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“Thanks.” It was all I could say. As my brother let me go to congratulate my fiancée, I was left wondering how this all happened. I had no recollection of proposing. Vanessa, the woman who I was apparently marrying, said that I’d done it after a hard night of drinking and that she thought it was overly romantic. I’d been known to do rash things while intoxicated, but there was a slight problem. I couldn’t recall the last time that I’d drank so heavily that I could forget something like proposing to a woman who, if I am to be honest, I felt absolutely nothing for.
It wasn’t that Vanessa wasn’t attractive. She was. She was beautiful. And determined and a hard worker. She’d also shown devotion to me. Something that a lot of women had forgotten to show during my many years of casual dating. Yet, not even Vanessa could compare to Ariel. No one compared to Ariel. It wasn’t Vanessa’s fault that she could never measure up. That my heart would always belong to the one ‘that got away’. But that wasn’t fair to her, either, I admitted to myself. If I was going to see this through, I’d have to put those comparisons away, or at least tuck them away so that my soon-to-be-wife would never find them.
“Son,” said my father, interrupting my thoughts. “I can honestly say that I’m surprised.” He’d been carrying two whiskey neats and placed one in my hand.
“That makes two of us, Dad,” I replied, feeling like I was at the carnival and perpetually stuck on that spinning ride where the floor drops out.
“What do you mean?” Dad eyed me curiously, his concern creasing his brow and hardened his jaw.
“I mean, I don’t remember proposing.” I heaved out an exasperated breath and knocked back the entire contents of my drink. Without fail, my father flagged down a server and ordered two more.
“What do you mean you ‘don’t remember’?”
“Just that. Vanessa said that I proposed after I came home blind, stinking drunk one night. What bothers me is that I can’t remember the last time that I got that drunk. I swear it’s been years, but when I went back and looked at the house cameras, there it was. A clear-as-day shot of me getting down on one knee and her jumping up and down.”
“Hmmm,” my dad said after several quiet minutes of contemplation.
“What’s ‘hmmm’, Dad?”
“Nothing, son.”
“Apparently it is something or else you’d be congratulating me right now.”
I knew my father too well. He was a man of few words, but always knew what to say depending on the occasion. At funerals, he weaved his magic, finding just the right things to bring some solace to the bereaved. His current girlfriend, Beatrice, told me of how he’d worked that same magic on the daughter of his colleague, Bernard Something-or-the-other. Bernard was the lawyer who’d saved his bacon when Dad’s former girlfriend, Diana, tried to sue him—unsuccessfully—for malpractice after he’d discovered that she was only after his money and dumped her. Bernard also got the post office to settle out of court after one of their driver’s nailed Dad’s Porsche and left him with a broken arm and having to wear an eye patch. This Bernard had become a good friend to my father. Nothing, not even serious injury, could keep the old man from paying his respects after he learned that Bernard and his wife, Marjorie, were killed by a drunk driver. Dad has asked me to go with him for moral support but business got in the way, forcing me to stay here.
That’s why I knew that if he were genuinely happy for me, he’d be clapping my back and scheming with Michael on what we’d do for my bachelor party.
“I know it’s not my place, son,” Dad said just after the server returned with our refills. “But do you really think that you should be marrying her? Especially after the rumors that have been flying?”
Of course, Dad knew about the rumors. My brother, the big mouth, would have told him that there’d been suspicions lately swirling around Vanessa’s name and some ‘documents’ that somehow were signed bearing my brother’s signature. Documents to sell a parcel of land just outside the city to a big developer. A parcel that my mother had wanted turned into a peace garden. A parcel, I might add, that had been left only to me, along with a couple of buildings in New York City. One that my brother had no right to sell.
When I’d first learned of it, I went directly to Michael, furious that he’d dared to do this. It was his partner, Martin, that ultimately intervened and brought me to see the light with a thorough explanation. Martin carefully explained that someone from legal had contacted Michael, notifying him that the sale could not be completed because he did not have authority to sell the tract of land in question. As soon as he learned of it, Michael began investigating how something like this could have happened. All trails ultimately led to Vanessa, who claimed to know nothing about it and, as my brother so lovingly put it, started throwing people under the bus.
″She’s trouble,” Michael growled as both of our angers idled. ”I want her gone.”
″There is no proof that she signed the documents, Michael,” I reminded him. ”Besides, in order for us to terminate her employment, we need proof of either foul play or that she’s been slacking. And that proof is non-existent. Vanessa has been a model employee up to this point.”
″You’re just saying that because you two are dating.”
″No, I’m going by what the terms of all employee contracts state. Our relationship has absolutely nothing to do with this.”
″Mmhmm. Sure.” Michael couldn’t help but take one last shot before letting his temper cool.
″Would both of you stop it?” Martin had intervened again. ”You’re both acting like you’re twelve years old. There’s no proof that she did anything, Michael.” Martin first turned on my brother. ”And no one is suggesting bias because of a relationship status.” He zinged me next, but shot a heavy, warning glance towards my brother. ”Now, you two will pull this out of both your asses because we have a dinner reservation tonight at that new fusion place that just opened. I’ve been on the waitlist since the ground broke on it and if either of you ruins this for me, so help me God I’ll kill you both!”
Martin, all five-feet-eight of him, stared up at my six-two as if he towered over me. My brother, who stood an inch shorter than me, looked visibly relieved that he was still sitting down.
That night dinner went off without a hitch. On the ride over, Michael and I buried the hatchet and began discussing the subject of Vanessa without either of us melting down into a row.
Michael listened as I made my argument to believe Vanessa. It was all I could stand to remain silent as he presented his argument and, just when I thought he was through, mentioned me entertaining the idea of installing cameras around the home.
″Take her on a surprise getaway,” Michael suggested while Martin inhaled his chocolate mousseline. ”And don’t tell her about the cameras. Just say that you’re whisking her off. That you just want to get away for the weekend.” My brother’s face brightened with excitement. He was a sucker for a good intrigue and mystery solving.
″You forgot one thing, Mike. Don’t I need to be there to let the installers in so they can do their work?”
″No. Both Martin and I have keys to your place. One of us can be there while the security company does their thing. You won’t have to worry about anything. We’ll make sure everything is done right.”
It killed me to think that my brother had thought of everything. And now, six months later. I was glad that he did.
