Chapter 3
Marilyn
With my head held high, I slip into the ladies’ bathroom. It isn’t until I reach the safety and security of the stall that I let my face fall forward. Bolting the door, I grab handfuls of toilet paper, pressing the tissue to my eyes, willing my tears to stop, while simultaneously forbidding more from forming. My orbs sting from the combination of makeup and the salty evidence of my unwanted emotion.
I should have convinced Devan to select Jill as her maid of honor.
I shouldn’t have slept with Ricky.
I never should have admitted that he hurt me. In all the years, I’ve never told him.
There are too many shoulds and shouldn’ts to count as I recall what it’s like to be in Ricky’s arms. I’m not thinking about what happened between us five years ago. My mind is too busy dealing with the dance we just shared, the touch of his hand to my waist and his strong, steady hold of my hand. I can’t allow myself to entertain the way warmth radiated from his hard, toned body.
Ricky may have given up farming in pursuit of a career in finance, but over fifteen years of manual labor have left him with sculpted muscles that men in the cities pay personal trainers to create. Last night at the rehearsal, I failed at not noticing the bulge of his biceps beneath the hem of his short-sleeved shirt or the scroll of the tattoo that played peekaboo beneath the same sleeve.
Ricky has changed over the last half decade. While his body has gotten sharper, trimmed, and toned, the rough edges of the personality he once had have softened. I tell myself not to read too much into the way he stared when he asked about my internship, to ignore the soft suede of his eyes as his gaze locked on mine, and the genuine interest in his tone. That’s easier than telling my body not to react to his presence.
Ricky may have been my first sexual encounter, but not my last. The list isn’t excessive, but I’ve had enough experience to know that despite the pain that comes with the first time, Ricky has been a difficult act to follow. Maybe I’ve blown up his prowess in my mind. I can’t be sure. I never will be able to be certain.
“Marilyn?”
I recognize Jill’s voice. Inhaling, I work to regulate my voice. “I’m in here.” One of my best friend’s shoes comes into view, and I open the door.
Immediately, Jill tilts her head and her smile fades. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I say, inhaling, throwing the wad of tissue into the toilet, and flushing it down. Straightening my neck and squaring my shoulders, I turn to meet her gaze. “I’m great. How are you?”
Jill reaches for my hand and looks around the otherwise empty room. “What happened? Did Ricky say something to upset you?”
“He’s been—” I hesitate as I retrieve my hand “—nice. He’s made a few stupid cracks, but so have I.”
“Mar, it’s been five years. Think of it as water under the bridge or some stupid phrase my mom or your mom would say.”
“After tonight, I won’t need to see him again. I’m happy for Devan, but the constant combining of her friends and Justin’s has been…a lot.”
Jill scrunches her nose. “I was looking for you because Devan’s about to do the bouquet toss.”
I shake my head. “I’ll let Molly or someone her age catch it.”
“You can’t do that. Superstition says whoever catches the bouquet marries next. You know Dax and Kandace won’t let Molly marry until she’s at least thirty. You would be…”
An old maid. The comment is on the tip of my tongue. Instead, I say, “I don’t believe in superstitions.”
Despite my objections, a few minutes later, Jill and I are watching the dance floor as Justin lifts the skirt of Devan’s dress. The room erupts in laughter as he ducks beneath the layers of material, emerging with her garter between his teeth. The single men shout as they bounce off one another’s shoulders. Ricky isn’t the only male in this group who is still single. I spot men I’ve known since I was a child, ones I’ve seen more recently because of Devan and Justin. There’s Galvin Mills. He’s close to Ricky and Justin’s age and a chef at Bynard’s, one of the fanciest restaurants in the area. I also spot Harvey Russel and Nick Dancy. There are also younger men, all the way down in age to boys.
Justin turns around and stretches the garter like a rubber band. While most of the men reach for it, it lands solidly on the chest of a boy about three and a half feet tall. His round cheeks fill with color as the other men razz him about his plans to marry.
“Single ladies,” the MC announces, “up to the dance floor.”
When I don’t move, Jill reaches for my arm. “Go on. You promised Devan you’d go out there after you bailed at my wedding.”
I turn to see Devan’s questioning stare on me.
“Fine, but I’m not catching it. Molly would be better for the little guy who caught the garter.” Slowly, I make my way to the dance floor. Unlike the number of single men in Riverbend, the majority of the female population has either married or moved away. Lucky me, I’m back.
Devan’s eyes twinkle as she scans the girls and a few ladies. As soon as she turns away, I hurry to the other side of the grouping, near the back, and away from where she saw me standing.
“One, two, three,” Devan shouts. She flings the bouquet over her shoulder.
I blame it on years of softball. With no intention of catching the stupid flowers, as they came barreling at my face, I find my hands take on a life of their own. “Shit,” I mutter under my breath.
Devan turns, her eyes wide as she sees me with the bouquet. Her fingertips go to her lips as her cheeks rise. “Marilyn, I thought you were the other way.”
I lift the bouquet in the air. “I guess it’s my lucky day.”
“Will the catcher of the garter and the catcher of the bouquet please make their way to the dance floor?” the MC asks.
Inhaling, I look for my dance partner. With a shy grin, he comes my way. I scrunch down to his height. “Hi, I’m Marilyn.”
“I’m Cole. You don’t have to dance with me if you don’t want to.”
Despite the number of eyes upon us, I can’t help but feel sorry for Cole. My smile grows. “I’d love to dance with you.”
His smile widens. “I’m not very good at it.”
“It’s okay. We’ll just hold hands and sway.”
As the music starts, Cole’s eyes meet my breasts. With pink in his cheeks, he looks up, having more courtesy than men twice or three times his age. In a nervous fit of him talking, I learn that Cole is nine years old, and his dad and Justin are friends. He is going into the fourth grade and can’t wait to have Miss Dunn—he corrects himself to say Mrs. Sheers—as a teacher. He also confesses that he thinks Molly is cute, but she talks too much. I’m genuinely enjoying the mostly one-sided conversation when I feel a tap on my shoulder. Turning, I catch Ricky’s gaze. Justin’s niece Molly is at his side.
“We were wondering if we could cut in?” Ricky says with a grin.
I turn to Cole. “Would you be all right with switching partners?”
Cole swallows and nods.
Molly steps toward Cole, and they take each other’s hands, swaying like he and I were moments ago.
In seconds, I’m back in Ricky’s arms. His steady, strong grasp of my hand and the warmth of his palm on my lower back direct our steps as he leads me over the dance floor. Ricky’s gaze skirts my breasts as he pulls me against him.
“If you’re waiting for a thank-you, I think Cole was a better partner.”
Ricky flinches as if I’ve slapped him. “I’m not happy with him cutting in. Officially, you’re my partner for the night.” Before I can say anything, he goes on, “I should have told you years ago, I’m sorry.”
Inhaling, I lift my chin. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”
“Have I done that many things requiring forgiveness?”
“I don’t have the list in front of me, but I’d venture to say it’s longer than I can recount in one dance.”
He shakes his head. “No, Marilyn. It’s official wedding rules. All your dances are mine.”
I look to the side and see Dax Richards dancing with his wife Kandace. Jill and Todd are also dancing. “Apparently Dax and Jill didn’t read the same rules you did.”
He flashes a cheesy grin. “The wedding judges can deal with them. I’m only concerned that we keep up our side of the bargain.”
The smart quips lower my defenses. “Fine. Which of your many offenses are you apologizing for?”
Ricky’s shoulders stiffen beneath my touch. “Are you really going to make me say it?”
“If you’re truly sorry, you’ll say it.”
He leans closer, his warm breath skirting over my neck and collarbone. “We agreed to no strings. That said, I never should have ghosted you after…”
My eyes close as I listen to his apology. He is right. That night long ago, we agreed to no strings. It made sense in my mind; it was the rest of me that felt rejected or abandoned. I’ve worked too hard to forget those feelings to have them resurface now.
There’s no explanation or excuse in Ricky’s apology, simply that he is sorry. Taking a deep breath, I lean away. The wedding guests around us are dancing and enjoying their own conversations. No one is paying attention to the two of us, just as no one paid attention to us five years ago.
“Will you accept my apology?”
I swallow the snide retort I’m used to giving him. “We’ve both grown up since then.” I ask the question I’ve always wanted to know the answer to. “Does Justin know?”
Ricky shakes his head.
“Anyone?”
“Did I brag about what happened? I didn’t. If I would have told anyone, it would have been Justin.” He shakes his head. “With as close as you and Devan are...I mean, you were planning on being roommates at Ball State…I didn’t say a word.”
My thoughts go back to that time. “She’s one of my best friends. It was tough not to tell her, so I just let her know I hate you.”
His lips curl. “You hate me.”
While Ricky didn’t ask it as a question, I reply, “Hate is a strong word. I’m not as romantic as Devan or as satisfied as Jill, but it’s taken me a while to be strong enough to dance with you.”
He shakes his head. “You’re strong, Marilyn, and sexy.” He runs his hand up my side. His touch isn’t inappropriate, yet it borders on the too familiar. “You’re also damn smart. You wouldn’t have gotten the internship at Parker and Stevens if you weren’t. You’ve known that you wanted out of this small town. Back then, I thought this was where I wanted to spend my life.”
“You’ve changed your mind?”
“It’s not like Bloomington is far away, but I’m liking my classes. I have a part-time job that sucks, but that’s all part of growing up and moving on. Quite the epiphany for a thirty-three-year-old man. It obviously took me longer to come to that conclusion than it did you.”
“They say males mature slower.”
Ricky scoffs. “Friends?”
“I can say I don’t hate you anymore. Friends is taking it a bit far.”
“I guess I’ll settle for whatever I can get.”