18. Charlie
Charlie
I 'm standing at the edge of a cliff in La Jolla, watching the waves crash against the rocks below as guests file into rows of white chairs. The sun hangs low in the sky, painting everything in gold.
This is our fourth and final wedding this summer—and my gut tells me it’s going to be quite the bash.
The ceremony space is ridiculous in the way only obscenely wealthy people can pull off—understated yet clearly expensive.
White flowers cascade from an arch framing the ocean backdrop, and the gentle breeze carries the scent of salt and old money through the air.
Michael and Lillian spared no expense, and I’m looking forward to seeing what the rest of the evening brings.
"Hey, you," Tess whispers, appearing at my side in a deep blue dress that hugs her curves just enough to be distracting without being inappropriate for a wedding.
Her fingers brush mine as she reaches to straighten my already straight tie, and I feel a jolt from her touch.
I catch myself staring at the curve of her lips.
I’m just about to kiss her when Stuart slaps me on the back as he passes, flashing those ridiculous dimples of his. "Betting pool on who cries first—Lillian's mom or Michael? I've got fifty on the mom."
"You're terrible," Tess says, but she's laughing.
Jane and Trey are already seated near the front. Jane keeps turning around every few seconds to scan the crowd. When she spots us, she gives us a big wave.
"Ready for round four?" I ask Tess as we find our seats.
"It’s got to be better than the last wedding, right?" she laughs, smoothing her dress as she sits.
"Absolutely. No exes to deal with today."
The music begins, signaling the start of the ceremony. Michael takes his place under the arch, somehow looking both nervous and elated. I wonder what he’s thinking.
The bridesmaids float down the aisle one by one, followed by Lillian in a very poofy gown.
She's beaming as her father leads her toward Michael, and I'm struck by how genuine her happiness seems. I've attended dozens of society weddings where the smiles felt forced, the vows rehearsed not just for the ceremony but for the merger of families and fortunes they represented.
This feels different.
As they exchange vows, I feel a strange tightness in my chest. My eyes sting, and I blink rapidly, telling myself it's the sea breeze. But when Michael's voice cracks as he promises to stand by Lillian through whatever life brings them, I feel a shift inside me.
My throat tightens, and I swallow hard. What the hell? I don't get emotional at weddings. That's not my style. I'm the guy who makes jokes later on about the sappy parts, who heads straight to the open bar after the ceremony and who used to bring wildly inappropriate dates.
I glance at Tess and find her watching me, a curious expression on her face. I look away quickly, focusing on the horizon where the sun is beginning its descent into the Pacific.
"You okay?" she whispers, her breath warm against my ear.
"Fine," I mutter, but my voice sounds strange.
By the time they're pronounced husband and wife, I've managed to get myself under control, but something lingers—an echo of that unexpected emotion. As everyone applauds and the newly married couple makes their way back down the aisle, Tess slips her hand into mine and squeezes gently.
"You had something in your eye earlier?" she asks, her tone teasing but gentle.
"Salt air," I say, but we both know it's bullshit.
Tess heads to the ladies’ room and I watch her walk away, wishing this part of our day was over and we were already tucked up in the hotel room together.
The guests gather for post-ceremony cocktails on the terrace overlooking the ocean. Stuart hands me a scotch without asking, and I take a long sip.
"Thanks," I say, raising my glass toward Stuart. "So, flying solo tonight? What happened to—what was her name? The investment banker?"
Stuart shrugs, taking a more measured sip of his own drink. "Melissa? That was weeks ago, old man. Keep up."
"My mistake. Hard to keep track of your revolving door of dates." I scan the crowd, noticing several women already eyeing Stuart with interest. "Though I'm sure you could have your pick of the single ladies here tonight."
"Not everyone can find their perfect wedding plus-one like you did with Tess," Stuart says, his dimples deepening as he smiles. "Some of us are still searching for that kind of chemistry."
"We're just..." I start, but stop myself. Just what? The line between our fake relationship and whatever this is has blurred beyond recognition.
Stuart watches me fumble, his eyebrows rising slightly. "Just...?"
I'm saved by Tess's return from the ladies' room. She slides in beside me, gently holding onto my arm.
"What are you boys gossiping about?" she asks, grabbing a glass of champagne from a passing server.
"Stuart's disastrous love life," I say, flexing my bicep underneath her hand.
"Not disastrous," Stuart protests. "Deliberately uncomplicated."
Tess laughs. "Well, the night's young. That bridesmaid with that cute butterfly tattoo keeps looking your way."
Stuart glances over his shoulder. "The blonde?"
"That's the one."
"Excuse me," Stuart says, straightening his tie. "Duty calls."
I'm watching Stuart weave through the crowd toward the blonde bridesmaid when Jane and Trey approach, cocktails in hand.
"That was magical," Jane says, dabbing at the corner of her eye. "When Lillian's grandfather stood up to give that blessing—I completely lost it."
"It was beautiful," Tess agrees. "And that view! I don't think I've ever seen a more perfect sunset."
Trey nods, taking a sip of his scotch. "Michael's a lucky man. Though I hear his new father-in-law made him sign one hell of a prenup."
"You would know all about that," I say, clinking my glass against his. "Didn't your firm handle something similar for the Talbots last year?"
"Can't comment on specific clients," Trey says with a grin, "but let's just say there's been a run on ironclad marriage contracts among the Fortune 500 lately. Speaking of business, how's Emerald City?"
As Trey and I dive into a discussion about the latest news in the coffee world, I notice Jane subtly touching Tess's elbow, guiding her a few steps away.
Their heads tilt together, voices dropping to a whisper.
Jane's eyes widen at something Tess says, and she glances quickly in my direction before turning back to Tess.
I wonder what they’re talking about. Knowing Jane, she’s grilling Tess about what’s happening with us. I know they talk pretty regularly so I’m pretty sure Jane already knows that our “fake” relationship is no longer fake.
I can't help but smile as I watch Tess and Jane together. It hits me suddenly, like an unexpected wave—this feeling of rightness. The way Tess fits so seamlessly into my world. Of course, she and Jane have been best friends for forever, but she also fits in perfectly with the rest of my crowd.
It's never been like this before. Past dates to these events were always just that—dates. Accessories who smiled at the right moments but never quite belonged. They'd hang on my arm, laugh too loudly at my friends’ jokes, and inevitably say or do something that would be out of place.
But Tess? She's different. And she fits. She remembers details about my friends' lives that even I sometimes forget. Just last week, she asked Stratton about his mom's surgery before I'd even remembered to.
"Hey, dude," Trey says, waving his hand in front of my face. "You still here?"
"Sorry," I say, dragging my attention back to him. "What were you saying?"
"I was asking if you're coming to the charity golf tournament next month, but you were too busy staring at your girlfriend." He smirks, taking another sip of his scotch.
"I wasn't staring," I protest weakly. “And she’s not my girlfriend. Not exactly…”
Jane and Tess rejoin our conversation and I put my arm around Tess, feeling so thankful she’s here with me.
The reception is now in full swing inside a glass-walled pavilion that makes it seem like we're floating above the ocean. String lights crisscross the ceiling like stars, and the band plays something soft and jazzy.
I'm on my second scotch, watching Tess navigate the buffet with unusual interest, her face lighting up when she spots something in one of the bowls. Two glasses of wine have painted a gentle flush across her cheeks. She adds a heaping spoonful of the mystery white dip to her plate.
"What's that?" I ask, peering over her shoulder.
"Horseradish," she says with such enthusiasm you'd think she'd discovered gold. "For the prime rib."
I raise an eyebrow. "I thought you hated horseradish. Just last week, you said it ruins perfectly good meat."
She shrugs, loading even more onto her plate. "I know, it's weird. But I’m totally craving it."
We find our seats and I watch as she takes a bite of prime rib with a generous helping of horseradish and makes a sound that really isn’t appropriate in public.
"Good God, woman," I say, glancing around to make sure no one else witnessed whatever that was.
"Sorry," she mumbles around her mouthful, not looking sorry at all. "It's just so good. Sharp and tangy and perfect."
Stuart appears at my side with a plate piled high with food. "The seafood station is incredible. Did you try the crab cakes?"
"Not yet," I say, still watching Tess. "I've been distracted by the horseradish love fest that’s happening over here."
Tess laughs, cutting another piece of meat. "It reminds me of this family joke. My dad always teases my mom because when she was pregnant with me, she ate horseradish on everything. Dad said he'd come home to find her putting it on ice cream."
"On ice cream?" Stuart looks appropriately horrified.
"Pregnancy cravings are wild," Ariel says, joining our little group with Stratton close behind. She bounces baby Chloe on her hip. "I ate pickle sandwiches. Just bread and pickles. For like two months straight."
Stratton grimaces. "She’s not lying. The house smelled like a deli."
"You were totally worth it," Ariel says, kissing Chloe's chubby cheek.
Tess takes another bite, closes her eyes in bliss, then suddenly freezes. Her eyes snap open, wide with a realization I can't decipher.
"Oh my God," she says, loud enough that several nearby conversations pause.
"What?" I ask, suddenly concerned.
She looks at her plate, then at me, then back at her plate. The flush on her cheeks deepens. "I think I’m pregnant," she blurts out.
The words hang in the air for a second before I laugh, assuming it's a joke.
But my laugh dies in my throat as I register the horror spreading across Tess's face.
She didn't mean to say that out loud. But she definitely said it loud enough that not only our immediate circle heard it, but also the people at the surrounding tables.
The silence stretches, thick and uncomfortable. I feel a cold sweat break out on the back of my neck as the implications sink in. Pregnant? That would mean...no, that's impossible. Tess is on birth control. But nothing is 100% effective, and holy shit, what if she is?
My mind races through the last few weeks, searching for signs I might have missed. Has she been tired? Moody? Throwing up? She hasn’t mentioned any of those things.
I realize I've been quiet too long when Stuart clears his throat.
"Well," he says, his voice unnaturally bright, "this is unexpected."
"No," Tess says quickly, her voice trembling slightly. "I didn't...I was joking. About the horseradish. It's a family joke."
But the damage is done. Jane's eyes are the size of dinner plates, and Trey looks equally as surprised. Stratton and Ariel exchange a look that's impossible to interpret. The silence around us is spreading like a stain now.
I force a smile that feels like it might crack my face. "She's kidding," I say, my voice sounding strange and distant to my own ears. "Obviously."
But I’m pretty sure she’s not kidding. The panic rising in my chest threatens to choke me. Being a father is definitely something I’ve considered but I thought it would happen after a deliberate plan. Not with my fake-turned-real-kind-of-but-not-exactly girlfriend.
"Of course," Tess says, placing her plate down with shaking hands. "Just a silly joke."
I take a too-large swallow of scotch that burns all the way down. I need to appear untroubled, but my mind is spiraling through worst-case scenarios.
"If you'll excuse me," Tess says, her voice tight, "I need to use the restroom."
She walks away, back straight, movements careful, and I know she's holding herself together through sheer force of will. I should follow her, but my feet feel cemented to the floor.
"So," Stuart says, clapping me on the shoulder, "drinks at the bar?"
I nod, grateful for the escape, but Jane intercepts us.
"What was that?" she demands, her eyes boring into mine.
"A joke," I repeat, the word feeling hollow.
"Was it?" Her gaze is too perceptive, too knowing.
"Yes," I insist, but uncertainty creeps into my voice.
"Charlie," she says, softer now, "if there's something you want to talk about?—"
"There isn't." My tone is sharper than I intended. "Drop it, Jane."
I move toward the bar, needing distance, needing another drink, needing to quiet the voice in my head that keeps saying: what if, what if, what if?
Through the glass walls, I can see the ocean, dark now except for the silver path of moonlight stretching toward the horizon. I feel like I'm standing at the edge of something similar—a vast unknown that could swallow me whole if I take one wrong step.