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There were plenty of people, especially in their early twenties that had rich parents and felt entitled to not work. They believed they would be supported by their parents and shouldn’t have to work. She was at least trying to work and most likely find herself.
“It’s just a job. Before I was a bartender there I worked at a dive bar. Before that, I was a line cook at a dinner. I guess I am just trying to figure out my passion,” she gave a small shrug, and I could tell that she was quoting her father, and he didn’t appreciate her unknowingness.
“Hey, people your age are either getting drunk in college or they are working. You’re not doing anything that millions of others your age aren’t doing. You’ll figure out who you are and what you are meant to do with your life.”
I didn’t typically give life advice to my one-night stands, but we were here at a networking conference so what the hell? At twenty-one she had a lot of years left in her to figure it out. Just because myself and many others downstairs had already known that didn’t mean there was anything wrong with her. Technically by society’s standards, we were the freaks and were the ones destined to have a midlife crisis and ruin our lives by the time we were fifty. I was really hoping that wasn’t going to be true for myself. But then again, I was thirty-eight and about to have my first divorce, so what the hell did I know?
“I’m not too worried about it. There’s nothing wrong with being a free spirit,” she downed the rest of her water before she finally got off the dresser. She continued as she swayed her hips and crossed the short distance between us. “You know what else my free-spirit personality lets me do?”
“Please tell me it’s yoga.” I would love to see how flexible she was.
“Oh it’s definitely yoga,” she responded with a devilish smile, and I knew right at this moment I was never going to be able to forget her or this night.
Jasmine
Four Years Later…
“Oh Honey, you look so beautiful,” my mother gushed.
I don't know if beautiful was the word I would use. It wasn't that I didn’t look good. I just didn’t look like myself. I understood that’s kinda how it worked when you were getting married. You wore a dress you would normally never wear. You got your hair and makeup done as well as your nails. It was all a big show you had to put on and you needed to look the part. It also wasn’t that I wasn’t used to getting all dolled up.
I enjoyed getting my nails done on the occasion, and I wore makeup and could do my hair. I didn’t tend to every day. Mostly, I went with a natural look and tossed my hair up in a ponytail or just let it hang. My nails tended to be painted because I did them, but I didn’t stress if the color was all chipped off. Or I missed and got a bit on my skin. I was pretty easy going and that trickled down to my appearance. Something both of my parents hated.
“It’s different,” I managed to say as I took my appearance in. The dressing room at the church had a connecting three floor length mirrors so I could see myself from multiple angles. I couldn’t determine if that was a good thing or not.
I didn't really have much of a picture of the type of wedding I thought I would have. Mostly because I didn't really want to be married. Well, that part wasn’t fully true. I grew up happy to get married one day, but my mind focused on everything my husband and I could do. I thought about the trips we would take. The adventures that we would have. Having children, growing old together. It didn’t focus on the wedding aspect. Kinda always figured I would elope or something. When we had gone wedding dress shopping, I had a more bohemian design in mind. Something simple, flowy, looser fabric so I could move around and pee on my own. What I ended up with was a princess ball gown that weighed a ton, and I was going to need all of my five bridesmaids’ help to hold up should I have to pee. I was gonna need to watch how much I drank at the reception.
My mother had loved this dress though, and she was paying for it so it only seemed fair I got what she wanted. Especially because she was never going to let me pick the style I wanted. It also didn’t help that Adam preferred this look over my usual style.
“Adam is going to love it. Remember, if you keep your husband happy, he will keep you happy. Happy wife, happy life can only happen if your husband is happy with you,” she lectured, and what was scary was she actually believed it.
Fuck, what was I doing here?
I loved Adam, or did I? I didn’t know anymore. This wasn’t supposed to be my life. Adam and I had been friends, sort of, four years ago. We were fuck buddies to be frank. Neither of us expected to ever be in an official relationship. Our fathers were business partners, and they had this grand idea that we would get married and unite our families even more. Adam and I, we didn’t want that. We had great sex, but that was all we were interested in.
It all changed when I discovered I was pregnant. Our suddenly fun and carefree relationship turned into something real. It was a massive shock to me that I was pregnant. I always made sure the guy wore a condom. I couldn’t take birth control. I had tried it when I was sixteen, and I had a terrible reaction to it. I felt like a crazy person. I had zero control over my emotions. It wasn’t something I could live with. The doctor had said my body just needed to adjust and to give it two weeks, but even after two months I was a complete wreck. There was no way I was going to be living like that. The condom must have broken though, because I was pregnant.
Everything moved so fast after that. Our parents found out, and then Adam and I were exclusively dating. That turned to living together and raising our son. Now we were getting married, which was a logical progression in our relationship. There were just two problems. I was no longer in love with him, and Jeremy wasn’t his son.
That’s right, our three-year-old son that he has been raising and believes is his, isn’t. He’s from a one-night stand with a man that I met four years ago at a networking conference in Dallas. Liam. I didn’t even know his last name. I knew if the truth ever came out, people would call me terrible names. Say I am a horrible person and how could I lie to someone like this. And they would be right. The thing was, I didn’t start out lying. I believed that Adam was Jeremy’s father when I was pregnant. The time between sleeping with Liam and Adam was only two weeks.
The doctor’s all said the timing worked to be Adam, and I didn’t have any reason to go against them. It wasn’t until he was around one that I started to notice that he didn’t look anything like Adam and barely like me. Genetic traits that Adam had, like his dimple chin, didn’t pass on to Jeremy. In a moment of insanity, I took a glass that Adam used and sent it off for a DNA test. I told myself I was being crazy. That it was going to come back that Jeremy was his son, and I was a nutcase for no reason. Only my worst fear happened, and it was proven that Adam was not his father. That was two years ago, and I haven’t told him since.
“I can’t tell you how long I have been waiting for this moment. My little girl is all grown up,” my mother gushed as she practically melted against me. At least one of us was enthused.
“It’s just a wedding Mom,” I was trying to downplay this in my mind, but I knew I was doomed to fail.
“It’s a marriage to the man that you love, the father of your son. You and him will spend the next eighty years together. For the rest of your life you get the honor of waking up to him every morning and going to bed next to him every night.”
Oh that was so not what I needed to hear right now. The thought of having to see Adam’s face every day for the rest of my life was not appealing. It actually made me angry. This was a horrible mistake, but it wasn’t like I could turn back now. Everyone was here. I was in this ridiculous dress. I was well past the point of no return.
Okay, so I wasn’t in love with him. Lots of people are married and don’t have any real love for their spouse. But they stay for the kids. Adam is the only father that Jeremy knows and sure, he’s not the best father. He works way too much, and he doesn’t spend any one-on-one time with Jeremy, but he’s the only father my son has ever known. I know he loves him. We could work on the rest.
“Thanks Mom,” I said, trying to sound excited. I knew I was failing in that regard, but I was hoping people would assume it was from nerves. Or my lack of ability to get a deep breath.
“I’m going to go and take my seat. Your father will be waiting for you,” she pressed a kiss to my cheek before she headed out. I gave myself one last look in the mirror before I turned and grabbed my bouquet and made my way out of the room.
I found my father waiting by the closed church doors that led into the main church part. I could see how happy and proud he was, but I couldn’t help but wonder if he would feel the same way if I was marrying someone else.
