Diary of a Single Wedding Planner (Tales Behind the Veils Book 1) (19 page)

Cabe laughed a sinister chuckle. “Yeah, okay. You just happen to be who he wants to talk to five years after walking out on you to marry someone he cheated with? Come on, Ty. Don’t let this guy sucker you in. You’re smarter than that.”

As much as I hear what Lillian and Cabe are both saying, and as much as I know they’re right, I can’t
not
talk to Dwayne Davis. Call me a moth, call him a flame. But if that boy calls, I’ll answer.

Monday, December 2nd

I didn’t have to wait long this time. Cabe and I went bowling after work. Cabe had just left to head back to his mom’s when my phone rang, so I figured he forgot something. I picked up the phone and said, “Hey! What’s up?”

“Nothing much, darlin’. What’s up with you?”

That familiar drawl immediately put a smile on my face. Am I crazy for that? I know it’s been a long time, and I know he did me wrong. But back in the day, this was my guy. My first love. The one who made my heart beat faster. Old habits die hard.

“Just got home,” I answered. “I went bowling.”

I don’t why I felt the need to add that. I think I wanted to let him know I had stuff happening. Out and about on the town. Not sitting home waiting for his call. Although now that I think about it, bowling doesn’t exactly scream life of the party with a kicking social calendar.

“Bowling, huh? I haven’t been bowling in years. Do you still throw the ball under-handed and use the bumper guards?”

I laughed, remembering how foolish I must have looked as a college student using bumper guards. “No, I’ve graduated to holding the ball with my fingers and throwing the proper way. You’d be proud of me. I even have a nice little dip thing going with my ankle crossing behind me. I look hot bowling.”

Okay, as if it’s not bad enough that I tossed out bowling as my social event to identify with, I professed that I look hot doing it.

“You always looked hot bowling, darlin’. Hell, you looked hot no matter what you was doin’. You tore the hell outta some bumper guards, that’s all.” He laughed, and I laughed with him.

Crazy or not, I felt young again. Beautiful. Wanted. Adored. All the things he used to make me feel when life was fresh and opportunities lay endlessly out in front of us. Before I knew what love could do to you.

“At least I never bowled in cowboy boots,” I said, full-on flirting and teasing.

“I wouldn’t be caught dead in them sissified bowling shoes. They was like fourteen different colors. What if lightning struck me dead and I had to be buried in them shoes?”

“Yes, because they have so many lightning strikes inside bowling alleys. Besides, just because you got struck in those shoes doesn’t mean they would bury you in them.” I said.

“Well, I sure as hell hope not. I wanna be buried in my boots.”

“I am sure you will be, Dwayne Davis.” I laughed.

“I love the way you say my name. You know, the first and last name together like that. Nobody says my name the way you do,” he said softly.

If I was crazy, then so be it. My heart soared on cloud nine. It seemed like no time had passed, no hurts had been done, and no life-shattering betrayal had ever happened. I realize it did happen, and this was probably an unhealthy phone call to indulge in, but God, it felt so good. I was taken back to a different time in life on that call, and it was freakin’ awesome.

“How’s your mama doin’?” I felt my drawl creeping in, as it often does when I talk to someone with a thick Southern accent. I had all but lost mine since moving here, but I slipped back into it easy as pie when I heard it.

“She’s hangin’. Tough as ever. I told her I talked to you. She said hey.”

I wondered what Martha Jean thought of him talking to me, if she had liked his wife and if she was okay with how he ended things with me. I always thought she and I had a pretty good relationship, but when I never heard one word from her after he broke things off, it added to the confusion and betrayal I felt.

“Tell her I said hello. I hope she’s feeling better soon.”

“I see your brother every now and then,” Dwayne said. “Hard to believe he’s in college. Makes me feel old. I remember him riding around with us all the time. Never shut up!”

I laughed as memories warmed my heart. So many good times. I had been deliriously happy once. I’d kept those happy memories stuffed deep inside me, scared to allow them to surface. Remembering good times with Dwayne always intertwined with the pain of him leaving, so I made a conscious effort to never think about them. Now they came rushing back, a sappy movie montage playing soft-focused in my mind.

My brother Brad had just turned eleven when Dwayne and I started dating. He idolized Dwayne. He started listening to country music because Dwayne did. He asked for cowboy boots for Christmas because Dwayne wore them. He wanted to dip tobacco because Dwayne did, but my mother threatened to kill him if he did.

“He adored you,” I said.

“What’s not to adore?” Dwayne asked.

I chuckled. “You really want to ask me that?”

My mind quickly switched from soft focus montage to replaying every fantasy conversation I’d ever had in which I got to tell him exactly what I thought of him and what he had done. I opened my mouth to vent, but my heart shut it, enjoying this time with him too much to ruin it by reminding us of the pain. He brought it up for me, though.

“Nah, I probably know what you’d say. I owe you an apology, girl. I did you wrong. I know that, and I know me saying I’m sorry ain’t gonna do a whole helluva lot, but I’m sorry. Young and stupid. Scared. Didn’t know what I wanted. What can I say other than I was a total ass and you didn’t deserve it?”

Bam! I got the apology I’d waited five years for. The apology I thought I’d never get. Yet there it was, freely offered without me asking for it. Whether it held any merit in it or not, hearing him say he was sorry actually healed me a little bit. I felt vindicated. Restored in some small way. I’m sure he only reached out to me to make himself feel better because his wife left. I’m not stupid. I know apologizing had more to do with him than me, but it still felt good. Really good. So good that I wanted him to apologize more.

“You’re right,” I said. “There’s not a whole lot else you can say. But why don’t you try?”

I held my breath and waited to see what he would come up with. I wanted him to say he was never happy with her. That leaving me had been his biggest mistake. I wanted him to make up for the last five years and the tears I’d cried over him.

Instead, I got, “There ain’t nothing I could say that you don’t already know, girl.”

I did know, but I still needed him to say it. I wanted him to make me feel better.

“Dwayne . . .” I stopped. I wasn’t going to ask for it. It had to come from him. He left us in silence for a minute or two, maybe unsure of what I expected. More likely, unsure of what he wanted to give.

“So what are you up to now, darlin’? Your mama said you do weddings? Like what, you marry people—like a preacher?”

He had changed the subject. He had given me all I would get. I exhaled loudly, letting go of my anticipation and my hope.

“No, not like a preacher. I plan everything out for them. Help them book everything. Then I’m with them on the wedding day to make sure everything goes smoothly.”

“Oh, like the movie?
The Wedding Planner
?” he asked.

“No,” I said. “Same basic concept, but there was nothing realistic about that movie.”

My mood had changed, and I no longer felt like riding the high of a stroll down memory lane. His attempt at an apology and his refusal to fulfill my unspoken request for adoration and groveling had made me irritable. I was ready for the conversation to end.

“So no groom for you, huh? I mean, your own. I would’ve figured you’d been married a long time ago. How’d you stay single this long?” he asked.

My anger flared, and I lashed out at him. “Everyone doesn’t just up and marry the first piece of ass that comes along, Dwayne. Some of us want to take our time and find someone worth the wait. Something that will last.”

“Ouch. I guess I deserve that. You always could put me in my place like nobody else, darlin’. I loved that about you. You never were afraid to stand up to me and give me what-for.”

“You want a what-for, Dwayne? I’ll give you one. You don’t tell someone you need
time
and aren’t ready to make a commitment, and then up and marry somebody else a month later. What were you thinkin’?”

“I don’t know. We’d been together so long. Hell, everybody thought we was getting married. You wanted me to move off somewhere and live in some city or something. I didn’t know if that was what I wanted.”

“That makes no sense, Dwayne. You don’t just dump one person and marry another because you don’t know what you want. Did it ever cross your mind you could have talked to me? You could have told me you were having second thoughts? That you didn’t want to move away?”

“Aw, hell, girl. You would have freaked out. Your world was a whole lot bigger than mine. You were dead set on leaving here. You wouldn’t have been happy staying. I knew that. You knew that, too. Look where you are now. Far away from here, and you don’t ever come home.”

“I don’t ever come home because—” I stopped. No way was I going to tell him I avoided coming home because of him. “You know what? Never mind. None of this matters. You did what you did, and I did what I did. It’s all water under a bridge that washed out long ago. I gotta go, Dwayne.”

“Aw, now. I didn’t call to upset you. That wasn’t my intent. I know I screwed up. With you, with my marriage, with my life. I just wanted to hear your voice. I’m sorry, darlin’.”

I didn’t speak. I couldn’t speak. I hated him. I hated what he had done to me, and how he made me feel. I hated him calling me and being all sugary-sweet with me.

At the same time, I knew the young girl inside me would always love Dwayne Davis. My first serious relationship. My first real heartbreak. He was a part of me. Part of my history and my life. I didn’t want to hang up angry. As much as I never wanted to hear from him again, I also wanted to think I would.

“I gotta go, Dwayne.” I said, softer this time.

“Okay.” We were both silent for what felt like an eternity, neither of us wanting to be the one to actually end the connection. Finally, he said, “Can I call you again?”

I leaned my head back against the sofa and closed my eyes. How was I supposed to answer that? I knew what Cabe would say. What Lillian would say. What I should say. I even opened my mouth to say it. But that young Tyler inside me told him yeah before I had the chance to talk her out of it.

“Whew!” Dwayne said. “You had me sweating bullets there, girl. I ain’t never held my breath so long waiting for a girl to say I could call her.”

His attempt to lighten the mood and be flirtatious made me irritated. With him and with my younger self for hi-jacking my voice.

“Good night, Dwayne.”

“Good night, darlin’.”

I wanted to call Cabe when I got off the phone, but the clock had long ago struck midnight. I already knew what he’d say, anyway. I could hear his voice over all the others in my head, expressing his warnings and disappointment.

If only I could sleep. If only they would all shut up in my head and just let me sleep.

Wednesday, December 4th

Cabe and I met up after work to do the Food Truck Festival downtown. We couldn’t have asked for a more beautiful night, just crisp enough to wear a sweater without being cold. We sampled the lobster truck, the burrito truck, and one billed as the “World’s Best Cuban Sandwich.”

Cabe had a heyday with that one.

“How did they determine this?” he asked me. “Was there a statewide competition? Did they take the truck cross-country and earn a nationwide title before taking on the world? Can you imagine them loading the truck up on a cargo ship and unloading in . . . say, Madagascar? ‘Excuse me, sir. Would you say this is the best damned Cuban sandwich you’ve ever had?’ ‘What’s a Cuban sandwich?’ ‘That is. Now is it the best one you’ve ever had?’ ‘Why, yes. Yes, it is.’ They could take Africa by storm. I can see this truck driving across the desert to all the malnourished children who don’t even have clean water to brush their freakin’ teeth. This guy’s feeding them a sandwich with all this meat and butter and asking them, ‘Is this the best sandwich you’ve ever had?’ I mean, what goes into winning this title? Who declared this? Were there regulations?”

I laughed at him as I tasted the sandwich and found I wasn’t impressed.

“I think since moving to Florida, I’ve become quite the Cuban Sandwich Connoisseur,” I said. “Like, I should be deemed a judge or at least be consulted on such important decisions and declarations. No one asked me, though. I proclaim this to be quite an ordinary Cuban sandwich.”

“I know, right? Can we protest?” Cabe asked. “We need to start a campaign for a re-vote.” He finished off his sandwich with a flourish and motioned toward the funnel cake and fried Oreos.

“No, no, no,” I said. “There are Oreos, and there are fried foods. To combine the two is like an oxymoron or something. They can’t be in the same sentence. No grease on my Oreos.”

“My dear, Oreos are pretty much made of lard. You realize that, right?” Cabe asked.

“So then there’s no need to add grease, is there? An Oreo in itself is fat enough. I will go for a funnel cake, though.”

We had just stepped in line for a funnel cake when my phone rang. I recognized the area code and knew it was him.

“Excuse me a minute. Go ahead and get a funnel cake and we’ll split it,” I told Cabe as I stepped out of line and away from the crowd.

“Well, hello darlin’,” he said. I smiled in spite of myself. Ridiculous, I know. I didn’t care, though. I wanted to talk to Dwayne.

“Hey you,” I responded.

“What you up to?”

“I’m at a Food Truck Festival.”

“A what? Food truck? What the hell is a food truck?” Dwayne asked.

I noticed Cabe staring at me from his place in the funnel cake line. I turned so I didn’t have to see him.

“It’s what it says it is. A truck that serves food,” I said with a chuckle.

“Why would you order food cooked in a truck? Don’t they have restaurants down there?”

I laughed, the nervous energy within me releasing louder than I intended. “They are restaurants. They drive around and cook inside the truck.”

“That sounds disgusting. What do you eat?”

“I had a lobster roll and . . .”

“Lobster? From a truck? Girl, ain’t you got better sense than that? You can’t eat lobster off a truck. You’re gonna get sick.”

“No, no. It’s good, I swear,” I said.

Cabe startled me with a tap on the shoulder and a funnel cake tantalizingly waved under my nose.

“Oh! I gotta go. There’s a funnel cake here with my name on it!” I laughed again, not because anything was funny but because I felt very nervous. Nervous about talking to Dwayne when I probably shouldn’t be. Nervous that Cabe would ask who was on the phone, and I knew I had to tell him. He wouldn’t be pleased.

“Well, alright. I just thought I’d say hey. You enjoy your lobster from a truck,” Dwayne said.

“I already had the lobster. I’m eating a funnel cake now.”

Cabe cocked his head to the side, his eyebrow lifted. I looked away.

“You take care, darlin’. Don’t get sick,” Dwayne said.

“I won’t. Talk to you later!” I winced slightly as I hung up, thinking maybe I shouldn’t have said that.

“Well, I sure don’t need to ask who you were talking to.” Cabe rolled his eyes and snapped the napkin out from under the plate.

“What do you mean?” I asked, knowing I was busted.

“Your Southern accent is dripping more sugar than this funnel cake, and you look like a sixteen-year-old who just met her favorite boy band singer. You’re all giggly and drooling and shit.”

“I am not drooling,” I said. Although I could feel myself blushing, self-conscious under his scrutiny.

“Whatever,” Cabe said. “I don’t know what the hell you’re doing, Ty. He’s bad news.”

“You don’t even know him!” I protested.

“No, you’re right, I don’t.” He lifted his hands and shrugged. “I only know I met a girl in a coffee shop who always looked like she’d just been kicked. I held her hair out of her face I don’t know how many nights while she cried and puked from drinking her way past what he had done to her. I know I watched her turn down pretty much every single guy who
ever
looked her way because of this jerk. That’s what I know. That, and there’s no way he deserves the chance to hurt you again. He shouldn’t even get the chance to talk to you, much less make your face light up like it’s Christmas. I just don’t know why you would even give him the time of day. Why would you even talk to him? Much less be happy about it.”

Cabe turned and walked away from me as I stood there stunned by his outburst.

Embarrassment and outrage battled within me. What he said rang true, after all. Cabe was essentially defending me, his opinion of Dwayne based on what I had told him.

But Dwayne had a lot of good qualities, too. He wasn’t a bad guy. He wasn’t even a bad boyfriend. He just made a really bad choice. (Wait, am I to a point now where I’m defending Dwayne? That’s messed up.)

Whether he spoke truth or not, though, his efforts to police my actions made me defiantly indignant. He wasn’t my dad, after all. He couldn’t tell me who I could or couldn’t talk to. My decisions were mine to make, whether they were good decisions or not. I stormed after Cabe, anger being easier to channel than shame.

I was angry at him for calling me out. Probably angry at him for being right as well.

And despite enjoying the phone call, I was still pissed at Dwayne. Just because, well, just because of all the obvious reasons to be pissed at Dwayne. Although none of those seemed to keep me from wanting him to call and feeling good when he did.

Which, of course, made me mad at myself. I knew Cabe was right. I had no business engaging with Dwayne. Pride alone should have kept me from it. I just wanted to feel the way I used to. To go back in time, if even for a brief moment.

Cabe stopped at the end of the food truck row and turned back to wait for me. He put up his hand to stop me before I could say anything.

“I’m sorry, Ty. You’re a grown woman. You can talk to whomever you want. It just seriously burns me up for this guy to think he can . . . you know what, never mind. It’s your life. I just don’t want to see you get hurt.” He turned and walked away again, and I followed him in silence. I didn’t want to see me hurt either. I wanted to be happy. I couldn’t help that Dwayne’s voice made me happy right now.

I tried to watch television when I got home. I tried checking e-mail. Then I tried to read a magazine. I even took a shower and thought about going to bed early. Get some sleep for a change. But I couldn’t. I can only imagine how hard it is for an addict to stay away from their addiction, because try as I might, I could not keep myself from picking up the phone and dialing Dwayne Davis.

We talked for over two hours, covering everything from coaching his daughter’s tee-ball team to the time the cops pulled up behind us as we were “parking” out behind his uncle’s barn.

I dreaded looking at the clock, but he and I both had to be at work early. So I finally said, “Well, I guess we better get off here.”

“Yeah, I guess so. I sure don’t want to, though. I feel better talking to you than I’ve felt in years. I feel alive again,” Dwayne said. Unfortunately, I knew exactly what he meant. We were silent again for a while, trying to prolong the inevitable, but eventually we said good night. What the hell am I doing?