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“Yes, sir.” I think I can hear her saluting me through the phone. “How’s The Strip tonight?”
I look out on The Strip. The flashing lights of the casinos. The Bellagio fountains dancing in the distance. There’s so much going on, yet the visual is calming. It looks the same as it always does.
“Busy. Lots of bachelorette parties as usual. Should be a good night.”
“Maybe you’ll loosen up and have some fun yourself?” Sophie teases.
“Doubt it,” I mutter. It’s impossible to not feel like a grandpa around the other guys.
“You can try.” She sighs. “I’m done packing for tonight. I’m going over to TK’s. I love you, G.”
“I love you, too. I’ll see you in the morning.”
I drop my phone back into my pocket.
Standing here in this moment, I know that after tonight things will change. It’s a change I’ve been patiently waiting for. Since the day I took over guardianship of Sophie. The day my mom, six months sober, got T-boned by a drunk driver.
The silver lining being that I was eighteen, allowing Sophie and me to avoid foster care. My father was long gone, he hadn’t made an appearance since my fifth birthday, and we never really knew who Sophie’s dad was.
With Sophie only a few weeks from graduating college, I know that all the hard work and sacrifice I’ve made over the last twelve years has been worth it. And, for once, I’ll be able to make decisions about my life that aren’t reliant on someone else.
CHAPTER3
Emma
I’ve never been a big gambler, but tonight, I’ve discovered I like penny slots. There’s something so satisfying about pulling the lever on a slot machine. So much promise in those few seconds when the three lines of objects spin at speeds which make their shapes unrecognizable. I’ve been sitting at this machine for a good hour now. Dottie, the little blue-haired lady to my right, is from Cleveland, she’s eighty-seven and she’s on a roll.
After the birthday celebration backstage at my fashion show, I helped my team pack up the gowns, as much as they would let me, and then Jess and I had headed straight for the bar and slot machines. The rest of my team wanted to celebrate with a late dinner and drinks, and while I adore them, I just couldn’t handle an evening of smiling and pretending everything was fine. I insisted they go ahead without me. Jess insisted that she stay with me and she’s been watching me like a hawk.
Alec is engaged to another woman.
The taste in my mouth is bitter.
My feelings are all over the place.
It should have been me.
That’s not right either.
Jess props herself up against the side of my machine. “Okay, I think we should call it a night. We can order up room service, put on our PJs and watchDirty Dancing.”
She’s just listed all my favorite things, but honestly at this moment I’m afraid if I close the door on the chaos of the casino, the clinking of coins and pinging of machines, the flashing lights, and really process Alec’s engagement, I’ll lose my mind. That, and I’m a bottle of champagne in, and it’s my birthday. I refuse to let this be the story of my thirtieth birthday, jilted and drunkenly watching Patrick Swayze gyrate.
The breakup with Alec had been hard, but every day since I’d found confidence that it was the right thing. We weren’t meant to be. We wanted different things. But seeing him happy and engaged to someone else has ripped open that barely healed wound. It’s the rejection that hits the hardest. The confirmation that for all of Alec’s inability to commit to me, it wasn’t commitment that he didn’t want, it wasme.
I know now that we weren’t right for each other. I don’t want him back, but was it necessary for him to turn around and propose to his girlfriend of two months…on my birthday?! Maybe that’s what’s hitting the hardest.
My birthday. Another year around the sun. I’m thirty and so much further from finding my happily ever after than I was a year ago.
“I’m not ready to give up yet,” I tell her, then grip the neck of the champagne bottle I’ve got tucked between my legs and take a big gulp. I’m still wearing my mom’s wedding dress. The hem hiked up and the excess material pooled between my legs. It’s probably a wrinkled mess, but I don’t care. Any hope I had of walking down the aisle in it is gone. It clearly did not bring me the luck that it brought my mom. It being vintage Dior, I can’t exactly light it on fire, but after tonight it will need to be cleaned, saged and returned to its box in storage, never to be spoken of again.
In my clutch, my phone buzzes. Likely another birthday text from a friend or family member. There are three more hours left in this day. I might just spend them staring at this slot machine, drinking warm champagne and listening to Dottie ramble.
“My second husband was a lawyer. I helped him through law school, worked two jobs to pay his tuition. He ended up leaving me for his secretary.”
“Lawyers are the worst,” I commiserate.
I drop another penny into the slot and pull the lever. The wheels spin, cherries appear on the first two wheels, giving me hope, but a number seven appears on the last wheel, denying me a win.
