Page 7 of Almost Not Quite Engaged
“I was headed to Logan after a fun family reunion, but I needed a drink more.” He steps behind the bar and pulls a beer. Then fills a couple of order tickets while he talks to me. His pub suits him. It’s his grandparents’ house converted into this funky bar. I spent so much time here over the years, and its reinvention is nothing short of genius.
“Did you send my love to Birdie and Jack? Where are you heading?”
“The first of these adventure shoots. Some holistic spa in Utah and the Everglades for a fan boat thing,” I say dismissively. I pull up the whack a do spa on my phone and hand it to him. He scrolls and lets out a long whistle and slides my phone back.
I sip and then say, “Brother, I fucked up. They took the money and threatened some nasty unspeakable things.”
“They don’t threaten, they cajole.”
“This was different and I fucking snapped. I’m so screwed. They were scolding me and I lost it.” I imitate my dad. “You must have something in your life in six months, a home, a partner, a baby, a real job or a church.” I return to my own voice, “Or I have to go work for the firm.”
“I could probably get you a baby.”
“Not helping.”
“What did you say?”
“I’m engaged.”
Chapter 3
No Napkins, No F*cks to Give
KAT
Rhinebeck
Finally, about an hour into the drive north, a tear falls. Followed by all the others. I pull over for a moment to get past the worst of the embarrassment and whatever loss I feel. I wail/sing in the car, “Wasted Time.” I bang on the steering wheel, “I’m the worst loser in the world.” Reminding myself, and the car.
“I didn’t even settle right. I tried, I looked like I had this cool eccentric fiancé who I supported, believed in and loved”
I wipe my eyes and sit back regulating my breathing. I gesture to the cars whizzing by, “I know it wasn’t wild passionate insane love like Court and Ben or accidental soulmates like Ginny and Colin, but it was love.”
It was enough, until it wasn’t.
Ginny’s wedding party didn’t slake my mom’s lace tinged blood lust. My feral matrimonial minded M.O.B. is desperate for rituals. And I’ve done her dirty by losing a fiancé.
I wipe my face and eat fistfuls of cake, not caring about the car. It’s Chad’s only possession outside of gaming equipment and now my couch. How the hell did he move out when I had the car? His parents bought it for him when we moved to Staten Island and now I’m more of an idiot. He didn’t need more gaming space when he begged to move out of my rent controlled two-bedroom apartment in Manhattan, that I lived in for a decade. The dick hole wanted a free car.
I roll up to the Little Bird Pub, in my hometown of Rhinebeck. I enter the moody space with golden lighting with my shopping bags of food. I’m covered in chocolate icing, cake and smeared make-up. But I don’t give a shit. I glance into the bar area and the last person, next to Chad or my mother, I want to see is sitting there sipping smugly.
He turns and cocks his head, staring at me. I point and say, “Not tonight, Satan. You don’t get to say a word.” I loathe this smug asshole of a man. Last thing I need is for his superior TV host ego to fucking make this night worse. Lording his great life over my shredded one.
He speaks. “Delightful to see you, Harpy. You look pinched and annoyed as always.” I get in the man’s face. “Chocolate and runny mascara are a good look for you.” He gives me a thumbs up and I fucking lose it.
Get into his face and poke a chocolate crumb finger into his chest. “What did I just say? No words. I said you don’t get to speak any words. Shhh. You may think you’ve had some bad days in your life, but I will squash those into the ground with what I’ve dealt with in the last six hours so shut your smug bung hole up.”
I turn away from Zane Jackson and he clears his throat.
“Asshole.” I mutter and the asshole answers.
“Yes, Harpy?”
“Stop talking.”
“No. You’d like it too much.” He grins and I want to smash cake in his face.
I try to ignore the man who has actively mocked the life I just lost. He’s a self righteous, privileged prick, and I can’t stand him.
