Page 50 of Wedding or Not

We went out a couple of times afterward, but then the relationship petered out.

Neither of us seemed to care all that much.

I’m prepared to believe there are a lot of people from our high school that Wes would prefer not to see, but he and Judd were on the soccer team together.

I thought they were friends.

Wes greets Judd with a smile, but I clearly have gotten to know him better in the past month because I can immediately tell the smile isn’t sincere. “Hey, man,” he says. “Good to see you.”

“You too. I’ve been hearing a lot of talk about the two of you.” Judd has a broad face and a wide smile with impressively white teeth. “So it’s real? You two are together?”

“We are,” Wes says, pulling me toward his side in a possessive gesture that he’s never used before—not even for the cameras. “We’re engaged.”

I’m more intrigued by Wes’s mood than anything else, but I flutter my hand toward Judd as if I’m showing off the ring.

“Nice,” he says in a tone I’ve always mentally identified as a bro tone. “Good going, man.”

“We’re happy,” Wes says, his hand sliding down toward my hip. “How about you? Anything new?”

“Marissa and I got divorced, which is why I’m at dinner tonight with my folks.” Judd gestures toward an older couple who bear a strong resemblance to him. “They dragged me with them.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” I say. “I bet they were trying to cheer you up.”

I don’t say it because I’ve learned it always makes others feel guilty and uncomfortable, but I’d give anything if I could have dinner with my parents again.

“I guess. Anyway, Wes, we should get together sometime. We can catch up.”

“Sure. We’re pretty booked with all the wedding stuff, but as soon as I get a free minute, I’ll reach out.”

Judd is satisfied with that response, mostly because he’s not clever enough to realize Wes is trying to put him off. Then he lopes off toward his parents, and Wes and I head outside and walk to where he parked the car.

“Why don’t you like him?” I ask after a minute, when Wes volunteers no information.

“Who says I don’t like him?”

“Please. Even if you hadn’t said shit when you saw him, I’d be able to tell just from the look on your face.”

He arches his eyebrows at me.

“You might have a better poker face than me, but it’s not that good.”

“Fine.” His face relaxes into a smile as we walk. “He was one of those school friends who aren’t really friends at all.”

“What do you mean?”

“Surely you had them too. They hang out with you and pretend to be friends, but they’re mostly just using you for their purposes. They’re never there when you need them, and given the chance, they’ll turn on you at the drop of a hat.”

“Oh. Yes. I know the type.”

“Do you?”

“Yeah. Once, in middle school, I had a girl I thought was one of my best friends. One day she and I and another girl were hanging out in the bathroom talking, and I left but then remembered something to say, so I turned back to come in again. I was hidden by a partial wall, and I realized my friend was talking crap about me to the other girl.” I shake my head, my stomach sinking at the memory. “It was… devastating.”

“Damn. I’m sorry someone did that to you. Who was she?”

“Why?”

“No reason.” He’s got his eyes aimed at the sky and is making an exaggeratingly innocent expression. “Just thinking of giving her a call.”