Chapter 32

They all pile out and practically run away from the car. Or maybe they're running from me. I walk slowly to make sure there’s no ice, past the garland around the handrail that flows up the ramp to the front entrance. The sparkly lights, fake holly and music blaring from inside should make me happy. But I keep thinking about how I can't get a dog just because Amy wants one, because that's crazy. But maybe I could get a dog for me. And that emaciated, fluffy, white one might be the perfect one. I didn't realize I was lonely until I started thinking about Luke moving.

I slide through the front doors and head for the dance floor. My friends always make a beeline right for it. Except they aren't there. I squint in the semi-dark until I finally find them, huddled around a standing table in the back corner. I approach them cautiously, dodging the stumbling and slurring bachelorette party one table over.

“What's going on?” I ask. “Too tired to dance?”

Addy frowns. “We've been thinking about this whole thing with Luke, and you know we love you, so this is coming from a good place.”

I scowl. “If you're prefacing it, it can't be good.”

Paisley raises her hand, like we're in first grade. “Uh, for the record, 'we' doesn't include me. I don't agree with them.”

Addy arches one brow and rolls her eyes. “Fine, me and Trudy. We think you need to dump Luke.”

I toss my hands in the air. “You've been badgering me to date ever since Foster and I broke up.”

Trudy shakes her head. “True, but not like this. Not a guy who has kids, which you don't want, and is leaving in a few weeks.”

Addy nods. “Exactly. You're forgetting about girls’ nights, you're going to Chuck-e-Cheese, and you're looking for dogs to adopt? None of those things are 'Mary' in the slightest. This guy's changing you, and the last time I saw something like that it was—”

Trudy pokes Addy and she gasps. “What was that for?”

Trudy slaps her forehead. “Don't say Foster, don't go there. Remember? We agreed.”

My jaw drops. “Luke is nothing like Foster.”

My sister raises one eyebrow. “Well, he's not rich, and he's not from Atlanta. And he's living in a trailer, so yeah, they seem different in all the wrong ways. But your reaction to Luke is kind of the same. With Foster you gave up running and started cycling. You gave up coffee in favor of tea. You started brunching every Sunday.”

Addy scrunches her nose. “You stopped being you so you could be Foster's version of you.”

I stomp my foot. “Listen up. None of that crap makes me who I am. I can try something new with the guy I'm dating and actually like it, you know. But at the end of the day, I was still me. We didn't fit, so we broke up.”

“It shattered you,” Paisley says in a voice so quiet I can barely hear her. Of course, the bachelorette party behind me isn't helping. The bride-to-be, presumably, has a sash and is downing what is already one too many glasses of wine. Between their raucous laughter, and the ghastly Santa Claus is Coming to Town dance remix, I can barely hear myself think, much less come up with a coherent argument.

“This music is wrong,” I say. “Play dance music, or Christmas music. But Christmas dance music?” I feign puking.

“You're right,” Addy says, “but you're trying to change the subject.”

I lean against the table, until I realize it's sticky, but by then it's too late. My sweater now sports an elbow stain of unknown origin. Gross. “Look, Foster tried to change me. He begged, and pleaded, and cajoled me to agree to have kids. But I didn't want any, and I didn't cave.”

“Luke has two kids,” Trudy says. “And you're looking at getting a dog?” She closes her eyes and shakes her head slowly. “We're worried about this. He's not good for you.”

“What about you, Trudy? Have you told Chris that you're done with him yet?”

Her eyebrows draw together and her lips compress.

“You can't tell me that I have to dump a perfectly wonderful guy, when you haven't even given up on your cheating, worthless husband.”

“I'm trying to help you avoid the exact same misery I'm dealing with,” Trudy says. “And you don't get to pressure me about Chris, because we have a child together. It's different.”

Kids complicate everything. I already know this too well.

Addy touches my hand. “We're your friends, Mary. We love you. We're trying to help you here, so don't take this wrong.”

“It doesn't matter,” I say slowly. “I appreciate your input, but Luke's moving. Why can't I date someone for a few weeks and then go back to normal? I've got a holiday party next week, and then it's Christmas. Why bother breaking up with him, when it's going to end by default a few weeks after that?”

“Because you're taking control,” Trudy says. “Exactly like you keep telling me to do with Chris.”

“What about you?” I ask Paisley. “You haven't said a word.”

Paisley meets my eyes. “I don't agree you should dump Luke just because he's making you go to Chuck-e-Cheese, or because he has kids. But I've kept my mouth shut, because . . . Well, you like him so much, Mary. I was so excited to see it, but now we know he's leaving? I do think you need to end it on your terms. Otherwise, he'll re-engage with you every time he comes into town to visit family or friends, and in between jobs. If this can't go anywhere, and you seem adamant it can't, you should dump him now, before he wrecks you even worse.”

“If I had to go back in time,” I say loudly, competing with the giggling bridesmaids and terrible Christmas music, “I'd still date my ex, even knowing how it would turn out. Even though it all turned out badly, I don't regret—” the music cuts off and it's suddenly silent. My voice fills the entire area around me when I finish my sentence, “a single minute I spent with Foster.”

The bridal party turns slowly toward us, their seven faces all locking strangely on mine.

“Oh. My. Gosh.” The bride's words slur. “You're Mary effing Wiggin.”

I've entered the twilight zone. How does this girl know my name? The music picks up again, with a dance mix of Silent Night. I couldn't describe the horror of it if I tried. “Umm, I am Mary Wiggin,” I yell. “And who are you?”

The bride to be has a crown with flashy pink stones, tilted askew on a hugely puffy bun of blonde curls. Her dark brown eyes flash, while some of her lipstick holds on for dear life to her two front teeth. “I'm Jessica Hansen. I'm marrying Foster Bradshaw.”

My jaw drops and I speak without thinking. “But you can't be. You've been drinking!”

She swaggers toward me, her friends stumbling behind her, their heels clicking loudly enough on the tile dance floor that I can hear them over the music. “I can drink whatever I want. I turned twenty-three this year.”

I look her over, head to toe. She's wearing a bubble gum pink sheath dress that shows off her figure, and she's either courting a future replete with skin cancer, or she spends a good chunk on spray tanning. Either way, I see why Foster's enamored. But she's so different from me, I wonder whether I knew Foster at all.

“Hello?” She snaps in my face. “Where do you get off telling me what to do?”

The scattered “Yeahs,” and “Word,” and “You go girl,” from her posse irritate me.

“Because you're pregnant,” I say. “You'll give your baby fetal alcohol syndrome if you drink while pregnant, you idiot. You're so young that maybe you haven't yet had sex-ed class in high school, but that's like the number two rule, right after using two forms of birth control. It seems like you didn't pay much attention to that one, either.”

Instead of panicking, like I'd expect, or turning bright red, she actually doubles down on the scowling. “Not that it's any of your business, but I'm not pregnant.” She sticks her nose up in the air and stalks off, her friends shooting me dirty looks as they sway across the room on four and five inch heels.

The bartender arrives with our drinks as if on cue.

“I ordered you a coke with lemon,” Trudy says. “Like always.”

I force a smile. “Thanks.”

No one brings the topic of Luke up again. In fact, after we finish our drinks, Addy, Paisley, and Trudy all beeline for the dance floor. We pretend Foster's fiancé and her friends aren't there, which is sort of hard with their stupid sashes proclaiming “Bride,” and “Bridesmaid,” but we persevere.

By the time we're heading home though, I've thought about nothing but Luke and my breakup with Foster for almost three hours. When we all slide into the seats in my car, I hit the seat warmer button, and then I clear my throat.

“Maybe you guys are right. Losing Foster knocked me on my rear end. I don't want to go through that again. If someone told me Foster wanted kids, and no dice without them, it would have saved me a lot of time, and a lot of heartache.”

Addy pats my knee. “This is the right call, you know. We all love you. We want what's best for you.”

I nod. “I know that. Maybe Luke was the palate cleanse I needed, and after the holidays, I'll be ready to date someone for real.”

Trudy and Addy both reassure me that it must be true. I drop them off at home, first Trudy and then Addy. Since Paisley picked them up, only her car is at my house, so she’ll spend the night with me. I swear, drinking is such a hassle, I don’t know why people do it at all. They hug me tightly and tell me I'm being smart, and I know they're right. By the time I reach my house, I've heard a ding on my phone. I pull into the garage and pick it up in front of her.

I smile when I see it’s from Luke.

-HOPE YOUR GIRLS' NIGHT WAS FUN. YOU LEFT SO FAST I COULDN'T ASK. PLANS TOMORROW?

I close my eyes and set the phone down. Paisley snatches it from the cup holder. “Oooh, lover boy himself.”

“Give me that,” I say, tired and cross all of a sudden.

She wiggles her shoulders. “You'd love it if I jumped out and weaved my way inside right now so you can dump him via text. You big chicken.”

Before I can snatch the phone back, she starts texting. By the time I wrestle it away, she's already hit send.

-NO PLANS YET. WHAT DID YOU HAVE IN MIND?

Three tiny dots indicate Luke's typing a response. Paisley and I both stare at the phone, like a dog watching a squirrel. Finally, the text pops up.

-LET ME MAKE YOU DINNER. FOUND A BABYSITTER. WE CAN DO YOUR PLACE OR MINE.

Paisley shakes her head at me. “You can't do someone's house, not if you're dumping him. It'll be too awkward. You've got to suggest a restaurant.”

She's right.

-CAN WE GO OUT INSTEAD? I DON'T WANNA DEAL WITH CLEANUP.

Luke texts.

-SURE. STAPLEHOUSE. MEET ME THERE? OR SHOULD I PICK YOU UP? 6:30 OK?

“Uh, how is he going to get into Staplehouse?” Paisley asks. “It's booked up like a month out.”

I shrug. “Maybe he doesn't know that. He's not from here. But even if we can't get in there, we can hit another place close.”

-THAT'S FINE. MEET YOU THERE.

“If he can get into Staplehouse, maybe you shouldn't break up with him.” Paisley smirks, but then her face turns serious. “Addy and Trudy mean well, but they aren't you and they have no idea, not really. Are you sure you want to do this?”

I shake my head. “No, and that's exactly why I need to.”