After All

Tiffany’s expression softens. “Oh.” She smiles up at the cook who’s cutting off a slice of roast beef and then lowers her voice. “You’ve never mentioned your father before.”

I sigh. “It’s nothing.” Nothing I want to get into here and now.

“But aren’t all your sisters married with children?”

My sigh deepens. “Yes. That doesn’t mean all their marriages are amazing either. Anyway, we probably shouldn’t be talking about this at a wedding of all places, especially not Jackie and Will’s.”

“Well, we both know their happily-ever-after is for real,” Tiffany says.

But when we get back to our table, my eyes go to Emmett as he continues to get his food, this time getting extra portions of roast beef. Damn he gives good back.

“You could just sleep with him?” Tiffany muses, stabbing a vegetable with a fork as if it had done something to her. “Forget marrying or dating the guy. Just have a one-night stand. Who says he would want anything more anyway.”

Ouch. But good point.

“I need more wine,” I tell her, reaching for the bottle. “Let’s talk about something else.”

It’s always a trip when you let Tiffany dictate the conversation. She launches into a tirade about people who dress their dogs in tiny raincoats.

But as dinner goes on, I continue to stuff my face with food as if that will bury the swirling emotions inside and when I’m bloated and ever-so thankful that my dress has an empire waist, I continue with the wine.

Looking around the tables at all the happy couples, I’m getting pulled down into that desperation spiral, the hopeless (and predictable) “what’s wrong with me?” phase of the evening that happens at every wedding. And it’s not even that everyone here is paired off, of course there are some single people. I see Casey, a guy I work with who would be okay if he wasn’t such an inappropriate creeper and if he didn’t look like Joaquin Phoenix during his hobo phase. I’m pretty sure he’s single for good reason though.

There’s a few other single guys and girls from work, then of course all the other people. I know being single isn’t a disease or a tragedy by any means and I would way rather live by myself forever than settle for someone who isn’t right for me. But at the same time, you start to worry if you’ll ever really find that one who gets you for you. I know I’m a handful–what are the odds that I’ll find a man that I love who wants to put up with all that?

“How are you holding up?” Jackie asks as she sits down next to me to take off her wedding shoes and slip on a pair of white flip-flops. I’ve been watching her dance with Will and her father but when it came time for everyone else to dance, I conveniently disappeared to the washroom.

“How are you holding up?” I ask her. “You still look beautiful, by the way.”

She smiles shyly. “That’s good. I’m good. I just feel so bad, so many people want to talk to me, they’re practically standing in line. I feel like a cast member at Disneyland. Meanwhile I just want to pull a Ty and go pass out in the coatroom.”

I laugh. “He’s got the right idea. Will you think it’s cute when I do it later?”

She looks me over. “You don’t seem that drunk yet.”

“Oh, just watch me,” I warn her.

A tall presence looms behind me. Both Jackie and I twist in our seats to look up at Emmett as he grins down at us.

“Jackie,” he says to her. “I was wondering if I could steal your maid of honor for a dance.”

Jackie tries not to smile as she looks at me. “Are you sure? I think she needs a few more drinks before she’s remotely enjoyable.”

“Then I’ll make our first stop the bar,” Emmett says, holding out his hand for me.

I stare at it for a moment. It’s a nice hand. Large, tanned. Slightly weathered, as if he’s outside a lot building cars or something in his spare time.

I should probably refuse but Jackie looks way too happy at the thought of me dancing with Emmett, so I give him a polite smile and put my hand in his. He brings me to my feet with ease.

“How are you doing, blondie?” he asks me as we skirt around the edges of the dance floor. I notice that he hasn’t let go of my hand yet, which is kind of nice and kind of not.

“Obviously I’m not drunk enough,” I tell him, though when we stop at the bar I realize I’m a few drinks away from being too drunk. It’s a fine line to tread.

“We’ll fix that. What will you have?” he asks.

“Surprise me,” I tell him.

“You’ll let me order for you? That’s a bold move.”

“I’m a bold gal,” I tell him, meeting his eyes.

They crinkle at the corners when he smiles and when he smiles I feel the air leave my lungs.

It’s a famous smile and its impact in person is pretty remarkable.

Tiffany was right.

What a fucking babe.

He turns to the bartender. “I’ll get two Manhattans.”

“Manhattan,” I remark when he looks back to me, leaning casually against the bar. “No wonder you’re friends with Will. He orders Old-Fashioneds all the time. I actually have a minibar in my office specifically for Ted and Will’s daily drinks.”

Emmett laughs which shoots all sorts of lightning down my spine. “That doesn’t surprise me. I was wondering what it would be like to work for those two.”

“They’re a barrel of monkeys,” I tell him. “They at least keep you on your toes, even if they make running things harder sometimes.”

“They said the place would fall apart without you,” he says. “You must be pretty important.”

I shrug. The fact is, as nice as it is to hear that second hand from them, I don’t feel important at my job. I’m an office manager and have been for a long time now. I know I shouldn’t complain about my job when it’s a pretty good one. Easy. Reliable. But sometimes I lie awake at night thinking about where it could all go. I don’t really have an interest in visual effects or animation so it’s not like there’s any advancement for me in those areas. It’s like job-wise I’ve peaked and I know that most people are happy having a dependable job that pays well and they don’t hate but sometimes I…well, I have to wonder if this is it? Is this really the rest of my life?

The fact is, I have dreams. Small dreams that fester in the depths of my heart, dreams I push aside. But my dreams require money and a lot of risk and I just can’t spare any of those at the moment. I’m not sure when I ever will be able to.

“I’m pretty good at keeping people in line,” I finally admit.

“I can see that,” Emmett says, looking me up and down. “How can someone be so soft and prickly at the same time?”

I glare at him. “I assure you I have no soft spots.”

His mouth quirks up, his eyes dancing with a heat that’s hard to ignore. “I can see plenty of soft spots right now.”

My eyes narrow even more. “I realize you’re talking about my breasts now.”

“Breasts, ass, thighs,” he says casually. “All places I’d like to sink my teeth into.”

Oh my god.

Did he really just say that?

“What’s wrong with you?” I ask him, feeling flushed all over.