by J. Sterling
“I’m really proud of you guys too.”
“We couldn’t have done it without you,” Frank said with a small smile, and I shrugged off his praise. “I mean it. The drink names, the marketing . . . you’re a big part of our success, Nick.”
“He’s right,” Ryan added. “Neither of us could have done half the marketing you did. You’re responsible for the success of our launch, and keeping us relevant in those early days when we weren’t.”
“Thanks,” I said in almost a whisper.
His jaw still clenched, Frank said, “Back to the matter at hand, Nick, this is too far. Dating is one thing—”
“Still stupid.”
“Dating is one thing,” Frank continued, glaring at Ryan for interrupting, “but getting married is a whole different ball game. It’s crossing a line you can’t come back from.”
“Jess said the same thing,” I admitted.
“She knows?” Ryan perked up at the mention of her name.
“I called and told her before I drove over here.”
Ryan clapped me on the shoulder. “They’re both right, Nick. If you do this, when will it stop?”
“I don’t know,” I said with a slight shrug, feeling about a foot tall.
“Never. It will never stop. They’ll both own you, Mr. Crawford and Dad. Nothing in your life will be yours, Nick. Nothing.”
Frank spoke the words with such certainty and fury that I couldn’t help but wonder if he was projecting his own shit onto me. I knew he felt out of control when it came to his own life and decisions, making them for his girlfriend’s well-being instead of his own, but I let it slide. I was too caught up in everything I was currently losing, too overwhelmed with the state of my life and wondering when the hell I’d become such a fucking victim.
“I’m calling Dad,” Frank said before anyone could argue, and pulled out his cell phone.
My jaw dropped open slightly before I closed it, clenching my teeth as I waited for the hell this would bring.
“Hey, Dad,” Frank said, then pressed the speaker button.
The sound of our father’s voice filled the empty bar. “Hello, Frank. How’s the bar?”
I was shocked at how chipper Dad sounded. He never talked to me like that. When he spoke with me, his tone was always disappointed or demanding.
“The bar’s great. You’d know that if you ever came down here and saw it for yourself.” Frank tried to hide his own disappointment, but failed. I hadn’t realized that he was upset at our dad for that.
“You know how busy I am. I can’t take time off to come hang out at some bar, Frank. Jesus, I’d think as a successful business owner, you’d understand that,” my dad fired back.
I had to bite back a grin. There was the asshole I knew and hated to let down.
“Nick told us what’s going on. You’re basically pushing him to marry some girl?”
Dad growled, “Butt out, Frank. You don’t know anything.”
“So, tell me then. Why would you possibly do this to him?”
Frank wasn’t intimidated by our dad the way I was. He didn’t care if he pushed him too far, cornered him, or asked the hard questions. I never seemed to be able to do any of that shit.
“I’m doing what’s best for him. Nick wouldn’t know the right thing to do if it hit him in the face.”
Both Ryan and Frank’s eyes met mine in that instant, and I swallowed hard around the lump in my throat. Maybe now they’d understand how little our dad thought of me, how he treated me, and why I was a complete pussy when it came to defending myself.
A disgusted laugh escaped from deep within Frank’s throat. “You clearly don’t know your son at all. He’s one of the smartest and most talented people I’ve ever met. I’m pretty sure he could make a decision or two on his own, especially when it comes to who he should or shouldn’t marry.”
“Frank,” Dad said, his voice firm, “I’m warning you. Butt out of this and mind your own damn business.”
“Warning me? What are you gonna do, make me marry Carla’s sister?” Frank said, and Ryan laughed before quickly covering his mouth with his hand.
“She doesn’t have a sister, smartass. Stay out of this and leave Nick alone. He’s marrying that girl, and that’s final. I don’t have to explain myself or my reasons to you or your brother.”
“So that’s it then? No discussion, no conversation like two rational adults.” Frank pushed a little harder, willing my dad to break, but I knew it was no use. My dad refused to crack.
“We aren’t two adults, Frank. You are my child and I am your father. Now, get back to running your bar before Ryan burns it down being an idiot.”
When the call disconnected with a click, Ryan stood there with a shocked look on his face.
“He thinks I’m an idiot?” he asked, looking genuinely hurt.
Frank put his phone back in his pocket and stared at me. “I’m really sorry you had to grow up with that man. That isn’t the father we grew up with. I don’t know who that is.”
I shrugged, unable to find the words because we’d been through all this before. “I know it sucked, but I’m thankful you got to see that side of him. It’s the only side I’ve ever known.”
“An idiot?” Ryan was still fixated on the name our dad had called him before snapping out of it. “Who was that man?”
“Apparently that’s Nick’s dad,” Frank bit out.
I had to laugh. They didn’t want to claim the asshole any more than I did.
“Do you guys understand now that I don’t have a choice?” I asked, hoping for at least their understanding if the situation couldn’t be fixed.
“There has to be something we can do,” Frank said, refusing to be defeated. “Marrying the wrong person isn’t something I’d wish on my worst enemy.”
“I don’t know how to fix this. I just don’t see any other way.”
I laid my arm on the bar and dropped my head onto it, praying for one of my brothers to disagree with me, to say anything. When I was only met with silence, I accepted my future and my fate.
Day from Hell
Jess
All the progress I’d made with being over Nick came crashing to a halt when he called and told me about him and Carla. Since then I’d been sick over the news, even going so far as to look up his dad’s office number. More times than I could count, I pressed every digit of it but the last one on my phone, then chickened out every time. I was devastated and wanted answers, and needed more than anything to ask him why he was doing this. Nick marrying this awful person didn’t just affect Nick, it affected me too, and I wanted his father to know that.
When Rachel e-mailed me the online announcement about their engagement, with the wedding planned for only three months away, all the oxygen left my lungs in a single whoosh.
Three months. I had no idea why everything was so damned urgent, but I’d given up trying to make sense of it. The only silver lining was Rachel informing me that she’d be spending the “wedding weekend from Hades” with me so I wouldn’t have to go through it alone. I had no choice in the matter, and to be honest, I was grateful. There was no way I’d be able to get through that day on my own.
To my surprise, my sadness eventually dissipated as time passed, and anger took its place. I no longer blamed Nick’s dad for everything—I blamed Nick. He had the power to end this madness, to walk away from it, to stand up for himself once and for all. But he didn’t. He never did. And I refused to blame anyone else for what boiled down to being Nick’s actions, or inactions really.
I finally realized one day as I was eating with Brooke in the commissary on campus that this was Nick’s life, and mine was no longer tied to it. He’d willingly cut the cord that bound us together, freeing me. His choices and decisions had no longer had anything to do with me, and I needed to stop acting like they did.
“Maybe I will get under someone else,” I blurted during our lunch, and Brooke stopped eating her salad to stare at me.
“H
uh?”
I laughed. “Just hearing Rachel in my head is all. Sorry. She told me to get over Nick by sleeping with someone else.”
Brooke contemplated what I’d just said, squinting up at the ceiling for a moment before she looked back at me. “I guess that could work. But probably not, since you’d just be covering up your pain instead of truly letting it heal.”
I laughed again, truly amused that Brooke had taken my statement and dissected it like a scientist. “You’re probably right. Plus, it’s really not my style. I’m just so pissed all the time. I’m pissed at Nick. Pissed at myself.”
“Why are you pissed at yourself?” She placed her fork down and really focused on me.
“For not being able to deal with this better. I’m so disappointed in him, and I shouldn’t care. At this point, after all we’ve been through, I shouldn’t care what he does with his stupid life.”
Brooke grabbed her drink and took a sip. “It’s because of everything you two have been through that you do care.”
“How are you so smart?” I asked as her words resonated deep within me.
“Because I’m logical,” she answered with a straight face.
I chuckled at her response, then had a sudden thought. “If you were in my shoes, what would you do?”
Brooke straightened in her chair, her gaze roaming from the ceiling to something far off in the distance before landing on mine. “I don’t know. I’ve never been in your situation before. But I think I’d cry. Probably a lot.”
“Brooke!” I all but shouted before cracking up.
“What? Whenever you tell me about him, I get mad because I think he’s stupid, but my heart also always hurts for you.”
It was honest. Too honest.
“I’ve cried enough over Nick Fisher. I’m done with that,” I said firmly, then sucked in a quick breath. “Except for on the wedding day. I might cry one last time then.” I winced with my admission.
Brook sighed with a small shrug. “I would too,” she said before picking up her fork and attacking her salad again.
Time continued to speed past like we were in some kind of unspoken race.
My anger at Nick had taken hold, and anytime I felt myself slipping and starting to feel bad for him, I simply reminded myself that he had the power to change his situation. That simple notion set my anger raging every single time. I also found myself reminding my heart that his decisions didn’t affect me anymore. This had nothing to do with me, it wasn’t about me, and it never would be again.
The majority of the time, I was fine with it. I honestly felt that I had moved on, settled into a place where I was okay with where our paths had taken us. But as the wedding date neared, my strength and resolve slipped further and further away.
Rachel had arrived late Friday night before Nick’s wedding, full of ideas for ways to keep my mind off of him. We both knew it was a losing battle.
“Brooke, come in here,” Rachel shouted from where we were sitting on my bedroom floor.
Brooke came to the doorway and eyed Rachel. “Hi.”
“Are you coming out with us tomorrow?” Rachel asked.
Surprised, I cocked my head to look at her. I had assumed Brooke would be with us, but had never officially asked.
Brooke grinned. “I’m yours all weekend.”
“No Kenny?” I asked, and she shook her head.
“I told him that I was having a girls’ weekend. I’ve never had one of those before.”
Her smile broadened, and it was infectious. Before I knew it, I was smiling too.
“Perfect!” Rachel said. “Let’s go to the store and have a girls’ night in tonight. We’ll get ice cream and watch a movie, because tomorrow night, we’re going out and getting fucked up.”
I looked at Rachel warily before agreeing. “I’d like to drink tomorrow right off of the calendar.”
“What?” Rachel said with a laugh.
“If I get so drunk that I don’t remember anything, then the day will go poof. It’ll be like it never happened.” I clasped my hands together like it was the most brilliant idea ever.
Brooke’s smile fell. “I think we should get stuff at the store for hangovers. Not that I know what we need, but we should be prepared.”
“Great idea. You’re so smart with all your thinking ahead.” Rachel pointed at Brooke. “Who’s driving?”
The trip to the store was ridiculously eventful, despite the fact that it was late at night and the workers were in the aisles stocking the shelves. Rachel flirted unabashedly with every single one of the guys, no doubt just trying to make their night. Brooke darted away from her quickly, her cheeks flaming.
When I looked at Rachel and shook my head, she laughed. “What? I’m having fun. I’ll never see these guys again.”
With our arms filled with ice cream, brownie mix, graham crackers, soup, orange juice, coffee, eggs, and bacon, enough provisions for our girls’ night in and for our “hangover breakfast” in the morning, we headed toward checkout.
“You sure you have ibuprofen at home?” Brooke asked one last time, scanning the shelves before grabbing a pack of gum and tossing it onto our pile.
“I have literally every kind of pain reliever they make,” I said confidently. “My mom sent me away with a crazy care package. It had everything in it from aspirin to Tums to Cliff bars and Gatorade. They’re all still in there.”
“Your mom’s so dope,” Rachel said. “She totally packed you a hangover-cure box, and you didn’t even know it.”
I smiled, suddenly missing my mom a little. “And I haven’t ever needed it.”
“This is going to be fun,” Brooke said with a giggle that sent us into a fit of laughter.
And it was. We spent the night baking brownies and eating ice cream until our stomachs hurt and I was forced to break into my care package to grab the Tums and Pepto-Bismol. None of us brought up Nick, and my mind wasn’t even fully focused on him. Girlfriends were the cure for everything, I decided.
When I woke up the next morning, dread consumed me. Nick was getting married today—to someone who wasn’t me. And to make matters worse, he was marrying a person I couldn’t stand. My stomach felt like it was carrying a lead balloon inside it, and my feet felt like they were encased in concrete.
“I will not fall apart. I will not apart,” I chanted softly to myself. I had decided last night before falling asleep that it would be my mantra today. I’d fake it till I made it, or however the saying went.
Or at least I’d try.
But how was I supposed to be okay with this when I wasn’t? My mind rewound to when Nick and I were just starting out, our relationship a thing of envy for all the girls at school who weren’t me, Carla included. Everyone who assumed I was just another one-month date fest for Nick realized quickly how wrong they were, and all the girls who used to wait on the sidelines for their chance with him, stopped waiting. What we had wasn’t perfect, by any means, but it was ours.
How had we fallen so far from where we once were?
How the hell had this happened to us?
I will not fall apart. I will not fall apart. Nick did this. Nick happened to us.
Nick’s a pussy. The thought came out of nowhere, and I started laughing uncontrollably. I laughed and couldn’t stop, eventually waking Rachel up.
“The hell are you laughing at?” She sat up from the couch, rubbing at her eyes. The three of us had decided to sleep in the living room last night, like a good old-fashioned slumber party.
“I don’t know.” In a heartbeat, my laughter turned to tears, and I muttered, “Shit.”
I’d been laughing so I wouldn’t cry. Now it was too late to stop—the tears were falling.
“Oh, chica, come here.” Rachel pushed up and held out her arms, pulling me in for a hug.
“I don’t want to cry. He doesn’t deserve my tears anymore,” I said as my mind ran through a gamut of emotions.
“I don’t think these tears are for him,” she said as she
rubbed my back.
I pulled away and wiped at my face. “Who are they for then?”
“I think they’re for you.”
Brooke nodded. “You’re grieving. You haven’t really grieved the loss of your relationship because in the back of your mind, you were always holding on to the possibility of there being a future for the two of you. You let that go when you heard about his engagement, but today is the end.”
“It’s the nail in your guy’s coffin,” Rachel said, and their words only made the tears fall harder.
“I’ll be fine. After today I’ll be fine. I just need to get this out, I guess,” I said, my body shaking.
After a few minutes of silence, I pulled myself together and looked between them. “What time do bars open, anyway?”
When Rachel laughed and Brooke instantly looked worried, I said, “I’m kidding, Brooke.”
She looked to the ceiling and let out a sigh. “Thank goodness.”
As the day dragged on, I found myself staring at the clock on my phone more than usual. Nick’s wedding started at four thirty, and the lead balloon in my stomach grew heavier with each hour that passed.
“We have to be drinking by the time the wedding starts. I can’t be here. I have to be drowning in alcohol by then. Please. Promise me?” I begged, knowing how pathetic I sounded.
Rachel placed a hand on my shoulder. “We’ll head to the bar whenever you’re ready. But we’ll definitely be there by four, okay?”
“Okay.” I let out a long breath, feeling somewhat relieved. Apparently the cure for my broken heart was not only my girlfriends, but alcohol. Lots and lots of alcohol. And I wasn’t even that much of a drinker.
We got ready together in the bathroom, and Brooke begrudgingly let Rachel do her hair and makeup. When she was done, Brooke looked gorgeous but nothing like herself, and even though I knew she was uncomfortable, but I could tell she also felt pretty.
“Thanks, Rachel,” she said as she stared at her reflection in the mirror.
“You have gorgeous skin and cheekbones, girl. All I did was accent them a little,” Rachel said with a wink.
