When I looked back at the table, I realized he left something on the surface.
Two somethings, in fact.
“Harrison!” I called, but he ignored me as he made his way out the door.
And, damn him, he knew I was in no shape to chase him down. Nor was I willing to leave my food now that my stomach got a taste and was craving more.
With a sigh, I reached for the rings.
I slid them onto my finger.
To, you know, keep them safe until I could make him take them back.
I slowly plowed through my food while glancing at my phone. I had dozens of people I could call. Seek solace in familiar voices. But, well, this was not a story I wanted to tell. At least not yet. Not until after I got the mess all cleaned up. Maybe then, it would be funny. Just a story to tell everyone about how lethal tequila was. And how easy it was to make life-changing choices in Vegas.
Until then, I felt like I needed to keep my mistake to myself.
So instead of reaching for comfort, I turned toward practicality and started searching for local lawyers.
I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised at how many there were that proudly proclaimed that they dealt almost exclusively in ‘quick, efficient’ annulments.
How many people woke up wed each year? How many felt the same regret and embarrassment that I did right then?
How many of them had six-figure engagement rings from delusional men who didn’t want to get divorced?
On a sigh, I cleared my tray and got yet another coffee to go before making my way back out into the heat.
It was uncharacteristically warm for spring. It was barely pushing eleven, and it was already in the mid-eighties.
I made it maybe halfway to the office before I couldn’t take the foot pain any longer and ducked into a shop to grab a pair of sandals. I tossed my heels. I felt like everything from the night before needed to go in the trash. Scorched earth.
When I looked up, my blood ran cold.
Because there it was.
A stupid Vegas wedding chapel.
With a freaking 24-hour drive-up wedding window.
Because that was a totally necessary service.
I was suddenly pissed off at the whole mass marriage business model.
Who in their right mind thought it would be smart to offer to let very drunk people get married without any sort of waiting period? Without any thought at all?
I was sure it all came back to money, to a service that could be used to make a select few people very rich. While screwing up countless lives in the process.
Like mine, dammit.
A memory flashed.
Gone in a split second.
But I remembered that chapel.
That sign out front with the hearts.
Stumbling inside with Harrison at my side.
