by Becky Monson
At first, Ian seemed a little pissed that I was laughing, but then he started laughing, too. Slightly at first, but then the laughter started getting harder until we were both laughing so hard, we couldn’t breathe. We both rolled around on the ground, holding our stomachs, trying to catch our breath, but to no avail.
Finally, as we were able to steady our breathing, as the laughter died down, I heard him say, “Sorry.”
“What are you sorry for?” I asked, a giggle still slipping out every now and then.
“For changing things. It was stupid.” He laid his head back, running his fingers through his hair, looking slightly downtrodden.
“What’s changed?” I gave him a serious look; the laughter was gone. The feeling in the room was suddenly too intense for laughter.
“Everything,” he said.
“Why? Why does it have to change?” I asked, pulling myself toward him, half on top of him again, our faces close. “The way I see it, is we spend every moment we can together. In fact, I don’t know if I could go a day without seeing you. What would be so different?” I reached up a hand to caress his face, not feeling like I wanted to laugh this time.
“Ian,” I said, looking into his eyes, “I’m going to kiss you—”
“Would you stop telling me you’re going to kiss me? You’re totally ruining the moment.” With that said, he pushed me off him and onto my back. He rolled himself half on top of me so our faces were close together again, but with his above. His hand came up to caress my face. He looked from my eyes to my mouth, and suddenly, his lips were on mine.
It was slow and soft and tender. There was a feeling there, one that I hadn’t ever experienced. A feeling like this was right. It felt right to kiss Ian. I suddenly wondered why we had never done this before. And I wanted more. I wanted so much more of this. Of Ian.
He started kissing me with more passion, the temperature getting hotter between us. I wrapped my arms around his back, pulling him into me, tightly. His lips were hot on mine.
He let go of my lips briefly to kiss me down the side of my face, to my neck, kissing me right behind my earlobe. Mmmmmm, my favorite spot. How did he know that? Because he knew me. He always knew me. How did I not see it all before? How was I so clueless?
His lips found their way back up to mine, and he kissed me vigorously, cupping my face with his hand.
Suddenly, the front door slammed and we quickly pulled away, looking up to see my roommate, Amy, staring down at us.
“Finally,” is all she said, and then she stalked off to her bedroom, shutting the door behind her.
And then we started laughing again.
CHAPTER 24
I have a feeling in the pit of my stomach that tells me I’m making a bad decision. It’s also known as the icky butterflies.
It’s been a week since I found out that Ian is engaged. Two days later he texted me, and he hasn’t stopped. He’s even tried calling a few times, asking if I’ll let him explain everything. In my defense, I did ignore his calls and texts at first. I even changed his name in my phone to “Don’t Answer This,” but I finally gave in and texted him back.
Right now, I’m standing outside a coffee shop Ian picked near his work, debating whether or not to go in. I certainly don’t want to waste this outfit. A light blue, knee-length sundress with a chunky brown belt. But it’s not so much about the dress as it is about the shoes. They’re the most amazing brown cork platform sandals. I found them at a sample sale, and the price tag still made me gasp. They’re totally worth it, though.
I also know I will go inside to face Ian because I’m curious. Curiosity has bested me once again; that is, curiosity and not wanting to waste an incredible pair of Jimmy Choos.
“Thanks for meeting me,” Ian says as I sit down across from him at the little two-person table in the corner of the tiny café. He eyes my outfit but doesn’t say anything. He’s wearing a suit. He looks smart. I really wish he weren’t engaged.
No, Bridgette, don’t go there. He lied to you. You obviously don’t know him like you used to.
“Okay, you said you wanted to talk, so talk,” I say, still fighting myself about making a run for it, still curious as to why he wanted to meet me, still taking note of how very handsome he is. I’m kind of a mess in my head right now.
“Yeah . . . I mean, yes. I wanted to apologize.” He gives me a half-smile—the one where the right corner of his mouth moves up just slightly. The one that, some time ago, would have melted me, but not today, though. Okay, fine. It does a little. But very, very little.
“Okay, great. You’ve apologized. I don’t forgive you. Are we done then?” I grab my purse as if to get up from my seat.
“Bridgette, don’t do that.” He gives me a knowing look. And he does know me. I mean, I’ve definitely changed over the past years, but deep down, I am still the Bridgette he knew from college, the especially stubborn, indignant, Bridgette. That part of my personality has always been the same (and I suspect always will be).
“Ian, there really isn’t much to say, is there?” I leave my hands on my purse so that I can get up and walk out at any moment.
“I should have told you.” He looks down at his hands. “I didn’t mean to not tell you. It just happened.”
“Yes, you’ve said that already.” I roll my eyes.
“Yeah, I did. Sorry.” He shakes his head.
“Do you want to know what’s most embarrassing about this whole thing?” My mouth takes over for my brain. This was not what I had wanted to say when I rehearsed it. “I actually thought you were upset about the kiss because of what happened between us back at school. But really you were engaged. I’ve been beating myself up all of these years . . .” I trail off as it dawns on me how much time I’ve wasted on men. Two wasted years with Adam and four wasted years of worrying about Ian and his feelings.
What a waste, indeed. Maybe I was meant for so much more over the past four years, but because of men taking over my brain, I didn’t accomplish anything of worth. I mean, what have I done these past four years that would be considered anything but ordinary? Nothing. It’s men that have kept me from my dreams. I blame them.
“I don’t know what else to say, Bridgette. I’m sorry.”
“Well, you could start by telling me why, then.”
“Why what? Why am I engaged? Well, I met Maureen not long after I moved to New York—”
“No, I mean, why did you kiss me in the first place?”
He’s silent for a bit, looking around the room, almost awkwardly.
“It’s hard to explain,” he finally says.
“Try me.”
“Well, the truth is . . . the truth is, seeing you has brought back some old feelings,” he says with a thin smile.
I nod my head. I can understand that. Old feelings have definitely come back for me, as well.
“And I got sort of caught up in the moment, you know? We have history, you and I.” His smile broadens a touch.
“We do, yes. Which is why ‘I’m engaged’ should have been the first thing out of your mouth when you saw me that night at your work party. Or at least the third or fourth thing out of your mouth.”
“Bridgette, I cannot apologize enough.”
I sit back in my seat. “I know. You really can’t,” I say and grin slightly. He smiles back. “Look, Ian, feelings came back for me, too—”
“They did?” He interrupts me. I’m surprised he’s taken aback by this piece of information, but he is.
“Yes, of course. I mean, like you said, we have a history. Seeing you has made me realize how much I missed it.” I look down at my hands. This is probably completely inappropriate for me to be saying to an engaged man. It’s not like I’m trying to steal him away, now that I know. I just feel like it needs to be said.
“Bridge . . .”
“Anyway,” I hold up a hand to cut him off, “under different circumstances, maybe . . . who knows . . .” I trail off. The possibilities are not important anym
ore. It doesn’t matter now.
“So,” I say, shaking off the seriousness of this conversation, “when’s the big day?”
“Oh . . . um . . .” he shakes his head as if to bring himself back. He looked a little lost in thought there for a few seconds. “The wedding is set for September twenty-first.”
“September twenty-first, huh? So, you still have a ways to go.” I play with my purse straps, a little at a loss for words now. I’m not sure I want to know all the details. Funny though, that’s the same date as Adam’s. Only Adam’s wedding is this year.
“Well, three months doesn’t seem like that far away.” He sits back, putting a hand on each leg.
My mouth drops, as does my stomach. “Wait, you’re getting married September twenty-first? As in, this September twenty-first?” He’s kidding, right? He has to be joking. “But . . . but . . . you just had your engagement party.” Who has an engagement party three months before their wedding?
“Yeah, that was for Maureen’s dad. He’s been out of the country, working, and wasn’t able to get back until last month. He wanted us to wait for him. We were supposed to do it over Christmas, but he ended up not making it back. So we postponed it but left the wedding date set for the twenty-first.”
This can’t possibly be happening. Two men in my life, the two men that I’ve loved possibly the most in my life thus far, are getting married on the exact same day—and not to me?
I’m being punked, right? Where are the cameras?
“Anyway, you’ll come, right?” I barely register what he’s asking. My head is spinning with this information.
“Um, no.” I shake my head, finally realizing what he’s just asked me. I don’t want to go to Ian’s wedding, and it’s not because I am planning on attending Adam’s wedding, either. I see now that weddings are obviously designed by evil people to slap me in the face, and so I may boycott them altogether.
“Why?” Ian asks, his face upset.
“Why?”
“Yeah, why won’t you come?”
“Seriously, Ian? Why would I want to come?” I don’t even understand why he’s inviting me. Wouldn’t it be awkward? With my luck, I would do something foolish like drink too much and then tell everyone that I’ve recently kissed the groom.
“I don’t know. I just thought you would want to be there. I thought we were friends again?”
“Well, yeah . . . I mean, that was before I knew you were engaged.”
“So, my being engaged means we can’t be friends?” he asks, getting heated.
“Yeah, of course. Would that be fair to Maureen? Does she even know about me?” His face answers that question.
“I mentioned you once or twice.” He looks down, obviously not wanting to see the expression on my face, which I’m sure is not pretty right now.
That’s weird, right? I mean, I told Adam about Ian. Maybe not a ton of detail, but Adam knew who he was. He probably wouldn’t have remembered if asked. But remembering small details is not a guy thing to do, anyway, especially for Adam.
“So, how did you even talk about college?” I had to ask. How did he get around telling her anything about college without bringing me up? We spent practically every waking minute together.
“Of course I told her about college. I just left you out of most of it.”
Ouch.
“Well, thanks.” I look down at my hands, now playing furiously with my purse strap.
“Why would I tell her about you, Bridgette?” His face goes slightly red. I know that look. I’ve set him off. I was always good at doing that. I guess I still am.
“I don’t know, maybe because I’m a part of your past?” I’m feeling unexpectedly defensive right now. How dare he just brush me to the side like that?
He leans in toward me, his face still red. His eyes are on me, piercing me with his stare. “Why would I want her to know that in my heart she will always be second best?” He curses under his breath and puts his head in his hand.
“What?” I pick up my jaw, which has suddenly fallen to the floor.
He looks up at me. “You’ve ruined me, Bridgette. I’ve compared everyone I’ve ever been with to you. Maureen was the first person who came close.”
“I . . .” My heart is racing, and I’m feeling like I can’t take a deep breath. “Ian . . .” I start to say but then stop. What can I say right now? This might possibly be the most romantic thing that anyone has ever said to me in my entire life. But it’s a romantic thing that can lead nowhere. Ian is getting married.
What I want to do right now is tell him what I should have told him years ago before he left for London. Why couldn’t I just say it back then? How different would my life be right now? But it wouldn’t be fair to say it now.
“I just wish,” he starts to say, but then stops himself.
“You wish what?” Maybe he wishes he wasn’t engaged? Maybe he wishes we could go back to the old days?
“I wish I never ran into you.” He looks down at his hands, now resting in his lap.
“Oh,” is all I can say. Ouch. That one hurt worse than telling me he left me out of his college stories.
“No, sorry.” He shakes his head, “I don’t mean that. It just made things harder for me, that’s all.”
“Sorry, Ian,” I say, feeling incredibly sad.
“Don’t be sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I’m glad I saw you. I’m glad you look good and healthy and that you are the same Bridgette that I lo—,” he shakes his head, “that I knew.”
We sit in silence. A million thoughts are going through my head. I wish, in circumstances like this, that we were in some sort of boxing ring, and I could go back to my corner and have Gram and Ashley help me break everything down and tell me what to say. Then I could come back into the conversation ready. But I don’t have them here. I’m on my own.
“Do you love her?”
“Maureen? Yeah . . . yeah, I love her.” He nods his head.
“Yes, I mean, of course you do.” I look to the side, awkwardly. That was a stupid question. I don’t even know why I asked. Being on my own is obviously not going well.
“She’s pretty perfect for me.” He runs a hand through his hair. “She just has one fault, really.”
“Oh?” I look up, intrigued.
“She’s not you.” He gives me a small sad smile.
Oh, gosh, what can I even say to that? That’s like something from a movie. This was not exactly what I anticipated when I said I would meet him. I mean, of course, in my head, one of the imagined scenarios was him saying he still loves me and wants to be with me. And, essentially, he has told me he still has feelings for me, but it’s not the same, is it? Knowing all of this is almost worse than not knowing, especially when there’s nothing I can do about it.
“Ian, I don’t think we can be friends,” I finally say, tears prickling behind my eyes. It kind of feels like we’re breaking up all over again. But like a real breakup this time. Last time was all about words left unsaid and doors slamming.
“I think you’re right, Bridge.” He reaches across the table and grabs my hand. The touch of his hand makes me even sadder, and then the tears start to spill out.
“Bridgette, don’t cry,” he says, rubbing the side of my hand with his thumb.
I feel dumb for crying, but I can’t help myself.
We stand up from the table without words and walk out of the café together. He puts his hand on the small of my back to guide me out. I’m still trying to gather myself. The tears keep escaping.
“Well,” he says matter-of-factly as we exit.
“Well.” I echo his tone.
We stand there looking at each other. “I guess this is it, then?” I say, wiping my eyes with my hand. What a scene this must be for onlookers.
“Yeah, I guess so.” He pulls me in for a hug, and I resist the urge to start blubbering, and also the desire to smell him.
“Take care, Ian,” I say as I pull away from the hug.
�
��You, too, Bridge.” He gives me a small smile.
I turn around and start walking away without another word. I do look back and catch him doing the same thing. It’s a heartbreaking look. He just stands there.
That’s it, then. Four years of wondering about Ian and how he is. Now I know, and now he’s out of my life once again. This time, for good.
CHAPTER 25
“I swear it was her, Bridgette,” Justin says as we spend another Monday doing more humiliating marketing for Edelweiss Catering. My dirndl is cutting off my breathing. I can only take short, quick breaths.
It’s been nearly a week since I said goodbye to Ian once again. Well, at least this time it was definite. Last time, there was no official goodbye. I can’t honestly say which one was worse. At least this one had closure.
Justin wiggles around in his lederhosen.
“What’s wrong with you?” I ask as he practically starts to dance.
“I’ve got a wedgie.” He hands me the sign he’s supposed to be spinning. “Guard me.”
I stand in front of him and wiggle the sign around while he takes care of the problem.
Once everything is back to normal, we start up again, Justin with the sign spinning and me handing out flyers.
“How could you know it was her?” I ask, getting us back to the pre-wedgie conversation.
“Who would forget her?” he responds, giving me a you-must-be-stupid look.
He does have a point. Serene isn’t someone you forget easily. I would like to forget her, but I sense that will not be happening anytime soon.
“And where were you again?” I ask, trying to piece the details together in my head.
“At the café with Ash.”
“When did you guys go there?” I ask because usually I’m with them at the café. It’s our place.
“After we caught a play the other night,” he says, looking out into the city.
