I tried to tune out Bitch One as she continued in her high-pitched voice, but I couldn’t. “We’ve put together a little surprise for the lovely couple,” she announced. Everyone in the audience cooed, but the bridesmaids who had also been in her wedding groaned. We were worried, and her words didn’t sound promising. Music started playing, a screen rolled down, images of the bride and groom flashed across as the song, “A Thousand Years” rang out. Okay, I had to admit, it was sweet. There were photos of each of them growing up and then more of them in middle school, high school, college, and as adults. But it was the last photo that truly baffled me . . . an ultrasound.
Bitch One put the mic back up to her mouth. “You might not understand why there were blue petals tossed today. Well, like you said at my wedding, when you announced your engagement during the maid of honor speech, we have something to celebrate together.”
“Oh shit,” I whispered.
“I’m pregnant, and we just found out it’s a boy. Surprise!”
The clapping was a slow roll, but I was done with this bullshit. I tossed my napkin down and headed for the door; I was so outta there. I was done with these petty-ass bitches.
As I walked by the bar that was nestled right by the doorway, I stopped and grabbed an open bottle of champagne. I needed it after this major clusterfuck. Before I took another step toward the door, I leaned back in and grabbed a second bottle just to be safe, then strolled for the elevator as I took a long swig off the first bottle. The bubbles tingled my nose, but the cool alcohol was as refreshing as it was welcome. I was sweating like a whore in church, with all of these damn ruffles.
Pressing seven, I tried to drink the entire time the elevator climbed. When the doors opened, I stomped to my room pissed beyond all belief. How dare these women use their weddings, a day to celebrate love, as a battlefield? I loved being married, and I was a good wife. God, I missed waking up next to him.
I locked my door and kicked off my shoes—one going left and the other going I have no idea where. Then I started to wiggle out of my dress. There was no way in hell I wanted to put one of these bottles down, so I did some fancy moves, like the shoulder drop, the twist, and even the pony, the only thing missing was music.
When I was finally free of the taffeta monstrosity, I did my best rendition of Tom Cruise in Risky Business, using my pantyhose-clad feet to give me a slide across the not-one-bit-shaggy, nylon-carpeted floor. I used the bottle as my mic and sang about some Old Time Rock ’N Roll. I kept singing and practicing my slide until I had finished the first bottle. I swayed a little before I tossed it to the floor, and then a brilliant-beyond-brilliant idea hit me: I needed to call Erin.
Ohh, I missed Erin so much. She was Eric’s twin sister, and since he’d died Erin and I still talked about everything, and I mean everything, just not as often as we used to. I was going to call her.
“Stay right there, don’t move,” I said to the second bottle of champagne as I set it on the nightstand.
“Phone, oh phone, where did I put you?” I called.
I wondered if I could yodel. “Phone-o-ne-o.” Nailed it.
There it was, I found you, you little fucker. I snagged my phone from the pocket of my dress and then turned back to the bed. Oh, head spinning. Carefully, I crawled onto the bed, grabbed the bottle of champagne that had been sitting all alone, and took a sip before scrolling through my phone for Erin’s number.
Aaron
Rolling forward on the balls of my feet, I lifted my arms and shot. The floor went quiet for the second it took for the ball to zoom through the air and swish through the hoop.
“All net,” my coach shouted.
Sweat beaded down my face, the salty tang as it coated my lips was a familiar taste.
“Great practice team, let’s end here. Get showered, the bus is waiting out back. See you at ten tomorrow.” Coach strode off the practice court. Lenny, one of the team hands, raced around gathering the balls while the rest of the team and I headed off to the showers.
Practice today had been relatively easy; coach didn’t want to run the risk of one of his starting players being injured and having to sit this game out.
“God, I need to get laid,” Dominic announced. He was a small forward, and it didn’t surprise me that this was always the first thing out of his mouth. “Yo, Aaron, you gonna meet us in the bar?”
“No alcohol before the game Dominic. You know the rules,” Coach shouted.
“Maybe. My shoulders are killing me.” I reached back and massaged the knot before stepping out of the shower and grabbing a towel. I hated when we had away games; every locker room was set up differently, every arena had a different vibe. I headed to the locker that I had claimed earlier and slipped back into my suit. The only part that I was permitted to forgo since we were going straight to the hotel was my tie, but we couldn’t have more than two buttons unfastened, and we still had to wear an undershirt. It was the little details like this that made what should be a ten-page contract sixty pages.
Shoving my workout clothes into a laundry bag with my name on it, I dropped it into the cart along with my towel as I left.
Security guards who looked like NFL linebackers lined the way for me out of
