The Hating Game (23 page)

I'm just a little lonely book in between two brooding bookends. Anthony is not the sort of man to appreciate small talk.

I let father and son sit in silence on a polished plank of wood, and I hold Josh's hand and I have no idea if I'm being remotely useful until he catches my eye.

“Thanks for being here,” he says into my ear. “It's already easier.”

I mull this over as Elaine takes her seat, and the music starts to play.

Patrick takes his place at the altar, casting a wry glance at his brother, his eyes skating over me as though assessing my recovery. He smiles at his parents and huffs out a breath.

We all stand when Mindy arrives in a big pink marshmallow dress. It's insanely over the top, but she looks so happy as she walks down the aisle, simultaneously grinning and weeping like a lunatic, so I love it too.

She takes her place in front of Patrick, and I get a good look at her.
Holy moly. This woman is stunning. Go, Patrick.

Weddings always end up doing something weird to me. I feel myself getting emotional when their friends read special poems, and the minister reflects on their commitment. I get choked up during their vows. I take the Kleenex offered by Elaine and dab at the corners of my eyes. I watch with suspense as the ring is slid onto each finger, and sigh with relief when they fit perfectly and go on with ease.

And when the magic words
you may now kiss the bride
are uttered I let out a happy sigh like I've seen THE END scrolled over the top of this perfect movie freeze-frame.

I look at Elaine and we both let out identical delighted laughs and begin clapping. The men on either side of us sigh indulgently.

They walk out down the aisle wearing their brand-new gold rings, and everyone stands up, talking and exclaiming until the
strains of the ancient organ are almost drowned out. For the first time, I notice some speculative glances at Josh. What
gives
?

“They go for photographs down on the boardwalk. I hope the wind doesn't blow Mindy clean away,” Elaine tells me, waving politely to someone. “We'll all go to the hotel now, have some drinks, then an early dinner and speeches. We'll borrow Josh for some family photos at some point.”

“Sounds good. Right, Josh?” I squeeze his hand. He's been vacant for the last few minutes. With a jolt, he drops back into his body.

“Sure. Let's go.”

I throw a look over my shoulder to his parents, which hopefully looks bemused rather than alarmed as I'm hooked into his right arm and swept out of the church.

“Slow down. Josh. Wait. My shoes.” I'm barely able to keep up. He slides down horizontal in the passenger seat and lets out a groaning sigh.

I'm having trouble trying to time my reverse. Everyone is piling out of the parking lot simultaneously.

“Do you want to go straight back? Or do you want me to drive around for a bit?”

“Drive around. All the way back home. Take the highway.”

“I am an independent observer. I assure you, it went pretty well.”

“You're right, I guess,” he says heavily.

“Pardon? Could you possibly repeat that in a moment, so I can record it? I want it as my text message alert noise. Lucy Hutton, you're right.”

Teasing him will get him out of his little funk. He looks at me.

“I could do the voice mail message too if you want. You've
reached the voice mail of Lucy Hutton. She's too busy crying at a stranger's wedding to take your call right now, but leave a message.”

“Oh, shut up. I must watch too many movies. It was so romantic.”

“You're kinda cute.”

“Joshua Templeman thinks I'm kind of cute. Hell has officially frozen over.” We grin at each other.

“You must have cried for a reason. You're dreaming of your own wedding?”

I look at him defensively. “No. Of course not. How lame. Plus, my fiancé is invisible, remember.”

“But why would a stranger's wedding make you cry, then?”

“Marriage is one of the last ancient rites of civilization, I guess. Everyone wants someone who loves them so much they'd wear a gold ring. You know, to show everyone else their heart is taken.”

“I'm not sure it's relevant these days.”

I try to think of how to explain it. “It's so completely primal. He's wearing my ring. He's mine. He'll never be yours.”

The slow procession of traffic takes us all back to the hotel. I hand the keys to the hotel valet and Josh attempts to steer me to the side of the building.

“Josh. No. Come on.”

“Let's go to the room.” He's putting on the brakes. He weighs a ton.

“You're being ridiculous. Explain what is going on with you.”

“It's stupid,” he mutters. “It's nothing.”

“Well, we're going in.” I take his hand firmly and march him through the doors held open for us.

I take the deepest breath my lungs can manage, and walk through into an entire room half filled with Templemans.

I
n a pretty room adjoining the ballroom, we spend nearly two hours mingling in various states of awkwardness in an endless champagne reception. When I say mingling, I mean me carrying Joshua through a succession of social encounters with distant relatives while he stands beside me, watching me glug champagne to dull my nerves, which burns my empty stomach like gasoline. Every introduction goes like this.

“Lucy, this is my aunt Yvonne, my mother's sister. Yvonne, Lucy Hutton.”

When his duty is completed, he begins occupying himself with stroking my inner arm, spreading his hand across my back to find the bare skin under my hair, or linking and unlinking our fingers. Always staring. He barely takes his eyes off me. He's probably amazed by my small-talk ability.

After a while, he is taken by his mother out into the side garden, and I watch through the window as he poses with various combinations of family. His smile is forced. When he catches me spying, I'm beckoned out, and he and I pose together in front of a charming rosebush. When the shutter clicks shut, the old version of me shakes her head, wondering how we ever got to this point. Me, and Joshua Templeman, captured side by side in the same
photograph, smiling? Every new development between us feels like an impossibility.

He turns me and cups my chin in his palms, and I hear the photographer say,
Lovely
. Another shutter click, and I forget the world in the instant his lips touch mine. I wish I could shake off my old mistrusts, but this all feels too much like a summer afternoon daydream. The sort I might have had once, and then hated myself for it.

I watch Patrick and Mindy across the lawn, now clinched together romantically in front of another camera and I realize that I'm clinched in a fairly romantic pose myself. The man who's hated me for so long is now showing me off, tugging me close to his side. When we go back inside, he kisses me on the temple. He drops his mouth down to my ear, and tells me I'm beautiful. I'm turned another ninety degrees, presented to another set of relatives. He's showing me off.

What I haven't worked out yet is,
Why?

In every introduction, after discussions on how lovely Mindy looked and how nice the ceremony was, the inevitable question always comes next.

“So, Lucy, how did you meet Josh?”

“We met at work,” Josh supplied the first time when the silence stretched too thin, so it becomes my default answer.

“Oh, and where do you work?” is the next question. None of his family has even the slightest idea where he works, or what he does. They're awkward about it; like being a Med School Dropout is something to be deeply ashamed of. At least a publishing house sounds glamorous.

“It's so lovely seeing you with someone new,” another great-aunt tells him. She gives me a Meaningful Look. Perhaps he's also rumored to be gay.

I excuse us and pull him aside behind a pillar.

“You have to make more of an effort. I'm exhausted. It's my turn to stand there and feel you up while you talk.” A waiter passes and offers me another tiny canapé. He knows me by now because I've eaten at least twelve. I'm his best customer. I'm obsessed with dinner, which I've been promised by the waiter is at five o'clock sharp. I watch the hands on Josh's watch, knowing I'll probably die of hunger before then.

“I can't think of anything to say.” He notices a paintball bruise on my upper arm and begins silently fussing over it.

“Ask people about themselves, it usually works.” I am acutely aware of how many people keep taking little peeks at us. “You need to tell me why everyone's looking at me like I'm the Bride of Frankenstein. No offense, you big freak.”

“I hate being asked about myself.”

“I noticed. Nobody knows a flippin' thing about you. And you didn't answer my question.”

“They're looking at me. Most of them haven't seen me since the Big Scandal.”

“Is that why you want me to play girlfriend? So everyone forgets you're not a doctor? You'd do far better to hand out your business card. Quit touching me. I can't think straight.” I tug my arm.

“I can't seem to stop now I've started.” He gathers me closer and dips his mouth down to my ear. “Are you this soft all over?”

“What do you think?”

“I want to know.” His lips brush my earlobe and I can't remember what we're talking about.

“Why are you acting so kissy and boyfriend-y?” I watch his eyes closely, and when he answers, I know with deep certainty that he is not telling me something.

“I've told you. You're my moral support.”

“For what? What am I missing?” My voice gets a little sharp and some heads close to us turn. “Josh, I feel like I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

He strokes his hand down the side of my neck. I shiver so hard he sees it. When he bends to press a kiss against my lips, my eyelids drop shut, and there's nothing in the world but him. I want to exist only here; in the dark, the feel of his forearm in the small of my back. His lips telling me,
Lucy, stop fretting.
It's an unfair move.

I open my eyes and a couple who I think are Mindy's parents are clearly talking about us. Both have busybody speculative eyes as they inspect me.

“Quit trying to distract me. We need to get through dinner. And you're going to come up with some topics of conversation and talk to your family. Why are you being so shy?” As soon as I say it, I understand. “Oh. Because you
are
shy.”

My new revelation gives me a slightly different angle to view him from. “All this time I thought you were just an arrogant asshole. I mean, you are. But there's more to it. You're actually incredibly shy.” He blinks and I know I'm right on the money.

A strange sensation stirs in my chest. It unfolds, grows twice as large, then again. It doesn't stop; it gets faster, bigger, feathers and fluff stuffing my chest like a cushion. I don't know what's happening, but it's filling up my throat and I can't find any breath. He seems to know something is happening with me, but he doesn't press me on it; instead, his arm rises to hug my shoulders, his other hand cradling my head. Again, I try to speak but I can't. He just holds me and I squeeze my hands uselessly on his lapels and the red foyer in the far distance sparkles like a jewel.

“Josh,” Elaine says. “Oh, here you are.” Her voice warms. Josh pivots without releasing me, sliding my shoes along the marble floor.

Her eyes are a little too bright when she looks at us both. “When you're ready, would you like to join us inside? You're at our table.”

“I'll bring him right in.”

The unfolding in my chest crumples a little when I realize his mother is happy to see him with someone. I straighten up and his hands slide to my lower back. People shuffle in to take their seats and I see heads crane as they walk past to look at us.

“Who am I?” I try one last time. “Your housekeeper? Your piano teacher?”

“You're Shortcake,” he says simply. “You don't need to make up anything. Come on. Let's get this over with.”

I feel some trepidation as I approach our table and Josh stiffens up. We ease into our chairs and spend a few minutes studying the table decorations and our name cards. The others are typed, but mine is handwritten, I'm guessing due to the late RSVP.

The table seats eight. Me, Josh, his mom and dad, Mindy's parents, and Mindy's brother and sister. I'm at the head family table. If I had known this would happen when I brashly offered my services as Josh's chauffeur, I would have punched myself in the face.

I chat a little to Mindy's brother, seated to my left. Glasses are clinked. I'm praying Josh will say something, anything. I'm about to aim a little jab at the side of his thigh when the silence is broken by Elaine. The dreaded question.

“Lucy, tell everyone how you met Josh.”

Inwardly I shriek. I've answered this same question at least eight times today, and it never gets any easier. “Well. Well, uh . . .”

Oh crap, I'm sounding like a priced-by-the-hour escort who hasn't thought of a good enough lie. What did we agree again? I'm Shortcake? I can't tell them that. If I ever was going to humili
ate Josh, now would be the time. I can almost imagine saying it.
He forced me to come.

“We work together,” Josh says calmly, ripping his dinner roll in half. “We met at work.”

“An office romance,” Elaine says, winking at Anthony. “The best kind. What did you think of him when you first laid eyes on him?”

I know a born romantic when I see one. She's a mother who will take any compliment of her offspring as a compliment to herself. She's looking at him now with her heart in her eyes, and I cannot help falling a bit in love with her myself.

“I thought, good grief, he's tall.” Everyone except Anthony laughs. He's studying his fork, checking for cleanliness.

“How tall are you, Lucy?” Mindy's mother, Diane, asks. Yet another dreaded question.

“Five whole feet.” My standard answer that always gets a laugh.

Waitstaff are beginning to pass out the starters and my stomach makes a hungry gurgle.

“And what did you think when you saw Lucy?” Elaine prompts. We may as well be sitting in the middle of the table like decorative centerpieces. This is getting ridiculous.

“I thought she had the best smile I'd ever seen,” Josh replies, matter-of-fact. Diane and Elaine both look at each other and bite their lips, eyes widening, eyebrows rising. I know that look. It's the Hopeful Mom look.

But even I can't stop myself from blurting, “Did you?”

If he's lying, he's absolutely outdoing himself. I know his face better than my own, and I can't pick it. He nods and gestures at my plate.

I learn that Patrick and Mindy are going to Hawaii for their honeymoon.

“I've always wanted to go there. I need some sun. A vacation sounds good right about now.” I push away my plate, which I've practically licked clean, and remember that a trip to Sky Diamond Strawberries is on the near horizon. I start to tell Josh, because he's so fascinated with that place, but his mother interrupts.

“Is work busy?” Elaine asks.

I nod. “So busy. And Josh is just as busy.”

I notice Anthony make a little snort, looking away dismissively. Boy, is that expression familiar. Josh goes rigid, and Elaine gives her husband a frown.

The main courses are served and I begin dismantling it with gusto. Tiny hairline cracks of tension are starting to run through the meal. I must be incredibly slow, but I can't work out the source of it. True, Anthony hasn't said much, but he seems like a nice enough man. Elaine is growing more tense, her smile more forced, as she attempts to keep the mood light. I can see her starting to glance at Anthony, her eyes imploring him.

As the waitstaff clear the plates after our main courses, I can see all the major players getting ready for their speeches. Anthony takes an index card from his inner pocket. As they test the microphone, I tug my chair a little closer to Josh and he drops one arm over my shoulders. I lean back into him.

There's a speech from the best man and Mindy's maid of honor. Her father makes a speech welcoming Patrick to the family, and I smile at the sincere ring in his voice. He talks about his pleasure in gaining a son. Josh hugs me closer and I let him.

Anthony takes the podium and looks at his index card with an expression bordering on distaste. He leans down to the microphone.

“Elaine wrote me some suggestions, but I think I'll wing it.” His voice is slow, deliberate, with a pinch of sarcasm I'm begin
ning to understand is hereditary among the Templeman males.

A laugh scatters through the room, and Josh sits up straighter. I don't need to look to know he's frowning.

“I've always expected great things of my son.” Anthony holds the edges of the podium and looks at the crowd. His choice of words also implies that he has only one son. Maybe I'm just reading too much into it.

“And he hasn't disappointed me. Not once. Never have I gotten the call every parent dreads. The ‘Hey, Dad, I'm stuck in Mexico' call. Never got that from Patrick.” Bigger laughs from the crowd now.

“Not from me, either,” Josh mutters into my ear.

“He graduated in the top five percent of his class. It's been a privilege watching him grow into the man you see here,” Anthony intones. “His range of experience has gone from strength to strength and he's well respected by his peers.”

I can't detect any particular emotion in his voice, but he does look at Patrick for a fraction too long.

“I must say, the day he graduated med school, I could see myself in Patrick. And it was a relief, knowing we'd continue the medical dynasty.”

Behind my ear, I hear Josh draw in a sharp breath. His arm feels increasingly viselike around my shoulders.

Anthony lifts his glass. “But I believe you're only as strong as the person you choose to live your life with. And today, by marrying Melinda, he's made me a proud father yet again. And Mindy, might I say, you've chosen an outstanding Templeman to marry. Mindy, welcome to our family.”

We raise our glasses, but Josh does not. I look over my shoulder and see two people, heads together, whispering and watching us. Mindy's mother looks at Josh with raw pity.

Mindy and Patrick cut the cake and feed each other a square. I've been looking forward to some cake for most of the day, and I'm not disappointed. A huge wedge of something chocolate and heavy is placed in front of me.

“Great speech. Thanks for that little remark,” Josh tells his father.

“It was a joke.” Anthony smiles at Elaine, but she's not pleased.

“Hilarious.” Her glare turns glacial.

I know when a subject change is in order. “This cake looks like death by chocolate. I hope it's not too naughty.”