Page 191 of Bridesmaid By Chance
But nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
And not only am I pissed about it, but, yeah, you guessed it, I’m hurt.
Yup. I cried.
I cried this morning.
I cried while going for a walk.
And I cried at my dress fitting, which by the way, I’m a saint for squeezing into that thing.
A corset? That was not part of the deal. No need for a plate at the wedding dinner, nope. I can just eat off my breasts, that’s how propped up they were.
And if you’re wondering if I’ve checked in on him, you know, since it goes both ways, the answer would be yes. I’ve sent precisely three text messages that have gone unanswered. I asked him if he landed. Checked in to see if he needed me to do anything for him. And the final one was to let him know I was fitted for the dress.
Nothing.
So, like I said, he is the motherest of all fuckers.
I take a seat on the couch, then lie down across it lengthwise and stare up at the ceiling. Nothing like the guy you like ignoring you to send you into a tailspin of self-doubt and loathing.
I skipped dinner, not interested in food, and I’ve opted to drown myself in water, because I’ll be damned if the motherest of all fuckers causes me to be dehydrated. I know when we left, we both slipped into business mode, but there was a little piece of me that thought he might slip back into the man he was before he left—the man who joked around with me, held me, worshipped me, but I get it.
I see it now.
He doesn’t care like I care.
Our eventual divorce is a given, and I need to accept that.
My phone beeps next to me, sending me into a jackknife flail, where I nearly roll off the couch as I reach for my phone. I fumble it to the ground, and in an embarrassing panic, reach for it, fumble it some more, and turn it over only to see Jude’s name scroll across the screen.
Son of a bitch.
That was…humbling.
And humiliating.
Word to the wise, never become obsessed with a man; it leads to dark moments such as this where you think you’re done with him, only to nearly fall off the couch from the possibility that he might be texting you back.
Unlocking the screen, I read Jude’s message.
Jude: So…stopped by Hudson’s office today.
“Oh dear God,” I whisper as I sit up, my hands trembling, because what the hell?
Did Hudson tell him we were married?
Uh, that would have been good information to know.
Maybe a little heads-up would have been nice? A warning possibly.
And why isn’t Jude reaching through the phone and attempting to lecture me?
Now, I’ve seen things like this play out before, where the person on the other side of the text thinks the person is talking about one thing when in reality they’re talking about something else, only to divulge a secret.
Well, not me.
