who remembers how I told you he’d be out all night partying, drinking too much, pretending I didn’t exist, and just how bad the end our relationship was?”
Victoria shrugs because she’s still in the wooing phase right now. The man bought a house right next to her mother’s so she could remain close to her. Yeah, he’s in that love bubble right now.
“Well, forty percent of American’s make it,” Hannah says matter-of-factly.
“Forty percent of American’s don’t want to divorce, and I bet only ten percent are actually happy. I mean people stay in miserable marriages for all kinds of reasons—kids, money and pure laziness.” I slide my bag up on my shoulder.
“That’s pretty cynical,” Victoria says.
“Says someone heading toward the ten percent.”
Hannah giggles. “Believe me, Chels, I’m with you. The marriage thing isn’t for me either, but I don’t think we should knock it entirely.” She flips her head in Victoria’s direction who currently has a look on her face like she just found out Santa Claus isn’t real.
“I want to believe, I really do, but between the shit dates I’ve been on and now my ex who thinks he can woo me into giving him a second chance? Hell will have to freeze over. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have an appointment to go and be criticized by my mother for the next several hours.” I pump my fist up in the air. “Keep the good times coming.”
I walk out, sliding between them. Neither of them says anything to stop me. It’s not until I’m on the elevator that my phone dings in my purse.
Unknown: No thank you?
Me: Who is this?
Unknown: Am I in competition? How many men do you have sending you flowers these days?
“AHHHHHH!” I scream inside the elevator then quickly change his name in my phone. The name I choose might not be true, but I’m going to try to retrain my brain.
Me: How did you get my number?
Minute Man: I have magical ways. You must remember that. ;)
I ignore the zing between my legs.
Me: Delete it now.
Minute Man: Tell me, would you delete Harry Styles number if you had it?
Oh, this man and his knowledge of my younger self. What can I say…it was a phase.
Me: Don’t send me anything again.
Minute Man: Was it the quote?
Me: You don’t send your ex-wife flowers.
Minute Man: I’ve never heard that. I think it’s a myth. I’m sure plenty of guys send their ex’s flowers.
Me: Dean, this is my final warning.
Minute Man: What are you going to do if I don’t stop? ;)
Me: You don’t want to know.
Minute Man: Ah, Chels, you’ve always been all bark.
Okay, he’s baiting me and I’m not going to take it.
Me: Fine. Whatever. I don’t have to answer your text messages.
Minute Man: Funny. Seems you can’t stop yourself now.
I press the button on my phone and drop it into my purse, noticing that I’m now outside the office building at the corner waiting to cross.
How did I even get here?
My phone continues to ding inside my purse, but I ignore it as I walk the four blocks to the dress shop. This afternoon fucking sucks and as of right now I don’t see a rainbow at the end given that I’m about to meet the most critical woman on the planet who also happens to be my mother.
Chapter Five
If texting with your ex-husband who you haven’t seen in five years and who just sent you flowers after you masturbated to memories of him for an entire weekend doesn’t put you in the mood to be in a room full of wedding dresses, I don’t know what will.
And yes, that wasn’t just sarcastic, but sarcaustic. You did detect an extra dose of bitterness.
I follow the loud voices of my family through the sea of white and ivory to the three-way mirror where my cousin, Skylar, stands on a pedestal, the seamstress pinning away.
She looks stunning as always—her long brown hair pinned into a bun, her girl next door vibe disappearing into the beauty of a bride.
Another damn happily ever after couple.
“Chels!” she exclaims being the first to see me in the mirror.
The row of women from my family swivels in my direction. My cousin Zoe grins, while my aunt from her seat. My mom doesn’t smile and doesn’t move an inch except to swivel back toward Skylar.
“Come in. Come in.” My aunt waves me to come closer when really, I’d rather be practicing self-acupuncture than be here.
“Hi, Aunt Liz.” I kiss her cheek and