Page 14 of I Want to Know What Love Is

“You mean she didn’t like the fact that you left me at the fucking altar?” He doesn’t respond to my sarcasm, but I can’t help it. Separating my sarcasm from the rest of me would require the kind of surgery that might be fatal.

“She went to her father and they were both… uncomfortable about it.”

“No kidding?”

“I promised them that everything was cool between us, that there were no grudges and we’re still friends. And without thinking I said you wanted to come to the wedding, but you were concerned they wouldn’t want you there.”

“Aha.” I stare into Paul’s big brown eyes and scratch behind his ears, wishing I could turn back the clock on my entire relationship with Gary. What I wouldn’t give for a do-over because our whole game was played out of bounds—or while I was out of my head, and way too inexperienced. Not that I have experience with a lot of men, but learning one hard lesson from Gary was enough. I don’t mind becoming a spinster married to my career and relegated to being the favorite aunt to my sister’s future children. That future has a nice ring.

“I didn’t expect that her father would not only want you at the wedding, but that he’d insist. He made it clear. I think he suspects my story about us being friends is an exaggeration.”

I laugh. Because what else? “It’s a fucking lie, Gary. We’re never going to be friends, just in case you have any crazy ideas.” Then it registers. “You want to marry her as a career move, don’t you?” He doesn’t answer me and I squeeze my eyes shut, squeeze the hell out of the phone in my hand and upset Paul enough so that he whines and licks my hand.

Now I know the one and only reason Gary left me at the altar was about his career. And he’s marrying the poor girl to further his career. I have no idea what her name is, but it’s clear Gary doesn’t care much about her because he doesn’t mention whether or not she’s appalled at the prospect of having his ex-fiancée at her wedding. And unless she’s from another species, she most certainly is not happy about it. Even if she’s like Gary and only cares about money and appearances, my presence at her wedding would be hard to swallow.

“You know how messed-up this is, right?” I say. I’ve already decided I don’t care about Gary anymore, and if I were pushed I’d say I’m leaning toward dislike. But there’s still a small, very weak impulse buried in me to rise to the occasion and rescue him. It’s a fatal genetic disorder of mine to want to stand up for the underdog. Even if he’s more of a dog than Paul is.

I don’t relish the prospect of attending his wedding as the previously jilted bride. Especially a single, unaccompanied jilted bride. Standing up to a second round of attempted public humiliation isn’t high on my list of fun things to do.

Plus, I owe him nothing. In fact, he probably owes me his first-born after the ledger of rights and wrongs is added up, so it’s lucky for him I don’t plan on kids in my future.

“I know. I feel like an ass.” His uncharacteristic admission pushes at that latent need to rescue. “I’ve really messed up. But she’s sweet. And I need this.” That cost him. Maybe I’m wrong and he really cares for her. He never called me sweet. I don’t enjoy seeing him squirm.

“I’ll take that as an apology. I forgive you. But I’m not going to your wedding.” Heavy silence goes on for a few beats, squeezing my conscience, because … I have no idea. Do I really care? No.

More like I see him as a rescue animal, the ugly mean one no one else will adopt and I feel sorry for him, knowing if I don’t rescue him no one else will.

He pauses, clears his throat, then speaks in a quiet raspy voice. “Please. It’s imperative for my livelihood.”

Maybe because I’m not the one doing the holding, I find a leak of sympathy for the guy who’s being held by the short hairs. Still…

“That’s too bad, Gary. But I’m busy. I have a new job and basketball season will be crazy for me this year.” Plus I don’t have a date and I would never go to a wedding without a date. That’s one lesson my sister taught me that was worth remembering. It’s a good reason to ignore the plea in his voice. It really is.

“I know, I know. Congrats on that. I truly wish you well. But the wedding date was planned with your schedule in mind and so it’s on a weekend when you’re free.”

What the fuck? “You’re crazy. Who does that? Whatever made you so confident that I would come to your wedding after… everything.” I wave a hand, newly outraged, and I have to remind myself that I don’t care. Not really.

Silence on his end stretches out and I hear him breathing heavily.

“Don’t make me answer that.”

“You don’t have to answer anything. In fact, I think our conversation is over.”

“No. It’s not. There’s one other thing you should know.” Another pause and I hear him take a single deep breath as if he’s about to dive into ice water, except it’s my blood that freezes when he says, “I know the co-chair of the board of trustees at St. Paul U.” His voice is hushed and he pauses again while my heartbeat speeds up. “And he owes me a favor.” He stops and I know he’s not going to say more, that he’s going to let the implied threat hang in the air.

At first, outrage slams me at the fact he even utters the words. But the cold rage is short-lived because he’s too obvious, his nerves too stretched. It’s hard for me to believe he’d ever follow through on such a threat. He’s a gutless pathetic mess.

And I am so grateful that he left me at the altar right now that I might actually owe him an act of charity. This act, if for no other reason than that he stays good and well away from me. Forever.

“You’re that desperate? That you would make a threat, even if it is an empty one?”

“It’s not empty.” His words fall flat, like he’s used up all the hot air he had. My mind spins, my impulses combine in a whirl to a quick conclusion. , I’m too close to getting that head coach position. I won’t let him fuck this up for me.

“I’ll tell you what, Gary. I’ll go to your stinking wedding under two conditions.”

“Tell me. Whatever it is, I’ll—”

“First, I get to bring a guest.”