“He invited me, didn’t he? Or maybe it was the bride-to-be who did? Who knows? Who cares?”
“Do you know her?”
“Never heard of her before.”
“Whoever it was probably just wanted to rub your nose in it. Show you what you could have had. He’s arrogant enough. Thinks he’s such a prize.”
And that right there is the crux of the problem. Sure I have doubts. Like middle of the night stare at the ceiling when I can’t sleep wondering if the grass is greener on the other side doubts. They’re ridiculous though, because I know deep down in my heart of hearts I did the right thing.
But loving someone and being with him for most of your adult life makes it hard to walk away and not experience some level of uncertainty.
So maybe that’s why the thought of seeing Mitch with her feels like it would cement my decision and chase away any doubts still milling around.
“True,” I muse as I lace another row of beads on the next cupcake. “But wouldn’t you feel the same way if someone did that to you?” My brother just stares at me, the snarl on his face betraying the calm in his eyes. “I get why you’re pissed at him—and I am too for what he did to you—but when it comes to me, Ryder, he has a right to be mad. I was the one who called it off.”
“Oh, I remember, all right,” he says over his shoulder as he heads back to the desk. And I know he does. My tear-filled state in his office when I realized I couldn’t go through with the wedding. The understanding ear for his hysterical sister and the ledge he talked me down from after I picked up the phone and told Mitch I needed to talk to him. “You want to really know what pissed me off more than anything? You broke off an almost seven-year relationship with him and not once did he get pissed or rage or sit on your doorstep and beg you to reconsider. He didn’t fight for you, and you’re worth fighting for. Instead, he acted like the passive-aggressive asshole he is by sending you an invitation to his new wedding?”
I shrug, loving that he thinks I’m worth fighting for, and at the same time knowing Mitch didn’t fight was an answer in itself. “If you were in his shoes, how would you have handled it?”
“Me?” He laughs with a sheepish grin that suggests what he’s about to tell me may or may have not happened in the past. “After the girl refused to talk to me, I would have gotten shitfaced. It wouldn’t be pretty. Then I’d probably bang on her door all night long until she was so sick of me, she had to face me. And if she didn’t and I had to gather some sort of self-respect, I’d probably go out, drink some more, sleep with the first willing candidate because . . . well because, wasting six years with the same person when it amounted to shit would piss me off, and I’d want some way to feel better about myself. So yeah . . . not classy but that’s what I would have done.”
I snort. “Sounds about right, and yet for the life of me I can’t see Mitch acting like that when obviously he did—the going out and screwing the first thing he laid eyes on part.”
His sarcastic laugh rings around the empty café. “Hate to break it to you, sis, but obviously he did or else he wouldn’t be getting married this quickly.”
And I can’t hide the fact that the notion stings. But at least it solidifies one of two things: he either felt the same way about our relationship as I did, or he fell in love with Rebound Sarah because I bruised his ego and she made him feel good again.
“Maybe he wants to prove he’s over me despite the rumors I’ve heard that she’s a carbon copy of me.” Out of the corner of my eye, I watch as those words stop his trek back into the office. The notion that Mitch is marrying another tall, aqua-eyed, blonde-haired woman with olive skin hits him.
He laughs at the notion, sarcasm ringing in it as I hear the shuffle of papers on my messy desk in the back room. “Where’s the RSVP card? I’ll send it back and let him know just what I think about how smart you were to dump his ass. Pretentious prick.”
Luckily Ryder can’t see me from where he stands because I’m certain the scrunch up of my nose and falter in my icing would give away what I did.
“Saylor?”
“Hmm?” Indifference.
And there must be something in how I respond that catches the tiny inflection in my tone. After all, he has known me my whole life.
“Please tell me you don’t plan on going.”
“No. Of course not.” Eyes on the next cupcake. My fingers squeezing another row of pearls around the edge. My feet shifting to abate the weight of his scrutinizing stare.
“Where’s the card then?”
“I must have lost it.” Dodge. Avoid. Ignore. “It must have fallen out. It’s probably on the floor under the desk and—”
“You’ve always been a horrible liar.” I can hear the confused disbelief in his tone as he steps back out to the shop. I immediately let go of my hair wound around my finger. My tell. “What did you plan on doing? Waltz in there and say ‘I’m here! The ex who was smart and walked away.’?”
My God. When he says it like that, I can hear how stupid it sounds. But of course, being my brother and the voice of reason, he doesn’t just stop there. “C’mon, Saylor. Do you actually think he sent you that invitation because he wants you there? Because I sure as shit know she doesn’t. I’m trying to wrap my head around what part of you would actually RSVP that you were going to go. The female mind boggles me sometimes. I mean . . . wait a minute. You’re not second-guessing yourself now, are you? Please tell me you don’t have the misguided notion that you’ll show up and know whether you made the right decision or not. And if you did make a mistake, think he’ll drop everything and marry you instead because—”
“Ryder.” It’s a warning. All I can muster through the emotion clogging my throat.
“You are, aren’t you?” Incredulous. Victorious. Disappointed.
“Please stop.” I stare at him, jaw clenched, eyes burning bright with the tears I refuse to let fall so he can see how stupid I feel over the notion. “Sending the RSVP back was a knee-jerk reaction, okay? Stupid. I had never even intended to mail it. I was just pretending, but DeeDee gave it to the mailman accidently.”
“So what? Just because you sent it in doesn’t mean you have to actually go to it.” He throws his hands up, his frustration with not understanding clear. “Are you out of your mind?”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No. Maybe I wanted to see how my own wedding would have looked. Maybe I thought why not go? It’s in paradise, after all. Take a vacation with the non-refundable vacation package waiting for me to use.”
“If it’s non-refundable, didn’t you already lose it?”
“No.” My laugh is short and disbelieving. “My travel agent felt so sorry for me after knowing how hard I’d worked to scrape the money together to pay for the trip. She was able to get the resort to honor a future stay so long as I traveled within the next twelve months. All I have to do is call them up with dates to see if they have a vacancy. It’s not like they don’t already have my money.”
“And so what?” He shrugs. “You have a trip so you might as well take it? Wouldn’t you rather use it another time when Mitch isn’t there? Or is going when he is a way to satisfy your curiosity?”
I hear his logic. Understand how stupid my own reasons sound and yet that doesn’t stop me from answering. “Maybe so. All I know is that by the looks of finances, I won’t be going on another vacation any time soon so—”
“So why not show up at my ex’s wedding? Yeah, because that sounds completely rational.” He rolls his eyes while I glare at him. The sarcasm reverberates in the space around us and only serves to irritate me more.
Needing a moment to calm my rising temper, I pace to the end of the butcher block. He’s judging me, pushing my buttons, and I hate having to account for my actions or justify my opinions to anyone other than myself. “Not rational by a long shot, but hell, maybe I want to go and spy through the bushes so I can silently thank God it isn’t me walking down the aisle to him. Or maybe I have this fairy-tale fantasy of walking into their wedding with some hot stud who is obviously so madly in love with me that those assholes—the people I thought were my friends, yet were nowhere to be found when I needed them most—can see us. And maybe, just maybe . . . for once in this whole situation, I can prove I’m not home in the corner, licking my wounds because I realized I made some huge mistake like they all think I am!”
I slam the piping bag down for emphasis. A huge blob of the teal-colored frosting shoots out from the force and squirts across the distance onto the butcher block. Pissed and embarrassed, I know this whole discussion is on me since I didn’t bother to hide the invitation. And wasn’t it just my luck that it was Ryder of all people who noticed the detail of the missing reply card? There’s nothing I can do about it now except hang my head for a moment, draw in a deep breath, and tell myself it’s okay to feel a bit unhinged. That leaving the life I once had and essentially starting over again would leave most people feeling crazy.