by Adams, S. C.
“Jason isn’t coming,” Stephen swallows.
I stare at him, uncomprehending.
“What do you mean?”
The words are straight-forward, and I know there must be a “but” involved. Right?
“Jay has cold feet, and we couldn’t talk him into showing up. He called off the wedding. I’m sorry, Lexi.”
I blink numbly a few times, trying to process this information.
“He has cold feet?”
Stephen nods. “We tried to tell him it will pass, but…”
I shake my head and cover my face with my hands.
“This isn’t happening,” I mutter before looking at Stephen again.
It isn’t until now that I can hear the chatter of my bridal party standing next to us.
“Jason stood her up?” I hear Briana whisper with excitement.
“I knew they weren’t meant to be,” Heather murmurs.
“Of course, because Jason could have anyone. Why would he want Lexi?” Briana snickers.
I’m too numb to tear my bitchy little cousin’s hair out. Another time, another place, maybe. But after just being stood up by my groom, I want to disappear and die from the humiliation.
“Sorry,” Stephen pats my shoulder awkwardly before walking off, his shoulders slumped.
A million thoughts run through my mind. All Jason had to do was show up. That was his one job, and he failed! Even though I have second thoughts, I’m here. I’m the one who has to face a church full of our family and friends.
Three-hundred people are waiting for me to the walk down the aisle! That spoiled asshole doesn’t even have the decency to show up to explain it to them? He doesn’t show up to explain to me how he could do this? I might vomit on the spot.
“The church is full of people still!” Heather gasps, peeking inside. “What should we do?”
“What are we going to say?” Mom sighs, rubbing her forehead. “What will everyone think? Oh my god, I’m sure my friends are already whispering. I’m going to be the laughingstock of our social set.”
Trust my mom to think only of herself. Meanwhile, Melanie storms into the church; I know she’ll take care of breaking the news that there won’t be a wedding today.
My bouquet slips from my fingers and tumbles to the ground as I stand there, watching my bridal party panic.
“What do we do now?” Heather whines. “Oh my god oh my god!”
“Ugh, we’re all dressed up for nothing. Do you think we can still go to the party? That’s not going to be called off, is it?” Jennifer whines.
“This is so humiliating for our family,” Heather grumbles.
Not one of them cares about me. They don’t even bother to quiet their complaints so that I don’t hear them. That’s how self-centered the girls are. Meanwhile, Mom’s already on the phone with the caterer, trying to get some of our deposit back.
I can’t deal with any of this nonsense. I have to get out of here now. Soon, wedding guests will be exiting the church to see me standing here wearing the wedding dress that I picked out with my groom in mind.
I look down at my gaudy engagement ring. It’s big and gaudy, with sharp facets that look deadly enough to draw blood. God, it’s even uglier than usual today, now that it’s a reminder of the commitment Jason broke.
Gathering my gown in my hands, I dart back to the limo. My heels clatter on the sidewalk, and I probably look crazy, but I don’t care. I fling open the door of the limo and burrow myself into the dark safety.
“Please, take me home,” I beg the driver, feeling tears fill my eyes.
He nods and revs the engine before pulling away from the curb. The entire ride to my apartment in Morningside Heights, I replay my relationship with Jason. What a lousy boyfriend he was, and an even worse fiancé. I can’t imagine how awful of a husband he would have been. And God bless our children if we’d had any!
I draw a shaky breath. I dodged a bullet, that’s for sure. But why do I feel so unsteady? My hands tremble a bit, and adrenalin is racing through my body at sixty miles an hour.
A beep goes off on my phone, and I pick it up from the limo seat to stare at the screen. I assume it’s from Jason with an explanation, but instead, it’s from Melanie. What a spineless coward I have for a fiancé!
Are you okay? Where are you?
I text her back just as the limo stops outside my apartment building.
I’m home.
I don’t bother telling her anything else. There are so many feelings twisting me up inside—pain, embarrassment, regret. But at the same time, I don’t feel anything at all. A numbing emptiness is all that fills me as I step out of the limo.
As soon as I get into my apartment, I yank the engagement ring off and slam it on the table. I kick off my shoes and shimmy the dress off, kicking all of it into a corner in my bedroom. All I want to do is go back to sleep and pretend this nightmare isn’t happening. That asshole. He deserves what he gets.
2
Kane
The group of ladies standing in the corner are trying to stand at the right angle to appear more attractive. I’ve seen this routine a thousand times. I often entertain clients at Marquee, a lounge my friend owns.
As I sip my drink, I can tell I’m being stared at by the passel of young women. They’re scantily dressed, showing off tiny waists and pushed-up boobs.
“It looks like we have admirers,” my client, Hal Harper, says, nodding over to them.
I take a sip of my drink and look at the wedding ring of my client. Hal is a happily married man, and the silver band gleams on his tanned finger. He’s probably wondering why I’m not married yet, but to tell the truth, there are a million reasons.
I’m the CEO at Infinity Investments, a billion-dollar company that’s made me a wealthy man. I worked from the bottom to get where I am today. Although I try to live the lifestyle I’m supposed to, it’s not what I want from life.
Many of the people at my level are snakes in the grass. They want me to approve deals or hook them up with women when they have wives at home. I don’t support that. I don’t want to be in an episode of “Mad Men.”
While I can snap my fingers and be surrounded by women, I find myself bored with them altogether. All of these girls try to look the same with their contoured make-up, false eyelashes, and trendy clothes. It’s as if they all want to look like Kylie Jenner, and spend hours in front of the mirror to achieve that effect. Sometimes, their faces blur before my eyes because they look so similar now. It’s eerie.
I learned to stop looking for someone I can trust long ago. Now, I just want lust and a physical connection. But while these girls staring at me can get my dick hard, I’d bet not a single one of them will make me want to come back for more.
“How’s your wife?” I ask. “You should have brought her to New York.”
Hal laughs.
“Linda doesn’t like when I talk business. No offense, buddy, but she’d be bored listening to us discuss shop.”
I nod. That’s understandable. Not everyone was born to talk shop, and I see my natural way with business as something to be proud of. One day, I wouldn’t mind having a sassy woman by my side, and if she wants to stay at home instead of working, that would be fine with me. But that’s a long way off as of yet. I certainly haven’t met someone that I’ve even been tempted to propose to.
As the night goes on, I get my client to close the deal with me. But the more drinks he gets in him, the bolder he gets with the women. I thought Hal was happily married, but alcohol can change a man’s personality. Feeling jovial, he invites two ladies over to our table.
The girls are making small talk with us. One of them casually slides into my lap as she tells a story.
“Oh my God, my friend was at this wedding today… and the groom never showed up. Isn’t that awful? That poor girl. How embarrassing!” she laughs, clutching her chest.
“Clearly, the guy was an idiot.”
“Well, the groom is rich. My friend thinks
he figured out the girl was using him for his money, so he high-tailed it out of there,” she explains. “I would never use a guy for his money.”
She’s speaking in an overexaggerated tone as she looks at me with meaning in her eyes.
“I’m sure you wouldn’t,” I murmur. “Excuse me, I’m going to talk to my friend.”
I spot another friend, Mike, the owner of Marquee. In addition to being buddies, we also play softball together in an adult intramural league.
“Hey, Kane,” Mike says, giving me a handshake. “I saw you at your usual table, but you looked like you had your hands full with that blonde,” he laughs.
“Yeah, she made it clear she would never use a guy for money.” I roll my eyes. “You know, never. Let me guess: a piece like her got in free.”
“See, this is when you throw in a ‘I would never use a girl for sex’ line,” Mike laughs. “I’ll send over a bottle for the table.”
“Thanks,” I tell Mike.
I look back toward my table. Hal and one of the blondes are making out. Disgust comes over me. Sometimes I wish I didn’t live in the type of world where everybody uses everybody for something. It gets a man jaded, fast.
Plus, the older I become, the less I believe in love. And that feeling is depressing. Growing up, I never dreamed of becoming a billionaire. I dreamed of starting a family, with a wife, kids, and a dog. Right now, I have the dog, but that’s it.
A few hours later, I wake up to the girl from Marquee in my bed. Her tiny ass is bare, and I rub my eyes sleepily. I slip into my pants and go to the bathroom. When I walk back into my bedroom, the girl is sitting up and beaming at me like she just won the lotto. Shit, I don’t even remember her name.
“Hi,” she waves.
“Hey, listen, I have an early meeting tomorrow… so…” I pause awkwardly. “I can call you a car,” I offer.
“Oh, okay. That’s fine,” she says, getting out of bed. Her nudity is obvious, but she’s not embarrassed at all. I guess this isn’t the first time she’s slipped beneath the sheets with a strange man.
I call my car service as she dresses. I feel her fingers dance across my bare back, so I turn to look at her.
“This was fun. Call me, okay?”
“Sure,” I say before walking her to the door.
She kisses me goodbye before leaving. I get back into bed, knowing I won’t call her. The room is quiet and I stare at the ceiling, willing my mind to go blank. My life is so depressing. I have so many things and have achieved so much, but instead, I just feel empty inside.
3
Lexi
The oversized sunglasses do little to block the sunlight as I peruse the menu. Mom insists we sit outside and enjoy the beautiful spring weather. She, of course, is sitting in the shade while I struggle to read the menu choices.
“I’ll just have the grilled cheese,” I cave, handing the waiter my menu.
I’m getting a headache after trying to read past the first few items. Besides, comfort food is called for after the last few days I’ve had. Mom orders a salad before the waiter walks away.
“Lexi, just because you don’t have to fit into a wedding dress anymore doesn’t mean you should let yourself go,” Renee sucks her teeth, remarking on the grilled cheese I ordered.
I narrow my eyes at her, even though she can’t see them behind my shades. Meanwhile Renee continues.
“You’ve got to put yourself back out there, sweetie. Maybe you can go to the gym with me,” Mom offers, her eyes bright with the idea.
The last thing I need is to go to the gym with my skinny and judgmental mother. Every morning, Renee runs five miles before hitting the weights. Meanwhile, I’m lucky if I make it to the gym once a month to take a cardio class that always leaves me bent over in two with agony.
“Mom, no. I don’t need you monitoring what I eat or my physical fitness.”
Renee looks offended.
“I’m just trying to help. This is a difficult time in your life, and I want to offer suggestions.”
“I know, but I’ll be okay.”
I don’t completely believe the reassurance I give her, but I don’t want Mom meddling in my life any more than she already does.
She means well, and she truly cares for me, but she never realizes how hurtful she can be. Tough love has always been my upbringing. When I was upset and simply wanted to cry on Mom’s shoulder, like now for instance, she wouldn’t have it.
“Crying about it won’t solve anything. Be strong, Lexi,” Mom would say.
If my pain was over a boy, the solution has always been the same: work on my revenge body. A cycle of fad diets and workouts I hated were then shoved down my throat. I’m sick of trying to change myself to either get over a guy or land a guy. I’m done with it. My life isn’t a reality show, and I don’t want to pretend.
“You know, there are lots of options out there for you,” Renee begins while spreading a napkin across her lap. Her nails are perfectly manicured and look young for her age. I wouldn’t be surprised if Renee’s gotten some kind of surgical treatment on her hands to stay youthful.
“Options?” I wonder what she means.
“Do you remember Susan and Kevin’s son, Richard?”
Susan is one of my mother’s friends. From what I remember of her son, he is closer to my mom’s age than mine.
“Balding and glasses?” I ask to make sure I’m correct.
“Big deal if he’s losing some hair,” she shrugs. “He’s very handsome. Maybe not Jason-handsome, but you can’t have expect that. You had your chance, Lexi, and you blew it.”
I stare at her.
“So what you’re saying is that I need to date someone more in my league?” I ask, getting frustrated. “Like Richard, right? Balding, fat and ugly, but as docile as a dormouse. How old is he, Mom?”
My tone drips with snark. Mom takes a sip of her water and shrugs, completely unflustered.
“Fifty-six, maybe fifty-seven.”
“Mom,” I groan. “I’m only twenty-five! What, do I have to resort to trolling retirement centers now?”
Renee frowns.
“Lexi, if you want a dependable man, you need someone older. With age, comes wisdom,” she says.
“Yeah, but he’s older than you!” I protest. “That’s ancient!”
She huffs, mortally offended.
“Are you calling me old, Lexi? For your information, it’s how old you feel inside that counts.”
Oh god. Talking with my mother about the aging process is bound to be depressing, so I change the subject as fast as possible.
“No, no, you look great,” I say quickly. “Oh my gosh, is that our meal?”
As if on cue, the waiter comes over with the food. I immediately take a bite of my sandwich as Mom sets up her salad the way she wants it. Tomatoes kicked to the side. Dressing drizzled lightly around the edges of the bowl. Finally, she gives it a mix with her fork and takes a bite.
“Have you spoken to Jason about the honeymoon?” she asks.
Ugh. I don’t want to talk about Jason or the wedding or dieting or dating. I fucking want to eat my grilled cheese sandwich in peace! For once in my life, I wish my mother would just comfort me like a real mom would. But that’s hoping too much for Renee. Never in my life has she been anything but uppity, and clearly, me getting dumped on my ass is not going to change that.
To make things worse, Jason’s already changed his Facebook status to “single” and posted something about Bora Bora on-line. What? That’s where we were supposed to go for our honeymoon! I guess he decided to not waste his plane ticket or hotel reservation.
Plus, all of our pictures as a couple were deleted from his account, although there were only two of them. It’s like I never existed in his perfect life.
The new Bora Bora post got a few hundred likes, and seeing that, I decided I couldn’t deal with social media with everything going on. I didn’t want to see Jason’s activities or be asked about what had happened. I deleted a
ll of my social media profiles and the gossip that came along with them.
To be sure, my ex-fiancé did reach out via text before he left. He apologized with a simple one-word “sorry.” No explanation offered, and I’m sure no real remorse either. I didn’t even bother to reply. After realizing just how unhappy I was with Jason Peckham, I didn’t need to hear his bullshit excuses.
At least he offered to let me keep the hideous engagement ring, which I will be happy to hock at a pawn shop for some serious cash. That ornate bauble never suited my tastes, even if it cost a wad of money.
“Jason is in Bora Bora right now, on our honeymoon without me,” I explain to my mother in a tight voice.
“Oh, we can go sometime as a mother-daughter vacation,” she soothes. “Don’t be down.”
I smile wanly. Renee continues.
“When we go together, we can snag some hot guys and post photos on social media for Jason to see,” she says as she winks.
I chuckle, but visions of my mother and I picking up “hot guys” doesn’t sound exciting. I guess she hasn’t noticed that I’ve deleted my accounts yet. No doubt she’ll resort to playing matchmaker on Facebook. She’s the type of person to fall for those fake friend requests from Nigeria.
“It’s a shame you have to send all of those wedding gifts back,” Mom sighs. “Some of the crystal was really nice.”
I almost take my sunglasses off just so she can see the shade I’m throwing at her with my eyes.
“Can we please drop all talk of the wedding and guys and my weight?” I ask. “This isn’t exactly fun, you know.”
Renee sniffs.
“Okay. How’s work? Are they still paying you that awful salary?”
And there it is! Renee just cannot be nice, even given the tragedy that’s just struck. I slam my glass down, and Mom pretends to be surprised by my reaction.
