Just Watch the Fireworks

by Monica Alexander

  I held up my left hand to her. She shook her head.

  “I call bullshit. If you truly wanted to marry Ryan, you would never have considered kissing Beckett let alone sleeping with him. Besides, you were right before when you said you were screwed. Ryan’s not going to forgive you for this.”

  I hung my head in defeat. “I know. This sucks.”

  “So do you really not want to be with Beckett?” Kate asked.

  “No, I don’t,” I said, figuring it was easier than explaining the nine million reasons why I couldn’t be with him.

  “Wow. Okay,” Kate said. Summer just rubbed my back with her hand. “So, sabotage.”

  “What?” Summer and I asked, looking up at Kate in question.

  “You didn’t want to marry to Ryan, but you freaked when he asked,” Kate said. “You were already thinking he was going to break things off with you, so you were preparing for the end. Then he threw you for a loop with the proposal, and you got caught up in the moment, convincing yourself that even if you didn’t want to get married, you still wanted to be with him.”

  She took a breath, pausing for emphasis.

  “So,” she continued, “you found a way to sabotage the relationship, so he would have to break up with you.”

  Summer and I just stared at her, not sure how to respond.

  “You’re delusional,” I finally said, but part of me was wondering if she just might be right.

  Twenty-Eight

  “It’s perfect,” Lauren said.

  “You look perfect,” I said, taking in the blond in the long white satin dress, smiling down at me from the carriage that would take her and her new husband, Joe, to the Four Seasons, following the trail that Paul Revere rode, in reverse.

  “Thank you so much for making this happen,” she gushed.

  “It was my pleasure,” I said, always the dutiful wedding planner.

  She was right. It had been a feat to get the right permits to have a horse and carriage travel through the streets of Boston, but I’d done it at her request. Her husband, the aforementioned ‘history geek’ looked like a kid at Christmas as he held her hand and smiled at her.

  “Now, go enjoy your ride,” I said. “We’ll see you in an hour at the hotel.”

  “We will,” she said, turning to kiss her husband to cheers from the crowd outside the Old North Church. With that, they were off and the crowd started to disperse.

  As I watched the couple snuggling close to each other, I felt a tug at my heartstrings as I wondered why it couldn’t be that simple for me. Why I couldn’t be happy with the one man who loved me. Why did I constantly feel like I was being pulled in two directions and neither was the right one? It was exhausting. It had been two weeks since I ended things with Beckett, and I hadn’t seen or spoken to him since. As hard as it had been, and as much as it made my heart ache with longing, I didn’t call him. Even though I wanted to tell him I was sorry, that I loved him too and that I wanted to be with him, I knew I couldn’t do it.

  Ryan would be home in again three weeks, and I was going to tell him what had I’d done. I’d been holding back telling him over the phone, because you didn’t share with your fiancé that you’d had an affair from 3000 miles away. I owed it to him to have an in-person conversation. If he took me back and was willing to forgive me, I would be elated. If he didn’t, I would be okay. I had a feeling that he wouldn’t have it in him to stay with me if I hadn’t been faithful, so I had already prepared myself that I would be single. Maybe it was good for me. I hadn’t been single since I was seventeen. Maybe I needed to be on my own for a while.

  Thankfully work had been busy, so I was able to dive into that. I pretty much rotated my time between my apartment, my office and the various locations of vendors and venues that we were supporting. I’d also been working hard on my blog. The WomanInWhite had sent me one more message the Monday after I’d slept with Beckett which made me wonder if he had come clean to Julie about what we’d done. I was now more convinced than ever that she was the WomanInWhite. In her post, she’d simply called me a whore, so I blocked her from posting on my blog, knowing that she could easily create another screen name, but not really giving a shit if she did. I no longer cared what she thought. She was insignificant in the grand scheme of my life, and her opinions of me didn’t matter.

  Kate had been concerned after the whore comment was made, but her confidence had been restored when she saw how hard I was working. There also didn’t seem to be any negative fallout from Julie’s posts. We’d even booked two more weddings for the next year due to interest generated from my blog. I’d added a few more advertisers, so my side income had increased. That was a bright spot in my life. At least my student loans were getting paid.

  Summer even started to benefit from my blog. I’d begun to post a weekly update on finding the perfect dress, highlighting a different style, complete with a sketch provided by Summer’s artful hand. She was over the moon since the week before, someone had actually posted a comment asking where they could buy a dress she’d sketched. I think it was the first time she actually felt her dream of being a designer might pan out. She’d given the reader her email address and they’d set up a time to meet to discuss the possibility of Summer designing the dress for her November wedding.

  “Following the Freedom Trail backwards from The Old North Church. Now that’s something I thought only I’d ever want to do,” someone whispered in my ear, causing me to jump back.

  Most of the wedding guests had left for the reception at the Four Seasons. I’d been waiting to make sure no one had questions about where it was located before I headed over there myself, so I was caught off-guard by someone standing so close to me when I hadn’t heard him walk up. In that instant, my blood ran cold as I recognized the voice. It was a voice I would always recognize, whether whispered, shouted or heard at a normal pitch. That voice was so ingrained in my mind that I could never forget it.

  I knew he would be there. I’d successfully avoided him during the ceremony, but I knew seeing him that day would be inevitable. I’d even prepared myself for how I would react, knowing I needed to maintain my composure. I was at work. I couldn’t get into an argument with Beckett.

  I turned on my heel to face the last person I wanted to see in that moment, but I was nothing if not a good hostess, and I would be polite. He stood there, hands in his pockets, gazing at me apprehensively, looking like he’d seen better days.

  “Hi,” I said, looking down at my shoes.

  I noticed a small scuff mark on the front toe of my black heel from where I’d stumbled earlier in the day, chasing the ring bearer down the sidewalk when he’d decided to make a run for it with the rings. I’d have to pick up some black shoe polish the next time I was at Target.

  “How are you?” Beckett asked then, and I could hear the sadness in his voice.

  I looked up and smiled at him. “You should head over to the hotel. You’ll miss the start of the reception.”

  I couldn’t have this conversation with him. Not then, not there. I wasn’t sure what else there was to say. We’d made our points very clear already.

  He stood up a little straighter in that moment and nodded once. “You’re right. I should head over there.”

  It hurt to look at him. Little stabs kept attacking my heart as he steeled himself to deal with the same kind of pain. I wished he wasn’t hurting me, and I wished I wasn’t hurting him, but it just wasn’t that simple.

  “I actually need to head there myself. I need to make sure everything’s all set for the cocktail hour,” I said, making small talk.

  “Do you want to share a cab?” he asked then, and I could see the smallest hint of a hopeful look flash across his face. It seemed he was still holding out hope that I might change my mind about us, but I wasn’t going to.

  “No, thank you,” I said, in an effort to use politeness as a mask for rejection.

  I reached up to scratch a small itch on my nose and heard an inhalation of breath
from Beckett. I realized then that I’d used my left hand, flashing in his face the fact that I still wore Ryan’s four carat diamond ring. I opened my mouth to say something, but it was too late, Beckett had already walked past me to a waiting cab. I followed his lead, getting into the next cab that pulled up and asked the driver to take me to the Four Seasons. I leaned back against the seat, my heart heavy, a lump in my throat.

  As soon as we pulled up to the hotel, I sprang into wedding planner mode and pushed everything else to the back of my mind. The night needed to be perfect, and it was up to me to make sure it was. As I worked with the kitchen staff to ensure the four course meal was brought out at the specified times, escorted a drunk groomsman out of the ballroom and kept three small children away from the cake, there were only a few times that my eyes found Beckett. I watched him dance with several women and felt just a squeeze of jealously in those moments. I watched him smile as he talked to Joe and Lauren, and I watched him leave after the cake was cut. Not once did he look at me, and I realized that night that he was done.

  Once the last guest had filed out, the band had packed up their instruments and the presents had been loaded into Lauren’s sister’s car, I knew it was okay to leave. The wedding had been a smashing success, and I was exhausted. As I exited the Four Seasons, I texted Kate, who was at a wedding of her own that night to let her know that everything had gone as planned, and Weddings by Kate had another success story for the books. I would add it to the ‘Real Weddings’ section of my blog the next day, which would not only give ideas to future brides, but also show potential clients the kind of service they got from us.

  Kate texted back a smiley face which told me she was still busy and couldn’t talk just then. I knew we’d catch up at work on Monday since she had another wedding the next day in Cambridge. So I hopped into a waiting cab with every intention of heading home, but when we drove down Charles Street, past Beckett’s apartment, I had the driver stop. I wasn’t sure why I was doing it when I should be going home to bed, but I couldn’t help myself. I needed to make sure he was okay.

  Although it was a different town and a different time, going to Beckett’s house late at night felt more comfortable than anything I had ever done. In high school, we’d spent almost every day together, running between our houses at all hours of the day. When we’d first started dating, we’d had so much fun sneaking around together, squeezing in sleepovers when we could get away with them, especially since it wasn’t odd to find us together late at night or early in the morning. Once we had realized we both wanted to be together, we were inseparable.

  Years later, heading up to his apartment unannounced, felt more like I was in high school, sneaking over to his place to tell him goodnight. It shouldn’t have felt that familiar, especially since we were on the outs, but it did. As I stood on the front stoop, it took me almost a minute to work up the courage to ring the buzzer. From where I stood, I could see a light on in his apartment, so I knew he was home, but what I didn’t know was whether or not he was alone. I decided to take a chance and reached out to press the buzzer with my index finger.

  “Hello?” came Beckett’s confused voice which was expected since it was after midnight. At least he wasn’t expecting anyone. I took that as a good sign.

  “It’s me,” I said.

  “Courtney?” he asked, his voice full of confusion and surprise.

  “Yes.”

  He didn’t say anything then. He just pressed the button to let me in the front door of his building. The butterflies started flying around my stomach, as I made my way up the stairs to his apartment where the door stood open in anticipation of my arrival. I walked in the door without waiting for an invitation and closed it behind me. There in the living room sat Beckett wearing only blue striped pajama bottoms, drinking a beer and watching SportsCenter. He stared at me as I took off my shoes and set my bag down by the front door, but he didn’t say anything. My heart started to pound in my chest, as I realized how real the feelings I had for him were. He still took my breath away.

  “Can I have a beer?” I asked.

  In response, he silently walked to the kitchen, grabbed me a beer and returned to his spot on the couch. I sat down at the opposite end, took the beer from him and took a long pull, trying to work up what to say to him. I had no plan when I’d decided to ambush him, so I wasn’t sure what my intentions were in that moment.

  “Did you have a good time at the wedding?” I asked, taking another sip of my beer as I eyed him at the other end of the couch. I figured opting for small talk would be my best bet.

  “It was alright,” he said, but he didn’t elaborate.

  I nodded in response and our staring contest resumed.

  “I’m sorry,” I said then, opting for something simple that conveyed how I truly felt.

  Instead of making a witty retort or singing the lyrics to some song, which would have been his norm, he just said, “You did what you thought was right.”

  I closed my eyes at that comment, realizing how incredibly shitty the whole situation really was. He was in pain, I was hurting and Ryan, although he was unaware, had been betrayed. It was a lose-lose-lose situation.

  “I see you’re still with him,” he said, gesturing to my left hand.

  “Yes,” I said. “I’m going to tell him what happened, though, the next time he’s home.”

  Beckett set his half-empty beer bottle on the coffee table and shifted his position to face me. I could see the glint of hope in his eyes. “Really?”

  I nodded.

  “So is there any chance that you’d . . . that we . . . that maybe– ”

  I shook my head, and he stopped talking. He closed his eyes and shook his head. When he finally opened his beautiful brown eyes and fixed them on me, I could see he was fighting back tears.

  “I won’t hurt you,” he said, sniffing once. “I won’t. I love you, Courtney. You have to know that.”

  I swallowed hard, thinking about what I was about to say. I’d never said it out loud to anyone. Not Summer, not Kate and not to Beckett, but for the first time I needed to say it.

  “I love you, too,” I said.

  “You don’t love me,” he said, but then he sniffed again. “If you did, you wouldn’t be doing this.”

  I could tell he was fighting as hard as he could not to get emotional in front of me, but it was a losing battle. I moved from my spot on the couch so I was sitting just inches from him. I put my hand on his cheek and instead of pushing it away or telling me to leave he leaned his head into my hand and closed his eyes.

  “I do love you,” I said. “That’s what makes this so hard.”

  I leaned forward and kissed him once on the lips, pressing my mouth so softly to his before pulling back.

  “Goodbye Beckett,” I said, and I got up to leave his apartment. As soon I as I was out the door, I burst into tears.

  Twenty-Nine

  Beckett didn’t call me again after that night, so I knew we were really done. It had been three weeks since the night of Lauren and Joe’s wedding when he’d laid all his cards on the table, and I’d essentially swept them all to the floor with my hand. I’d succeeded in breaking his heart for a third time. Worse than that, Ryan was coming home to visit, and I was going to tell him what happened. I was a wreck.

  Fortunately, I had a distraction. My mom had asked me to have dinner with her and her boyfriend Frank. They’d gotten engaged the weekend before. I was excited for my mother, and even with all I was going to through, I decided to put my drama aside and celebrate with her. She and Frank had been together for seven years, so this was a monumental announcement.

  I left work at noon on Friday and took the train to Quincy. My mother picked me up at the T station, giving me a big hug. She held me for a few moments, and I let her. I’d told her the edited version of what had happened between me and Beckett, leaving out the part that I’d cheated on Ryan. I wasn’t sure she’d be okay with that since she’d been the victim of cheating when my
dad had done it.

  “Sweetie, what’s wrong?” she asked, after we’d ordered lunch.

  We were at a little café in Scituate, right on the water. There were a few boats a half-mile off-shore, bobbing along the horizon. I knew my mom could tell something was wrong. I kept waiting to come out of the funk that I’d slipped into after the night I’d said goodbye to Beckett, but I never did. I missed him terribly, every day. I thought of calling him constantly, and even picked up the phone a few times, but I never got up the courage to dial his number.

  “I miss Beckett,” I said, squinting at her. The mid-August sun was bright overhead, and I’d forgotten my sunglasses.

  She reached across the table and put her hand on top of mine. “I know you do,” she said. “But it’s for the best. I don’t imagine it being very easy to be friends with someone who’s in love with you. Friends have to be on an even playing field in order for the friendship to work.”

  Tears sprung to my eyes in that moment, and I looked away. I didn’t need her to see me cry. I tried to discreetly wipe my eyes. Finally, I looked back at her and let my face crumble. I couldn’t hold back any longer.

  “You love him. too,” she said, understanding perfectly well what was causing my tears.

  I nodded.

  “Then what’s the problem?” she asked, raising her eyebrows and leaning forward. “Ryan?”

  I shook my head.

  “Courtney, what is it?” she asked, her tone soft, motherly.

  “I’m scared.”

  “Of?” she prompted.

  “He left me once. He’ll do it again. I can’t go through that kind of pain again,” I said, drawing in a ragged breath.

  “Because the pain your feeling now is so much better,” she reasoned, prompting me to shoot her a look. She didn’t wait for me to say anything. “You slept with him, didn’t you?”