Page 40

CHAPTER FORTY

Marissa

I pull our trio to a stop just outside the entrance, take a deep breath, remind myself that I dumped Peter. I wouldn’t want him back, even if he came crawling on his knees and made a genuine proposal. My life is good. I have a good job, I own my own home, and I have a boyfriend who thinks I’m awesome. He doesn’t try to put me down or put me in my place or keep me from doing things I like because it might inconvenience him. He’s a thousand times better than Peter ever was.

“Ready?” Gabby asks.

At my nod, she releases my arm, instead linking arms with Jonathan, and they walk inside. I watch them for a moment, happiness for my little sister to have found someone who looks at her like she hung the moon bubbling up inside me.

This was always one of the hardest things about being home with both of my siblings, even before I finally ended things with Peter. They’re both so clearly in love with their spouses, and their spouses so clearly adore them. It was hard being around them when my own boyfriend barely glanced at me and acted like I was ridiculous for wanting to have regular date nights. “We see each other every day at work,” he’d complain. “And we have dinner together pretty much every night too. Why do we need to go out on dates?”

While it hasn’t really been long enough for Dozer and I to have fallen into any sort of real routine, the time we spent hanging out as friends gives me a pretty good idea that I won’t have to have that fight with him. Sure, we spent plenty of time at his place or mine, watching TV or just talking. But we also went out pretty regularly. I don’t see that changing just because we’re officially dating now.

God, I really do wish he were here.

Once I’m inside, Mom makes a beeline for me. I brace myself for her onslaught, returning her smile with what I hope passes for a genuine one of my own.

“What took you so long?” she murmurs between clenched teeth.

“I’m here, Mom. And you can’t seriously believe I have any desire to see Peter at all, much less attend his engagement party. And why would he want me here either?”

“Don’t be silly,” Mom says, stepping back and giving my dress—a red velvet fit and flare number with cap sleeves I found on the clearance rack at the mall earlier today—a critical eye. She reaches out and plucks invisible fuzz from the skirt and purses her lips. “Of course Peter wants you here. You were an important part of each other’s lives for a long time.” She meets my eyes at last. “Aren’t you happy that he’s finally managed to move on after you broke his heart?”

I nearly choke on my response, unable to form words to counter her assessment of what happened between Peter and me. “I broke his —” She glares at me, making me snap my mouth closed. Instead, I press my lips together and shake my head. “You were so supportive when all that went down,” I murmur. “What happened?”

She sniffs. “You’ve moved halfway across the country, Marissa, while Peter stayed here, dependable as ever, working extra hard to pick up the slack that you left when you quit working at the shop. He may not end up being our son-in-law, but we welcomed him into our home for years. Just because you don’t want to be with him anymore, doesn’t mean your father and I have to stop caring about him.”

“I’m not saying that?—”

She holds up a hand and cuts me off again. “We’re here as a family. Your absence would be conspicuous and cast more of a shadow over this event than if you stayed home while the rest of us came. You will smile. You will be polite. When the time comes, you will congratulate Peter and Anna. I don’t want to hear another word about it.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I murmur, and Mom nods, satisfied.

Turning, she looks around, and I’m not sure who she’s looking for, but I take advantage of her lack of attention and step briskly away, heading for the small bar set up in the corner. There are also servers with trays of passed hors d’oeuvres. I should probably get some of those soon, especially since drinking on an empty stomach is always a bad idea. But first, I need something to bolster me for the evening.

Glancing around, I spot Jonathan and Gabby apparently deep in conversation with some people I don’t recognize. Jonathan has his hair styled differently than he normally appears on stage and in photos, which I’m guessing is to try to pull a Clark Kent/Superman type of disguise, though he’s not wearing fake glasses. Maybe he should’ve. I can’t imagine what it must be like to be worried about being recognized everywhere you go.

Maybe he’s the real reason Mom wanted us all here for Christmas and this party. She wanted to show off her famous son-in-law.

Shaking my head, I step forward and order a glass of wine from the bar, stuffing a couple dollars in the tip jar and accepting it with a smile before turning and slowly skirting the edges of the room.

Gabby’s looking around, and when she spots me, arches an eyebrow in question. I nod to indicate I’m fine. The worst encounter I’ve had so far has been with Mom, after all, and faking an emergency won’t get me out of more of those.

I manage to mostly avoid engaging with anyone for quite a while, and I start feeling a little cocky about that, pulling out my phone to see if there’s anything more from Dozer to explain his, “See you soon,” comment. But no. Nothing.

When I look up from my phone, I feel like a deer in the headlights when I spot Peter’s parents, Tony and Martha, headed directly for me.

Martha looks like the quintessential Dallas housewife of my mom’s generation—hair dyed and styled within an inch of its life, sparkly gown, and from the way her forehead doesn’t move, a fair amount of Botox. She gives me a wide, toothy smile, reaching for my arm and hanging on like she wants to sink her talons into me. I always liked Peter’s parents, and despite her having a difficult time with my refusal to reconsider our breakup, Martha’s always been lovely to me. But right now, I feel like a mouse about to get scooped up by a bird of prey.

Tony, Peter’s dad, trails behind her, the buttons on his shirt straining across his middle. I’m guessing he’s wearing the same suit that’s been at the back of his closet for years, possibly decades, in denial about the fact that it doesn’t fit all that well anymore, or unwilling to buy a new one given that they’re expensive and he wears them so infrequently. Mom’s had the same argument with Dad too many times to count, and they finally compromised on her buying him a new sport coat when he needs one but forgoing a full suit.

“Marissa!” Martha practically shouts. “It’s so good to see you. It’s been ages! How are you? I’m so happy you could make it.” She folds me into a hug, and I can practically taste her perfume.

Some part of me appreciates the familiarity, but the rest of me feels overwhelmed and out of sorts by her flood of attention. I force a smile and say brightly, “Hi, Martha! Tony. I’m really good. It’s great to see you too. How have y’all been?”

“Oh, wonderful! Just amazing. We’re just so happy that Peter finally found someone”—she has the grace to look a little pained as soon as the words leave her mouth—“I mean, you know we love you still, and I had my heart set on the two of you ending up together and throwing a party like this. But fate had different plans. And we’re just so happy now.” She beams at me, and I nod, hoping that’s enough to appease her.

After a slightly awkward beat, I clear my throat. “Yes, well, that’s wonderful. I’m happy to hear Peter’s doing so well.” Good for me. I managed to get those words out without choking on them or being struck by lighting for lying. Good thing we’re not in a church, I guess.

“And how are you, sweetheart?” she probes, patting my arm. “Did I hear you’d moved away?”

I nod. “I did. I moved to Seattle, Washington. I got promoted to the head of the northwest division for Garrison Automotive Distributing.”

Martha’s eyes widen almost comically. “Oh, wow. That’s amazing. Good for you.”

“I always knew you’d end up doing something great once you left your dad’s shop,” Tony puts in, surprising me. Surprising Martha, too, from the look she turns on him. But he ignores his wife and nods to punctuate what he just said. “That place was holding you back. I’m glad you found a company that appreciates you.”

“Thank you, Tony,” I manage to say, feeling a little choked up. My smile turns far more sincere than it’s been since we arrived. “I really appreciate that.”

“Yes, well,” Martha adds, her voice turning concerned though her brows don’t move at all, “have you found anyone? I know you were dating Misty and Baron’s son Charles for a while, but since you’re off in Timbuktu now, obviously you must’ve broken up. I can’t imagine him wanting a girlfriend that far away. How would you settle down and have kids with half the country between you?”

I shift on my feet, uncomfortable with the sudden turn this has taken. “Well, Charles and I only went out a few times?—”

“Oh, I know, I know, sweetie. But are you seeing anyone now? What will you do when things get serious? Are you going to move back here before you have kids so your parents can help out?” She clasps her hands next to her cheek. “Oh, I’m so looking forward to being a grandmother. I met your brother’s little boy a few minutes ago, and he’s just darling. But they live so far away, too. I know your parents must just be dying at how infrequently they get to see their only grandbaby. You’ll definitely have to come back to Dallas when you’re ready to have kids.”

My mouth opens and closes a couple of times, but Martha just keeps talking, making it clear that my contribution to this conversation isn’t entirely necessary.

She’s always been a little bit like this, but I guess the combination of the excitement for her son finally getting engaged—and apparently the impending grandbabies she’s expecting—plus the open bar have made her more verbose than normal.

“Have you seen Peter yet?” she asks, “And met his fiancée?” She finally pauses to let me answer.

“Oh, I saw them earlier, but they were surrounded by so many people that?—”

Her hand closes on my arm once more, and she starts towing me toward the corner where Peter and his fiancée are holding court. “Oh, I’m sure he’d love to see you. And you have to meet Anna. She’s lovely. I’m sure you two will be friends immediately.”

“Oh, uh, well …” But it’s too late. She’s already dragging me over to the cluster of people around them. The only way to get out of it would be to make a scene, and I’m not willing to do that. I couldn’t handle the personal embarrassment, not to mention the amount of grief I’d get from my parents if I did. Not even Gabby and Jonathan’s well thought out and rehearsed signals can save me now.

So I plaster on a smile and plan to make the best of it. Martha practically pushes me in front of her, standing off to my right. “Peter!” she shouts. “Look who made it!”

He turns, and his eyes widen at the sight of me. Then his face settles into a look that can only be described as supercilious. Though he’d be mad if he heard me call him that, and not just because he’d object to the idea that he sees himself as better than anyone—that conflicts with his self-conception as this working-class everyman because he’s a mechanic—but because he wouldn’t know what it means. He always got mad when I’d use words he didn’t understand. His answer was to belittle me for having a large vocabulary instead of expanding his own.

“Hey, Marissa.” He gives me a half-smile and reaches for the woman next to him. “I didn’t expect to see you here. This is my fiancée, Anna.”

I decide to ignore both the fact that my mother apparently didn’t bother to include my name in the RSVP that I’m a hundred percent certain she sent in and the emphasis he puts on fiancée , like he’s trying to rub my nose in that. Instead, I offer a hand to Anna and give her a bright smile. “Hello! So nice to meet you. Congratulations on your engagement!”

See? I can be the bigger person. I’d love to throw a meaningful glance at Peter, but I’m pretty sure that would undercut my point.

“Oh, thank you so much!” Anna says, taking my hand and shaking it limply. She glances between me, Martha, and Peter. “Thanks so much for coming. I take it you know the family?”

I have to choke back a laugh when Martha jumps in with, “Oh, yes! Marissa’s an old family friend.”

I’m not sure what exactly my face shows, but I know I have to get out of this conversation if I’m not going to burst out laughing. An old family friend?? Is that what we’re calling it now?

Sure. I guess we can go with that.

“Peter works for my father,” I offer smoothly. “Congratulations again, to both of you.” And with one last smile at Peter’s parents, I slip away, heading straight for the bar. I finished my wine just before I got cornered by Martha. And after that encounter, I need something.

Surprisingly, though, I only want to laugh. I’m not even hurt by Martha’s characterization of my four year relationship with her son as simply being, “an old family friend.” Anna clearly has no idea about me.

Which is … super. Fantastic. It just drives home that I never really mattered much to Peter after all.

New drink in hand, I step back into my spot off to the side, trying to gauge how much longer I’ll have to stay before I can make a discreet exit. Glancing around, I spot Gabby and Jonathan, though their backs are to me.

I should’ve used their signals when Martha cornered me. I was so shocked, though, that I totally forgot that was even an option until it was too late.

Oh, well. I got the obligatory well-wishes over with. Another thirty minutes or so, and I’ll get a ride out of here, with or without my sister and her husband. While it’s not as painful and awful as I’d feared, I still would rather be just about anywhere else.

“Marissa.” Peter’s voice comes from my left, and I jolt.

“God, Peter. You scared me.”

He gives me that supercilious half smile again. “I can’t believe you came.” From his tone of voice, I can’t tell if he’s happy or mad. Or both. Probably both.

Shrugging, I shake my head and look back out over the crowd. “I wasn’t given much choice. My mom strong-armed all of us into coming. So here we all are.”

“Aww, poor Marissa,” he says in the most grating, patronizing, faux-sympathetic voice. It makes me want to punch him in the face. “You coulda had all this”—he gestures at the space—“but you always thought you were too good for me.” My eyes practically bulge out of my head at that comment, but he’s not done. “I gave you a ring,” he hisses, “but noooo . You wanted something fancier. Something better.”

I’m nearly choking on my tongue. “It had nothing to do with the ring.”

He scoffs. “Sure it did. You don’t have to keep lying, Marissa. We both know you were just trying to manipulate me into doing what you wanted, like always.”

What the fuck?

“But you overplayed your hand. I’m sure you thought your dad would help you. But you miscalculated, and now you’re sad and lonely, coming to your ex-boyfriend’s engagement party. What were you hoping for? That you could mess this up for me?”

Letting out a cynical chuckle, I shake my head, not even sure where to start.

“There you are,” comes a familiar but unexpected voice from behind me. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Dozer steps up next to me, his hand going to the small of my back, then sliding around to my side so he can pull me close, kissing my forehead when I blink at him, totally shocked.

“You—you’re—wh?—”

Grinning, he kisses me again, this time on the nose. “Sorry I’m late.” Then he turns to Peter and extends a hand. “Hi. Benjamin Boggs. My friends call me Dozer.”

Peter’s eyeing him up and down before slowly taking his hand and shaking it. “I’m Peter. Nice to meet you, Dozer. And how are you …?” He wiggles a finger back and forth between us.

Dozer bares his teeth. “I said my friends call me Dozer. You can call me Mr. Boggs. I’m here as Marissa’s plus one. Did you not get the RSVP?”