A Previous Engagement

by Stephanie Haddad

  “Hey,” Christian whispered into my ear, his breath disturbing the tiny wisps of hair at my temple and sending a chill across my skin. “It’s our flower.”

  Christian let me sit down during the ceremony while he danced around to take about a thousand shots. From my pew in the back, I admired the skillful subtlety of his movements. The way he crouched down out of the way so guests could take their own pictures, how he made himself invisible but still fully present, how he knew where to stand for all the best viewpoints. Meanwhile, the guests watched the couple exchange vows undisturbed, thanks to his stealth. I tuned in and out, fixated on Christian’s inherent covertness.

  When it was all over, I found Kendra and Grant in the crowd. She was trying to wipe away a tear without getting caught, so I slipped a tissue into her hand and started a conversation. Kendra hated when people saw her cry, even one tear, so it was my friendly duty to step in. Plus, her emotions were probably running fairly high at the moment, and no one could know that yet. When she recovered, she whispered a thank you.

  “So you’re helping Christian today?”

  “What gave it away?” I asked, pointing to the giant camera bag slung onto my shoulder. “Not this?”

  “I thought that was just your purse, Tess,” said Grant, who apparently thought he was funny.

  “No, this is my purse,” I gestured toward the bag on my other shoulder, a stylish bargain in a deep burgundy that contained basically my entire life. Grant took it in, raising his eyebrows incredulously.

  “Oh be quiet, Grant. A woman is entitled to carry as big a purse as she likes. You’re just jealous because it’s not socially acceptable for you to carry a purse.” I stuck my tongue out at him.

  “You do carry huge purses, Tess,” Kendra said. “Remember when we had that talk about the difference between a clutch and a duffel bag?”

  “Whatever, guys. I’m working now.”

  I promised to catch up with them later and rushed down the aisle to a beckoning photographer in need of something I couldn’t pronounce. I made him point to it before I handed it over.

  “This is what I get for hiring a novice,” he shook his head, twisting and turning some other camera parts that had no clear purpose to me. Then he took off his jacket, handed it to me, and rolled up his sleeves. “One day, I’m going to teach you all I know, young grasshopper. For today, sit over there and get cozy, I’ve got quite a few shots of the wedding party before we get any hors d’oeuvres.”

  I sighed, as I slinked into an empty pew and propped my elbows on the back of the bench in front of me. If I remembered correctly, waiting for portraits was the dullest part of the day for a photographer’s assistant. It would’ve been nice of Kendra to keep me company, under the circumstances.

  “Tess? Tessa Monroe?”

  I looked up to see a vaguely familiar face, her red hair in a sleek bob. Paired with her yellow and green bridesmaid dress she kind of resembled a woodland fairy, minus the wings. “Mackenzie Burke,” she smiled, shaking my hand. “We went to junior high together.”

  “Oh, right! It’s nice to see you again! What are you doing here?”

  She gestured up and down the length of her dress, waving the bouquet. “Bridesmaid.”

  “Ah, I see.”

  “Kimmy—that’s the bride—was my college roommate. We’ve been friends ever since. How about you? Do you know Patrick?”

  “Patrick?”

  “The groom.” She frowned. “I’ll take that as a no.”

  “Oh, no,” I smiled weakly. “I’m standing in as the photographer’s assistant for the day.”

  “That photographer? Isn’t that Christian Douglas?”

  “Um… yes.”

  “The little nerd with the big-rimmed glasses from school? Wasn’t he always quoting Star Wars or Star Trek or something?”

  “Trek,” I said pointedly. All these years spent with Christian made me just as sensitive to how easily people interchanged the two. There’s a big difference, people. “And yes, that’s him.”

  “I can’t believe it! And you work with him, you lucky bitch.” She was staring after him in that voracious, man-eating way so many women did. “My God… That must be distracting.”

  I wrinkled my eyebrows. Christian? Distracting? I looked at him, taking command of the bride’s family, posing a grandmother here and a brother there, like the masterful conductor of an orchestra. It was distracting how talented he was, sure, but I didn’t think I quite understood her point.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “He’s painfully fucking hot,” Mackenzie whispered, obviously aware this was not church-appropriate language. “I was having a pretty hard time concentrating on the vows with him prancing around.”

  I looked again, trying to see Christian the way other women did. This wasn’t the first time someone commented to me about his looks, but when you grow up knowing someone, it’s so easy to see only their good heart and the things inside that make them special. Not to sound like a cheesy after-school special, but I loved my friends for who they were, not what they looked like. With a different pair of eyes, I inspected him from head to toe.

  A new version of Christian started to emerge, where familiar details took on new scrutiny. The tousled hair that was both tidy but deliciously unkempt, his rolled shirt sleeves exposing a toned pair of forearms that flexed as he maneuvered the camera, the way his suit pants hugged his waistline before dropping to the floor. When he bent over to talk to the flower girl, I truly saw his ass for the first time in my entire life.

  Wow, Christian. Nice work.

  “Huh.” The constant flock of women suddenly made sense. “I guess I just never noticed before.”

  Mackenzie scoffed, condemning me insane. When Christian turned towards us, looking for the missing bridesmaid to complete the shot, my back straightened. The movement, though small, was enough to catch his eye and we smiled at each other across the church. I suddenly felt very funny. Funny in a way I hadn’t felt in a very long time.

  ****

  I got drunk at the wedding. Not the kind of drunk where you’re lying on the floor unconscious and you die from choking on your own vomit. More like the kind of drunk where you say things you shouldn’t, do things you shouldn’t, and sometimes dance on tables.

  It wasn’t like me to drink on the job, but since Christian was the one bringing me the drinks, it seemed okay. Kendra and Grant helped too, as though the general consensus was that I needed to be drunk enough to forget my name, address, and place of employment. I suspect they just wanted me to really relax and leave work behind me for one night. I could’ve told them I was already doing that. To be honest, a night without Savannah kept me focused on things outside Prime quite easily.

  At some point, I made friends with the bride and groom, who I deemed the cutest couple in the universe. I wanted to pinch their cheeks, which I think I might have actually confessed to them. As far as I know, I did not pinch anything. They were college sweethearts who met in French class one day, thanks to a mutual friend, and they regaled me with the tale over a drink.

  “You see,” I was saying, poking the bride in the shoulder. “You see. These are the love stories that no one hears anymore. You guys are just, wow. You. Guys. I think you’re necklace matches your eyes, Kimmy. Did you know that?”

  “Um, thanks,” she replied, her eyes darting behind me. “Do you know where Christian is?”

  “Why would I know that?” I demanded. “I’m not his girlfriend or anything.”

  “But you are his assistant,” said the groom. Peter? Paul?

  “Hahaha! You need a Mary!”

  The happy couple lost interest as my blood alcohol level increased, and eventually wandered off to greet other guests. Christian was on the dance floor taking candid shots, surrounded by a flock of dateless girls. They danced around him, pretending to just—oops!—accidentally bump into him, but I saw what was really going on.

  “All right, move it,” I plowed through them. One gi
rl’s gigantic stiletto heel slid out from under her and she toppled over, bringing down the rest of them like dominos. Only the photographer survived, but I noticed, for once, that he wasn’t taking any pictures of the events unfolding before his lens. I reached out for him. “Christian! I got you. Come on!”

  He didn’t look happy to be rescued. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m saving you. From the skanks!” As I said this, a pair of hands wrapped around my arm and whisked me away. It was Kendra, who was always on drunk Tess patrol at such events. Normally, she herded me into the ladies’ room anytime I said or did anything inappropriate and poured water, coffee, or whatever else was handy down my throat. On this particular occasion, she locked me in a stall before I had time to protest. A bottle of Poland Spring flew over the door and whacked me in the head.

  “Let me out of here! I’m supposed to have a break dancing contest with the bride’s grandma!” I banged on the wall of my isolation chamber. “I didn’t do anything wrong. This isn’t fair!”

  “She had her hip replaced six months ago!”

  “But she promised me!”

  The door clicked open and Kendra’s scowl came into view. She wasn’t letting me out any time soon. “Drink that!” she pointed to the water in my hand. “Anyway, that’s not why you’re in here. I think you have something to tell me. Now talk.”

  “Huh?” I plopped onto the toilet seat, careful to keep my dress out of the water. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Yes, you do,” Kendra crossed her arms, leaning against the frame of the stall. If I’d been sober, I probably could’ve pushed past her and made it to safety. I wasn’t sober, so this pair of heels stayed put. Instead, I gave in and drank some water. “What was that back there? With Christian?”

  “They were molesting him. Like a pack of wild monkeys.”

  She fought a smile, forced seriousness back into her features, and looked at me sternly. It was the same look she gave Riley when he put crayons in the DVD player. “Tess, this is his job. He always gets felt up on the dance floor, while also shooting awesome pictures, then we laugh about it while he swears up and down that the drunken sluts are his least favorite part of the job. We’ve done this a hundred times!”

  “Oh God,” I suddenly straightened up as a horrific thought struck me. I almost dropped the water bottle. “I’m a drunken slut.”

  Kendra groaned. “What’s gotten into you lately?”

  “Work is—”

  “No,” she grabbed my arm. I dropped the water this time, but the cap was on. It rolled underneath the stall partition and into the far wall, three or four stalls away. “Work is nothing. I need you to look me in the eyes right now and answer a question for me.”

  “Come on,” I wriggled free of her grasp. “I’m tired and drunk and I don’t want to talk right now.”

  “Quit whining,” she gave me another look usually reserved for a cranky Riley. “Remember how I told you not-in-so-many-words that I’m having a baby?” I nodded, thrilled to hear her say the words aloud. Now was not the time for the new-baby dance. “It’s because I trust you, I care about you. I love you. I knew you’d understand all the crazies in my head. Now I think you’ve got the crazies in your head and I want to help you. You’re my best friend, but I’m yours too.”

  I nodded again, this time biting back tears. She hugged me tightly, which seemed awkward in the ladies’ room, but I went with it. Then she stepped back, holding my hands in hers, and looked right into my eyes.

  “So answer a question for me. Yes or no is fine.”

  “Okay.” I held my breath, not sure what was happening here. I had no reason to suspect it was bad, but I couldn’t fight the feeling of dread rising up from my stomach.

  “Are you in love with Christian?”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  I suddenly needed that water bottle. My throat dried, my voice evaporated, my pulse quickened. Dehydration. Yeah, good excuse.

  “Well?” Kendra persisted. “Yes or no?”

  “I—I—You—He—” At least I’d found my voice. Finding the words was an altogether different problem.

  “Those are pronouns, not answers. Spill it, Tess. I kinda need to know, okay? As your official monkey-in-the-middle for twenty years, I deserve some answers.”

  “Huh?”

  “You are so dense sometimes, it’s unreal.”

  I crossed my arms, fighting the shivers of the over-air-conditioned hotel bathroom. I pushed passed her to search the amenity basket—provided, with love, from the bride and groom, according to the ribbon—for some mouthwash or some gum. Anything.

  “Are you not aware that you’ve been in love with him for your entire life?”

  I found some gum, which I popped from the tin foil pod and crushed between my teeth. Yuck. Spearmint. I spit it out in the trash. “Can we do this somewhere else? Like, not in a bathroom?”

  “I think now works.” She placed a hand on my shoulder and our eyes connected. “I’ve wanted to do this for a long time. If you can’t see it, someone needs to beat you until you do.”

  “Let me guess. You called a meeting with yourself, voted, and eked out a victory as ‘chosen interrogator?’”

  She crossed her arms at me this time, lowered her eyebrows, and leaned into the wall. “I am pregnant, wearing heels, and getting hungrier by the nanosecond. So you listen here, Tessa Monroe,” she sounded angry, so I listened. “I watched you pine for him in high school, convince yourself that he wasn’t your type. Then I watched you pine for him in college, hundreds of miles away from each other, flinging yourself at every guy you could find and regretting that every one of them wasn’t Christian. And then after college, I thought ‘Oh good, they’ll get together now that they’re adults and mature and back in the same state.’ But no! Tessa Monroe needs a career, ladies and gentlemen, so she can’t see the obvious, right in front of her face.”

  The palm she held inches from my face was pretty clear.

  “That’s not fair, you know. It’s not just me. Christian’s not interested in me. Maybe he was, once upon a time, but he’s been parading girlfriends in front of me for years.”

  “How is that any different from your own behavior in college? Have you ever asked him how he feels?” I shook my head, my eyes scrutinizing the mauve floor tiles. “Maybe you should.”

  ****

  Of course, after a conversation like that, how does one go about ‘acting normal’ around the person in question? When I met up with Christian again, I let him fuel me with more alcohol and stuttered an apology for my attempted rescue. He took it in stride, but made himself busy in other locations with candid shots until it was time to go home. Despite my rules about not drinking out of loneliness, sadness, or boredom, I must confess to having one martini for each problem. Between drinks, I tried to pass time on the dance floor and chatting with a few guests, some of them old friends from high school.

  Then it was over. The music stopped, the lights came up, and everyone dashed for the exit. I packed up the equipment, slung it over my shoulder, stumbled for a few paces, and then started my rounds. I said goodbye to the happy couple, who looked all star-struck and romantic, then gave hugs to Grant and Kendra, who just looked exhausted. Ah, the path of love was a weary one, indeed, I marveled in my half-drunken brain. I crossed the empty dance floor to find Christian, packing up the last of his camera parts—whatever they were called.

  “Nice work, boss,” I decided to pretend nothing happened in the bathroom and my world had not been rocked by the most aggressive Cupid on earth. Bathroom? What bathroom?

  “Thanks for your help, Tessie,” he smiled at me, that same familiar smile I’d delighted in for over two decades. It still brought me warmth after all that time.

  We were the last to leave the hall, except for the catering staff, and I regretted not having the time for a dance together during the reception. Just one dance, for old time’s sake. Who knew where it would go?

  Except for o
ne tiny problem, which hit me acutely in the stomach like a right hook: Savannah. Because of my uncanny match-making skills, Christian would never ever be interested in me ever. Ever. I didn’t even know if I was ready to start thinking about telling Christian how I felt—if I felt what I thought I felt—and already I was road blocked. By myself.

  Shakespeare would’ve been proud.

  As all of these thoughts warred with one another inside my aching head, I followed Christian wordlessly across the foyer and to the elevator. I wanted to grab his arm to stay steady, but I suddenly felt self-conscious about everything I did around him. He hit the button and stood staring at me for a minute, then looked relieved when the bell dinged the elevator car’s arrival.

  I followed him inside, or rather, tripped into the elevator. He caught me—and his equipment—and chuckled quietly. If all else fails, I could always lighten the mood with my clumsiness.

  “I got you something,” Christian said as he hit the button for the ground floor.

  We settled against the back wall of the elevator after the doors closed and he slid his arm around my shoulders. My heart beat violently against my ribcage as I replayed my conversation with Kendra in my head. Oh God, I’d been so obvious all this time! Obvious to everyone but myself. Being close to him, close enough to inhale his cologne, to look up and see his jaw and chin, the side of his face, the curl of sandy brown hair at his temple—it was too much for my nervous system to process. I’d never known before how perfectly I fit here, how my head just reached his shoulder and my waist curved at his wrist.

  Because I wasn’t supposed to be standing there at all. This was Savannah’s spot. I was usurping Savannah, after all the pains I’d gone just to get them together! What an idiot I’d been.

  “Here. For you, Tessie.” He presented me with one single daisy with a broken stem, no doubt plucked from a centerpiece or bouquet. My heart stopped beating and leapt into my throat.

  “For me?” Awed, I took the daisy from him and lifted it to my nose. I inhaled the gentle fragrance, letting it fill me with emotions I never expected to feel in an elevator with my oldest friend. What was happening to my life? “Oh, I love that smell.”