by Becky Monson
“I’m just going to run and get some ice,” Ian says, standing.
“Ian,” I say, my voice thick when I say his name. The tears linger, waiting to reappear.
“Yeah?” he asks, turning back from going to get the ice.
“Is everything okay?” I ask, feeling sheepish for even going there, but I do want to make sure he’s okay.
“I saw you and Maureen, um, earlier.” Oh, yes, I sound like a stalker. “You didn’t seem, uh, thrilled,” I add, piling on the stalker evidence. I look down at my hands, feeling silly for even prying. But in my heart of hearts, I do want to know. I want him to be happy. Even if it’s not with me.
“Yeah,” he says, traces of a frown on his face. “Everything’s great.” His frown lifts to a hint of a smile. I know he’s lying, but I don’t say anything. “I’ll be right back with the ice.” He pats my ankle lightly.
“I should have told you,” my mouth says, unexpectedly. Where did that come from? Crap.
“Huh?” he asks, turning around again and looking at me. “You should have told me what?” He furrows his brow.
“Um,” I swallow hard. What am I doing?
“Bridge, tell me,” he says, sitting down at the end of the couch by my feet.
I let out a long shaky exhale. “I should have told you,” I close my eyes because I can’t look at him. This is poor timing, I know. But I can’t help myself. “I should have told you I loved you that night,” I say and then look up to see his face, which looks ashen, as if the life has been sucked out of it.
“What?” he says, his voice so quiet I barely heard it.
“I’m sorry, for so many things,” I go on. “But one of my biggest regrets was that I never told you I loved you that night before you left me, before you left for London.”
“Bridgette—”
“I know,” I swallow hard, “this is total crap timing. But seeing you again, spending time with you, I realized that I never stopped loving you. And I know I’ll probably never see you again after tonight, but I wanted you to know.”
This is not at all how I envisioned this night going. My heart is pounding in my chest at the words I’ve just said to him—words that should have been said so long ago—and my mind is racing, trying to figure out why I chose right now to say this.
Ian looks at me. “Are you serious right now?” he asks. Fire burns in his eyes and I know immediately he’s angry.
“I’m sorry,” I plead with my voice, “I don’t know why I’m telling you this now.” I look down at my hands, trying to find feelings of shame, but I don’t feel shame. I feel brave. Stupid, but brave.
“Bridgette, this is really terrible timing seeing that my fiancée is sitting in the next room.” He spits out the word fiancée.
Without warning, tears come quickly and run down my face.
“I know,” I say, sorrow in my voice. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have told you.”
Ian curses. He stands up and starts pacing in front of me. “I’m getting married tomorrow, Bridgette. I’m going on my honeymoon to freaking St. Thomas on Sunday.” He runs a hand through his dark hair, tousling it. I can’t say this is how I expected him to react because I had no idea I was going to say what I said. But this seems about right.
“I know,” I say again, my voice thick as the tears keep coming. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” I say in a whisper.
“Me, too.” Ian nods his head. I can practically see the steam coming off his burning face. It’s London all over again, but this time I’m actually telling him that I love him, but he’s still going to leave.
“This was selfish of me,” I say, wiping the tears away with the back of my hand.
“Bridge,” he says, his voice different. I look up, and there’s a smidgeon of kindness in his eyes. Maybe even some forgiveness for my ridiculous timing. He sits down at the end of the couch again. He looks at me. Our eyes meet, and something flashes in his.
He loves me, too. Ian still loves me.
“Ian.” I sit up toward him and grab his hand, heat shooting through me when we touch. We keep staring at each other, our breathing heavy. I see on his face that his mind is working, thoughts swirling through his head. I want to know what they are.
“Ian?” Maureen says from the doorway of the ballroom, breaking the spell between us.
How long has she been standing there? What did she hear?
“Maureen,” Ian says, dropping my hand and standing quickly from the couch. He looks guilty. We probably both do.
“Is everything okay?” She eyes us both suspiciously.
“Yes,” Ian says, then rakes a hand through his hair. “Everything’s fine.”
“Are you okay?” She peers curiously at me, and I’m sure shame is written all over my face. I can only hope it’s covered up by the tears falling in rapid succession.
“Sorry,” I squeak out. “The pain has gotten worse,” I say. The pain is definitely worse, but not in my ankle.
“Everyone is wondering what’s taking you so long.” She looks at Ian, suspicion still in her eyes.
“Right.” Ian shakes his head quickly. “I was just helping. Let’s go back inside. I’ll send someone out with ice,” he says without looking back at me.
He grabs her hand, and they walk back inside.
What was that? Something definitely happened. Like something profound. I saw it in Ian’s eyes. Maybe it was horrible of me to tell him right now. Or maybe . . . maybe he knows now he’s making a mistake.
My heart plummets into my stomach as I realize that sort of thing only happens in the movies. And this is most certainly not a movie – more like a nightmare. The man of my dreams is marrying someone else.
My brain will eventually accept this, I know; my heart, though, may never.
CHAPTER 42
“Rise and shine, buttercup,” Ashley says, waking me from a slumber that took a ridiculous amount of time to find.
“Go away,” I say, words muffled from underneath a pillow.
“No can do,” she says. I feel her sit down on the bed next to me. “I have plans for us today. Fun plans. Just-you-and-me plans,” she adds, nudging me with her elbow.
I smell coffee. I pull the pillow away from my head to see that she has two large cups labeled “Starbucks.” I sit up and, without words, grab one of the cups from her and take a sip. The hot liquid seeps down my throat, waking me up.
Waking up, though, comes with consequences. I’m now conscious on a day when I would rather be sleeping. September twenty-first is here. The day of the weddings.
I hate weddings.
I take a deep breath, blinking my eyes to bring them into focus.
“So, do you want to know what we’re doing today?” she asks, and then takes a sip of her coffee.
“If it doesn’t involve sedation of any kind, then I want no part of it.” I push my two pillows up against the headboard and lean back.
“Nope, no sedation. Sorry. But I’m sure we could find some. This is New York, after all,” she says.
“Don’t you need to be at rehearsal?” I ask, pulling my eyebrows together.
“I’m off today, lucky for you,” she says, a mock-condescending look on her face.
“Yes, lucky me,” I say, with as much sarcasm as I can muster. “Fine, what’s the plan?”
“Well, first, I thought we would get a mani-pedi,” she says, ticking off the ideas on her fingers. “Then I thought we would catch a movie, not—” she cuts me off with her hand when she sees the objection on my face. Her gesture also stops the protest that was about to cross my lips. “Not a chick flick. Something with no love or romance in it at all. We’ll call Justin and have him give us some options.”
“Ugh,” I declare. Justin’s picks most definitely won’t have romance, but I doubt I will leave the theater happy.
“Do you want to hear the rest or not?” she asks, her head tilted to the side.
“Fine.” I roll my eyes. “Go ahead.”
“Then, I
thought we could do a little shopping,” she says, with a double eyebrow raise.
“Now you’re talking,” I say, sitting up a little bit. I could do some major retail therapy damage today.
“And then we’ll see where the day carries us. The future is bright.” Her smile reaches her eyes, and I know she means more than today.
Unfortunately, my future looks bleak at the moment, lonely and depressing, actually. I sink back into my pillows and wish once again that I could just sleep the day away.
“Get up.” Ashley nudges me with her hand. “Come on, get dressed, and let’s go.”
I am resolved to the fact that she will probably not take no for an answer, so I throw out a “fine” and get out of my bed.
Ashley goes out to the living room to sit with Gram while I get ready for the day. After a quick shower, I throw on a floral dress that lands slightly above my knees and grab a cropped jean jacket in case it gets a little cool. It’s been unseasonably warm for this time of year, but the nights are starting to feel a little nippy.
I wrap my ankle for extra support, even though it’s feeling a lot better this morning, and wear brown leather wedges that are surprisingly comfortable. I just hope Gram doesn’t notice and make me put on flats. I don’t think I could survive the day in plain old flats.
“You look lovely,” Gram lies as I come out the door.
My outfit might be cute, but I saw my face in the mirror. My eyes are puffy and red and look lovely against my lackluster skin tone. I sort of look like death. I also feel like it, so that makes sense.
“Well, thanks for the chat,” Ashley says to Gram as she stands up from the couch.
“A pleasure, as always,” Gram says from her favorite chair. “Have a fun day today, you two,” she says, her eyes smiling.
“See you later, Gram.” I walk over and plant a kiss on the top of her head.
“Oh, wait,” Gram says as I start to walk away.
“Yes,” I turn around.
“Can you help me with the DRV thing?” she asks, a look of frustration on her face.
“You mean the DVR?” I ask, a small smirk on my lips. She can’t even get the name right, much less use the darn thing.
“Yes. I want to watch The Young and the Restless from yesterday. I haven’t had a chance to watch it yet.” That’s Gram for you. Can’t even miss a day. I’m totally over that show. It’s like watching my current life on television. No, thank you.
“Sure,” I say and she hands me the remote. I press a few buttons and within seconds the opening music for Gram’s favorite soap opera fills the room.
“I’m so excited for this episode,” she says, her face turned toward the TV. “I think Jessica’s going to try to stop Ian’s wedding.”
Her eyes go wide as she turns to look at me and Ashley.
“Don’t worry, Gram, I can handle it,” I say before she can apologize. It was an honest mistake.
I can’t lie, though. The words “Ian’s wedding” did make my heart sink and my stomach drop. Whatever smidgeon of an appetite I did have is surely gone now.
My phone beeps, and I reach down into my purse and pull it out.
Sorry.
Ian. His ears must be burning.
My heart rate jumps. He’s sorry? Why is he sorry? I’m the one who should be sorry. And why is he texting me? It’s his wedding day.
I show the phone to Ashley and Gram. Ashley gasps. I take the phone back and type.
Me too, I text back.
“What did he write back?” Gram asks, now with full attention on me, the television muted.
“He hasn’t had time to write back yet, Gram. Or maybe he won’t.” Just as I say it, my phone beeps.
We really messed things up, didn’t we?
Messed things up? You could say that.
Yes. We did.
I hit send.
Gram, Ashley, and I are all crowded around my phone, waiting for another text from Ian. The phone beeps, and we all jump.
The text is not from Ian this time. It’s from Justin.
Is this chick for real?
I look at Ashley, and the confusion on her face reflects mine.
“What chick is he talking about? What’s Ian talking about?” Gram asks, looking back and forth between Ashley and me.
“Not Ian, Gram. Justin,” I say, looking at my phone.
“You kids and all your texting, in my day we—”
The beep of my phone cuts her off, and we all gather around. This time it’s a picture. A snapshot of Serene with that same guy, in the same back booth at our favorite café. She’s wearing sunglasses and a canvas-colored fedora, but it’s her all right.
Isn’t she supposed to be getting married today?
Another text from Justin. I text him back, confirming that she does, indeed, have vows on her agenda—in just a few hours, in fact. The wedding is scheduled for two this afternoon.
“Wow, she’s got a lot of nerve, going out on the day of her wedding,” Gram says. She shakes her head, incredulously.
I wish you would have told me sooner.
“Ian,” I say, showing the phone to Gram and Ashley. My heart practically leaps out of my chest at his text and tears instantly fill my eyes. Gram puts a hand on my back, a gentle rub to comfort me.
Me too, I text back.
I close my eyes, and tears roll down my cheeks.
Be happy.
Be happy? I don’t want to be happy. Not without him. I don’t care how dramatic that sounds.
I move over to the couch and sit down. Ashley sits next to me, and Gram goes back to her chair.
“Well, I think that’s just a rotten thing to do, him texting you like that on the day he’s going to get married. If you ask me, it sounds like he’s having second thoughts,” Gram declares, all indignant.
“What? No,” I say, looking down at the screen on my phone. But my heart picks up pace at the thought, which may not be good. It was already racing.
The television unmutes, and Gram looks frantically around for the remote, only to find that she’s sitting on it.
“If any of you has reason to believe that this union should not happen, speak now or forever hold your peace,” a man’s voice streams from the television.
“I object!” The camera pans to Jessica, who is standing up in the back, her hand raised.
Gram, Ashley, and I are immediately glued to the television.
“Jessica,” television Ian says. “What are you doing here?”
“You love me,” Jessica says, now walking up the aisle toward the bride and groom. “Don’t make this mistake and marry the wrong girl,” she declares.
“How dare you show up here and ruin my wedding!” Heather screams, but she’s too late. There’s a jolt between Jessica and Ian. As they walk trancelike toward each other and he grabs her and dips her and kisses her in front of the congregation.
Gram turns the television off after that. I look at Gram and Ashley, my eyes frantic, my mind running wild with possibilities—thoughts that should not be going through my mind right now.
“Well . . .” Gram says, trailing off.
“Well,” Ashley says, standing up. “Let’s go get those mani-pedis.” She grabs me by the arm and drags me up to standing. She can see the wildness in my eyes, and she knows where my brain has gone.
She says goodbye to Gram and pulls me out of the apartment.
“Let’s get this day started, shall we?” she asks as we leave the apartment.
I haven’t said anything because my heart and my mind are going someplace that’s hard to come back from.
Ian – my Ian – is marrying the wrong girl.
I know it’s a stupid soap opera, but what if it’s like some crazy sign from the cosmos? I mean, that’s too weird, right? Is the universe telling me something?
Ashley knows exactly what I’m thinking. She yammers on, trying to keep the focus away from weddings and men, and I’m barely listening to a word she’s saying. I’m not even pay
ing attention to where we’re going. I’m on autopilot, just following her. When I finally take in where we are, I see we’ve somehow made it to the subway. I have no recollection of getting here.
We get on the train and both take open seats toward the back of the car.
My phone beeps just as I sit down. I look at the screen.
Gross.
Justin. A picture follows. Serene and the mystery dude making out. Gross, indeed. My stomach turns. Not just because of the picture, but because I know I need to do something.
There are two weddings today—two weddings that shouldn’t happen.
I show the picture to Ashley, and she shakes her head and rolls her eyes.
“Ashley,” I say, looking her in the eyes. “I have to do something.”
She shakes her head because she knows me so well. She knows what I want to do without my having to say it. And even though she knows she should talk me out of it, she realizes she can’t.
“I think we’re gonna need reinforcements,” she says, pulling out her phone. She sends a text, and four stops later, when we walk up the stairs from the subway, Justin is waiting there for us.
“What’re you making me do now, Reynolds?” Justin asks, a smirk on his face.
“Bridgette needs to stop two weddings,” Ashley says to him, answering for me. I didn’t even tell her I was also thinking about Ian’s wedding, too. She knows me well.
“What are we waiting for?” Justin asks, rubbing his hands together like this is something you do every day.
But this is not something you do every day, and I have no idea what I’m doing.
“Where is Adam getting married?” Ashley asks, her smart phone in hand.
“Um . . .” I rack my brain trying to remember where Carla said the reception was going to be. “It’s in Jersey. Somewhere in Jersey.”
“Well, that only narrows it down to a billion places,” Justin says, rolling his eyes.
