by Denise Wells
I’m still watching.
Like the pathetic fucking sap that I am.
I can see they are finally finishing with the speeches and I turn the audio back on. The speeches were boring as fuck to listen to. I’m on my second cigar and my third glass of scotch. Tabatha is on her fourth glass of champagne—yes, I’m counting—and openly flaunting it in front of Sippycup . . .
Nah, that one doesn’t work as well as the names with cock in them.
Sippycock? Eh. I think I used that one already.
Dippycock.
That works. I watch as she flaunts her fourth flute of champagne in front of Dippycock, walking around the large room mingling with the guests. And every so often, she catches Hunter’s eye and raises her glass to him with a big smile. To the outside observer, it looks sweet. But to the guy who knows her facial expressions and smiles—me—she’s on the war path. God love that girl.
The restaurant has been rearranged for the occasion, with a main table for ten in the middle, encircled by six-tops artfully arranged to ensure no one feels as though they have a bad table. There are flowers everywhere, along with a banner congratulating the happy couple. Combine that with all the monogrammed shit, and I’m surprised no one has busted out a slide show of how they met.
Liza announces dinner. It’s when they are moving to their seats that I see him grab her arm too hard to be nice, then pull her back to the side. He seizes the champagne flute from her hand forcibly, spilling it in the process. She yanks her arm from his grasp. If he hurts her, I will kill him.
I turn the audio up to see if I can hear anything.
Jackpot!
“Don’t you dare try to dictate my actions, Hunter. I won’t stand for it. I’m a grown woman, capable of making my own decisions. Maybe if you weren’t being such an ass, I wouldn’t feel the need to drink,” Tabby says.
“You don’t think you’ve embarrassed me enough already? Now you want to be known as the town drunk?”
“Drunk?” She laughs. It’s forced and fake. “Jesus, Hunter. Are you kidding me? I’m nowhere near drunk. And even if I were, it’s a party. Or didn’t you notice? It would do you some good to loosen up once in a while.”
“I don’t even know who you are anymore, Tabatha. It’s like you’re a different person—”
“It’s called growth, Hunter. It’s what people do as they move through life. They grow and progress. You should try it sometime.”
“You aren’t the same person I asked to marry me.”
“Actually, I am. I’m just letting you see more of me than I did before,” Tabatha says.
“Well, maybe I liked less of you better,” Hunter hisses.
Tabatha takes a step back, stunned.
I stand, wondering if I should go down there. Wanting to. Knowing I shouldn’t. Before I can decide, the door opens and Gregor steps in.
“You’re listening in?” He looks at me eyebrows raised.
“Yeah, but it’s not as bad as you think,” I say.
His expression remains the same.
“Fine, it is as bad. But they are fighting right now, and Hunter just told Tabatha that he likes less of her better.” I sit back down on the sofa with a bit of a flop.
“Less of her? My god, she’s so thin already.”
“No, like less of her personality. Less of her as a person.”
“Oh. Interesting. Okay, scoot over.”
Gregor joins me on the sofa I’ve pulled in front of the window, lights his own cigar, and then pours himself a few fingers of scotch.
“Did you see that Maisey is here?” he asks.
“Yeah, I figured that would make you happy, man.”
“It does. She’s coming to the wedding with me. I mean, technically she will already be there, but she’s going to sit with me at the ceremony and reception, so you’re off the hook with being my plus-one.”
“No problem at all. It’s not like I was going to enjoy watching her do this anyway.”
I watch as Tabatha turns to Hunter. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea, Hunter,” she says.
“What? You drinking? That would be true, yes.”
“No,” she scoffs. “Us getting married.”
“Don’t be daft, Tabatha. We are due to marry tomorrow. There are six hundred people attending. We have over fifty people here tonight. We can’t just cancel because you can’t control your drinking.”
“It was one fucking night, Hunter. I let loose with my girlfriends. It’s not like I’m an alcoholic. Jesus Christ, get over yourself.”
“One night?” He looks up and to the side, as though thinking. “If that was one night, what’s tonight?”
“It’s a celebration. Or at least it’s supposed to be.”
“I don’t even know you anymore, Tabatha. This person you are pretending to be. This facade you’re portraying. I don’t understand why you are doing this.”
She laughs, but it’s caustic. “You think that’s what I’m doing now? Ha! That’s what I’ve been doing up until now, Hunter. You’ve only just begun to see bits of the real me.” Tabatha’s voice rises. People from the restaurant have stopped talking and started watching.
“What are you talking about, the real you?” Hunter sneers. “I don’t even know what that means.”
“I’m an actress, Hunter. All I do is play a part, for every facet of my life—for whatever role I need to play. And that includes with you. I’ve played the role of myself but only the part that you would find desirable. But it’s not the real me.”
“So, you’re trying to tell me that you’re just this elusive creature who plays someone different depending on who she’s with?”
“Yes, in a way. Except maybe with my girlfriends, and . . .”
“And what, Tabatha? Pax. Were you going to say, except with your girlfriends and Pax?” The look on his face is ugly and condescending.
“Yes, I was.” She juts out her chin.
I fist pump the air.
“I see, so your ex gets you, and I get what exactly?”
“You get the Tabatha that you like.”
“I can guarantee I’m not liking this Tabatha,” he says. “I prefer the other you.”
“That’s because she’s fake!”
Gasps make their way through the crowd that has gathered to watch.
It’s too bad popcorn doesn’t go with scotch and cigars. This is such a popcorn worthy spectacle.
“Do you realize I get up before you most mornings to fix my face so you don’t see me without makeup?” Tabatha asks. “And this”—she reaches up under her dress and pulls something down—“is called a control top undergarment, to make sure I look sleek and thin, just the way you like me.” She steps out of the garment and picks it up, tossing it at him.
I chuckle.
She doesn’t stop there. “My hair is not naturally this thick, Hunter. No one’s is.” She fiddles with her curls then pulls a hair extension from it, along with two more, and tosses them toward Hunter. “My nails? Gel polish so they don’t chip. My eyelashes? Fake! I have them refilled every two weeks.” She blinks exaggeratedly at him.
“I would have sworn her lashes were real,” Gregor says. I look at him, not sure if he’s joking or not. The sides of his mouth twitch like he wants to smile, but he doesn’t. I backhand him on the arm and resume watching.
“Every goddamn thing about me that you find acceptable is fake and has zero to do with the actual me. You even want to enlarge my breasts. I mean, let’s face it, Hunter, is there anything real about me that you like?”
Hunter starts looking around, as though finally realizing that they have an audience.
“I won’t do this here with you, Tabatha.” His voice is low.
“Of course not.” She stares him down, her gaze fierce. “Where would you like to do it?”
“I don’t even know what it is we are doing. We are to be married tomorrow.” His voice rises as he says it and carries across the crowd. “Pre-wedding jitters get the best
of everyone, I suppose.” He laughs uneasily. “Why don’t we all get a drink—I know I could use one—and we can sit down to dinner and try to salvage the remainder of the evening.” He walks into the small crowd with open arms, as though he’s trying to give them all a hug.
I turn to Gregor. “He’s just going to brush the whole thing off? And then what?”
“I’ll be damned if I can figure the guy out,” Gregor says.
“What a douche.” I pour myself another finger of scotch.
Tabatha raises her arms in exasperation and looks at Crystal, mouth agape. Crystal nods, then puts her arm around Tabby’s shoulders and leads her over to the main table.
Obviously, she agrees with Gregor and me.
Crystal grabs one of the bottles of wine already on the table and empties the entire bottle by pouring four large glasses. She hands one to Tabatha.
“Crystal didn’t get the memo that Tabatha isn’t allowed to drink anymore,” I say, voicing my thoughts aloud, enjoying the running commentary Gregor and I have going on.
“Well, he did say everyone should get a drink to salvage the evening,” Gregor deadpans.
Crystal motions for Angela and Maisey to join them, handing each a glass of wine as well, then starts to say something.
“Hey, turn it up,” I tell Gregor. Before we get a chance to hear what she says, Hunter approaches the group.
All four heads turn to look at him expectantly. He clears his throat. “I would like for the two of us to salvage the evening as well. This isn’t how I thought the night before our wedding would be. I apologize for voicing such things in front of other people.” His voice is loud, I’m sure for the benefit of others in the room who aren’t close by.
Tabatha nods at him. “Thank you.”
As they all take their seats at the table, I notice that even though Peckercox was feeling all apologetic a second ago, he doesn’t sit next to his betrothed during dinner, choosing instead a seat at the opposite end of the table.
25
Tabatha
Hunter and I had already planned to spend tonight apart. The whole, “don’t see the bride before the ceremony” thing. So, Crystal and I are staying in a suite tonight, where we can get ready together in the morning. I’m assuming Hunter is staying at our house, but I never double-checked with him to see.
“Well, that was an interesting night,” Crystal says. It’s just her and me in the car Hunter arranged to bring us to the Cascadian House from dinner. Maisey And Angela went home. Maisey, to spend the night with her daughter, and Angela so she can drive herself in tomorrow.
“True. Do you think it’s wrong for me to marry him?”
“Wrong? I don’t know if that’s the right question. No pun intended. I mean, tonight seemed a bit brutal to me. But you’re the only one who knows what your relationship with Hunter is like behind closed doors. And what’s consistent and long-term.”
“Tonight sucked, for sure, but so have the last few weeks, really. Everything has been so up and down.”
“Which is your big reason for leaving Pax, and your big reason for being with Hunter, because he isn’t up and down. And you never fight. Which, just for the record, I think is weird. All couples fight. That’s normal. It’s how you make up and proceed that matters. But continue, please.”
“Ever since I took the mini-series part, he’s been different,” I say.
“He knew you were an actress when he first asked you out. Hell, he was a self-proclaimed fan. It’s not like he didn’t know what he was getting into.”
“I know, but I’d said I wasn’t going to act anymore.”
“And you’ve been bored to tears.”
“I know.”
“You’re allowed to change your mind.”
“I know that too.”
“It’s his job as your partner to adapt with you.”
“It’s not his fault though.” This I know, when I’m honest with myself.
“What do you mean ‘not his fault’?”
“I really did play a part with him, you know. And for so long, our relationship was long distance, it was easy to keep that up. I mean, we’ve only been living together a few months. Maybe that’s just not long enough to get to know someone. I feel like I tricked him. And that I need to follow through with my commitment. If that means that I continue to play the persona that I’ve built up, so be it.” I feel partly mature as I say this, and part like a martyr.
“How is that fair to you?” Crystal asks.
“How is it fair to Hunter any other way?” I return.
“This is your life, Tabby. You can’t just coast through it, pretending to be someone you’re not and being okay with that.”
“Isn’t that what being an actress is all about?”
“Sure, when you’re actually being paid to play a specific part. Not playing the role of only a small part of the real you, Tabby.”
She has a point. But I know I do too.
We arrive at the Cascadian House and the bellhop arranges our luggage while we check in and head up to the room. The attendant is working the elevator this time, and our ride to the seventh floor is smooth and problem-free.
I open the door to our suite, and the first thing I see is an extremely large bouquet of red roses.
“Oh, look at those,” Crystal says.
I bury my face in the bouquet, inhaling the decadent scent. She snags the card before I have a chance to.
For my Queen,
I can’t wait to make you my wife. Here’s to a brilliant future.
All my love, Hunter.
“That was sweet,” she says after she reads the sentiment aloud. “Especially after everything else that happened tonight.”
“It really was,” I agree, my insides warming at the thought of him making such an effort. Maybe this really is pre-wedding jitters, and everything will be fine. He was just thrown off by my taking the mini-series role during the wedding planning, and the short timeline to plan it—even if it was his idea—and tonight was just out of the ordinary oddness. I grab my phone and send him a quick text.
ME: The flowers are exquisite. Thank you. I can’t wait for tomorrow!
I add a kissy face emoji at the end and hit send, feeling a renewed sense of optimism and excitement that I haven’t felt for a while.
Crystal and I change into our pajamas, open a bottle of champagne from the mini bar, and snuggle into the big bed to watch an old Humphrey Bogart movie. We don’t have any plans tonight other than to relax, so this is perfect.
“Thank you for taking time away from your family to be with me.” I hug her as I say this, suddenly very grateful that she’s here with me.
“You are my family, babe.” She kisses my cheek.
“I know. I mean your other family.”
“I know what you meant.” She smiles. “You’re important to me, you’re my person. When you need me, I’m here. Michael understands that.”
“I love you, C.”
“Love you back, T.”
I don’t remember what time I fell asleep, but I wake up feeling refreshed, despite the amount of champagne we drank last night, both at the dinner and here at the hotel.
Crystal is still sleeping, so I slide from the bed and step into the other room to order room service. The roses from Hunter greet me in the morning light—they truly are stunning—making me smile.
I realize I never heard back from him last night after I thanked him. I check my phone to see if I missed anything.
Nope.
I order coffee and juice, along with some fruit and yogurt. Angela and Maisey will be here soon. When Si arrives in a couple hours with our dresses, it’s bound to get chaotic between getting ready and any last-minute details we may need to take care of. So, I indulge in these last few moments of quiet and solitude. By this time tomorrow, I’ll be a married woman.
A knock on the door startles me from my ruminations, and when I answer, I’m surprised to see that it’s room service already. They set eve
rything up and I pour myself a cup of coffee before I go wake Crystal. She stumbles out of the bedroom before I have a chance. Her hair is a bed-head mess and her eyes barely open.
“Is that coffee I smell?”
I hand her the cup I just poured and point out the cream and sugar.
“You’re a goddess. I think I’m hungover.”
“I feel fine.”
“That’s because you’re running on adrenaline. It will hit you later. You just wait.”
“Maybe.” I smile, feeling smug, because today is going to be an amazing day. “You’ll be happy to know I’ve got mimosas coming in an hour or so. Maybe that will help your head.”
“Thank god. We aren’t as young as we used to be, Tabby. I can’t party like that anymore.”
“Didn’t we fall asleep by eleven o’clock?”
“Exactly,” she says and I laugh.
26
Pax
I wake up on Gregor’s couch in a panic.
“G!”
He pokes his head around the corner from his kitchen. “Yo.” He’s wearing an apron over his t-shirt and sweatpants. It’s white and black with ruffles around the edges and a big bow at the top.
“Nice apron,” I scoff.
“Don’t judge. My niece, Taylor, picked it out for me. It’s my favorite. And, if I’m wearing the apron, it means I’m cooking.”
Breakfast does sound good. And Gregor is a fantastic chef.
Focus, Pax.
“I’ve made a decision—I can’t let Tabs marry Douche Dippycock.”
Gregor nods, a serious look on his face. “Pretty sure that’s happening today, my man.”
“Okay. Okay.” I stand and start to pace his living and dining room scratching my head, still in my t-shirt and boxers from the night before. “Well, I need a plan to stop it!”
“Hmmm, okay.”
“How can you be so calm?”
“Not sure this will work.”
“What will work?”
“Our plan.”
