Knock! Knock! Knock!
I stood up from my chair and walked over to the door. Looking through the peephole, I held back a sigh.
It was Chelsea.
From the champagne bottle in her hand and the wild look in her eyes, she wanted to celebrate something.
Turning around, I walked over to my table and pushed all my latest business contracts into a box. I had yet to tell anyone that I’d been spending all my time building a therapeutic massage and contracting company.
It’d taken forever, and yes, I’d lived in the dorm to save face if things didn’t work out, but the business was far more successful than I dreamed. I was planning to reveal everything at the end of December when I had my first multi-seven-figure year.
Making sure all my logos and employee guides were out of sight, I returned to the door.
“Oh my god, you’re still alive!” Chelsea pulled me into a brief hug. “I can’t believe you opened the door.”
“You need to call before coming over, Chelsea.”
“Why?” She shrugged. “You never answer your phone.”
Good point.
She waved her hands up and down, nodding. “You finally look like a guy who cares about himself,” she said. “I’m impressed.”
“You’re wearing SpongeBob leggings and sweater boots.” I teased her. “I’m not impressed.”
“Funny.” She rolled her eyes. “Anyway, I won’t take too much of your time. I have some amazing news to share. Want to guess now or later?”
Never. “Later.”
“Great, I’ll tell you now.” Her eyes lit up. “I’m getting married!”
“Wait. Again?” I blinked, calculating things.
“‘Again’ is not the right response for this life-changing event.”
“Is the ink on your previous divorce papers dry yet?” I asked. “I just bought the Ryan guy a golf gift for Christmas because I thought you would still be together.”
“Tyler …”
“This makes marriage number four in five years, Chelsea,” I said. “There’s nothing wrong with dating a guy long term and leaving the legal work out of it.”
“I’m in love, Tyler.” She glared at me. “You’re supposed to be happy for me, and we are waiting another year and a half to have the wedding. Okay?”
“Okay.” I held back a laugh. “Congratulations, Chelsea.”
“Thank you so much!” She squealed as if my previous words had never happened. “Now, as you know, although Chad is super successful—he’s actually the most successful guy I’ve ever married, he’s a very sheltered guy with few friends.”
I don’t know shit about this guy. “Right.”
“So, he was planning to call and beg you for something, but I’ll beat him to it. He wants the man I care most about, i.e., you, to be his best man.”
“Hmmm. Let me think about that for a second.” I shook my head. “Hell no, Chelsea.”
“What?”
“Tell him it’s a no,” I said. “I’ll come to your wedding whenever you have it, but I won’t be in it this time.”
“You weren’t in my last three.” She had the art of ‘guilt-you-eyes’ down to a science. “This time is the last time, I swear. You can ask Harlow. This guy is the one.”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Every guy before him was “the one,” too.
My sister treated her relationships like a hand in a poker game. She folded whenever she sensed the slightest chance of a loss, impatiently waiting for the dealer to start another round.
“It’s a no.” My voice was firm. “You can send the invitation to my new place in Portland, though. I’m closing on a condo on Saturday.”
“How do you have the money to close on anything other than a new student loan?” she asked. “Wait, don’t tell me. If the feds ever ask me questions, I don’t want to have any of the answers.”
“Noted.”
“Hold on a second,” she said. “If you’re spending Saturday in Portland, does that mean you won’t be able to come back to Seattle for Harlow and Dave’s engagement party?”
“Harlow’s what?”
“Her engagement party. Didn’t you get an invitation?”
“No.”
“Oh, wait.” She rummaged through her purse and handed an ivory envelope to me. “Sorry. I meant to drop this off a few weeks ago.”
“Thanks.” I didn’t make a move to open it.
“Don’t worry, I won’t make the same mistake with her wedding. I’ll make sure you get one of the first invites.”
“Please don’t,” I muttered, feeling a terrible pang in my chest.
I’m not going to that shit either…
The Invitation
Tyler
You are cordially invited
to the wedding of Harlow McGuire & Dave Stone
The ceremony begins at 3 p.m.
Cocktail Hour & Reception to follow
The Foundry
4130 1st Ave. S.
Seattle, WA 98134
Looking forward to receiving your RSVP!
One Year Later
Scandal
Harlow
After surviving my first year of “forever” with my college sweetheart, I could confidently say that I’d had more sex with Brad Pitt than with him.
Sometime between our engagement and the honeymoon—perhaps while he was becoming a high-profile CEO and I was opening an art gallery—our sex life became nonexistent.
He didn’t believe in “dirty talk” anymore, and his version of “quickie sex” was me riding his hand before breakfast or giving him a long kiss on my way out of the door.