by Becky Monson
My mind instantly went blank. I could hear something screaming in the back of my brain, but I was so confused and caught up in everything that was happening in the present moment that I couldn’t make heads or tails of it.
Ignoring the screaming, and only for a moment, I gave in to the kiss. I didn’t want it, but I didn’t push it away, either.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” a voice said from somewhere. It wasn’t a loud voice, and I was so lost in what was happening with Brandon, that I had actually thought I’d imagined it.
But it was enough to snap me out of whatever spell Brandon had put me under, and I pulled away from him instantly. I turned slowly around and locked eyes with Ian.
“Ian,” I said breathlessly, my hand going up to my lips, trying to cover up what had just transpired. But there was no hiding it.
He didn’t say anything. He simply turned around and walked out the door, slamming it shut as he left.
I ran to the door, swinging it open so fast it banged against the wall. I ran out, looking in all directions for Ian. I found him getting into his car, and I took off as fast as I could, but even if I had the speed of a superhero, there was no catching up with him. His wheels peeled out as he got away from me as fast as he could.
CHAPTER 31
“How do you feel?” Ashley asks, as she sits across the booth from me at our regular café. We stopped in after work.
“Pretty dang good,” I say and smile.
I did it. I got the job. I’m now officially the assistant catering manager at Edelweiss Catering. I can’t believe it. It all happened so fast. Well, not so fast . . . it did take nearly four years.
It was sort of a whirlwind thing. I came in to work this afternoon, Ursula pulled me aside, told me I had the job, announced it to the staff, and that was that. Then I walked around the rest of the afternoon with a silly grin pasted on my face. All of the relationships in my life may be completely in the crapper, but my career is off to a new start. I see big things in my future. I’m not exactly sure what those big things are, because it’s not like Edelweiss Catering is going to take me to new, crazy heights, but I can feel it anyway. Big things are happening for Bridgette Reynolds.
“Justin told me he was going to have to a find a new job,” I say, looking at Ashley with apprehension. I’m not sure how she’ll respond. I’ve been trying not to bring up his name, but this pretending-he-doesn’t-exist thing has to end.
“Did he?” she asks, looking at her nail beds as if I said nothing of importance.
“Yes. He said having me as a boss might be worse than Ursula.”
Not even a smile. She just nods her head a few times.
“Ash, how long is this going to go on?” I can’t keep being in the middle of all of this. Even though they have both tried to keep me out of it, it’s pretty much impossible.
Apparently, when they met for coffee and declared their feelings for each other, the “relationship” lasted for all of thirty minutes before they got in a big fight about who-knows-what, and that was the end. Ever since, I’ve been bouncing back and forth between the two, no one asking me to pick sides. Which is good, because I don’t think I could. It’s only been a couple of weeks, though. That could change. So now my trio is gone, my ex-boyfriend hates me, and my ex-ex-boyfriend is . . . well, I don’t know what he is. There’s way too much drama in my life right now.
“So,” Ashley says, her countenance clearly stating that she’ll be changing the subject. “What is your first order of business as the new assistant catering manager?”
“Well, I do plan on cashing my check and rolling around in all of my new funds,” I say, and giggle. I did get a substantial raise but not enough to do anything too crazy.
She laughs at that. It’s good to hear Ashley laugh. She hasn’t done much of it this past week; Justin hasn’t, either. Why don’t they both get over themselves and realize they’re perfect for each other?
“Really, I’m just going to be running my own events. So it’s more work, but less grunt work,” I say, thinking about how I will never have to wear that stupid dirndl again. I smile to myself. I’m finally getting somewhere in my career. It feels good.
“Gosh, that sounds nice,” she says, pensively. “Maybe someday I’ll be done with the grunt work myself.” She gives me a dull smile.
“Ash, it’s gonna happen,” I say.
She sighs. “We shall see.”
She’s gone through the wringer, yet again, over this last audition. Back and forth with callback after callback. I’m sure it’s probably overwhelming, especially since there’s still no answer either way. The waiting has to be the hardest part, I would think.
“Heard anything about the whole Adam thing?” she asks.
“Oh.” I purse my lips and shake my head. It’s been two weeks since that all went down. “It is what it is. Nothing I can do about it. He’s just going to marry a cheater, I guess.”
“Did you ever call Carla?”
“Yep. She told me Adam has forbidden anyone in the family to talk to me.” I purse my lips together again.
“No way,” Ashley says, incredulously.
I’m having a hard time believing it myself. Hearing Carla tell me over the phone that no one in the family can talk to me until after things have settled—when all the wedding stuff is done—broke my already-damaged heart. And even after the wedding, there are no guarantees. I was only trying to help, and look where it got me. I guess I’ve learned my lesson there.
“Yep. It’s like he’s brainwashed or something.” I ponder that for a few seconds. Maybe Serene really is a witch . . .
“It’s so weird that he didn’t believe you at all,” she says, grabbing the last French fry from the basket we were sharing. She shoves the whole thing in her mouth.
“I know, right? Like I would make that big of a production to try to get him back.” I slouch in my seat. Men are so dumb.
Ashley giggles.
“Okay, fine. I did make Justin be my fake boyfriend so I could try to get Adam back. I guess that was quite the production. But he had no idea that’s what I was doing, so it can’t be used against me.” I give her snooty duck lips.
“Anyway, they can have each other. I’m officially done butting in,” I say, wiping my hands together to add emphasis.
“And what about Ian? Are you washing your hands clean of that?” she asks, leaning back in her seat.
“I probably should,” I say and look out into the café. I look back at her, “but I don’t know if I’m ready yet.”
I haven’t seen Ian since I met up with him and Maureen, but we have been texting on a regular basis. I hate it that I can’t stop my heart from pounding when I see his name on my phone screen. I need to learn how to control my freaking heart.
“Have you ever told him the truth?” Ashley asks, looking me in the eyes.
“I tried to tell him, remember? He said it was ‘water under the bridge’ or something,” I say, using air quotes.
“I don’t mean that,” she says, shaking her head briefly.
“What do you mean, then?”
“Have you ever told him that you should have said you loved him that day?” She tilts her head to the side.
“No,” I say, looking down at my hands. “I don’t think I should. It feels wrong.”
“Don’t you think he deserves to know?” she asks.
“Not really. What good will it do?” I look up at her. “I keep putting myself in Maureen’s—his fiancée’s—shoes.” I interject the fiancée part when Ashley gives me a confused look. “What if it were me? What if I was marrying someone and some girl crept in and made everything different. I can’t be that girl,” I say, looking down at the empty French fry basket on the table. I wish there were more. I suddenly have a hankering for eating my feelings.
“Even if it would make you happy?” she prods further.
“Yes,” I say after a moment. “Even if it would make me happy.”
“So loyal,�
� Ashley declares. “It’s one of the things I admire about you, you know.”
That gives me pause. I’ve never thought of myself as loyal, but I guess that does describe me. How else would you explain my attachment to Adam’s family even after the breakup, or the fact that I’ve stayed at a job longer than I probably should have? It also explains why I refuse to pick sides between Ashley and Justin.
“Thanks,” I say.
“So, are you going to continue this friend charade with him, then?” Ashley asks in her normal non-sugarcoated way.
“Probably. Maybe. I don’t know,” I say, babbling.
“Which one is it, then?”
“I don’t know,” I say flatly. And that’s the truth. I don’t know.
Of course, thinking about Ian makes my heart pound in my chest, per usual. But my heart is going to have to get over it. It’s too late.
CHAPTER 32
I think I romanticized the whole assistant catering manager job a little too much in my head.
It’s not that I thought it would be easier than serving, but I did think I would enjoy it more. There are some parts I like, but overall, it has felt a little joyless. It’s only been a week, so I suppose I haven’t had enough time to fully judge.
I knew I would have to manage the staff and supervise the events, but what I didn’t realize was that there were so many things behind the scenes that I would have to do, like all of the administrative duties. Ursula has put me in charge of scheduling shifts and managing inventory. I have no idea what the other assistant managers have to do, but I feel like I’ve been given the hardest jobs. The scheduling is, in a word, torturous. All of these future Broadway stars needing time off for auditions and trying to make it all work so there is enough staff for every event . . . well, it’s mind-numbing.
Currently, I’m sitting on the floor of Gram’s apartment, going over the schedule on my new company laptop (I feel so snazzy!), trying to find someone to fill a spot, and there is literally no one. I’ve even debated putting on a uniform and doing double-duty, but I doubt Ursula would approve of that. Plus, I just got out of that horrid uniform. Why would I want to put it back on?
“Figured it out?” Gram asks as she walks back into the living room, carrying two freshly made turkey sandwiches.
“No,” I mutter, staring at the laptop screen. Maybe I’ve bitten off more than I can chew with this job.
Gram hands me a plate with the sandwich on it, and I set it down next to me. With one hand, I grab a half and take a huge bite. I’m starving. All of this brain usage is making me ravenous.
“So take a break,” Gram says, as she plops down in her favorite chair. “The Young and the Restless is on.” I look up to see her giving me a little eyebrow wiggle.
I know I should say no, but I also know that if I don’t take a break, I might . . . well, break.
I set my laptop down on the floor next to me and then pick up my plated turkey sandwich and place it in my lap. I grab the sandwich and take another bite.
“Fill me in on what’s been happening,” I say through the turkey sandwich bite.
Gram gawks at me disapprovingly. She thinks it’s unladylike to talk with your mouth full, as do most humans. When I’m at home I feel like I should be allowed to do such things, but Gram, apparently, does not. Of course, reading smut and giving advice from Fifty Shades of Grey is totally acceptable behavior.
“Well,” she says, after finishing a bite of her sandwich, “I think Ian is going to propose to Jessica.” She puts her sandwich on her plate and grabs a napkin to wipe her mouth.
“But I thought he was in love with Heather?” I ask, totally puzzled. I swear, you cannot miss one episode.
“He is, but Heather keeps making it seem like she’s in love with that other guy, when it’s totally clear she’s in love with Ian. But she won’t tell him. It’s so frustrating.”
Ugh. Ian. Love. I really wish they’d picked a different name for this character.
“Well, then please turn it on so we can see what happens,” I say, gesturing with my hand toward the television.
Gram fiddles with the remote until the opening song for our favorite soap opera fills the room. Honestly, a soap opera is a poor excuse for an escape, but at this point, I’ll take it.
CHAPTER 33
I know Ashley said I was loyal, but honestly, I just think I’m stupid. I’m totally a glutton for punishment. I deserve what’s coming to me.
“Here you go,” Ian says, handing me a wrapped sandwich he grabbed for us from a nearby deli.
We’re sitting on a bench in Central Park. The park is full of tourists and midday joggers. I have no idea why anyone would want to run in this heat. I’m regretting sitting in it. My light-blue eyelet lace shorts and matching sleeveless peplum top were chosen to keep me cool, but they’re not helping at all.
“Thanks,” I say, taking the sandwich from him.
We both unwrap the top portion of our sandwiches. Mine is a Cuban minus the pickles and his looks like some sort of Italian sandwich.
He taps his sandwich to mine. “To old friends,” he says, and smiles.
“To old friends,” I say, and ignore the sinking feeling in my stomach.
This is totally going to work. We will make this work.
“So, how are wedding plans going?” I ask, after finishing my first bite of sandwich. I can play the role of a friend. I can do this. Even though I truly don’t want to discuss any of it, I can pretend.
It’s silent for a few seconds while he chews. “Um, it’s good, I think.” He wipes his mouth with a napkin. “Everything’s pretty much done. Maureen’s stepmom basically planned the whole thing.”
“And you’re okay with that?” I ask. Ian always seemed like the type of guy who would want to be part of all the planning.
“Yeah, sure,” he nods. “It’s not like I have a lot of time, anyway.”
“How’s Maureen?” I ask.
“Good,” he says simply. “Working a lot of hours. I guess she needs to since she’ll be taking time off when we do all the wedding stuff and go on our honeymoon. It’s just that—” He cuts himself off from finishing the thought.
“It’s just what?” I ask.
“It’s just that . . . nah, never mind.” He shakes his head to himself.
“Ian,” I say, pivoting myself more toward him on the bench, “if we’re going to be friends, then you have to actually treat me like one.” I tilt my head to the side, slightly.
“Right,” he says, using the napkin to sop up the beads of sweat on his forehead. It’s so freaking hot outside today. Who thought lunch in the park was a good idea? Oh, right, it was me.
“Go on,” I coax.
“Okay. She’s gone a lot. I mean, I don’t see her for more than twenty-four hours sometimes.” He looks out into the park. “I keep thinking it’ll change once we’re married, but then I realize that doesn’t even make sense. This is how it’ll be. At least until we have kids. But who knows when that’s going to happen.”
I nod my head. I’m being a good friend. I’m listening. In truth, I’m sick to my stomach with the thought of Ian having kids with Maureen. It makes it all so real. He’s thinking of a family with her. This should have been obvious, but catches me off guard, nonetheless. And it just feels so wrong – so completely wrong.
“See? You don’t even care,” he says and then takes a bite of his sandwich.
“What? I care,” I exclaim. “I was thinking, that’s all.” Yes, I was thinking about how he should be with me and not Maureen.
This is so not going to work.
“It’s nice to talk about it, even if you aren’t offering any opinion.” He nudges me with his elbow. “It’s been on my mind for a while.”
“Have you talked to her about it?” I ask, trying to sound like I want to talk more about this, even though I don’t. But that’s what good friends do, and we’re friends – stupid, freaking friends.
“No, not really.” He looks down at h
is half-eaten sandwich.
“See, Ian? That’s your problem, right there,” I say.
“What do you mean?” He scrunches his face.
“I mean, you never talk about stuff. You keep it all in.” I look at him directly.
“I do not,” he denies.
“You do. I think you just hope things will work themselves out, or maybe you can ignore it.” I’m totally getting to the heart of his issues right now. I feel like Dr. Phil. It’s also dawning on me that I’m like that, as well. I recognize it in him because that’s something I do, too.
“That’s not true,” he says, shaking his head. I can practically see the wheels in his brain churning. He’s trying to defend himself, only he has no defense.
“It is true. You did it to me,” I say, and he looks up at me. “You didn’t even let me explain about Brandon.”
“Bridge—”
“No,” I say, a bolt of confidence hits me from out of the blue. I’m not going to hold back this time. “I need to say this.” I take a deep breath. “I know what you must have thought when you saw me kissing Brandon that night after the fight about London, but it was not what it looked like.”
“Bridgette.” He looks at me as if he doesn’t believe me.
“Just listen,” I say. “It’s not what you thought it was. I mean, yes, what you saw really did happen. But you have to understand, I wasn’t in a good place. And Brandon, he . . . he, basically took advantage of that. He knew we had been fighting. He saw me crying as I walked out of your room. He offered to drive me home, and I thought it was just a kind gesture. He started saying things like what an idiot he had been to let me go. Before I could even wrap my brain around everything, he kissed me. It was so out of the blue and not expected, and I was so distraught over the fight we had. I don’t know why I kissed him back, but I did. And of course, you walked in the door and saw it . . . saw us.” I look down at the sandwich I’m holding in both hands, the shame and embarrassment of that evening swarming in my stomach. “Of course, it looked worse than it was. But then you took off, and I never saw you again. And you never got to tell me—wait, what were you going to tell me?” I’ve always wondered what he was going to say that night. Was he going to end it completely? Was he going to tell me that we could figure it out?
