I remembered the weeks leading up the wedding, the weeks I was “so obliviously happy,” and he was happier than I’d ever seen him. I remembered my wedding day, being elated one second and disheartened the very next.
The sand was beginning to irritate my skin, but I couldn’t move. I couldn’t believe what I had just read. I was having trouble discerning fiction from reality.
I’m dreaming…I’m on my honeymoon and Sean is back in the suite…I came out here for a walk and fell…I’m just dreaming.
“Melody!” Jen’s voice forced me to see the truth. “Melody! What the hell are you doing?”
“I’m just…I’m just,” I continued sobbing.
She sat down next to me and brushed hair away from my face.
“Shhh,” she said. “You’ve been out here for a long time. I was really worried.”
“He…He wrote me a,” I handed her the letter.
I watched her eyes dart back and forth, watched her face turn red, and watched her stand up and walk to the ocean.
“No Jen! No!” I jumped up and ran towards her.
“You’re planning to hold onto this?”
“Yes, I want to—”
“You want to what? You came here to get away from everything, to continue getting over him! But now you want to cry and hold on to this?”
“Jen, please—”
“I didn’t agree to come here to watch you slip into a depression, Melody! You’re better than that!” she handed me the letter. “I’m going to sit right over there. Don’t talk to me until you’ve done what needs to be done to that piece of crap.”
Piece of crap?
Jennifer rolled her eyes and sat on a rock.
I read the letter three more times, absorbing every word. I folded it in two, but then I unfolded it and read it once more.
The words never changed, and the hurt never lessened. I was stuck on the part about, “I know now that I should have talked with you about these issues, but I didn’t want to start a fight, hurt your feelings, or have you leave me…”
I found it funny that he said he knew “now.” Did he and blonde bitch sit and discuss how wrong they both were? How they could have caused less pain to the people in their lives? He knew “now” how to be an adult and address conflict with someone he loved?
Yes. Piece of crap.
I stepped closer to the shore, shutting my eyes as the wind blew over me. I walked into the ocean until the water was up to my waist. I ripped the letter to pieces and sighed as a small wave carried them away.
Chapter 12
Matt
“We really need to leave now,” Joan tapped her foot.
I ignored her and kept looking out my window. I was dreading another display of being “engaged” to Selena.
Our engagement party was being catered by renowned chef Eric Ripert and decorated by the incomparable Kari Whitman. Tons of fellow celebrities were expected to be in attendance. Even my mother was in town to celebrate.
I didn’t have the heart to tell my mother I was pseudo-engaged. She’d called me last week while she was at the supermarket, berating me for letting Us Weekly tell her about her own son’s engagement.
I wanted to tell her the truth at that moment, to apologize for not speaking to her for the past two years, to ask if we could let bygones be bygones and reconnect again. But she did it first.
She blamed herself for everything—for not calling as often, for not showing up to movie premieres, for not writing anymore letters. I sat and listened as she did this, wishing I could have been just as honest.
I should have told her that I couldn’t blame her for not calling so often. I’d told Joan to block her calls when she started to incessantly warn me about “the high life.” I stopped inviting her to movie premieres, even telling security to show her the curb should she turn up at one. And even though she hadn’t written me a letter in over two years, I still kept all her previous ones and read them every week.
All I could say after she was done talking was, “I’ve missed you so much. I’m chartering a jet to come get you.”
Now that she was in the city, I was finding it harder to lie.
“Mr. Sterling, do I need to contact Miss Ross to let her know you’ll be missing the party?” Joan raised her voice. “Your mother has called twice already.”
“No,” I walked towards the door. “I’ll call my mother in the car.”
Thousands of lights hung across the imported Arborvitae trees. White wooden benches sat every ten feet, bearing the “Mr. and Mrs. Sterling” label in red cursive. Past the trees and benches was a glass platform stage, a bar that extended across the width of the rooftop, and a rectangular pool with dancing fire.
Selena had invited almost all of young Hollywood, and to my surprise, most of them actually showed up. Even though I forced her to enforce a no-camera policy, numerous paparazzi were camped out across the street and I was pretty sure I saw a camera toting woman scaling the side of the building.
“I’d like to make a toast!” Selena tapped a spoon to her champagne flute.