Chapter 23
JASON
Nine years ago
A year into being engaged, our wedding planning is in high gear. There’s less than six months until our big day, and there’s so much that still needs to be done.
The wedding planner keeps calling my cellphone asking for Greta. Usually, it’s while I’m at work. It keeps getting my boss aggravated but, it’s fine. I won’t be here long anyway. Once we save up enough and Greta passes the bar in New York, we’re starting a brand new life.
My apps are selling like hot candy, and maybe I can make a living off of them.
“Uh, why don’t you call her cellphone?” I say at least once a week.
“She’s not picking up, again,” she normally says, but this time—
“I don’t care anymore. You’re available, she’s not,” she comes to that conclusion and I’m fucked. “Will you just tell me if you prefer blue hydrangeas or blue roses?”
“Uh,” I say, not knowing what a fucking hydrangea is. “Hydrangeas?”
It sounds fancier, right. Greta likes different. There’s nothing more different than a flower you can’t pronounce.
“Perfect,” she speaks loudly, then mumbles something I can’t make out before coming back to the line. “Tell your bride if she ghosts me again, I’ll be charging extra. Is that clear?”
“Crystal,” I say.
“It’s Josslyn,” she corrects jokingly.
“Can I call you Jossie?”
“Only my friends call me that,” she announces.
Damn, she flips back to professional in nothing flat. That’s not only the impressive thing about her business acumen.
“Noted,” I say. “Hey if you ever want to get out of the wedding planning game—”
“You’re not the first man to offer me a business proposition.
” She stops me right in my tracks. Damn, she’s not an easy person to convince.
Or maybe she’s the perfect one to have in your corner.
“So, I’ll tell you what I told the others.
I make six figures. Unless you’re willing to match that plus unbelievable benefits, stop while you’re ahead. ”
“Hear you loud and clear,” I respond.
“She has you picking wedding colors?” Alex says with an amused face.
We met at our favorite sports bar to watch the Sharks play the Canucks. So far, it’s a bust. We’re getting slammed by the Canadians. It’s only the first period and they already scored two goals.
“Whoosh,” says Jack, pretending to handle a whip. “Aren’t we a little whipped?”
“What do you want me to do? She went back to school,” I remind him. “Law school.”
Alex smirks and adds. “He likes his women pretty and smart. She’s so intelligent, she’s already regretting being with this asshole.”
“Shut up, fucker!”
“Aw, Jase didn’t like my joke?” He takes the pitcher and heads to the bar.
“Is everything okay?” Jack asks seriously.
“Why are you asking?”
“I don’t know. Greta seemed a little strange last Sunday while you guys visited our parents.” He shrugs. “If you need to talk...”
“Call June or Jeannette?” I ask, knowing his usual joke.
He smirks. “You got it, man.”
We’re fine, I repeat inside my head. It’s the pressure of school, the wedding jitters, and her fear of not getting an internship for the summer.
Later that week, Greta comes home late with takeout. It’s the first time I see her arriving. Every day she’s been getting home around midnight or so she says. I am fast asleep on the couch when she makes her way to the bedroom.
“You looked so tired last night, I didn’t have the heart to wake you up,” she said the first night, and the second, and even earlier today while I was making the morning coffee.
We sit quietly across from each other in the living room. Some days she’s really into using our little dining room table. “Playing adult” is what she calls it.
Greta always says we’ll know we’re adults when we become them. I don’t know if that’s true. I’ve been on my own since I turned twenty-one. She moved in with me two years later. And I don’t fucking know what I’m doing any better than I did four years ago.
If anything, I think I have less control of my own life, and I can’t see what my future looks like. Her absent mind makes everything more unexpected. But not in the exciting, surprising way. No, it leaves me feeling insecure and shaky.
A year ago, I was walking toward something solid. Now, I’m on top of a tightrope wondering if I’ll make it across or if a tornado will push me and I’ll fall down.
Alone.
“The wedding planner called me again,” I say casually over sushi.
She groans. “What does she want now?”
“Wanted to know if we preferred hydrangeas or roses,” I inform her.
“Roses, obviously,” Greta says, rolling her eyes.
“Oh well.” I cut myself off.
There’s nothing I can add here unless she wants to get pissed off at me like that time I told the wedding planner I like vanilla cake. Apparently, we only want a chocolate wedding cake with raspberry cream filling.
My sisters, God bless their souls, offered to give me a hand with this—in exchange for compensation. I would love to take them up on it, but I know Greta would hate if she knows the twins are making any decisions in regard to her big day.
“Your sisters hate me,” she keeps telling me every time I bring them up. “Sometimes, being around your family is a full-time job.”
It’s a balancing act, I understand. One day, we’ll look at this period and laugh. If only we could fast forward time.
“It’s fine,” she says tiredly. “It doesn’t matter anyway.”
We fall into silence again. Shit’s been tough for her between law school and the wedding. We don’t have much time to talk anymore and when we do, she’s tired as fuck. It’s really been putting a strain on our relationship.
Patience, Dad told me. Everything will work out the way it is meant to be. I can only hope he is right. That once the planning lets up a bit, she’ll relax enough to let her guard down again.
I miss her quirky laugh. The way she used to indulge my weird love of 80s music or how she used to trust me to make everything better for her. I just want her to be happy.
“You know,” I say hesitantly. “My schedule’s a bit more consistent than yours.”
She glances at me, her lips pressed together. My stomach drops. This might be a terrible idea and she’s just going to dump my ass.
But what if that’s the solution?
“Maybe I should help out more with the wedding,” I suggest. “You know, call the shots a little more so you don’t have to.”
Her gaze narrows and she asks, “How would you know what I want?”
“We can make a list with the basics. I’ll go from there.”
Greta nods as she takes a long sip of wine. “That would be fantastic. You know I can’t keep up with Jacklyn’s—”
“Josslyn,” I correct her.
“Whatever,” she says waving her hand. “She’s too much and she has to have a contingency for everything. Who needs that in their life?”
Us, I think, but don’t say out loud.
“So it’s settled,” I conclude invigorated by this new plan. “I’ll take the helm of the SS Spearman Wedding.”
Greta reaches over the coffee table to squeeze my hand. Her mouth smiles, but it never reaches her eyes.
That’s been happening a lot more lately.
But any time I try to bring it up she gets more upset or pushes me away. One time I asked her if there’s more she needed from me. She left and didn’t come back for three days.
I’ve stopped trying to ask. For now, at least.
Once things settle down, shit will get back to normal, I try to argue to myself. We’ll get back to normal. It’s just a few more months of tight schedules and tensions. After that we can take our honeymoon, cool off.
If she isn’t happy then, we’ll work through it. Whatever it takes to get her smiling for real again.
“Thank you,” she says. “I can’t tell you how much this means to me.”
I shrug, blushing slightly. “You can show me after the reception.”
Of course, she never got the chance.