Page 20 of When There Was You
He gets fitted for a tux, a vision I’m desperate to see. Because my guy devastates in Levi’s and… well, naked. Envisioning him in a black tuxedo? I can only imagine, but it’s ahell yes, please.
For the bachelor party, Mick charters a company boat to take Remy and guests out for a night on the bay. His childhood buddies Terry, Vinny, and Jeremy will all be in attendance, along with Remy’s brother, cousins, and a handful of other friends.
“Tell me there are no strippers,” I demand, only a little serious.
Mick laughs. “Is my baby jealous?”
“Nope.”I just don’t want you touching anyone but me.
“You’re cute when you lie.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
Mick pulls me against him, resting his hands on my hips. “I did not coordinate any strippers coming aboard. I can’t vouch for the other guys, however.”
Harrumph. “If I know Jeremy…”
He shakes his head, giving me a lopsided smile. “You know I’m in love with you, right? There is no other woman alive who could or will ever top you. You’re it for me, baby.”
“God, I love you. You can say that to me every day for the rest of our lives.” I kiss him, infusing all my love into it, silently hoping one day we’ll be the ones getting married.
The warmth of that kiss fades when I don’t see Mick for days leading up to the wedding. He’s pressed into best man duties, labors over writing his speech, then departs for the rehearsal dinner and wedding itself.
I remind myself once this is behind us, we’ll carve out time together, find a new groove, allow our love to persevere.
We just have to get through this first.
Eleven
I’m working at the salon and can only be classified as a train wreck. My thoughts are off the rails, my heart virtually in pieces. It’s November tenth, the day Remy marries another. A woman I’ve never met. A wedding to which I’m not invited or welcome.
A lot’s changed between three best friends in less than a year.
I haven’t spoken to Mick in two days, as he’s been inundated with wedding activities and responsibilities. I’ve been so fucking pleasant. Causing zero waves. Trying to lessen the guilt he lugs around for being trapped in the middle. It’s not his fault, and I never want him to feel inferior ornot enoughagain.
My chest eases a tad thinking about him. All that he is to me.
This isn’t about me not wholly loving Mick. It’s about residual angst.
An unsatisfying, unresolved equation. Or a baffling word problem.
If Jacqui has two apples and one rots, how many apples can she technically eat?
Jacqui would like to throw the rotten apple against a wall and watch it get attacked by worms. Or at least examine the apple to understand why it rotted. Maybe talk about the benefits of making applesauce before it’s too late.
Jesus. This is why math and I are not friends.
I tap my pen absently against the pages of the appointment book.
No closure.
No closure.
No closure.
How can I get that when one party refuses to provide it?
Then it hits me.
