Diary of a Single Wedding Planner (Tales Behind the Veils Book 1) (25 page)

Thursday, December 19th

I called Cabe last night after yoga to find out what I should wear for my surprise tomorrow night. He’s been stubbornly tight-lipped about it, which I suppose is the whole purpose of a surprise. But I hate not knowing. I make my living every day by being as prepared as possible. I plan out every single aspect to make sure there is no room for error or oversight. Surprises are not a good thing in my line of work. It means I didn’t plan well enough and the unexpected happened. So it stresses me out to no end to be unprepared and unaware.

Cabe finds this amusing. He once took me to a zoo and made me go the entire day without looking at the map or brochure. I was a nervous wreck, certain we were missing exhibits and losing out on something spectacular by not studying the map. He prefers the whole, “let’s see what happens and take it as it comes” approach. That so doesn’t fly in the world of event planning.

“Can you at least tell me if I should dress warmly? Are we going to be outside?” I asked.

“It’s December. In Florida. There’s no way for me to know what the weather will be. Meteorologists don’t even know, and they have advanced degrees. Why don’t you wear something comfortable and bring a jacket?”

“A jacket? You say it so casually, like I’m a dude or something. I can’t just bring a jacket. It has to match what I’m wearing. Am I going dressy with a long pea coat, or should I be casual with denim?”

“My mom always says it’s better to be the best dressed in the room than the worst dressed. If you’re overdressed, people will assume you’re sophisticated. If you’re underdressed, they’ll think you have no class.”

“Ah, a clue. So we’re going someplace I need to dress up. Wow, fancy stuff.”

“Just pearls of wisdom from my mama, not a clue for you to figure out,” he said.

“Okay, Forrest Gump. Did you want to share anything else your mama says?” I teased him, like I always do, but he got really quiet.

“Hello? Are you still there?” I asked.

“Do you think she ever thinks of me? Like, do you think she sees things that remind her of me and she wonders where I am and what I’m doing?”

“Your mom?” I asked, a little slow on catching the transition.

“Yes, Tyler, my mom. I’m sitting here wondering if my mom ever thinks of me,” he sneered. “Monica!” He sounded angry, but I realized it had nothing to do with me.

“I’m sure she does, Cabe,” I said softly. “How could she not? You were an important part of her life. That doesn’t just get wiped out of your brain.”

“Humph,” he snorted.

“What’s up?” I asked. He had mentioned her much less lately, and I wondered what had triggered this.

“I got a package today,” he said. “The landlady from Seattle cleaned out the storage shed where she put all the stuff I left there. She said she tried to find an address for Monica and couldn’t, so she sent everything to me. Monica’s baby pictures, some stuff from college, and what we had together. Pictures, cards, letters. Our wedding album. Things that say we had a life together, but now we don’t. How is it that a year ago this girl filled my life every single day? Waking up next to her and going to bed next to her every night. My wife. And now? Nothing. I don’t even know where she is. I used to talk to her multiple times a day, and now I haven’t talked to her in months. How is that? How does someone go from being your everything to being nothing?”

I knew silence wasn’t the best option, but I felt anything I said would be inadequate.

“I don’t know, Ty. Does she think of me? Do I cross her mind? Does she even remember she had a husband?”

“You can’t do this, Cabe. You can’t go there. You gotta put that stuff away. Don’t even go through it. Pack it up and put it away somewhere. Hell, just throw it all out.”

“I’ve been looking at it all night. It’s like a train wreck. I don’t want to see it, but I can’t help pulling the next thing out of the box.”

“Oh boy. You can’t do that. You gotta put it away.”

He didn’t say anything, and I suddenly wanted very much to be there with him. To take all those painful shards of memory and throw them far away so they couldn’t hurt him anymore.

“I’m coming over,” I said.

“Okay.”

I knew he was in bad shape if he didn’t even protest.

“I’ll be right there.” I grabbed a coat from the hall closet and put on my sneakers.

Pictures, letters, and mementos surrounded him, spread out all over his bed, end tables, coffee table and floor. I could tell he’d been crying. And drinking. His voice didn’t belie it on the phone, but when I saw him I knew he was half in the bag.

I started picking up the remnants of his life with Monica, hating her more with every smiling photo of her I saw. I wanted to rip them all in two. I wanted to burn them and throw them in the pool. I wanted to tear her betrayal out of his heart and his mind. Pull her talons from his skin so he could heal and move on without her boring a hole into his brain every time he started to laugh.

Instead, I packed everything back into the box from Seattle, taking care to keep them from bending out of respect for Cabe’s emotions.

When I had it all sealed away, I crawled up on the sofa bed and lay down beside my best friend, putting my arms around him. He lay his head on my shoulder, and I heard a strangled groan escape his throat.

“I don’t want to be like this, Ty. I don’t want to be broken. I don’t want to feel like a failure. I wanna be okay.”

“You are okay, baby. You’re okay.” I held him tightly against me, and he allowed me to hold. I gingerly kissed the top of his head and tried to think of some inspirational, healing words to say. None came. Not like he needed it. He seemed at peace in the silence. He shifted onto his side and threw his arm across my stomach. I turned to wrap him up tighter. His head lay against my chest now, tucked under my chin.

At some point, I dozed, waking to the familiar pins and needles in my arm and leg under Cabe. I pushed gently, and he rolled onto his other side without even waking up. I slid down further and massaged my arm to get the blood flowing, trying not to yelp in pain. Then I slipped back into a peaceful slumber, curled up next to my best friend and prepared to protect him from the world.

I awoke to the sound of the door opening and someone entering the pool house.

“Time to wake up, handsome! I made you fresh blueberry muffins!”

I sat up and locked eyes with Cabe’s shocked mother.

“Hi, Maggie,” I said, figuring casual and nonchalant was the way to go.

“Oh, hi. I’m so sorry, Tyler. I didn’t . . . well, I mean, I didn’t . . . I should have knocked.”

“No, you’re fine. I need to get up and get going.”

I purposely pulled the covers back all the way so she could see Cabe and I both fully clothed. Even if we were adults, I didn’t care to have Cabe’s mother think I’d romp between the sheets with her son right under her own roof. Well, technically under her pool-house roof, but still.

“Don’t go on my account,” she said. She set the tray of muffins and coffee on the small dinette table and wiped her hands together. “I’m going to, um. Yeah. I’m going back to the house. Please make sure he gets up. He has a meeting this morning. Help yourself to a muffin. I didn’t bring you coffee. I mean, I didn’t know you were here. I should have checked the driveway, I suppose.”

I felt embarrassed, although I hadn’t done anything wrong. I had stayed there to support a friend. A friend whose mother wakes him up in the morning evidently, which is slightly creepy, I think.

He stirred and rolled over on the sofa bed, rubbing his eyes and yawning.

“Are you two going to talk all morning?” he asked.

“I brought you muffins and coffee,” she told him.

“I’m just leaving,” I said, smiling at Maggie and letting myself out the door. The morning walk of shame isn’t the same when you didn’t do anything naughty prior to the walk.

Friday, December 20th

Cabe called at six this morning and yelled, “Surprise!”

“What?” My mouth mumbled as my brain fought to slip back into deep sleep.

“Surprise!” he yelled again, and I resisted the urge to hang up on the man. Somehow pushing
end call
just doesn’t have the same theatrical effect as slamming down the receiver. What’s the point?

I yawned loudly to make sure he knew I had been asleep. “I don’t get it. What’s my surprise? That you’re waking me up?”

“No, but today is your surprise day, so I am calling to say surprise.”

“You are way too excited about this,” I said.

“And you are way too
not
excited about this,” he said. “Come on. Be at least a little bit curious.”

“Curious? Are you kidding me? It’s about to kill me not knowing what you’re plotting. I’m beyond curious. You won’t even tell me what to wear.” I rolled out of bed and shuffled to the kitchen, balancing the phone on my shoulder as I started the coffee pot.

“You will look beautiful no matter what you wear. Be ready at four-thirty sharp. You can’t be late!”

“Where are we going at four-thirty in the afternoon? Now I really don’t know what to wear!”

“Dress for the evening, not the drive,” he said.

“Oooh, so we’re driving somewhere far away if we have to leave early, but we’re dressing for dinner.” I smiled, rather pleased with myself for deciphering his covert language.

“You are impossible,” he said. “It’s supposed to a
surprise
. You aren’t supposed to try to figure it out.”

I didn’t figure it out. I don’t think I could have figured it out in a million years.

A couple of years ago, Cabe and I were having a conversation about life, something we discussed quite often before he starting dating Monica and moved away. Back when he seemed to be the calm, cool, collected one and I was the one randomly crying and getting emotional about the travesties of life. I babbled on that night about growing up in a small town and how I always dreamed about moving away to the big city. I thought people who lived in cities always went to art galleries and museums, attended the ballet, and ate big brunches every Sunday. At the time we talked, I realized even though I’d been living in the city for quite some time, I had yet to do any of those things. I swore then to make a point of visiting a museum or an art gallery once a month and to see at least one ballet before the end of the year. I kept my commitment to the museum and art galleries for the grand total of one month, but I did buy a ticket to see
The Nutcracker
with friends.

I never made it. The night of the ballet, Cabe called me from his bathroom floor, certain of his imminent death from food poisoning. He had tried a couple of friends since his mother and sister were out of town visiting relatives for the holidays, but got no answer.

He felt horrible about calling me, but given the seriousness of the situation, I surrendered my ticket without hesitation. We spent the entire night in the ER trying to get him hydrated and able to keep something down. So I missed
The Nutcracker
. He promised he’d make it up to me, but life got in the way. Or rather, Monica got in the way.

Tonight, Cabe, the best friend a girl could ever have, made good on his promise, and I finally got to see a real ballet. Wow. Beyond anything I thought it would be. Mesmerizing. Breathtaking. Beautiful. The sound of their feet on their stage. The strength of their legs. Their grace. The emotions they conveyed. And the costumes! Spectacular.

Cabe had seen
The Nutcracker
before. He’s pretty much seen everything because his mom was a professional dancer before she had him and his sister Galen. Maggie made sure she exposed them to the arts from a very young age. Plays, Broadway shows, concerts, operas, ballets—you name it, Cabe has seen it.

Even he agreed tonight was special, though. A stellar cast and a thoroughly moving performance. It’s funny, because I haven’t thought much about it being Christmas, what with the trip home, the mama drama, the whole situation with Dwayne, Cabe being back home, and of course, the constant state of crazy that is my job. But tonight, watching Clara fight alongside the Nutcracker and then the Sugar Plum Fairy dancing—I felt a little bit nostalgic and misty-eyed about the holidays. I have only good memories of the holidays growing up. The first one without my dad sucked for sure, but I loved Christmas with my extended family. Lots of cousins, aunts and uncles. Everybody eating too much, playing card games, and opening presents. Singing Christmas carols on hayrides, decorating the tree, waking up early to see what Santa brought, my grandmother’s egg custard pie. Warm thoughts flooded through me.

I’ve avoided home for so long. Scared of slipping back into the dark place I escaped when I crawled out of there and left. But that has caused me to miss so many good things. My family, my home. My baby brother is grown, a man now. My niece and nephew only know me from my pictures and occasional Skype calls over the internet. My grandmother passed away while I hid out down here.

Tonight’s warm and fuzzy holiday mood made me see things from a different angle. I think I may actually be getting excited about going home for Christmas. Cabe’s gift did more than just repay me for taking care of him or introduce me to the art of ballet. He restored my holiday spirit. I mean, I don’t think I’ll be humming Christmas carols all day tomorrow or anything, but I think I can push aside the tension about Mama, Dwayne, Cabe—all of it—and have some peace. ’Tis the season for peace, right?