Page 25 of Full Out Fiend

My eyes prickle with tears I refuse to shed. Serena’s encouragement is one of the few things keeping me sane right now.

I knew calling off the wedding would be stressful. Challenging. Heavy. Sad. But I never expected it to bethishard.

It’s not just the daily, sometimes hourly, reminders when clients ask for wedding updates. It’s the sympathy and hesitation in the voices of the vendors when I called to cancel and ask about potential refunds. It’s the acid in my stomach that kicks up when I get home from work each day and find a fresh pile of gifts and wedding cards to sort through. And, in a shocking and unexpected twist, it’s the onslaught of passive aggressive comments and general disapproval from my own family.

Not only have my parents not accepted that it’s over between Anthony and me, but they’re actively campaigning for us to get back together.

When Anthony came home from Las Vegas, I told him it was over. I broke the news to my parents that same night, incorrectly assuming they would be on my side and would help me navigate through this.

I couldn’t properly explain why I was calling off the wedding without getting into what Anthony chose to do—so I did. I plainly outlined what happened and what he intended to do at his bachelor party.

He hurt me. He destroyed us. He banished the life I thought I wanted—but neither my parents nor anyone related to Anthony seem to think my reaction is warranted.

“You know what they say about Vegas…”

“Boys will be boys.”

“Everyone does something stupid at their bachelor party.”

“He was about to get married—can you really blame him?”

So much bullshit has been dumped on me over the last two weeks. What does one even say when someone suggests it’s okay for a partner to sleep with a hooker a few weeks before their wedding? My limits aren’t up for debate. It comes down to morals and self-respect—which I can’t really explain without insulting the people who supposedly love me.

“Oh, good. You’re back here.”

My head snaps up as Marilyn pushes through the break room door and inserts herself between Serena and me.

“These just arrived for you,” she declares, unceremoniously dropping a box of chocolates on the counter.

I stare at the box—at the card taped to the front with my name hastily written across the top. “Is he…?”

I don’t have the emotional bandwidth to face off with Anthony right now. He’s dropped off some sort of gift at the salon every day for the last two weeks. At first, I went out and accepted the gifts—and his attempts at an apology—in person. But it all feels like trauma theater now.

The women in receptionoohandahh. Bobbi at the front desk gives me sympathetic but encouraging smiles. And since very few people know the real story about why I won’t marry him, I stand there looking like a frigid bitch, unsure of what to even say.

“He’s probably still in the parking lot if you wanted to catch him,” Marilyn remarks.

I don’t. I so desperately don’t. But I can’t exactly explain that to Marilyn. She’s been doing Anthony’s mom’s hair for the last several years. I am almost certain her loyalties lie with his family.

Just like everyone else’s.

“Thanks,” I murmur, plopping into one of the break room chairs and tearing off the card taped to the box. I mindlessly open the chocolates and pop one into my mouth, grimacing as the chalky texture coats my tongue. The consistency is off, and the flavor isn’t much better. Like biting into one of those wax bottles I liked as a kid.

I open the card, Anthony’s chicken scratch handwriting instantly recognizable.

I’m sorry you’re upset. I never expected things to happen like this. Please, just forgive me so we can move on. Love, Your Anthony

The lack of remorse is insulting. He’s not sorry. He’s just sorry this isn’t going his way.

I blow out a long breath and place the chocolates on the communal break room table, then quickly scribble a note that they’re up for grabs.

I can feel Marilyn watching my every move, but I don’t have it in me to care.

I still have fifteen minutes until my next appointment. Maybe I’ll go out to my car for a power nap. I’m admittedly exhausted from the logistics of calling it off. Canceling a wedding takes almost as much work as planning one. Everything about this is hard.

But it’s still the right call.

Chapter 16