by Sam Westland
Contents
Cover Image
Title
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
About the Author
Copyright 2014 Sam Westland
All rights reserved.
The Less-Than-Perfect Wedding
Book design by Sam Westland
Cover Image Copyright 2014
Used under a Creative Commons Attribution License:
http://www.creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0
NOTE: For best results, read this ebook with a white background.
For Mary Ellen, my first reader
(who fixed so many things)
The Wedding
*
Like all good stories, this one ends - and starts, for that matter - with a wedding.
Not my wedding, though - my sister's wedding. Two years after my wedding, in fact. If you can even call that utter disaster a wedding.
Looking around, however, I have to say that my sister's wedding has turned out much better. As far as I knew, my sister's wedding cake was still intact. I was fairly sure that nobody had tried to sneak out of the wedding yet. Nobody had been caught in the coat closet, half-undressed and devoid of dignity. And I was certain that nobody in this wedding had received a concussion. All in all, a much better start than my own wedding.
I reached down, smoothing out small, imaginary wrinkles in the bright mauve fabric of my bridesmaid's dress as I stood at the front of the small gathering of people. People around me were chatting and murmuring, but I kept my eyes on the ground.
My sister had chosen to go with an outdoor wedding, and surprisingly, it all seemed to be working out. The afternoon sun was shining brightly and the air was pleasantly warm, with the slightest hint of a breeze keeping the air from settling. From my place at the front, I could catch faint strains of chamber music, piping out through the open doors of the church behind the reception.
In the front row, I could see our mother, Janice, somehow managing to sit quietly and not cause trouble. Rick, our father and her ex-husband, had conveniently been seated at the opposite end of the row, where he was immersed in quiet conversation with Blossom, his younger New-Age wife that had replaced our mother in his life. I still caught a couple of frosty glares from Janice, just from being once again forced into such close proximity with her ex-husband, but she had recently met a new man, she had informed us, and so she wasn't quite as focused on making Rick's life into total hell. I wish that she had exhibited such restraint at my wedding.
For a wonder, even Bryan, Blossom's illegitimate son and our stepbrother through forced adoption, was managing to keep himself under control. Sure, he was slumped down sullenly in his seat in the second row, but aside from a few longing glances towards the not-yet-open bar off to the side, he was remaining relatively quiet. Grandma Edith was parked on one side of him, and I knew that she wouldn't hesitate to whack him with her cane if he started mouthing off. I didn't recognize the middle-aged woman on Bryan's other side, but she had not yet acquired the shell-shocked look that came from prolonged conversation with my stepbrother and introduction to his "conspiracies."
On the other side of the aisle, things seemed much more relaxed, without the feeling of pent-up tension that was always in the air whenever my family gathered. The groom's parents, Jeff and Mary, had always struck me as very nice people. They were pleasant, agreeable, restrained, and I don't think they ever understood just how similar my family members were to tightly coiled springs, about to go off at any moment.
A moment later, the music died away, and then swelled again, this time to the familiar tune of "Bridal Chorus." Here comes the bride. Lifting up my eyes, I gazed down the aisle, watching as the back doors of the church opened at the far end and my sister, resplendent in white, made her way out.
The rest of the audience quieted, rising to their feet and turning to gaze back as my sister slowly moved down the aisle. Susan had chosen to go with the traditional wedding dress; her face was covered by the veil, and the long train of her dress moved over the green grass behind her. Beneath the veil, however, I thought that, for just a moment, I caught a glimpse of her smile.
I shifted my eyes up to the side, towards the center of the altar. The priest, Father Hemsley, was wearing his usual slightly unfocused smile, bobbing up and down slightly on his heels as he held his Bible clasped in front of him with both hands.
In front of the priest, however, was a tall, gorgeous man dressed perfectly in his tuxedo. Alex's eyes were also gazing down the aisle, a wide smile spread across his face. I had been struck by how handsome he was the very first time that we met, and I still couldn't get over that momentary breathlessness that fluttered in my chest every time I saw him.
This whole wedding felt awkward to me. Everything was going right, and it did nothing but remind me of my own wedding, just two years previously, when everything had gone wrong. My reception had been a disaster, Father Hemsley had caused a spectacle of his own, and my family had all but torn each other apart.
But that wasn't the worst part. Not by a long shot.
Once again, my eyes were pulled towards Alex, standing at attention at the front of the wedding. A rather ironic place for him to stand, I thought with a touch of dark humor. Two years ago, at my own wedding, Alex had also been standing at the front - as my husband-to-be. And now he was here in Susan's wedding.
Funny how things turn out.
Susan was now halfway up the aisle, her eyes fixed on the altar. She was headed straight for Alex, and I had to pull my eyes away. I had told myself, staring into the bathroom mirror, that I would keep all of my emotions in check, my feelings under control. I was the strong older sister, the one who remained steadfast in the face of hardship, unruffled by catastrophe, always able to pick up the pieces of my life and move on from a defeat. But now, in front of everyone, watching my sister advance towards the man I loved, I had to blink rapidly, trying and failing to keep a lid on my emotions.
Man, this was a messed-up state that I was in. Even I couldn't believe just how things had turned out. I knew that, for the wedding toasts after the ceremony, I would have to give a brief little summary, totaling up the love story in five minutes or less.
But really, the whole, interwoven, crazy, frustratingly hilarious tale began nearly three years ago, even before my own spectacular mess of a wedding. In fact, the whole protracted downward slide began, I was pretty sure, when Alex had decided that it was time to propose.
To me.
The Proposal
*
Slightly over two and a half years before my younger sister's wedding, things were very different. I was working full-time for a nonprofit, helping the organization plan fundraisers and other social events, and best of all, I was dating a man with whom I was irrevocably, irreversibly, head-over-heels in love.
After graduating from college, I had bounced around for a couple of years, and had ended up volunteering to spend a year working for Habitat for Humanity as part of the AmeriCorps program, agreeing to spend a year working long hours for next to no pay, all in the name of giving back. Or in my case, following the time-honored mantra that a paltry income is better than no job at
all.
Instead of having to go out into the cold winter air and work on construction, I fortunately lucked out and was given a job in the office, working at a desk in front of a computer, coordinating the various volunteer groups that donated their time. Even better was the fact that, after my year was up, I was offered a full-time job with Habitat. It still wasn't amazing pay, but I got to become a paid party planner, working to create fancy parties where the wealthy could socialize and, once properly lubricated from the open bar, send checks our way.
It was at one of these gatherings that I met Alex.
Despite months of planning, every event that I threw always dissolved into happy chaos by the night's end. Guests would be drunk, the high rollers would be playing with the auction toys for which they had overpaid, and by this point, most of the staff members and volunteers had usually managed to sneak a few drinks as well. I certainly was no exception.
Thanks to tonic, coke, and their friends gin and rum, I had elected to wander out onto the dance floor, awkwardly gyrating back and forth in the circle with my little clique of friends as the band played mediocre covers of the classic pop songs that our big donors enjoyed. I wasn't much of a dancer even when I was sober, but I figured that it was late, my friends at Habitat for Humanity were just as crappy dancers, and I deserved to cut loose.
One of the weird quirks of this gala was that, because it was celebrating a construction nonprofit, the dress code had become a strange combination of construction safety gear and formal wear. Many of the men were dressed in suits with duct tape or caution tape ties, and more feet were in heavy construction boots than dress shoes. I had made my own concession to the theme by picking out the bright orange safety vest from a child's construction costume. It managed to fit snugly around my shoulders, hanging only slightly below the fairly significant cleavage showed off by my low-cut red dress.
As the band's Elvis cover drew to a merciful close, I glanced up and caught the eye of a man in a suit, around my age, on the other side of the dance floor. He was wearing a rather pained expression on his face, and appeared to be trying to keep a rather portly middle-aged man from stumbling out onto the dance floor.
I sensed that a potential disruption was about to occur. That was why I decided to go intervene, I told myself as I crossed the dance floor towards the pair. It certainly wasn't because the younger man was strikingly attractive and it had been quite a while since my last date. Stepping around a group of older ladies, I stopped smartly in front of the older man, who leaned back from my sudden appearance.
"Is something the matter?" I asked politely, my words directed towards both men but my eyes lingering on the face of the younger.
Looking back at me, he opened his mouth, but the shorter, older fellow that he had been holding on to spoke first. "No, nothing's wrong," the man said, his words sounding rather slurred. "Nothing wrong, no. I'm just going to go, um, use the bathroom." Tugging his arm free of the restraint, he tottered off the dance floor, weaving back and forth as he headed vaguely in the direction of the restrooms.
I glanced at the younger man, who now wore an expression of clear relief spread across his face. "What was his deal?" I asked, tilting my head slightly in the direction of the receding backside of the gentleman.
"Oh, it's a whole story," the man groaned, with an exaggerated eye roll. "Let's just say that he's a divorced corporate bigwig who didn't realize that his ex-wife, now married to another corporate bigwig, would also be invited to the same charity function. And now, after imbibing deeply in the plentiful wine, this divorced corporate bigwig has decided that the best course of action would be to yank down his ex-wife's dress out on the dance floor. And since I'm the bigwig's only underling in attendance with the balls to confront him, it became my job to try and dissuade him from that course of action." Speech concluded, the young man ran one hand through his hair.
I smiled, while I tried unsuccessfully to ignore the little voice in the back of my head that pointed out how attractive he looked with his hair mussed like that. "I can help with that," I said, politely extending one hand to lead off the dance floor, towards the bartender's station. "And as one of the organizers of this charity event, I'm fairly certain that preventing a donor's wife from being debagged on the dance floor deserves a free drink."
The man grinned down at me. "That would be the first good thing that's happened to me all evening," he confessed. He held out his hand to me. "I'm Alex, by the way. Alex Wilson, financial planner and voice of common sense to my much-better-paid bosses."
I accepted the offer, shaking his hand. "Danielle Jansen," I said, "event planner, peace enforcer, and woefully underpaid in the nonprofit sector." We both grinned as we shook hands, and the bartender slid two cups of beer over to us.
After taking a long drag of beer, Alex eyed me up and down, his expression appraising. "Did you steal that construction vest from a small child?" he asked. "Tell the truth, now."
I met his gaze, a mock glare painted across my face. "What about you?" I shot back. "I don't see any construction details on your suit at all! Didn't you hear the theme?"
Alex smiled, tugging his suit jacket open. I gasped with delight - Alex had fashioned a pair of suspenders out of bright orange nylon webbing! "I love them!" I exclaimed.
Letting his jacket fall back down on his shoulders, Alex picked up the beer again and, in a couple long pulls, drained the cup, setting it down on the bar with a satisfying thump. "It sounds like the band has a few more songs still," he observed. "Care to join me on the dance floor?"
Without even waiting for a response, he reached down and grabbed my hand, urging me along. I quickly set down my beer and allowed him to lead me out onto the dance floor. Sure, my moves were as terrible as ever, but Alex was beaming at me the entire time, laughing along with me as he showed off his equally cheesy dancing skills. By the time the band finished its last number, we were both sweaty, out of breath, and unable to stop laughing at each other.
Alex had to leave with his boss, making sure that the drunk man made it home safely, but he left with my number in his phone, and I wore a smile through the entire shutdown process after the patrons had left. We hadn't even officially started dating, but I already felt the butterflies fluttering in my stomach, every time that Alex's eyes fell on me. I knew that I was in love. I had no idea, however, just how crazy things would become.
*
Nearly two years later, I was luxuriating in a hot shower, clouds of steam filling the bathroom. Just as I had hoped, Alex had called the next day and asked me out. One date led to another, and scarcely a year later, we had decided that we were ready to take the plunge and move in together.
After weeks of apartment hunting, we finally found a place, conveniently close to both of our workplaces. Before putting down the deposit, I had stopped and looked into Alex's eyes. "Are you sure that you want to do this?" I asked, holding up the check in one hand. "We can still back out."
Without taking his eyes from me, Alex reached out to take the hand holding the check, guiding it down to the counter. "We're doing this," he said, his eyes never leaving mine as a slight grin danced around the corners of his mouth.
And things had gone amazingly well. Our friends had been impressed at how well we clicked together, and I had heard the word "soulmates" thrown around on multiple occasions. We had settled in perfectly together, and even as I lounged beneath the wonderful stream of hot water, I knew that Alex would be waiting for me in the bedroom, kindly keeping the lights on until I was lying there next to him.
After I had toweled myself off from my shower, I padded down the hall to our bedroom. Alex was in bed already, his face illuminated by the glow of his iPad. The little furrow in his brow told me that he was focused on whatever he was reading - probably some financial brief - but he blinked and looked up as I crawled into bed beside him.
"Honey, I've been thinking," Alex said, as I snuggled up closer to him to absorb his body heat.
"Mmm, that's never a
good idea," I murmured back, refusing to open my eyes as I pressed against him.
My boyfriend refused to rise to this jibe. "You know, Christmas is coming up in a couple of weeks," he observed.
"Yes, it is," I agreed, not sure where this was going. Wrapping one arm over Alex's chest, I squirmed until my head was nestled into his warm armpit. I pulled in a deep breath, catching slight hints of the smell of his deodorant.
Alex reached over with his arm, tucking it around me so that I better fit against him, but he was still sitting up, still considering his same line of thought. "Hon, I think we should spend this Christmas with your parents."
That was not what I expected. I hauled myself up, pulling out of Alex's embrace to stare down at him. "What?" I exclaimed. "Are you crazy?"
On this point, unfortunately, my boyfriend didn't seem to be willing to back down. "We spent Christmas last year with my parents," he pointed out in what I felt was an unreasonably calm and logical manner. "It's only fair that we alternate whose parents and families we visit."
"You've met my parents before!" I argued. "You know what they're like! If we spend Christmas with them, we'll just end up being constantly caught in the middle of their constant arguments."
Alex was nodding as I spoke, but I recognized the gesture. This was his 'understanding' nod, the comforting, sympathetic movement that he would use to put his clients at ease before delivering bad news. "Maybe, if we're there, we will distract them from their squabbling," he offered, using his extra-reasonable tone of voice.
I kept on trying to protest, but I knew, long after I admitted it to Alex, that he had won this argument. He had picked his battlefield well; I was warm and sleepy after my shower, and my eyelids were sagging from the moment that I crawled into bed.
Eventually, Alex was able to extract a sleepy agreement that, two days before Christmas, we would pack our bags and make the hour-and-a-half drive to my parents' house. Even as I finally slipped off into sleep, I couldn't figure out why in the world Alex would want to see my parents, much less for three days. The weird, strained relationship between my mother could drive anyone - Alex included - up the wall with frustration.
