The Worst Best Man

by Mia Sosa

  “I knew you were the one the day I was sick and you came over with soup,” Brent tells Max, staring into his eyes. “You said you couldn’t imagine not checking on me.”

  Max bats his eyes. “Aww, that’s sweet.”

  The videographer asked them both to talk, but I suspect he didn’t have this in mind. It’s entertaining nonetheless, and I’m smiling into my hand as I watch them.

  “I’d never been in love, so I didn’t know what to look for, what to expect, how to accept it,” Brent continues.

  Max takes a long breath. “Me, neither. I’ve only had one long-term relationship, and that was several years ago.”

  “Why’d you break up?” Brent asks.

  Max shrugs. “She met my brother and told me she realized there were bigger and better fish in the sea. Wasn’t crass enough to drop me for him, but she made it clear he was the superior alternative.”

  Oh no. She said this to his face? What kind of person would do that? I couldn’t imagine being told that I didn’t measure up to my sibling. It’d be even worse if the comment came from someone I thought cared for me. Does he resent Andrew because of it? Is that the source of their rivalry?

  “I’m sorry,” Brent says to Max. “How’d that make you feel?”

  My client’s a psychiatrist and can’t help himself. We may be here for a while.

  “Honestly?” Max says, his eyes clouding with sadness. “Made me feel like shit. I’m used to comparing myself to my brother. He’s older than me. We compete all the time. That’s expected. But when my girlfriend essentially told me I was the off-brand version of my brother, well, I’m sure you can imagine that was a difficult thing for a guy in his early twenties to hear.” He straightens. “But I’m over it now.”

  Yeah. No. I’m thinking that’s not entirely true.

  “She obviously didn’t deserve you,” Brent says. “People like that—”

  “Brent, it’s okay,” Max says on a chuckle. “This isn’t the time or place. Let’s focus on your vows.”

  Brent nods. “Right.” He rolls his shoulders and puffs out his cheeks before he begins again. “Anyway, because this was all new to me, I didn’t trust it, so I ran from our relationship, told you I wasn’t ready to be tied down—”

  Max shakes his head, a cheesy grin on his face. “No, it’s important to know you’re ready. There’s no going back. You need to be certain this is who and what you want.”

  The amusement in his tone pushes me out of the moment and pulls me back in time again, to the night before my wedding. I can easily imagine Max saying these very words to Andrew—about me. And if Max was telling Brent the truth about the extent of his own romantic relationships just now, at the time of my wedding Max was giving his brother advice on a topic about which he had no frame of reference. For whatever reason, he chose to meddle in my affairs when he knew very little about me. And I still don’t know why.

  Brent, meanwhile, is undeterred, continuing to recite his vows despite Max’s interruptions. “But in the end, I couldn’t fight your love, your dedication to building something true and real with me. And I’m so glad I lost that battle.”

  Terrence returns and jostles Max out of the way. “That’s enough of that. Those words are meant for me. You’re lucky I’ve heard them already. Otherwise we’d be fighting.”

  Max backs up, wearing a good-natured smile and throwing his hands up in surrender. “He’s all yours. You’re a lucky man.”

  When Max turns to catch my eye, I let him, my face relaxed into what I hope he’ll read as a neutral expression.

  “Thanks for your help today,” I say. “I’m going to finish up with them and head out. I’ll contact you when I have another appointment that might be helpful.”

  He tilts his head back as he appraises me. “We’re done here? You don’t want me to hang around a little longer?”

  I shake my head, my gaze focused on the joyful couple a few feet away. “There’s not much else to do. We’ll go over the procession once more and then I’ll let them go. I didn’t realize Terrence was on call, and I don’t want to take up any more of his time.”

  When I chance a glance at Max, I see that his gaze hasn’t strayed from my face. Somehow he manages to look both studious and aloof, as though he’s trying to figure something out but wishes he didn’t have to. “What about if I stand quietly over here and record some footage of you in action? You’ve already cleared it with them, right?”

  I nod. “I did. And you’re free to do whatever you want. Enjoy the weekend.” And then I’m striding in Brent and Terrence’s direction. Head high. Shoulders back. A power walk for the ages. It’s exhausting but necessary. I don’t want Max to know how he’s affecting me. I’m not even happy about acknowledging it to myself.

  Jaslene’s right. I do need closure. Because every time I convince myself I’m not holding a grudge against Max, something happens to remind me that I actually am. Still, I can’t just ask the man why he discouraged his brother from marrying me. Not outright. I’d be admitting that his answer matters, and I’m not prepared to do that, either. It’s a conundrum—where to go from here. But when I reach my clients and catch the tail end of a comment about Brent’s intimidating mother, the solution comes to me. My relatives are a potent weapon that I don’t use often enough. It’s time to sic my family on Max.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Max

  From: MHartley@AtlasCommunications.com

  To: CSantos@DottingTheIDos.com

  Date: April 16 - 9:32 am

  Subject: Next Steps

  Hi Lina,

  As part of the process of helping you prepare for your presentation on Tuesday, May 14, I would like to speak with a few of your clients about their impressions of you and your services. At your convenience, could you send me the names and phone numbers of three client references? It would be helpful if you could include the approximate date and location of the event you helped plan for each client. Looking forward to hearing from you.

  Sincerely,

  Max

  From: CSantos@DottingTheIDos.com

  To: MHartley@AtlasCommunications.com

  Date: April 16 - 9:37 am

  Subject: Re: Next Steps

  Sure.

  Anthony & Sandra Guerrero

  443-555-3334

  Wedding on the National Mall; May of last year

  Patrice Bell & Cynthia Stacks

  202-555-3293

  Reception at Meridian House; June of last year

  Bliss Donahue & Ian Grey*

  215-555-8745

  Wedding and reception at the Savoy Inn; April of this year

  *Note that Ian is Rebecca Cartwright’s first cousin.

  Best,

  Lina

  p.s. If you’re free this Thursday evening, I have a wedding consultation in Maryland you could attend. I also have a rare day with no event scheduled this Saturday, so I’m scoping out a venue for a client. It’s in Virginia, about two hours away. You’re welcome to join me.

  From: MHartley@AtlasCommunications.com

  To: CSantos@DottingTheIDos.com

  Date: April 16 - 9:41 am

  Subject: Re: Next Steps

  I’m free for both. Send me the address for Thursday’s meeting and I’ll be there. We can chat about Saturday then. Thanks.

  I spend the next ten minutes leaving messages for the references Lina provided. In theory, her former clients will provide some insight into Lina’s unique skill set. But what I’m really looking for is some insight beyond her planning abilities. A poignant anecdote. A save-the-wedding moment. A memory about Lina rather than the wedding. Clients don’t hire companies, they hire people. So essentially, I’m digging for that elusive something that goes beyond Lina’s unquestionably impressive résumé.

  She certainly won’t share that information herself. Not with me, at least. Every time I think we’ve taken a few steps along a smoother path, she drags me back through the underbrush. Maybe we’re just destined to be uneasy all
ies. I suppose I should be thankful for even that, given our history. Lina doesn’t owe me anything, and I need to stop acting as though she does. If there’s any crucial information to be gained, I’ll get it from her past clients. End of story.

  With my self-issued marching orders in mind, I leave a message for the last person on the reference list, Bliss Donahue.

  Less than a minute later, my phone rings. “This is Max Hartley.”

  “Mr. Hartley, this is Bliss Donahue. You just left me a message?”

  “Yes. Thanks for getting back to me.”

  I explain the project without referencing that it’s connected to a position Lina’s interviewing for. “So what I’d love to hear from you are your general impressions. Anything you wish she’d done differently? All in all, would you recommend her?”

  “Oh, wholeheartedly,” Bliss says.

  There’s conviction in her voice, and that’s good to hear.

  “Lina knows what she’s doing,” Bliss continues, “from the big stuff, such as venues, to the small stuff, like which rental folding chairs are least likely to pinch your guests’ fingers. It’s dizzying the amount of information she has a handle on. She didn’t stifle me. I wore a green dress despite what I’m sure were Lina’s many misgivings about it. In the end, my day was just what I wanted. Well, except for my husband’s shaved eyebrows.”

  “What’s that, now?”

  Bliss lets out an exasperated sigh. “His groomsmen shaved off my husband’s eyebrows the night before our wedding. I swear, they’re like extras from The Hangover. You know, that movie with Bradley Cooper? Anyhow, Lina handled it like a pro. Somehow he had eyebrows for the wedding.”

  “This is really helpful. Anything else?”

  “Well . . .”

  “It’s okay, Bliss. My goal is to help Lina, so if there’s something that would have made your experience even better, we’d love to know.”

  She releases a breath. “Okay, it’s just . . . I’m not necessarily entitled to this, but I kind of wish that Lina were more enthusiastic about weddings. I don’t know. I wanted her to squee with me when I found the perfect flowers. Or when Ian and I practiced our vows. I got the impression that Lina isn’t a big believer in happily-ever-afters. It never affected her work, but it was something I picked up on. Don’t hate me for saying so, okay?”

  “No, no. I asked you to give me your honest opinion, and you did. Thanks for taking the time to speak with me.”

  “Sure,” she says in a bubbly voice. “Good luck with the project.”

  And there’s the information I was hoping for. An aspect of Lina’s brand that could be affecting her success. A part of her business model that I can potentially affect in a positive way. Helping her play to her strengths also means discovering her perceived weaknesses. But I’m also wondering if Bliss is right. Maybe Lina’s experience with Andrew left her jaded. Or maybe she was jaded even before she met Andrew? Everywhere I turn I find another mystery about Lina I’d like to unravel.

  My mother’s signature rat-a-tat-tat alerts me that she’s making her weekly rounds. She pokes her head in. “Got a minute?”

  “Yeah, come on in.”

  She lowers herself onto one of the guest chairs and sweeps her gaze over the walls, my desk, then me. “I just wanted to check in with you about the Cartwright account. Since you and Andrew aren’t working together, I can’t call you both in for a meeting. I don’t really have a handle on what’s going on, and I’m finding that unsettling.”

  My mother never owns up to feeling anything less than fully confident. It’s what I love most and least about her. Her admission loosens the tension in my shoulders.

  “We’re at the information-gathering stage,” I say. “I’m checking references. Getting a feel for what the wedding planner does for her clients on a day-to-day basis. Doing some research on the target customer as well.”

  She nods approvingly, then knits her brow. “Your brother’s former fiancée was a wedding planner. Carolina.” My mother’s face takes on a wistful quality that I’m not used to. “I wonder what she’s up to now.”

  I shrug. I’m not saying a word in response to that. A bolt of lightning would strike me on the spot.

  “What kind of pitch are you considering?” she asks. “Mixed media?”

  I’m eager to move the conversation along, so I dive into my preliminary ideas. “We haven’t gotten that far yet, and I’m taking my cues from her. But I’m going to suggest a video component and—”

  The intercom buzzes, and my assistant’s voice echoes in the room: “Max, Patrice Bell is on line one. Says she’s returning your call about a reference for Carolina Santos and Dotting the I Do’s. Are you free?”

  Why, God? Why?

  My mother’s brows snap together and she leans forward in the chair.

  I clear my throat. “Sammy, please tell her I’ll ring her back in a minute.”

  “You got it,” Sammy says cheerfully, unaware of the years she’s just shaved off my life.

  My mother rubs her temples and stares at her lap. “Let me see if I have this right. The wedding planner you’re working with is Carolina Santos?”

  “Yes.”

  Her head shoots up and she scrunches her face. “And neither you nor your brother thought it was appropriate to share that tidbit?”

  “We didn’t want to worry you.”

  That gets me an icy look. “Why would I be worried?”

  “Because we didn’t share that tidbit with Rebecca Cartwright, either.”

  Silence can be as intimidating as a Mob gangster. This moment is proof of that. If I can figure out a way to black out now, I’ll avoid the excruciating conversation to come. I look around my office for an object heavy enough to engineer a nonfatal blow. But after several more seconds of silence, and much to my surprise, my mother merely rises from the chair and shakes her head. “I’m disappointed in you both, but I’m not going to get in the middle of this. I’m not going to tell you what to do, nor am I going to sweep in and save you. But keep this in mind. If you want more responsibility here, you need to earn it. And if you screw this up, you and your brother should polish your résumés.”

  She’s not joking. With that scathing soliloquy behind her, she strides out of my office and turns right. There’s just one office down that hall. Andrew’s. I could warn him, but I won’t. He deserves to be the target of her wrath, too. I mean, c’mon, Lina’s his ex-fiancée. I’m just an innocent bystander. Sort of.

  I can’t say that I blame my mother. If another employee pulled the shit we’ve pulled, they’d be out on their ass if they didn’t fix their mistake. I knew when I came here she wouldn’t coddle us. But more to the point, she’s right. If I want more responsibility, I do need to earn it. And I will. No more distractions. No more detours. No more games.

  * * *

  Thursday evening, I drive to Wheaton to meet Lina at her family’s grocery store. At her suggestion, we’ll travel together from there to her client appointment. After parking in the strip mall where the store is located, I walk to the entrance and pull on the door. Nothing happens—because the door’s locked. The lights inside are on, though.

  I lean against the door, poised to pull out my phone and text Lina, but then the woman of the hour appears on the other side of the door and unlocks it.

  “Hey, there,” she says cheerfully. Too cheerfully. “Come on in.”

  When I slip inside, I’m shocked to see many sets of eyes staring at me, Natalia’s unwelcoming pair among them.

  “Max, this is everyone,” Lina says with an enthusiastic sweep of her hand. “Everyone, this is Max. He and I are working together on a project to help me get that wedding coordinator position I told you about.”

  A guy behind the counter straightens as his eyes narrow on me. He looks familiar, but I can’t place him. His coloring and features favor Lina. Except he’s also big. Burly as hell. Way taller than I am.

  “I’ve seen you somewhere before,” he says, his eyes sq
uinting as though that’ll help him recognize me.

  “You’re right, Rey,” Lina says.

  Rey. Short for Reynaldo. I remember him now. He’s Lina’s older brother. We talked briefly during the rehearsal dinner—two days before my brother canceled the wedding.

  Lina gives me a wicked grin before she addresses her family again. “You remember Andrew, right? The guy who dumped me on our wedding day? Well, this is his brother. The one who encouraged him to do the dumping. Anyway, let’s all sit. We have a wedding intervention to attend to.”

  Everyone’s attention shifts to me, the schmuck who’s unsteady on his feet.

  She shoots. She scores. I’m dead.

  I can picture my single-sentence epitaph now: He never saw it coming.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Lina

  Negotiate a peace treaty among my family members about the scope and details of Natalia and Paolo’s wedding? Or get some intel on Max by throwing him into the lion’s den? Who says I can’t do both?

  “Why is he here?” Rey asks as he glowers at Max.

  Tia Izabel, who’s standing next to Rey behind the counter and who’s fond of watching fireworks but never wants to cause them, elbows him in the side.

  Max silently slumps into the chair behind me. I’m his shield, apparently.

  “Like I said, he’s helping me prepare a presentation for the position I’m applying for,” I say. “Part of what he needs to do is see me in action, so I figured this would be a good way for him to watch me handle a delicate situation.”

  Natalia and Paolo join me at the table, while my mother takes a seat at another one nearby. Tia Viviane, the mother of the bride and the main reason for this meeting, swings her chair around and straddles it, positioning herself in her own space. She needs attention, and she shall have it. “Why is the situation delicate?”

  I flick my gaze toward Natalia and Paolo. The groom, who’s a sweetheart of a guy, will say next to no words tonight. He’s not messing with his future mother-in-law. The former is a badass—except when it comes to her mother. I’m here to be the badass in her stead. “We need everyone to be on the same page about certain aspects of the wedding, and there are so many ideas bouncing around, it’s getting overwhelming. We want to respect the couple’s wishes and tastes, and that may not always be in line with yours.”