Chapter Three
Solange
Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. Did I say that out loud?
My body is on fire, and the weight of the moment is pressing so heavily against my chest it’s as if someone’s cinching me into a corset and being purposefully cruel about it. Is this really happening? Am I doing this? Jesus, all of these guests are looking at me. Why, why, why didn’t you just keep your mouth shut, Solange?
Because this wedding is the “before,” and I know exactly how the “after” plays out. My mother had no clue my father was in love with another woman when he married her. The price she paid for that betrayal was steep: Neither her marriage nor her dreams survived it. Dean deserves better. Hell, Ella deserves better too, a fact she’d recognize if she weren’t determined to get married no matter the costs.
What the hell is wrong with people? If you can’t fully commit to a relationship, don’t fucking do it. Simple as that. Yet Ella’s willing to get hitched to Dean even though her heart belongs to someone who’s obviously still a presence in her life.
“Ella, please think this through,” I say once I finally muster the courage to speak again. “You know this isn’t what you want.”
The bride’s eyes flood with tears, my cousin’s skillful wedding-day makeup application ruined in seconds, then she turns to Dean. “Oh God, she’s right. I . . . I can’t marry you. I’m so sorry.”
Ella lifts the hem of her dress and stumbles back up the aisle, her mother scrambling after her. Tyler throws up his hands as if to signal he wants no role in this soap opera, then jumps off the gazebo’s platform and trots toward the parking lot. And Dean? He just stands there, his gaze cloudy as he braces the back of his neck.
Wearing a grim expression, Max moves to stand behind his best friend and places his hands on Dean’s shoulders. With steely determination in his eyes, Max speaks in Dean’s ear. The torrent of words wraps around Dean like armor, straightening his posture and smoothing his furrowed brow. The person before us isn’t embarrassed by what’s happened, and he’s daring anyone to tell him he should be.
I certainly wouldn’t. In fact, I’m now absolutely convinced I did the right thing, and that’s the only reason I haven’t fled the scene. The person Ella’s in love with isn’t some long-lost ex-boyfriend showing up at the eleventh hour and stirring up old feelings. No, he’s in their wedding party. Which means he’ll be in this couple’s orbit for years to come. Just as my mother’s friend (and my father’s current wife) remained in the shadows of my parents’ marriage until she stepped in to take my mother’s place. I wish someone had been there for my mother on her wedding day. Maybe her life would have turned out differently. But no, she discovered the truth herself, years later, and by then she’d tied herself to him—by having me.
Too bad no one understands my ill-timed thought process. The bride’s father, his eyebrows now two thick slashes of disgust that perfectly match his flattened lips, looks especially irate as he stomps up the aisle in my direction.
When he reaches me, I step back and throw up my fists, my body instinctively poised to deflect any physical contact. I know I’m the wedding crasher here, but I will kick this man’s ass if necessary.
“Young lady, I don’t know who you are, but this is wildly inappropriate. What’s the meaning of this? You have no right to—”
“Hold on a minute, Jim,” Lina says, appearing from thin air like a sorceress and stepping in front of me. “Jaslene’s going to tell the guests we’re taking a short break.” She turns her head and directs a pointed stare my way. “While we sort this out.”
Lina speaks into her headset as she ushers us inside the hotel, gesturing for the remaining members of the wedding party to follow suit. Her face reveals nothing, but I know my cousin: She’s quietly regulating her own emotions and anticipating how to manage everyone else’s.
We wait for Dean and Max to join us in a small banquet room. Unable to meet anyone’s gaze, I pick at the sleeves of my top and do my best to neaten my appearance. What possessed me to wear a white blouse to fulfill my duties as a makeup assistant? Now I’m sporting smudges and splotches that make me look unkempt. I hate being unprepared for battle. And I’m not kidding myself either. It’s going to get ugly.
As soon as Dean and Max arrive, the father of the bride rips into me: “This is outrageous, and I won’t tolerate a woman with a vendetta messing with my daughter’s head in a pathetic effort to win the groom for herself.” He points a finger in my face as if he’s scolding me. “You are going to go out there and tell these guests exactly what’s going on or I’ll—”
“Or you’ll what?” I say, my voice rising to match the boiling of my blood. “I don’t know your daughter. I don’t even know the groom, for that matter. But I know what I heard and—”
“Stop it, you two,” Lina says, her voice laced with exasperation. “This isn’t helping the situation.” She turns to Ella’s father. “Jim, this woman is my cousin, and I can assure you that whatever you’re thinking, it’s way off base.”
“Let me speak to Solange,” Dean says. “Alone.”
His commanding tone surprises everyone, all of our heads swiveling in his direction as if he’s mentally brought us to heel. Gone is the friendly voice that snagged my attention in the hallway upstairs. He must be devastated. If I were in his shoes, I’d be inconsolable. To get to the stage of wanting to share the rest of your life with someone, only to discover they’re not as committed to the relationship as you are? That’s a soul-crushing blow he may never fully recover from.
Lina looks between us and nods. “Fine. Let’s give them a minute.”
Dean and I remain in place. Everyone else shuffles out of the room. Everyone except good ol’ Jimbo, that is. Instead of leaving quietly like the others, Ella’s dad storms out, barking into his cell phone to complete the picture of a pissed-off father of the bride.
When the door clicks shut, I exhale deeply. “I’m sorry, Dean. I know what I heard, and I thought you should know.”
He gazes at me, his expression wary. “What did you hear? And when did you hear it? Before or after we met in the hallway?”
I swallow hard, absorbing the apparent implication of his question: If it was before, I could have saved him the embarrassment of standing at the altar and discovering his fate in front of their guests. How do I explain this so he’ll understand? Just be honest, Solange. “Before. I didn’t think it was my place to say anything, though. Figured it was possible you wouldn’t care.” His eyes go wide, but I forge ahead. “Then I heard your vows. You told her you wanted to do this only once, and her immediate reaction was to look past you. To someone who’s obviously still in her life. She wanted that man to stop the wedding. When it was clear he wouldn’t, she was willing to marry her second pick. You. Did I do the wrong thing? Should I have kept quiet?”
As soon as I ask those questions, I want to snatch them back. Dean isn’t obligated to absolve me of my guilt. I made what I thought was the right choice, and I need to live with it, no matter how he responds to the news.
“We’re in an open relationship,” he says flatly. “That explains why it wouldn’t have mattered.”
My stomach drops. Fuuuuuck. I should have kept my nosy mouth shut. Now I’ve made a mess of things, and it wasn’t even warranted. “Oh, Dean. I’m so sorry.” My eyes well with tears. “I owe you and Ella a million apologies, then.”
“Solange, relax. I’m just messing around.”
My knees buckle, and the tightness in my chest unfurls. I place my hands on Dean’s shoulders and lightly shove him away. “What is wrong with you? This isn’t funny.”
He pulls me within inches of his body and wipes a thumb under my eye just in time to catch a teardrop. “No, it isn’t, but you’re tying yourself in knots over this, and this is my time to be overly dramatic. Stop stealing my moment, dammit.”
I stare at him, unsure what to make of his reaction to the train wreck he’s just experienced. Is this a guy thing? Has he been conditioned to think men should appear unflappable even in situations as catastrophic as this one? “Wait. You’re not mad?”
“I’m disappointed, but I’ll survive. It’s complicated, okay? Now, before we get too far ahead of ourselves, tell me exactly what you heard.”
Oh God, why? Maybe if I pretend that I’m not here, he’ll go away. I squeeze my eyes shut and freeze in place. Failing to sense any movement around me, I open one eye and peek at my surroundings.
“Solange, I can see you.”
“No, you can’t.”
“Yes, I can,” he says, a thread of humor in his tone.
Is this real? Is he really unbothered by everything that’s happened?
“Solange, I need to know. You’re probably the only person who’ll tell me the unbiased truth.”
Okay, well, when he puts it that way, how can I deny him? Maybe if I stick to the facts, I’ll be able to get through this. Meeting Dean’s gaze straight on, I blurt out the highlights. “Ella was standing on the landing between two floors. He—”
“Tyler.”
“Yes, Tyler. So Tyler was telling her not to do something. Not marry you, I guess. Said she would regret it.” I wring my hands. “Then she said she loved him. And she asked if he was finally ready to admit his feelings for her. He didn’t respond. I didn’t hang around much after that. Is this enough to get the picture?” My voice is strung tight; one good tug and it’ll unravel. “I’m not lying, Dean.”
“I believe you. I have no reason not to.” He runs both hands through his once perfectly styled hair and drops his arms in defeat. “What a mess.”
Wanting to comfort him, I step forward and gently caress his forearm. He looks down at the place where our bodies connect, his eyes narrowing on that spot as if the answer to this wedding-day conundrum can be found there. Realizing I have no right to touch him, I jerk my hand away. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to overstep.”
I’m apologizing for much more than invading his personal space. I hope he knows that.
“Don’t worry about it. I appreciate your concern in all of this.” He draws his shoulders back, erasing any sign of the dejected stance he held moments ago. “I should talk to Ella.” Blowing out a long breath, he unknots his tie and lets it hang around his neck. “I have to go.” He strides to the door and opens it. Before he leaves, he turns around, then tilts his head as he studies me. “Are you going to be okay?”
Am I going to be okay? What an odd thing to ask. I should be the least of his worries. Giving him a shaky smile, I motion for him to carry on. “I’ll be fine. Go do what you need to do. And, Dean—”
“Yeah?”
“If there’s anything I can do to help, Lina knows where to find me.”
“I think you’ve done enough,” he says, his lips quirked up in a playful grin.
Groaning, I pretend to stab a dagger through my heart.
“Kidding,” he says, bowing slightly as he backs out of the room. “I can handle it from here.”
He’s right: I’m just the catalyst; the rest is up to him.
Once he leaves, I drop my head and heave a deep sigh. That. Was. Awful.
When I look up again, Jaslene’s standing at the room’s threshold, eyes narrowed, clipboard drawn, as if she’s readying herself for a gunfight at the O.K. Corral.
Jaslene may be sweet, but she’s no pushover. Her vibe is a delightfully terrifying blend of “kill ’em with kindness” energy and “I’ll cut a bitch” swagger.
She enters the room and closes the door, her gaze locked on me the whole time.
Jesus. I can’t catch a break today.
Dean
I find Ella pacing in the bridal suite. She’s kicked off her shoes, her hair’s down, and the area beneath her eyes is a kaleidoscope of smeared makeup. As soon as the door closes after me, she stops short.
“That was unexpected,” I say, shoving my hands into the pockets of my slacks.
She hiccups before she answers. “Oh God, Dean, I’m so sorry. I made a mess of everything, and you’re the collateral damage. Please know I never meant for it to turn out this way.”
I cross the room and sit on the couch, motioning for her to join me. She regards the gesture suspiciously, as if my politeness could only be a ploy. But Ella should know me better than this. Then again, neither of us knows the other all that well, it seems.
“Ella, I’m not upset. I just want to understand.”
She hikes up her dress and pads over, then arranges a shitload of fabric as though she’s tussling with a parachute before she finally settles next to me.
“So tell me about Tyler.”
She leans forward and places her elbows on her lap, her face crumpling. “We’ve been friends forever.”
“Only friends?”
She nods. “Yes, I promise. But I’ve been in love with him . . . well, forever. I thought I’d gotten beyond it. Thought I could marry you and forget about him. When he confronted me today, though, I felt certain that we were finally on the same page, and I just knew he was ready to confess his love for me. Spoiler alert: We aren’t, and he isn’t.”
I sigh on the inside since there’s no point in making Ella feel any worse than she already does. But yeah, she had a good thing going, then turned her world inside out for someone who won’t return her feelings. I’m not mad at her. She’s obviously free to do and think what she wants. Still, I thought we had an understanding—that what I was offering was enough—and I’m disappointed by her sudden change of heart. Couldn’t she have figured this out before we did that registry shit at Crate and Barrel? The memory of the way that sales associate directed all her comments to Ella still pisses me off. Hell, I can appreciate a tasteful place setting just as well as the next person.
“So if this was how you were feeling, why’d you walk down the aisle anyway?” I ask.
Her gaze hits the floor. As if whatever she’s going to say—or can’t say—is too foul for her to face.
Holy shit, it’s uglier than I thought. “You were bluffing, and he called you on it.”
She lifts her chin, wiping at her tearstained cheeks. “Yes. No.” She throws up her hands and shakes her head. “I don’t know.”
“A tiny part of you hoped he’d stand up there and stop the wedding. Is that it?”
Before she can answer, someone knocks on the door of the suite.
In the hall, Lina calls out, “Ella. Dean. May I speak with you for a moment?”
Oh, right. We’re in the middle of a fucking wedding, and the guests must be wondering what’s going on. I heave myself off the couch and open the door.
Lina pokes her head in. She looks from me to Ella and grimaces apologetically. “I need to know what to tell the guests. If you want me to stall . . .”
Stalling would be useful if there were a chance we’d get beyond this, but there isn’t. When Ella and I agreed to marry, we also promised to be honest, to always be considerate and respectful of each other. She’s been holding out on me, though. And even if she’s willing to suppress her feelings for Tyler now, she may not be able to later. Where will that leave me? I’d rather not find out. The point of all this was to build a strong foundation from day one, not start our marriage on shaky ground. “I think it’s fair to say the wedding is canceled,” I tell Lina. “Wouldn’t you agree, Ella?”
Ella covers her face with her hands and nods.
Lina steps inside. “I’m sorry. Jaslene and I will take care of informing the guests. Don’t worry about anything here. My team will deal with the vendors. I’ll follow up with you both—separately—early next week.” With a last concerned look in my direction, she withdraws from the room, and Ella and I are alone again.
“I’ll leave you to change,” I say.
“What are you going to do next?” she asks.
It’s an absurd question. Reminds me of those old TV commercials when the winning quarterback of the Super Bowl would answer that he was going to Disney World. “C’mon. It doesn’t really matter what I do next, does it?”
She chokes out a sob, then says, “I hope we can remain friends.”
“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea, but I do wish you well. And I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
“Please know that I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“I’m a big boy. I’ll be fine.” And it’s true. I care for Ella. Envisioned a future with her too. But if she isn’t meant to be a part of my life, I can’t do anything to change that. “Be good to yourself.” I stroll out of the suite, my head still spinning. In the span of an hour, this day has gone from sixty to zero. Fuck.
Actually, I do know what’s next.
Revised Step Three: Get wasted.
Status: On it.
* * *
“Drinking won’t help you feel better, Dean.”
I’m slouched over in the corner of the hotel bar, nursing a Macallan on the rocks, and someone’s here to mess with my buzz. I look up to see my mother, her lips pressed together and her expression leery.
“Mother.”
“May I join you?”
I gesture to the stool beside mine. “Be my guest.”
She lowers herself onto the seat and raises a finger to get the bartender’s attention. Once she’s ordered—an uncharacteristically sedate club soda, of all things—she swivels around to face me. “I’m sorry this day didn’t turn out the way you expected.”
“Not your fault.”
“I’m not so sure about that.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She sighs. “It’s just . . . Don’t take this the wrong way, son, but Ella isn’t the person I imagined for you.”
I draw back and meet her gaze, flinging the tip of my tie behind me. “Why not? She’s intelligent, driven, beautiful, charming.”
“You’re not really saying much,” she says, barely containing her grimace. “That’s a checklist.”
“Checklists are a successful person’s handbook. Don’t knock ’em ’til you try ’em.”
“I’ll pass,” she says on a chuckle. “I’d rather let my heart lead the way.”
As usual, I refrain from pointing out the obvious: Her heart’s been a consistently unreliable navigator for years. If she can’t accept that fact by now, she never will. My mother can erase her past all she wants, but I was there too.
Surprising me, my mother does something she hasn’t done in years: She combs her fingers through the front of my hair as if she’s attempting to arrange it neatly, then she ruffles it. “I know you think it’s important to always stay on track, but that doesn’t mean you can’t give yourself the space to fall for someone too. I want you to experience it all, Dean. That moment when the person you love walks in a room and you get this warm, fuzzy feeling in your chest and all you want to do is run over to them and hold them tight? Don’t knock that ’til you try it.”
“That warm, fuzzy feeling in your chest is fickle and clouds your judgment. Makes you indifferent to things that should be red flags. Convinces you that it—and only it—matters when we all know on some rational level that will never be the case. It’s the reason Barnett married Amber even though he was worried about her cosmetics credit card and the student debt she hadn’t been making any payments on.”
She looks at me quizzically. “Who’re Barnett and Amber?”
“They were on this reality TV show on Netflix called Love Is Blind. The experiment was to date people without seeing them in person first. They would hang out in these solitary pods and . . .”
My mother’s brows snap together.
I gesture as if my point isn’t worth our time. “Anyway, a bunch of people were talking about the show at work because it’s been picked up for a second season, so I was curious. Doesn’t matter. You get what I’m saying.”
“Sort of, but as usual, you have it all figured out in your own head.”
Something about her tone makes me think she didn’t mean that as a compliment.
“And if I know you,” she continues, “you’ll regroup and be back on the straight and narrow path in no time. I just wanted to let you know that Harvey and I are hopping in the RV and going on a road trip. A little hiking in the Olympic Peninsula, then a visit to Lake Crescent. We leave tomorrow morning.”
“What does Harvey do again?”
She rolls her eyes, plainly wanting me to register that she’s annoyed by my question. “He’s a retired airline pilot. Has a good head on his shoulders. Treats me well.”
I’ve heard that phrase so often in reference to her boyfriends, all of whom eventually become ex-boyfriends, that I’m starting to wonder if she knows what it actually means to be treated well. All the disappointments, the crying, the willingness to uproot her family for a new guy only to discover he’s just not that into her. She remembers none of it. But I do. And I will not be doomed to repeat her mistakes.
There’s something to be said for being led by pragmatism. Case in point: Ella and I didn’t contort ourselves to fit into each other’s lives; we just slotted into place. And now that we’re no longer together, we can slot the hell back out without much fuss. That’s not Melissa Chapman’s way, though. Never has been, never will be.
Thing is, I want my mother to be happy, but it’s clear to me that she’s searching for happiness in the wrong places; Harvey and Lake Crescent are just her latest destinations. Maybe this time it’ll finally work out. For my mother’s sake, I certainly hope so. But I’m not holding my breath. Not even for a second.
“Enjoy yourself,” I say, knowing from experience she wants some semblance of my approval. “And be safe. Try to avoid being featured in a National Geographic documentary as a cautionary tale. No selfies with black bears, okay?”
She smiles and throws an arm around my shoulders, giving me a light squeeze before she stands. “Take care of yourself, Dean.”
“Always do,” I say, forcing a smile.
I don’t mean it as a dig, but her face goes pale anyway. I suppose a guilty heart perceives blame even when it isn’t warranted.