by Nella Tyler
“She’s 25,” I corrected. “But I haven’t seen her since… I might have seen her at a company party years ago, but I’m not sure.”
Tyler shook his head, still laughing. “What is it, some sort of heir to the throne bullshit with the company?”
“Actually, yeah. Dad wants me to get married so that we have a better relationship with DuBois’ companies when I take his place.” I handed Tyler the rag so that he could wipe down the weights.
“That’s fucking hilarious. I’m sorry, but it is.” Tyler put the rag back on the towel rack when he was done wiping off the equipment. “Tiffany DuBois. Are you gonna get bikini waxes together? Maybe get matching tiny dogs?”
“Shut up.”
“Are you going to get her a ring at Tiffany’s, or is that too cliché?”
“I hate you.”
“I mean, at the very least, you could get laid.”
I cut Tyler off with a glare. “You really don’t take anything seriously, do you?”
“Never have.” Tyler hopped up off the bench. “I can’t take anything seriously. You take everything seriously. We gotta balance. Here, I’ll spot you.”
I took his place on the weightlifting bench. “Hey, it’s a little light. Could you add a 20?”
Tyler flipped me off before putting a 10 on each side, and I laughed. Once I got started weightlifting, Tyler talked about how he’d gotten a few songs written, and he was thinking about maybe trying to start a band. At some point I tuned it out; I couldn’t stop thinking about the reality that I was going to be set up on a blind date with Tiffany DuBois.
And another thing that Tyler said bothered me; that Leonard was only looking out for himself.
I finished my set and put the weights back on the rack. Maybe Leonard was only looking out for himself, but that didn’t make him wrong. Getting married to a DuBois would set the company straight for years to come, potentially generations. This whole thing was bigger than me. I had to remember that.
Chapter Two
Briella
The couple peered over my shoulder to get a better look at my tablet. I angled it so that they could see the floral arrangements better. This was my first meeting with this couple, but they were more than cooperative with me, and we were going over my personal favorite thing: floral arrangements and color schemes.
“The lilies are absolutely stunning, Greg.”
“Lilies are a symbol for death, aren’t they?”
“You’re really going to get your money’s worth out of that English major, aren’t you? How about the one to the right?”
I cleared my throat, loathe to interrupt the sweet banter, but eager to get a decision made. “The one to the right is about 23 dollars cheaper, but it does ship more quickly than the first, which guarantees the flowers will look nicer. I’ve done a lot of work with this floral company in the past. They do a good job.”
The men were quiet for a moment, considering their different options. I knew it was a lot to choose in a few moments, especially considering this was the first meeting. A lot of couples got nervous at the first meeting and didn’t know what to do.
“Tell you what, how about I send you this link so you can have some time to go over it?” I offered, pulling my email up to send them the link to the florist’s website. They could see other options, too, and I was familiar enough with all the local florists that I could give them my two cents on anything they showed me.
“That would be fantastic,” one of them said. “You’re a lifesaver, Briella.” He squeezed his fiance’s hand, and my heart fluttered.
“It’s what I do,” I replied simply. I couldn’t imagine working any other job. Seeing couples happy and well off, being able to make a happy couple’s most important day as special as I could, it was the most amazing feeling in the world. No two weddings were the same, and so it never got boring. Wedding planning was just something that I was born to do.
This particular couple was absolutely delightful to work with. Greg and Stephen were both from here in Houston, and had grown up together, apparently. They were regularly vicious to one another, but never without a kiss on the cheek or an apology for a particularly harsh comment.
Sometimes I felt like I was watching different ways my life could have played out. Every wedding I planned was my own dream wedding, in a way.
“Well, you do it very well. I can’t imagine being so organized,” Stephen said.
Greg rolled his eyes. “Of course you couldn’t.” He squeezed his hand again. “I bet your husband is a lucky man, having someone so put together.”
I laughed a little nervously. “Oh, I don’t…”
“Or wife, I mean—”
“No,” I shook my head. I’d never doubted my sexuality, though I had no problem with people in the LGBTQ community—I simply knew that I wasn’t a part of it. “No, I just have a boyfriend.”
“Oh,” Stephen nodded. “Well, he’d better get to it. You’re young and beautiful.”
I blushed. “Thank you.” I couldn’t imagine Jason ever proposing to me. It would require him to get off the couch, and that didn’t seem to be something that was happening anytime soon. Still, I clung to the possibility that he might go back to the way he was when I’d met him.
“Oh, Stephen, didn’t we have that meeting next weekend…?” Greg nudged Stephen slightly.
“Right, right. Briella, can we move our next appointment with you up a little bit?”
I pulled my calendar up on my tablet and started tapping away. “Of course. When do you want to meet?”
“Is next Wednesday okay?”
“Sure.” I made the change and smiled. “I’ll see you two then. It would probably be good if you could decide on a floral arrangement by that time.”
“We’ll try,” Greg said. “No promises.”
I laughed and waved them off. I hadn’t quite earned enough money to buy an office space yet, so I tended to rent out spaces in the public library to meet clients. That way it was a professional environment, quiet, and I didn’t need to bring anyone into my apartment. My room was perfectly clean, but the living room and kitchen could never stay that way long.
I dreaded the drive home. Work was a blissful escape from my home life, and now it had come to an end. Mechanically, I forced myself into the driver’s seat and made the familiar trek back to my apartment complex. I took about 15 minutes in the parking spot before I summoned the strength to get out and start walking to the building.
Before I even opened the door, I could hear video games inside, cranked up so every gunshot banged in my ears. I unlocked the door and swung it open, greeted with the sight of my boyfriend, Jason, lounged across the couch. A headset dangled from his ear, a bag of potato chips in his crotch, and I could see soda stains on his tank top—which, aside from a pair of underwear, was the only thing he was wearing.
He didn’t see me when I walked in. I closed the door behind me and considered shuffling off to my room. It would be easier to ignore him. It would be my fault if I didn’t ignore him. I closed my eyes and remembered when we first met, when he’d hold my hand and ask about my day. The man who had a job, imperfect as it was, and had dreams.
“I started working with a new couple today,” I said. I instantly felt like kicking myself for not just walking away, for even attempting to talk.
Jason didn’t say anything.
“They’re cute. They’re from Houston, too; they said they grew up together.” I found myself talking more freely. I didn’t have anything to lose. “They’re nice guys, and I think it’ll be a really nice wedding.”
“Guys? They’re gay?” Jason didn’t pause or lower the volume while he talked.
I rolled my eyes. “That’s all you got from that?” I shouldn’t have been surprised by his response. In all my time working as a wedding planner, he’d never really cared about my job, and since he’d stopped being kind to me, he’d let his bigotry show more and more flagrantly.
“It’s gross.” Jason foc
used on hitting a particular button for a couple of seconds.
I thought of Stephen and Greg in their well-fitted outfits and polite mannerisms and then looked at Jason, who was now literally scratching his ass and probably hadn’t put on a clean shirt in a very, very long time. It wasn’t like he had a job to dress up for. “At least they’re engaged.”
Jason hit pause. I knew I was in trouble. Any time his attention was fully on me, it wasn’t a good thing—but it’s what I had been asking for, right? I started inching back towards my room as he turned his stare to me. He tossed his controller to the side and sat up, crushing the potato chips in his lap in the process. “What are you trying to say?” he barked.
“It’s been three years.” I knew better than to try to talk to him. I could practically see where this conversation was going to go, and yet my hopes that it might be different this time steered me to continue to talk. “It’s been three years, and I don’t have anything from you.”
“I got you this apartment, didn’t I?” Jason stood up. I backed up towards my room.
“That I pay the rent for,” I retorted. “Since you quit your job. And won’t get a new one. And I get that you’re looking, Jason, and I know the economy blows right now. I just get so tired of going in circles.”
“You don’t appreciate a goddamn thing I do for you!” he shouted. “I clean the toilets, I do my laundry, and I’ve been looking for a job for the last six months!”
I knew he hadn’t, but I still nodded as though it were the most believable truth in the world. “I just… I just want some kind of sign from you. I don’t know if you even care anymore.” I meant to shout back at him, but instead, I whispered. “Do you even want to be together? Would you ever marry me?”
The hard strike of his hand on my head only missed my face by a little. I stumbled back a bit, and while I could hear him shouting something at me, I couldn’t discern what it was. It was all the same. It never changed, like a script to the world’s most nightmarish movie that I hadn’t auditioned for and didn’t want to star in.
Unsure of whether he was finished shouting or not, I stumbled backward and slammed the door closed. I heard the harsh sound of his voice start to dwindle, and I touched my hand to my head. No blood, but I could feel a small bump forming under my dark hair.
I wasn’t sure what I’d expected. I couldn’t cry; I’d already spent so much of my time crying. My tablet buzzed in my purse, and I bit back a laugh at how pathetic I was, planning weddings out of my own inability to be in one. My head throbbed, and I went to my bathroom to see if I could wind down.
I couldn’t. Even after I’d washed my makeup off and scrubbed at my light brown skin until it nearly glowed red, I felt upset. Something inside of me had finally snapped. I couldn’t keep doing this, not forever, and if I couldn’t do it forever, I’d do well to pull the cord on this situation now. When I closed my eyes, I could still see Jason Paul opening the car door for me. I could still see him telling me I was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen.
I could still see my father telling me that he was a keeper. My best friend swooning over the sweet voicemails he left for me. I remembered my plans to move downtown and become a successful wedding planner. Jason would go to business school, he’d said, and he was going to be successful, too, and then we’d be a happy couple in Rice Village, with money and time and happiness.
Now, I struggled to make ends meet, alone, with this dead weight that didn’t do anything but play video games all day. There was never going to be any business school. There was never going to be a nice house. Once, Jason had sat down with me and talked to me about the house we’d buy together, with a lovely foyer and backyard for a dog and maybe, someday, maybe kids.
While brushing my hair, I ran over the bruise and winced. That time was gone. Jason was a stranger now. I held my brush in my hand for a moment and then put it into my makeup bag. I started to put things in my backpack, in my suitcase, and my toiletries bag, without even really understanding why. I stacked T-shirts, old journals, some of my sketchbooks, and the picture of me and my best friend Nina at her 21st birthday, both of us drunk but smiling bigger than I’d smiled since.
When I finally stepped back and looked at my important possessions packed neatly into my suitcase on my bed in this shitty apartment in downtown Houston, I understood what I had to do, no matter how much it hurt me to do so. This wasn’t the first time he’d put his hands on me, but it was going to be the last. I was done wasting my life on someone who didn’t care about me enough to even be kind to me.
I waited until I could hear Jason snoring, and then I walked outside to make a phone call.
“Dad? Hey. It’s Briella. Do you still have my old bedroom set up?”
Chapter Three
Dexter
I woke up later than I’d meant to, sometime around 8:30 in the morning. For a Saturday, that was a bit late; on the weekdays, we got to work at 8, which meant a 6:30 rise. I tended to be an early riser anyway, with weekend mornings going no later than about 8. I pulled my phone off the charger and checked to see if I had anything I needed to worry about. It seemed work would stay calm for the day, so I rolled out of bed.
The window let in the daylight nicely. I pulled the curtains back and let the sun flood my room. My bed took up most of the space in the center of the back wall; I’d invested a good amount of money in a good bed since it seemed I wouldn’t ever be at a point where I was getting a lot of sleep. If I wasn’t going to sleep much, I had to make sure the sleep I did get was good. Against another wall was a desk that I rarely used, and against another, a dresser full of undershirts, jeans, underwear, and socks; my button-ups and suits were all hung up in my closet.
I considered going into that closet, but since I didn’t have plans, I didn’t need to. Instead, I pulled on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt and went to the restroom to brush my teeth and run a comb through my hair.
Feeling a little fresher now, I wandered out of the bathroom and into the house. My father had insisted on a much larger house when I was coming out of college, and certainly, we would have been able to afford some mansion-like monstrosity. I didn’t want all that space for myself, though. The house that I had settled on wasn’t small by any means, but it was more reasonable than the house my father lived in, at least.
I walked downstairs to go to the kitchen. Without any major plans for the day, the whole day was left open for whatever I wanted to do. I decided to make breakfast; I liked to cook when I could, despite my father’s insistence that I get a chef. Because of the size of the house, it made sense to have someone come by and clean the rooms that I didn’t visit often. Having a chef, though, didn’t make sense. I had two hands and a brain. I could cook my own food.
I cracked some eggs into a frying pan and fired up the coffee machine. I’d just started to get into the groove of cooking when I heard a knock at my door.
I hit the button on the intercom in the kitchen that broadcasted to the porch. “Be right there,” I said, and moved the eggs off the heat. I jogged to answer the door.
Tyler stood there, and I was so surprised to see him awake before noon that I almost forgot to let him in.
“It’s 9 in the morning! What the hell are you doing over here?” I led us back to the kitchen.
“I couldn’t sleep,” Tyler said. “Well, I woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep.”
“Yeah?” I put the eggs back on the burner. “Hey, do you want some breakfast? Coffee?”
“Yes to both.” Tyler walked around the counter and got himself a cup of coffee. “Couldn’t stop thinking about you going off and getting married. It’s weird.”
I snorted. “Weird for you?”
“It is, actually,” Tyler said. I passed him a plate of eggs and some sausage, and this particular morning he didn’t make a dick joke about sausage. He glanced around the kitchen and shook his head. “Man, if you do get married, I get the house.”
“Ha ha.” As if I needed a bigger house.
Maybe if I was housing a huge family, but this house had about five bedrooms, and I couldn’t imagine having kids in the first place, let alone five of them. “Just buy your own.”
“You got all the luck with Mom’s inheritance,” Tyler jabbed.
I rolled my eyes again. “We got the same amount of money, Tyler. You just blew most of it on drugs and partying.”
“Not all of it. I have some of it in reserve.”
“And I put it into this house,” I returned. “Doesn’t mean I got lucky. You just don’t take anything seriously.”
“Balance,” Tyler reminded me. He took a bite of food and kept looking around. “I wonder sometimes what it would be like if Mom was still around.”
I forgot, sometimes, that Tyler didn’t remember her as well as I did. I didn’t remember her very much—we were both old enough to remember her, but she hadn’t spent a lot of time with us, and Tyler had been in boarding school a good chunk of his life. Sort of my parents’ way of trying to get him to behave.
“I don’t think it’d be much different,” I said. “Maybe Dad wouldn’t be a hardass all the time.”
This got a laugh out of Tyler. “Dad’s always been a hardass. And kind of a dick.” He poured some more coffee into his mug. “Mom just made it slightly more bearable. Or maybe just kept him from being so obvious about it. He’ll always be a hardass.”
I didn’t really want to repeat our conversation from the day before. I knew that there was no talking sense into Tyler, and I didn’t like the turn the conversation had taken. So instead of rebutting, I shrugged and stacked our empty plates to put in the dishwasher. “Who knows. Hey, I need to go and get a new suit for Monday.”
“You’re seriously going through with that?”
“Yeah, but not without a new suit.”
“You’ve got suits.”
“DuBois,” I reminded him. “Tiffany’s an aspiring designer.” It wouldn’t do to meet them in an old suit, and for them, last season was old. Even if last season had only technically ended a month or so ago.
