“Can’t stop and chat, unfortunately! Bridesmaid emergency.” She deposits the glass on the tray of a different passing waiter. “But I have a feeling I’ll be seeing more of you soon.”
I squint as she hurries away, trying to make sense of what she said, but then my eyes land on an incredible sight: the Senior VP of Finance putting Mark Winterson in a headlock on the other side of the grass. Getting to witness this has to qualify as asmall win.
I hitch my gown up with one hand so I can move quickly, balancing on the balls of my feet so my heels don’t sink into the grass.
“Hey! Knock it off, kids,” I say as I get closer, right as the groom seems poised to give Mark Winterson a noogie. I get a rush of this strange, almost maternal affection toward him—ifI ever see a therapist, there will surely be plenty to unpack about this entire experience.
If I even have a job and healthcare then. Or if Mark Winterson hasn’t found me out and sued me into oblivion.
The Senior VP of Finance lets him go and straightens up, flashing me a toothy smile. “And who have we here?”
Mark Winterson grabs my hand and tugs me closer. Territorially, maybe.
“Let me guess,” his cousin says, pointing a finger at me.Oh no, not one of the guys who wants to guess.“Are you Mexican?”
“Zack,”Mark Winterson says.
“I’m just making conversation! What, Mark, are you woke now?” He points at me. “Did you make him woke?”
“Not…that I know of?”
“I love Cancún—beautiful people there. So, am I right?”
“Sorry to disappoint,” I say with an airy wave of my hand.
“Oh, okay, I see.” He laughs. “So mysterious.”
Is this recently married man…trying to hit on me? Or is this just how he socializes?
Mark Winterson looks a bit murderous. Interesting dynamic these two have.
“Mark, lighten up,” Zack says, and glances at me again. “Can you believe this guy studiedpolitical economyin undergrad? What even is that?”
I give him a weak laugh, because at least he seems to be done guessing.
Zack gives Mark Winterson a friendly whack on the arm. “Hey, man, no hard feelings, right?”
“Yeah, yeah, it was a long time ago. Glad you guys are happy.”
That piques my curiosity. Mark Winterson does not sound very happy about this long-ago thing.
“Zack!” a man’s voice booms. “Congratulations!”
Another older couple drifts over to us, and from the strongfamily resemblance and the way Mark Winterson drops my hand suddenly and his jaw tightens, I take it these are his parents.
“Yes, Zack, you and Clarissa look so good together,” his mother says, dabbing at her eyes. Her gray hair is pulled into a slick updo and her makeup is indeed understated. Her clothes are, too, but in a specific way that makes me certain they cost a fortune.
“How’s business, son?” his father asks, thumping Mark Winterson on the back.
“Oh, lots going on. Been burning the midnight oil.”
Mark Winterson seems uncomfortable, and there’s a bit of an awkward silence, so like a fool I blurt something out to fill it. “It’s true, he, like, barely sleeps.”
His parents look at me with mild confusion.
Oh shit, maybe he didn’t tell them we’re dating?As an old hand at hiding things from my mom, I should really know better.
“Or, I mean, so I’ve heard! It’s, uh—legendary, at the office, how hard your son works. You raised a realwinner,” I add, looking his dad in the eye. “You must be so proud.”
