as she hands me the container.

  I instantly smell my favorite thing in the world. Zeppole from Santini’s Pizzeria. I feel the tears starting to take control.

  Mercy holds up the bottle of wine and smiles sadly at me. “You can wash it down with this.”

  As she pulls out a cheap corkscrew from the liquor store and starts to open my favorite red, the tears win and start streaming down my face.

  Amelia is at my side in a heartbeat, and her arms wrap around me. “Let it out, sweetie.”

  Her hand rubs along my back as I sob into her shoulder. The sobs just rip from my throat, one after the other, stealing my breath. It feels like those moments of being stuck under the water after being knocked down by a wave in the ocean. I search for air and find nothing but more tears.

  My eyes burn, and my lips tingle as I pick my head up and look at my sister and then my best friend standing behind her.

  Amelia’s eyes soften, and then she asks the million-dollar question, “What can we do for you? What do you need?”

  The thick ball of emotions still clogging my throat has the tears back in seconds, and there’s no stopping them as my pain and sadness fall down my face in twin streams. “I don’t know. How could he do this to me?”

  That’s the question burning inside me. What went wrong? How did I not see this coming? Why wasn’t I enough? I feel as though I failed, and I don’t know why. Scott never let on that something was wrong. We were getting married! I thought I was the luckiest girl in the world. Now, I feel like the biggest moron on the planet.

  It all pours from my chest as I hang my head. The sadness. The betrayal. The loss. The unknown of what comes next.

  “I don’t know,” I squeak out as I put my head in my hands and let go of all I’ve been holding on to since Amelia handed me Scott’s phone.

  Mercy pulls me into her arms, and Amelia wraps her arms around the two of us. “It’ll be okay, Dani. We’ll help you figure it out.”

  Chapter Three

  Danielle

  I drag my butt out of bed this morning at ten o’clock, three hours later than usual. Before I can face my life, I need coffee. Since my coffeepot is packed, and I only have water and leftover food from last night in my fridge, I walk down the block to the coffee shop.

  The hot caffeinated goodness soothes my scratchy throat as I head back to my apartment.

  Today was supposed to be a joyous one, filled with so much adventure as Scott and I got ready for our honeymoon. Instead, it feels like I’ve been hit in the head with a bat and concussed. I have a headache and feel nauseous every time I think about Scott and Mandy. I don’t know if I’m coming or going as I try to deal with all that accompanies calling off a wedding and having my heart broken.

  When I get back home, I scroll through social media for over an hour to make sure I didn’t end up going viral yesterday. Wouldn’t that just be the icing on the cake?

  After I sign off, I make myself a promise. Today, I am moving forward. Last night had been my release night. I cried it out, drank too much wine, and ate crappy food with my girls. Now, all that’s left is to move forward. I have to. I can never forgive Scott for what he did. It’s just not possible, which is why I will not wallow.

  I text my sister and Mercy, explaining as much. I need everyone on board as I embrace my new outlook on life.

  There are about a hundred pieces of my life to pick up and put together while removing Scott from the picture. Number one is calling my super, Armando, to see about the possibility of keeping my apartment.

  Pulling up my contacts in my phone, I hit my super’s name and wait for him to answer whil
e a thousand nerves bounce in my chest.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi Armando,” I greet before diving into my sob story.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” He sounds sincere. “But I have new tenants ready to move into your unit on August 1.”

  My stomach drops. I’m going to have to find a new place. I’m sure Mercy or Amelia would let me crash on their couch. I suddenly feel a pang of regret for not agreeing to the idea that we all find a place together when it was discussed a few years back, but I knew that, at some point, Scott was going to propose, and my life with him would begin, so it seemed pointless for all of us to move in together, only for me to leave them to find another roommate.

  “Okay, well, thank you anyway, Armando,” I say, not masking the defeat in my voice.

  “Now, hold on a second, Danielle,” he replies. “I have a unit opening on the fourth floor as well. Let me contact the new tenants for your place and see if I can get them set up in Gentry’s old place. Then, you can stay on the second floor. If not, you can have the Gentry unit.”

  “Really?” Relief zips through my body at warp speed. The idea of having to scour the city for a new place is daunting and sat in my stomach like a bag of lead. “Thank you, Armando. Thank you so much. You have no idea how much I appreciate this.”

  His laugh eases the bit of remaining tension—for this issue at least. “No problem, kid. You’ve always been a great tenant. I prefer to keep those around if I can.”

  It’s going to be torture waiting to hear back from him, but at least I know that, regardless, the pain of having to find a new residence has been crossed off my list. Next up, dealing with the airline.

  Of course, this is the one time I don’t get the travel insurance. Canceling my honeymoon never crossed my mind though.

  I dig through my emails, looking for the confirmation email from the airline. I find it and click on the number listed for customer service.

  While I wait on hold, I pull up the booking site I used to reserve the hotel. If I do it now, I can cancel my reservation and still get a refund. I’ll lose the first night but that’s better than losing the entire thing. When an actual real-live person comes over the line, I begin telling my tale all over again. I wonder how many times I will have to repeat this before I never have to think about it again.