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I consider opening it while I’m standing in front of the mailbox, but I decide to wait. I also sense that it’s something that I don’t want to read based on the quality of the envelope.
“Come on, Shark,” I say, and he follows me up the path to the cabin. I have to admit the exterior looks perfect. I did a ton of work on it after the winter, and in the bright light of summer, I get to admire my skill. The wood has been re-primed, and it’s glossy in the sunshine.
Stepping through the front door, I feel a sense of accomplishment of what I’ve built. It stays cool inside the cabin, even when it’s hot outside. It’s the perfect home for me, and I can’t imagine living anywhere else; especially in a dark Chicago high-rise.
When I think of the weather back in Illinois, I shudder. Those winters were nothing like the winters here in Montana. In my memory, they seem colder and more oppressive. The snow here actually makes me want to go outside and enjoy it.
I place the letter on the kitchen counter and look out the window. Brianna has filled my mind again. It must be obvious at this point that I’m interested. I’ve been to the café twice, and she has to know I’m flirting with her. Hopefully, it isn’t uninvited, but she seems like she’s open to it. Hell, I don’t know. I’m not good at these things.
The memory of her eyes on mine and the way she looked me from head to toe comes to mind. Everything about her is beautiful, her high cheekbones and plump lips, the way her waist is smaller than her hips and her breasts are the perfect size. Perky and taut. I turn away from the window because I could stand there all day thinking about Brianna’s body. It sounds crass, but it’s true.
The letter sits on the counter, taunting me, and it’s drawing me to it. God, probably one of my wealthy cousins getting married. How horrified they would be to see me at the ceremony with this beard. I rip open the cream-colored envelope and what I find is not far off from what I sensed from the beginning.
Dear Mr. Tate Williams,
*
You’re formally invited to the 50th Wedding Anniversary of Mr. and Mrs. Lance Williams on July 7th, 2018. The ceremony is at the Ritz Carlton, Chicago, with the reception commencing at Mr. Williams’s Dearborn Park home. Please arrive at five pm. Formal attire required.
I drop the letter onto the counter and walk away. In all honesty, I’m conflicted for many reasons. The formal attire doesn’t bother me considering I came home from the hospital in a tuxedo. Though I hate wearing them, I can fake it for one night. And truly, I am happy that grandma and gramps are celebrating their 50th. There were a number of years in there where we thought they might kill each other, but they both made it. Their relationship is admirable, and I love them dearly.
So, I have to go. There’s no question. My family would never speak to me again if I didn’t. There’s one huge problem with all of this, going alone. Not only will our family and my parent’s elite friends and spouses be there, but so will my ex-fiancée and former best friend. The thought of it makes me cringe.
When I left Chicago, they were merely having an affair, and I didn’t want to know any details. I washed my hands of them both. If they wanted to get married and start a family, so be it, but I wasn’t going to sit around to watch it happen. What if I showed up to the anniversary and encountered them in wedded bliss? It might kill me, or I might kill them.
I know they’ll be because both of their parents are family friends. My ex’s father is grandpa’s lawyer. Running into them both, together, is inevitable. I should say the invitation got lost, but if I don’t go, I face the chopping block from my family.
I stand by the window, holding the envelope in my hand. I have to go, and it occurs to me that I should bring a date, to show them that I’ve moved on and I’m over it. To show them that what they did to me didn’t break me. To show them that I don’t give any fucks about them anymore. Having a date is the only answer, and there’s only one name that comes to mind.
Brianna Carson.
Would she be willing to do such a crazy thing? I would pay her, of course. Handsomely. But maybe she can’t be bought? It makes me wonder what she thought of the money I’ve left her. It made me feel good to know that I was assisting her in some way. I’d like to do it again, but there’s a chance that she could be offended by me. The last thing that I want to do is give her the wrong impression.
To bring her with me to Chicago would be delightful, but unfortunately, it would mean I’d have to show her where I come from and my former life. I would be revealing too much to a stranger, I’m afraid, but I’m a different man than I was in Chicago.
I used to be married to my work. I wanted to follow in my father’s footsteps and spend the rest of my days moving decimal points around, watching as my bank account exceeded his. My family was proud, of course, because all they care about is money. But they’d always joke that I’d marry Eden and build her an ivory tower that she’d never come down from.
Once I had made enough money to retire for good, and Eden deceived me, that’s when I gave up on that life for good. I don’t have to worry about money anymore, which is nice, but I never really had to. I’ve watched people struggle and worry about income, and I’ve been free from all of that because of my family.
It pisses me off, actually.
I want to earn my own way, and I don’t want to be privileged. In my new life, I do everything for myself, and I take a lot of satisfaction in all that. If Brianna Carson were to come home with me, would she look down on me? Would she see me as some privileged jerk? I suppose it’s a risk I’d have to face.
There’s an RSVP letter included in the invitation, and I grab a pen and cross the attending box. Come hell or high water I’ll be there, and Brianna will be by my side, hopefully.
A new thought comes to me. It’s one thing to have Brianna pretend to be my girlfriend, but what if I convince her to be my fiancée? I could get a ring and announce we’re getting married in Whitefish in a couple months. Not only will they be shocked, but they’ll also be pissed as all hell, and it warms me to think of it. And it brings me no greater joy to do that.
I’m not ungrateful, but I haven’t had greatest parents in the world. A nanny raised me. A little playful revenge never hurt anyone. I would love to see the look on my mother’s face when she sees that I’m getting married. And to someone that doesn’t wear designer shoes or dresses or plans charity luncheons.
I’m getting ahead of myself. I haven’t even asked Brianna yet, and I already have the whole thing planned out. The next order of business will be to propose the idea to her. That means going back to the café, of course. It’ll be three times in less than two weeks. All of this is a hell of a surprise to me, to say the least.
I walk outside with a smile on my face and take off my shirt so I can feel the sun on my chest, shoulders, and back. I treasure these moments outdoors because it takes my mind off things. It’s why I moved to Montana in the first place. The rest of the afternoon passes quickly as I finish cutting the last of the trees that fell and before I know it the sun is setting and the evening is upon me. I planned to grill some fish for dinner, but I’m too tired to cook.
I’m in a good mood, and it seems like the perfect evening to travel to the Mountain Brewery. Fish and chips, beer, and sports, what’s not to like? I jump in the shower, change into some clean clothes, then grab the keys to my truck and move toward the door. Shark barks in protest.
“You can’t come, buddy.” He lays his head down on the hardwood floor, and I feed him treat before I leave.
Before I know it, I’m in my truck and racing down the dirt road toward town. I don’t think I’ve ventured into civilization this much since moving to Whitefish, and it feels good.
