As I pulled two suitcases out of the hall closet, I found a familiar box. It contained all the knickknacks and antiques Brea had brought by to decorate with. There was a note stapled on it in her handwriting.
To be reused for Mark’s new penthouse so people don’t think he’s a robot!
I sank down on the floor and opened the box. Inside were various antiques, including a statue of a boy and a dog who looked like Beowulf, an abacus, and a framed image of several Victorian men performing some sort of experiment. They were all things I actually wanted to put up in my condo. Tucked against the side of the box was a framed picture of a selfie Brea had taken of us at the gift bag session. A caption on a little card under the picture read,Mark learns that he believes in weddings.
“What am I going to do?” I asked the dog.
He raced under the couch and came back with the large, sparkly, half-chewed dildo I’d spent five hundred dollars on.
“Fuck, even a way-too-expensive dildo is making me nostalgic.”
I needed to hold the grudge though.
“Don’t be weak,” I chastised myself. “You cannot let this happen again. There is clearly something wrong with you. You attract the wrong sorts of women.”
I packed up my car with Beowulf’s dog paraphernalia and then a few suits, grooming products, and a sleeping bag. I also took Brea’s box with me.
“Sentimentality,” I chastised myself as I placed it carefully in the front seat. But I couldn’t part with it.
The city streets were empty as I raced down the wide avenue to my new home. When Beowulf and I arrived, however, it seemed a lot larger and emptier and colder than I remembered it being with Brea there.
“At least my family isn’t here to bother me,” I told Beowulf.
All of the staging furniture had been taken out. I had asked the real-estate agent to do that, thinking Brea would want to put her own stamp on the place. But now I wished I had a couch.
I spread the sleeping bag on the floor. Beowulf immediately peed on it.
“No!” I yelled at the dog and dragged him out to the balcony. Fortunately, there was still a patch of sod out there where he could finish.
“Fuck,” I cursed as I washed off the sleeping bag. I wanted to text Brea and complain then have her make a joke about men claiming their new space or something.
I looked around the empty living area. The city lights twinkled like distant stars through the two-story-high windows. Was this really how I wanted to spend the rest of my life?
I checked her Instagram out of habit. Brea had liked a photo from Ivy showing Brea and her friends working on a wedding. There was a shot of several of them at the Weddings in the City office.
Hold a grudge, the rational part of my brain insisted. But its heart wasn’t really in it. I missed Brea.
“I’m just going to see her,” I promised myself as I scooped Beowulf up. I was not leaving him alone to destroy my new penthouse. “I’m just going to see her, and we’re going to talk. No promises.”
52
Brea
Iwas sniffling in the Uber on the way to the Weddings in the City office after leaving Mark. “How could I have been so stupid?” I chastised myself. “I should have just told Mark what had happened.”
I wanted to go home and wallow, but there was a wedding to put on tomorrow. I hated that my family drama was going to cast a shadow over the happy event. I had been texting and apologizing to Liz all evening.
Brea:I am so sorry.
Brea:I will totally quit and not be there if that’s what you want.
Brea:Tomorrow is supposed to be about you and Wes.
Liz:Are you kidding??? I cannot survive tomorrow without you!
Brea:But what about Mark?
Liz:*le sigh* Wes said he talked to him. He’ll be there. I think he’s just shaken. Give him a bit to cool off.
