How To Ruin Your Ex's Wedding: A Romantic Comedy

by Denise Wells

“What plan?”

  “The one we don’t have yet.”

  “That doesn’t even make sense, dude.”

  “It’s not like we’ve got a lot of options. And all hinge on whether she decides to marry him. You can’t force her not to. My thought is you call her and hope she’ll talk to you.”

  “No, that’s no good.”

  “Why is that no good?”

  “I don’t know. It seems impersonal or something.”

  “Okay, you could interrupt the wedding right when the guy asks if anyone objects to the union.”

  “Nah, that’s too Mrs. Robinson.”

  “She’s not the one who interrupted the wedding. Dustin Hoffman did. And it was so he could steal Mrs. Robinson’s daughter.”

  “You’re just proving my point, man.”

  “That doesn’t prove your—”

  “Focus, G. I need a plan that will work.”

  He shrugs. “Go see her before the wedding then.”

  “Go see her? In person?”

  “How else will you stop her from marrying him?”

  “Good point.”

  “Eat breakfast first, because it’s almost ready and it’s the most important meal of the day. You don’t want to go on an empty stomach and get distracted.”

  “Good point. Okay, the wedding starts at four o’clock, right?”

  He laughs. “Right.”

  “Are you making fun of me?”

  “Yes.” He hands me a plate half-filled with some sort of omelet and potatoes.

  “Dick.” I take a seat and start eating. “This is really good, G,” I say, my mouth only partially full.

  He thrusts his chin in response and takes a seat across the table from me. His own plate is near overflowing with the largest omelet I’ve ever seen.

  I start talking my thoughts aloud. “Okay, so I go see her in person.”

  He nods.

  “Do I go see her before the wedding, or should I really do one of those interrupting things when the minister asks if anyone objects?”

  He shrugs, and takes sip of his coffee, washing down a mouthful of food.

  “What if they don’t do that part of the wedding? Then I can’t object. That’s not going to work.”

  He shakes his head.

  I take a few more bites before continuing, “You were right before. The only option is to talk to her before the thing even starts. Fuck, what if she won’t talk to me?”

  He scrunches his lips as though thinking about it.

  “Then I know for certain how she feels.”

  He smiles, but it’s weak at best.

  I take the final bite of my breakfast. “Okay, I’m gonna take off. Shower. Get Tabs some flowers . . . wait, no there will already be a million flowers there, that’s cheesy.”

  I take my dishes to the sink and rinse them before putting them in his dishwasher, then order a Lyft. “Maybe I’ll get her some chocolate? No, that’s even worse.”

  My pants from the night before are laid out over the back of the couch, which had to have been Gregor’s doing because I know I left them crumpled on the floor when I took them off. Just like I do at home. “What do I get her, G? And am I proposing? Or just telling her not to marry him? Do I want to marry her again?”

  I finish dressing and tie my shoes, head into the bathroom to finger brush my teeth, then pocket my wallet and cell phone and make a beeline for the front door, stopping before opening it to turn back toward him. “I mean, I guess I do want to marry her if I don’t want anyone else to, right? Shit, maybe I’ll just get her . . . oh, I know, I’ll find her ring from when we were married and give that to her. That’s romantic, right? Okay, I’m taking off. Wish me luck. Good talk!”

  Traffic getting through downtown is hideous and it takes forever to get to the ferry terminal. By the time I make it home, it’s been over two hours.

  Eleven forty-eight a.m.

  I have four hours to find the ring, shower, dress, figure out what I’m going to say to Tabatha to make sure she doesn’t marry this guy, get to the Cascadian House, and stop the wedding. No problem.

  Twelve twenty-two p.m.

  I thought for fucking sure the ring was in my safe, but it’s not. Which makes me wonder if it’s in the safe deposit box at the bank. Which is back in downtown Seattle. Although, I have to go back to downtown to catch the ferry to the Cascadian House anyway. So, I need to get dressed, get back to Seattle, get the ring, and get the girl.

  One thirty-three p.m.

  I missed the one-thirty ferry by three minutes. The next one isn’t until two o’clock. Which, at first, caused some panic. But, as I think about it, that should be fine. Then I’m back in Seattle by two-thirty, get to the bank, get back to the ferry terminal and over to the Cascadian House by four o’clock. No sweat.

  Five minutes past two o’clock.

  Okay, I have thirty uninterrupted minutes to sit and draft a speech worthy of changing Tabby’s mind and convince her that we aren’t such a bad match after all. Actually, I should be more positive than that. I need to convince her we are a great match.

  I make a list.

  Reasons Tabs and I are a great match.

  1. The sex is fucking fantastic.

  2. We get along.

  2. Compatibility

  2. Sexual compatibility

  Wait, isn’t that the same thing as saying the sex is good?

  Shit.

  This isn’t gonna work.

  Two fifteen p.m.

  Reasons Tabs and I are a great match.

  1. The sex is fucking fantastic.

  2. We get along.

  2. Compatibility

  2. Sexual compatibility

  2. We know each other (really know deep down, not just stupid shit like favorite song or color).

  Two twenty-five p.m.

  Reasons Tabs and I are a great match.

  1. The sex is fucking fantastic.

  2. We get along.

  2. Compatibility

  2. Sexual compatibility

  2. We know each other (really know deep down, not just stupid shit like favorite song or color).

  I’m stuck. This is the dumbest fucking idea I’ve ever had. She’s never going to agree to marry me and not Hunter. Hell, I can’t even convince myself this is a good idea.

  Reasons Tabs and I are a great match.

  1. The sex is fucking fantastic.

  2. We get along.

  2. Compatibility

  2. Sexual compatibility

  2. We know each other (really know deep down, not just stupid shit like favorite song or color).

  3. I love her and promise to spend the rest of my life bringing a smile to her face every day.

  This is the best I can come up with. If this doesn’t do it, nothing will, and I was never getting her back anyway. Hopefully the ring will push her over the edge to my side.

  Three ten p.m.

  I start walking back to the ferry terminal. The ring is not in the safe deposit box. I have no fucking idea where it is. I try to play a game with my brain and think of another place it could possibly be with each step I take. By the time I reach the block where the terminal is, I’m still coming up empty. I’m sure I would have put it back in the box, and then put the box somewhere meaningful . . .

  Fuck. My. Life.

  I remember where it is.

  I was upset when she gave it back to me. To say the least. I had saved a lot of money for that ring, to make sure it would make a statement in Hollywood. At least as big a statement as I could afford. I used part cash and then spread the rest across three credit cards. I hadn’t even finished paying it off when we divorced. So, one night after copious amounts of alcohol, I had the bright idea of putting it somewhere I would never want to unearth it from. I wrapped the ring in plastic and buried it in a pile of the neighbor’s dog’s poo. Then quadruple bagged the poo and stuck it in the back of my freezer. Which, at the time, was the most meaning I could give any representation of our prior union.<
br />
  How could I forget about that?

  Idiot.

  Not that it would have thawed in time.

  I can’t tell her where it is.

  I have to do this without a ring.

  Three twenty-five p.m.

  I make it back to the ferry terminal with five minutes to spare, and jog down the gateway to enter.

  “Invitation, please?” A guy with a clipboard stands at the ferry entrance, holding out his hand.

  “You mean my ticket?” I ask.

  “No, your wedding invitation. Tickets have been taken care of.”

  “Oh, I don’t have an invitation. I just need to get to the island.”

  “Can’t take this ferry without an invitation.”

  “What do you mean I can’t take this ferry? It’s a public ferry. You can’t stop me from taking it.”

  He points to a big sign I had failed to notice prior.

  Today’s Three-Thirty Ferry Reserved for Private Event. Invitation Required.

  Fuck!

  “When’s the next ferry?”

  “Four o’clock.”

  “I can’t wait until four. That’s too late. I need to get there before four.”

  “Sorry, sir, I can’t help you. Please step aside, a line is forming behind you.”

  I turn and see that a few people are waiting behind me. All have invitations with them.

  Shit!

  I walk to the end of the line and slide in next to two women, both pretty, one tall and one not. “You ladies wouldn’t want to take me to this wedding, would you?”

  “What?” the tall one asks.

  “Do you want to take me to this wedding? I can be a fun date.”

  The line advances. And it wasn’t long to begin with. They are now third from the invitation checker.

  “Why would we do that,” the short one asks.

  “It’s extremely important that I get there before it starts.”

  “Isn’t everyone supposed to be there before it starts?” the tall one asks, laughing.

  “Well, yes.” I look down at my feet and shake my head, advancing with them in the line to second from the invitation checker. “Listen,” I start. “There is a woman who will be there, and it’s imperative that I talk to her.”

  “Why don’t you just talk to her after?” the short one asks.

  We are next in line.

  “That will be too late,” I say, taking a deep breath and an even deeper chance. “It’s the bride I need to see. I have to tell her I love her before she makes the biggest mistake of her life.”

  “Ohmigod, that’s so sweet,” both girls enthuse. “How romantic.”

  We make it to the invitation checker. The tall girl hands over their invitation.

  “Identification, please,” the invitation checker asks.

  What? How did I miss that? He checks the IDs of both girls and ushers them through.

  “He’s with us,” the short one says as they pass. I pull out my ID and hand it to him. He flips through his pages and hands it back to me.

  “You aren’t on the list, sorry.” He looks up. “And you don’t have an invitation. I already told you, buddy. Get lost.”

  “You don’t understand,” I start to say, just as the ferry whistle booms and the vessel begins to move away from us. The girls wave to me from the departing ferry.

  “Good luck,” one of them yells.

  I’m tempted to do one of those running jumps, but there doesn’t seem to be much of a landing pad on the other side.

  The invitation checker looks at me, points back to the private event sign, and says, “You can go at four o’clock.”

  I immediately call Gregor to tell him what’s happened. I may need him to intervene for me.

  Straight to voicemail.

  I text him.

  ME: Call me. 9-1-1.

  27

  Tabatha

  I haven’t heard from Hunter all day. Which surprises me and doesn’t at the same time. I thought for sure he would have responded to my text about the roses. It was such a romantic and thoughtful gesture on his part. I expected it would reopen the lines of communication between us. But now, with only fifteen minutes before the ceremony, I know that I won’t talk to him until I meet him at the end of the aisle.

  Which I’ve determined I am okay with.

  The girls and I have had a fantastic day and I’m still feeling positive about everything. We relaxed most of the morning with mimosas and massages. Maisey joined us in the early afternoon when we all ate a light lunch with salads and cucumber water, then a little more champagne. Not so much that we were drunk, or even close, but just enough to keep the edge off.

  We all look amazing, thanks to Maisey, who just left to go downstairs to look for Gregor. I check my reflection one more time in the mirror to make sure everything is in place. My hair is in a semi-loose updo, with a few strands falling down around my face, and the rest looking almost like it’s about to fall down. Even though it’s not going anywhere, because Maisey is a genius. She weaved some light gold thread pieces through my hair that glint in the light and match the dress.

  My makeup is a fresh and natural kind of dewy look, with some gold highlighting to complement the dress. A soft pink gloss on my lips and just enough on my eyes to make them pop. The overall look is a glam boho-chic. In truth, I’ve never felt more beautiful.

  “You look incredible,” Crystal says.

  “Thank you, I feel good in this dress.” I turn to look at both Crystal and Angela. “Oh, you guys look so beautiful!”

  “Yeah, I’m pretty sure I didn’t look this good on my own wedding day,” Crystal says, turning from the side to front and back again in the full-length mirror, checking her entire reflection out.

  “You ready for this?” Angela asks.

  There’s a quick knock on the door, and it opens before I can say anything. Liza pokes her head in. “Ladies, are we ready to head down?”

  I ignore the lead ball that drops in my stomach and nod in response.

  “I’ll see you down there in five,” she says as she backs away and closes the door.

  I take a deep breath to calm my insides. I’ve felt good about this all day, I’m not going to let some last-minute jitters get the best of me. Hunter has made—is making—a huge effort, and I appreciate that more than I can say. The least I can do is respond in kind.

  I grab my clutch and make sure everything I will need for the day is inside—compact, blotting tissues, lip gloss, mints—and make a snap decision to leave my phone in the room. Because what could I possibly need it for? Everyone I would ever need to call will be with me.

  Angela picks up my bouquet and hers, and Crystal helps with my train. We make our way down the long hall to the elevator. Everything is quiet. I’m not sure why I expected otherwise. The silence is calming.

  The attendant is working the elevator again. And, like last night, it works smoothly with no issues at all.

  Amazing.

  I shake my head, thinking of when Pax and I got stuck in it all those weeks ago. A pang shoots through my heart. If the divorce didn’t cement that Pax and I will never have a future together again, today certainly will. I’m moving on. Marrying someone else. I probably wouldn’t even be thinking about Pax if it weren’t for the whole Matthew Hanhauser debacle.

  Would I?

  I won’t lie, there are definitely times I wish things had worked out between the two of us.

  “What’d you say?” Crystal asks, leaning around my right shoulder from behind, where she’s still holding the train of my dress so it doesn’t drag.

  “Who me? Nothing,” I say, craning my head back to see her.

  Her brow furrows. “Really? I could have sworn you said something about Pax.” She whispers his name when she says it, but everything else at a normal volume.

  “Nope.” I shake my head. Because, no way did I say that out loud.

  “Are you relieved he won’t be here?” she whispers back.

&nbs
p; “Why are you whispering?” I ask, since she and Angela know pretty much everything there is to know about me and Pax. As well as me and Hunter.

  Crystal jerks her head toward the elevator attendant, who I doubt is paying us any attention. I nod in response anyway and whisper back, “I am glad he won’t be here.” Even though I’m not one hundred percent sure that’s true. “I would have felt self-conscious saying my vows to Hunter in front of him.”

  That part is absolutely true.

  The elevator (finally) reaches the floor where the ceremony and reception will take place and the attendant opens the gate first and then door, stepping to the side and motioning us through with his arm. “Ladies.” He nods in acknowledgement.

  “Here, let me help with the train,” Angela says. She takes half from Crystal and we move as one unit through the elevator door opening, only to hear—

  Rip.

  I turn suddenly and hear it again.

  Rip.

  “Ohmigod! Ohmigod! Tabby don’t move! Your dress is stuck on the gate,” Angela cries.

  I freeze.

  My dress is stuck on the gate.

  My dress is stuck on the gate!

  Between them, Angela and Crystal get it unstuck quickly, but the damage is extensive. A long, jagged tear runs through the bottom of the dress, cutting through tulle and the delicate gold floral embroidery. We step into the hall, as far away from the elevator as possible.

  That elevator is just plain evil!

  Tears burn in my eyes. I try to blink them away, then clear my throat. “Set the train down and see if it’s super noticeable.”

  They lay it down and Crystal fluffs it. I take a few steps forward and the bottom half of the ripped layer drags behind the rest of the dress.

  Crystal bites at her nails. Angela covers her eyes and shakes her head.

  “I can’t walk down the aisle like this!” I cry.

  “Can’t walk down the aisle like what?” Liza approaches. “What happened?”

  Thank god.

  “Her dress got stuck on the elevator gate and ripped,” Crystal says, her own tears forming.

  “Let’s see,” Liza says. “Maybe it’s not so bad.”