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She flutters her hand between us. “Yes. Well, we worked together many years ago. I used to babysit his daughter as well. He lost that business and never quite recovered. He’s tried every quick money game he could find ever since, but nothing seems to stick. Makes me wonder how he can afford such a lavish party.”
She looks around the taffeta-strewn walls, the fifty tables littered with champagne bottles, glasses and sterling candelabras decorated with white roses and orchids, not to mention the five-tier custom cake.
“Beats me.” I throw back the rest of my drink. The need for another is strong, but sloppy isn’t my style.
“Weddings these days are so unconventional.” She spins her head, looking at the bride and groom wagging their rear ends with the music. “They met and married after knowing each other just a couple days. Those sort of things happen in Vegas, I suppose. Still, odd to get married, then have a reception a month later, complete with white dress, tuxedos, gift registries…” She shrugs. “Things are just different now, I suppose.”
“That they are.”
She presses her hand over her mouth for a moment before letting out a long sigh. “I’ve had one too many, I think. I talk too much when I drink.”
“It’s fine. I’ve enjoyed chatting with you.”
It’s the truth. I rarely talk about anything but business because I have no patience for life outside of work. Even now, I feel like breaking the glass against the wall because being here is a waste of my fucking time as far as I’m concerned.
Winning is the only thing that gives me a momentary balm to the coiled dark tension inside of me. When I was younger, winning fights was my main focus. Then, winning on the football field. Then it was college and I thought winning both in academics and sports would finally settle me.
Nope.
After college, I set out for the ultimate win. Becoming a Navy Seal. I achieved that goal, but it only taught me to control the weight of rage, it did nothing to dim it.
“Thank you, young man.” She blushes and waves for the bartender to bring her another pink whatever she’s drinking. “Again, strange to me, but the bride and her new stepdaughter could be sisters. Almost the same age. Like I said, I used to babysit Milly when she was little. Her mother left when she was a toddler, then died a few years later. So sad. From what Martin says, she and Stacie are like two peas in a pod. I love happy endings, don’t you?”
The dreadful song ends and I watch my sister glowing as the crowd around her claps and my temples throb. Being the center of attention is her drug, along with any sort of male attention. I don’t blame her really. I know absentee fathers affect girls different than boys.
I did my best, but nothing can replace a present, loving father.
The band leader calls for requests and I know I need to go congratulate my sister and meet her new husband, and quit hiding here at the bar, but hiding is sort of my thing.
I’ve grown pretty good at it over the years. That and projecting a gray corporate forgettable vibe. It helps people overlook me, even with my size drawing attention and that’s exactly how I like it.
I haven’t even turned to face the woman next to me. I’ve come to unconsciously keep the right side of my face away from people. It’s not that I’m embarrassed, I just hate the looks of pity or the way people suddenly look away or think I somehow need to be handled with kid gloves.
I shift my back to the bar, ready to bite the bullet and head over to Stacie, and get the formalities of the evening started, when I hear the sharp inhale from next to me.
I know what she sees. It’s the tip of a scarred iceberg that starts on my jaw and finishes down just above my left hip bone. Memories of my days as a Navy Seal, as brief as they were. An IED sent our Humvee ten feet into the air, blowing the left side of the vehicle nearly completely off.
I was lucky to come out with the injuries I did. Two of my buddies weren’t so lucky. The thick, silver evidence of the hell we lived for six months makes me remember them, and somehow that keeps them alive for me in some small way.
“I’m going to go powder my nose.” The woman’s smile is tight now, avoiding eye contact. “It was nice talking to you.”
“You too.”
She moves around the bar and I turn back. One more drink and I’ll be ready…
I wave at the bartender who is at the other end of the bar. He nods, holding a finger up, asking me to give him a second as he leans forward to grab a glass.
