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“Oh, shit,” Stella says, her eyes widening. “Did you forget about the wedding?”
I nod frantically, still unable to speak after the bomb Stella just dropped on me.
“Okay, let’s breathe,” Stella says. But not before taking a very big drink of her red wine. “Did you forget about the wedding or that James was also in the wedding party with you?”
I wave a hand around to indicate a generalized all-of-that while chugging the rest of my martini.
“I love you, but how do you forget something like that?”
“I don’t know,” I admit as I stare at my empty glass. “I mean, I knew the wedding was next week. I see the bridesmaid’s dress every day hanging in my closet. And I’ve been preparing to see James. In the back of my mind, I knew he was going to be there. But since I saw this today, I don’t know, I guess the shock of him getting engaged made me forget that we’re less than a week away.”
“That makes sense,” Stella says. “Today was a shock. Hell, the breakup still shocks me.”
Same Stella. Same.
I was in a happy relationship with a man I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with. We had a condo together, a cat, and a joint bank account. All signs were pointing to that one day I was going to become Mrs. James Culver.
I mean, I assumed I was. And looking back, that was my first mistake. We had never talked about getting married specifically. I just figured that a man who wanted to live with you, share money with you, and would talk about things well into your future, would also want to one day marry you.
Now I know why assuming makes an ass out of you and me. Because one minute we were having dinner with Anna and Rob—the about-to-be married couple that James and I set up—and the next James is casually bringing up how he’s glad we’ll never have to deal with wedding stuff.
I believe my initial thought was, “Excuse me, what?”
I didn’t go into it at dinner. Partly because I thought I must have misheard him. The other part of me was worried that I didn’t, and the conversation we were about to have was not for public consumption.
Unfortunately, I was exactly right.
When we got home that night I asked him why he said that. He, without a care in the world, told me the only reason to get married was to have kids. And since I—the top paralegal at my law firm—wasn’t going to give up my career to raise kids, marriage was pointless.
All decisions and assumptions he made without talking to me.
I was stunned. Baffled. Angry. At both him and myself. For never having the guts to stand up and talk to him about this. For assuming that just one day, magically, after five years, he was going to propose.
We fought all night. Years of little things came up from both of us that apparently we both chose to bury. Things were said that can’t be unsaid, and now, looking back, I’m glad they finally got out in the open.
Because I do want kids. I was ready to have a career and a family. I was prepared to be a working mom. I wanted it all. And apparently he didn’t.
Or he didn’t want it with me.
Oh, God. It’s now all hitting me. I can feel the panic bubbling up, and it’s about to blow. In one week, not only do I have to see James for the first time since the breakup, but now I have to see him with my replacement.
“Stella!” I’m pretty sure everyone in the bar is now looking at me, but I don’t care. “What am I going to do?”
I cross my arms on the bar and dramatically drop my head into them. No. Not dramatically. This reaction is very well within reason. In fact, I don’t think I’m reacting enough.
“For starters, you aren’t going to freak out,” Stella says in a bolstering, aggressively positive tone.
I pick my head up just enough to give her a “are you freaking kidding me” glare. “What would you like me to do? Because I think freak out is the perfect response. And shots. Definitely shots. Freaking out and shots.”
“Did someone say shots?”
I’ve never been so happy to hear the deep, soothing, Southern drawl of Max, the best bartender in the world. Stella and I have been coming to Bar 615 since we both started working at the firm roughly six years ago. We loved it for the ambiance and the classy, yet not stuffy, vibes and I.
We became much bigger fans of it when Max came through the doors a couple years later. He’s the best. Not only can he make a hell of a drink, he has a beautiful voice. He sings around bars and honkytonks and Nashville. Stella and I have gone to see him a few times. He’s truly a talent.
“Two lemon drops. ASAP.”
Max gives me his trademark flirty wink. “You got it, darlin’.”
