Page 48

Che cosa sta accadendo?

I stood in my spot in front of the filled church feeling jumpy. I hadn’t seen her all day, and I replayed my chat with her a thousand times, but each ended with her beautiful face with no expression.

The doors in the back of the church opened as the three-piece orchestra in the corner began to fill the chapel with beautiful music. Katie, Liv, and Pam made their way down to the aisle, each wearing a different shade of purple dresses.

There was a yank in my chest when I saw Fern looking overwhelmingly beautiful in a deep purple gown. It had spaghetti straps over her delicate shoulders and hugged every curve I longed to touch again.

Her amazing black hair was sleek and cascaded over her shoulders, and something about the shade of purple made those sapphire eyes even more stunning. As I watched her begin walking, my ability to bring oxygen into my body was suddenly impaired.

It was like sunshine was shooting through me as I waited for her to look at me. But cloud cover quickly crept in when, halfway down, still no blue eyes on me.

I followed her train of sight, and it led straight to dickhead. I hated his grin and the way she was locked on it. Look at me. No, this wasn’t happening.

She made it to her spot and turned to see Tawnee making her entrance. I wish I could tell you any detail about the bride, but she could’ve been dressed in a trash bag on fire, and I wouldn’t have noticed.

Through the entire ceremony, I searched Fern’s face for the smallest sign that I was incorrect when it came in the direction my destiny was heading. But nothing. What is happening?

I focused enough to hear when the rings were requested and passed them off to Ed. Other than that, it was a silent movie with the leading lady looking everywhere but at me.

My tunnel vision broke enough to see the bride and groom lock lips as muffled applause was around me.

I had a dash of hope, realizing we had to exit down the aisle together.

Could she just be nervous and possibly not avoiding me?

That could be it. This was Tawnee’s wedding, and Fern might just be laser focused on her Maid of Honor duties, right?

Wrong. Tawnee and Ed strolled back up the aisle as I stepped toward her and extended my arm.

Without even glancing up, she ignored my arm and instead followed Tawnee.

I walked beside her, but she was looking out into the church while her hand held onto her dress, the move equivalent to a bull horn, announcing my demise.

The bridal party formed the reception line, and she weaved through people until she was just about as far away from me as possible.

I looked down the line to see Fern hugging someone, showing a smile that was like an ax nailing my chest. Sure enough, standing behind her was the most hated man in America. Well, the most hated man in the First United Methodist Church, that is: Cockalorum Brandon.

She looked back at him and said something, and he caressed her shoulder. Visions of his body hurling through the glass door in front of me was providing the only relief to the hatred that was simmering. I needed to check myself as me and bubbling fury never ends well.

As soon as the crowd started dwindling, I decided I needed to say something. Sure, she was standing next to douche nozzle, but I didn’t care.

I took a few steps but found myself chest to chest with Dave. No words had to be spoken. The communication was loud and clear. I turned and walked out the door.

I sat in my truck, waiting for her to exit the church. This couldn’t be it. There was no way this was over.

I texted Ed, Dan, and Andrew that I wasn’t going with the bridal party in the limo, but would meet them at the reception because there was no way in hell I wouldn’t end up doing something that would leave me friendless altogether.

No perfect Fern, no friends, and in my next game, I’d likely have a career ending injury.

I’d then marry Jack Daniels with Jim Beam as my best man.

I’d die alone with not a soul finding my body for six days because nobody cared.

(I figure the stench from my dead corpse would probably take that long to make its way down the elevator and into the lobby.)

I arrived at the reception and sat in the hallway on a chair, waiting at the back door for the wedding gang.

I’d promised Fern and Dave I would walk away and never look back if she didn’t choose me.

But how? I should’ve said I’d give her time to think, and then I’d fight like hell to change her mind.

But no, I had to try to sound cool like I was a grown ass man who could take rejection.

But rejection was torturing me from the inside out.

The door swung open, and I stood. Every last one of them was all smiles and laughter except for Fern. She entered last, and of course, ass hat had her hand in his, but she wore no smile until she noticed me watching her.

Those perfectly pink lips curved up as she looked at jerkweed. My esophagus pinched shut as he gave her a kiss on the cheek. My hand balled into a fist so I turned and faced the other direction. How in the hell was I going to be in the same room as them ? Because clearly they was a them now.

The wedding planner appeared, and her hands shot in the air. “I need all couples to line up to enter the reception. The DJ will announce each of your names, and then you make your entrance.”

Her eyes landed on me. “This one looks miserable. Can somebody get him a drink?”

Nothing like being called out by the lady I now loathed as all eyes ran to me, and I forced a smile. “I’m fine. Just a headache. Anyone have any tranquilizers to help a guy out?” My laughter was solo as Ed slapped my back.

So this is what hell looked like.

The DJ’s voice rang out in the reception room in front of us.

“Let’s give it up for the Maid of Honor Fern Novotny and Best Man Gabe Wolkowski!”

The door swung open, and the room burst into applause as we both stood there like a deer in the headlights. I wish I could say we busted a move, or she did a run and I lifted her into the air just like Baby and Johnny in Dirty Dancing . Yeah, that would’ve been great.

But negative. She bolted from me, as if I was herpes sliding toward her, to the empty chair next to scuzzball Brandon.

I was left alone in the spotlight. Yup, the big old goof all alone.

People started clapping so I did a quick little Macarena that went over surprisingly well before heading straight to the bar in the back of the room. The mother ship was calling me home.

I wanted to be numb. Needed to be numb. From the throbbing pain in my head, to the feeling of being beaten by a spiked baton every time I saw her, I needed something.

I stood in line for ten minutes after the rest of the wedding party danced their way in, along with the bride and groom.

The bartender’s smile was annoying. “What’ll you have?”

“You got a long extension cord and a bathtub?” Did I say that out loud?

“Excuse me?

“Give me the bottle of Jack.” I knew I said that aloud.

“I can’t give you the bottle.” He seemed as confused as I felt.

I grabbed my wallet and fished out a crisp one-hundred-dollar bill. “I said give me the fucking bottle.”

He plucked the cash from my hand and put a bottle in front of me.

I took a few steps, sliding my friend along with me.

Once at the corner of the long bar, I ran my finger over the white letters on the black label of the only thing that might be able to get me through the night from Hell while I assessed my options.

I could leave. I could sit in a chair like a normal human for thirty minutes, get through the formalities of a wedding, hit the road, and never hear her voice again. I’d never touch or taste her for all of eternity. The memory of chemistry and sparks would haunt me forever.

Or I could hit up Jack and get to the point where I feel nothing. Sure, there was a chance I’d rearrange the reception furniture as I beat Brandon senseless with a chair, but it was an option.

I let out the breath I wasn’t aware I was holding and stared at the bottle…my old friend. After several long moments, I pushed it away. This wasn’t the way to deal anymore. She’d shown me that I could be strong. I didn’t know how to do this so I was going minute-by-minute.

I turned to see Dave standing at the other end of the bar, watching me. I wanted to say anything I could to cut him. Why should I be the only one suffering? But instead, I handed the bottle to a confused wedding guest in the drink line and walked away to find a seat at a table by the dance floor.

I steered clear of the wedding party and nursed a pathetic glass of water I didn’t want. After dinner, the dance floor burst to life with everything from the YMCA and Apple Bottom Jeans to Morgan Wallen and Taylor while my eyes were on the clock.

Every time I got a view of Fern, she was too close, and I needed to be farther away. We were an hour into the reception, and I figured it was time for me to fly.

The music paused as a college-aged dude with a man bun took to the mic. “We want to congratulate Tawnee and Ed!” Cheers and glass clinks resulted in Ed kissing his bride. “Let’s slow things down a little.”

Journey’s Faithfully rang through the speakers, making me want to walk into moving traffic blindfolded.

“Is this night ever going to end?” I rested my elbows on the table. “And the Faithfully song is on?” I started a sad song of my own. “It’s beginning to look a lot like fuck this.” I raised my glass of Pepsi to Brandon, “in loving memory of when I gave a shit about anything.”

“Well, aren’t you just a little lollipop triple-dipped in psycho.”

I let out a huff. “Yes, I’m just an awkward foul-mouthed sarcastic delight tonight.”

Brandon leaned in closer. “Have we been here long enough?”