Chapter 7
A LUCKY SHOT
Aubrey
In the Spin Zone, I barrel toward Ledger, hell-bent on banging my red-and-white car into his orange one. I slam him, shouting a victorious, “Take that!”
“Not so fast,” he retorts, then blasts his machine into reverse, shrewd eyes lasered right at me as he jerks it around and hunts me down, ready to hurl into me again.
His blue eyes are cold and menacing. Ledger doesn’t mess around as he aims, but right before he can ram me, I’m ambushed from behind, another car sending mine right into his bumper car once more.
I bounce forward, a laugh bursting from me.
I’m a bumper car sandwich, and the front of my car lights up, flashing in time to the electronic beat playing overhead while the car spins around. Whenever a car is hit, it spins. Hence, the Spin Zone.
“No fair,” I shout, but it’s a joyful protest, and with each hit, I feel another brick come loose inside me, crumbling away.
I steer away from them, weaving through other cars before I jerk my car around, then ram into the side of Dev’s lean green machine. His smile is electric, his hair a wild mess around his face, his eyes full of wicked glee.
“Got you,” I call out as his car whirls in a circle, beeping loudly like a Vegas slot machine.
I hit him again. Again, his car spins. While he’s doing a one-eighty, Ledger hits me from the side with a loud crash.
More bricks crumble inside me, toppling down.
From speeding down the country road, to chasing the veil, to cutting the dress then hitting the hammer, the entire afternoon of my un-wedding day has felt like a necessary explosion of pent-up, complicated, messy emotions leading to this moment—when I’m blowing off steam on an amusement park ride.
But there’s one big problem.
My day is a lie.
Dev and Ledger think they’ve saved me from embarrassment. They think my heart is breaking. They think I’m hurt and they’re just applying the Band-Aid of fun for a few hours and now I go home and tend my wounds for months.
Yes, I’m embarrassed. Yes, I’m hurt.
But not for the reasons they think. I can’t keep the truth in much longer. It feels so wrong to lead them on. Just like everything felt wrong inside me earlier today when I hadn’t told my besties the secret of my doubtful, worried heart.
Look where that silence got me.
Oof.
My torso slams forward, but I jerk my gaze back at a woman with a septum piercing, jet black hair, and a wicked smile. In her electric blue bumper car, her face says gotcha before she moves on from me and slams into a guy with a crooked nose and chunky silver rings on all his fingers.
“Babe!” he shouts. “How could you do that?”
“Love you,” she says, then slams into him once more.
She’s having such a good time. She’s here on a date with her honey. And I’m Ledger’s and Dev’s…pity date.
All the adrenaline burns off.
I can barely move my car. When Dev and Ledger hurtle toward me, I don’t jerk the wheel away or race off. Instead, I let them hurl into me.
When my car stops spinning, I’m facing down both men in their bumper cars. “I didn’t want to marry Aiden anyway,” I say, finally admitting it.
I slump back into the seat as they stare, wide-eyed, at me.
* * *
As the sun dips toward the horizon, the unlit vintage sign above the diner beckons, the orange script-y letters for Beverly’s visible from the highway exit. We pull off the ramp, then turn into the lot around six.
With its brushed metal exterior, a mint green door, and a poster in the window of a stack of pancakes happily drowning in syrup, this diner might be one of the stars in a road-trip movie.
Today, it’s about to become the setting for Aubrey’s big reveal.
The walk up the steps feels ominous. The whole drive felt that way after my bumper car blurt-out.
But the convertible wasn’t the place to chat about it further.
Besides, on the ride down here I needed to deal with my cell phone.
It was like an overstuffed suitcase, bursting at the seams with text messages.
I messaged my mom and told her that I was doing okay and I’d talk to her tomorrow.
I checked in with Garrett and he said not to worry about a thing.
I texted my bridesmaids, telling them to please, pretty please, go dance in their sexy black dresses with their men because I am going to be fine, fine, fine.
And I will be.
We reach the door, and Dev holds it open for me. Once inside, Ledger gives a chin nod and a “How are you doing?” to the woman working behind the counter.
“Doing well. What can I do you for?”
“Table for three, please.”
Decked out in a vintage 50s pink waitress dress, she has a short, tight afro and slick red lipstick, and she’s topping off the coffee of a guy in a mesh ball cap.
He’s got a beard, tattoos snaking along his pale arms, and the tired slump of a trucker.
“Have yourself a seat anywhere,” she says like she’s sure glad to see us. “I’ll be right with you.”
Elvis isn’t playing on the sound system. It’s Taylor Swift, and that seems fitting. The queen of heartbreak.
Ledger leads the way past a rack of postcards and T-shirts, then a family in a booth arguing over ordering sundaes, and another foursome zoned out, each pair of eyes on their own screen.
Ledger stops by a circular booth in the back. “Ladies first.”
I slide in, taking the middle. He moves next to me, Dev on my other side.
“Hungry?” Dev asks, grabbing the menus from the table and distributing them before I can even answer.
I flip open the floppy, red menu, its plastic covering curling at the edges. But the menu is perfunctory. I know this kind of place like I know what colors to mix for a client’s balayage.
When the waitress swings by with a pot of coffee, she holds it up like it’s the holy grail. “Need a little pick-me-up? We make some fine coffee here if I do say so myself.”
Dev smiles, then scans her name tag. “It looks good, Beverly.” Ah, she’s the owner too. “But I’m guessing we’re gonna need a chocolate milkshake, a plate of fries, and some burgers.”
She shoots me a sympathetic smile, perhaps reading the situation too well, or just putting it together from the context clues of my outfit. “So that’s how it’s gonna be,” Beverly says to me, not at all unkindly.
While I appreciate her sympathy, I don’t deserve any more of it today. And I don’t want to food-wallow. “Actually, I’d love a veggie burger and a side salad, hold the tomatoes,” I say.
“That works too,” Beverly says, then writes down Dev’s chicken sandwich order—hold the bread—and Ledger’s omelet with spinach and mushrooms.
When she leaves, it’s clear there’s no more stalling.
I hope they don’t think I’ve misled them.
I hope they aren’t pissed. “Look, Aiden did say he wanted to just be friends. When I told you that in the bridal room,” I tell Dev, cycling back to my confession earlier, when he rescued me from the church, “that was true. But…”
The words lodge like marbles in my throat. They’re all mixed up with my dad’s wishes and my mom’s words and my parents’ hope for me. Your dad would be so happy for you. He always hoped you’d get back together with the one who got away.
The longer I dwell on the reasons I stuck around too long, the harder it’ll be to tell Dev and Ledger some of the truth.
“The truth is…I was actually relieved when he broke it off,” I admit.
My voice is shaky. “Right up until then, I’d been trying to find the guts to tell Ivy and Trina that something felt off all morning.
I kept wondering if it was normal to feel so nervous.
Like my dress didn’t fit. Like my clothes were all wrong.
” Dev nods, a gentle sign to keep going.
“And when Aiden showed up ten minutes before…” I picture the groom opening the door, and relief washes over me all over again.
I breathe a deep sigh, then look from one guy to the other, and say the words that have been stuck inside me all morning, all afternoon, and perhaps for a lot longer too.
“I was grateful he was the one to do it. Because I wasn’t all in,” I say, my voice still unsteady as I confess it all. “You’re the first people I’ve told.”
“Yeah?” Ledger asks, not like he doubts me. More like he’s just shocked.
“I’m sorry,” I add as the awfulness crawls up inside me.
“I didn’t say anything because I was just so shocked by the way Aiden left me.
He said he wanted to fuck other people,” I say, bitter and hurt at the same time.
“He said he didn’t want to marry me, but he still wanted to sleep with me.
And he bought a plane ticket this morning to Miami, so he could move there and have sex with lots of people, apparently.
He’s catching a flight tomorrow.” I hate how my voice threatens to break.
I feel so stupid all over again. Which makes no sense since I was ready to tell my best friends my fears seconds before Aiden burst through the door.
Still, I didn’t. I wince as I look at Dev, then Ledger.
“And I let you just amuse me all day. You probably think I’m a—”
I hate saying the word. My parents raised me to be honest.
But Dev sets a hand on mine. “No.” His tone is strong, serious.
Ledger growls like a dog. “You’re not the villain in this story.”
“Aiden is,” Dev bites out. “Your fiancé bought a plane ticket this morning.” He sounds beyond incredulous. “Then he sat on that news for hours. He’s a bag of dicks.”
“I’m so fucking glad you didn’t marry him,” Ledger says, his jaw ticking with irritation, but his tone full of gratitude too.
I set my free hand on my chest, my shoulders relaxing. I was so terrified they’d be pissed. Or think I’d abused their trust. But I still feel bad. “I should have said something sooner. To you guys. To him.”