Groomless - Part 2 (2 page)

“My mother always supported him,” I chimed in. “She even made scrapbooks with the photographs from all his world travels.”

Brenda smiled and looked over at me. “What about you? Have you been bitten by the adventure bug as well?”

“Nothing like Dad. My adventures are all kind of…urban now, in the city.  Still, I do love camping, hiking, and biking, and I am very drawn to the outdoors.”

Brenda turned back to my father. “Your story is amazing, and you have such a beautiful, loving, hardworking daughter here.”

“Thank you,” we both said in unison, smiling at her.

“You mentioned earlier that you have a friend who is going to serve as your DJ. I’m sure our readers would love to know what song you’re going to use for the father/daughter dance.”

“That was sort of a no-brainer. We’re playin ‘Daddy’ by
Beyoncé
,” I said.

“Aw! There won’t be a dry eye in the house.”

“Nothing’s bigger than the love a father has for his daughter,” my dad said, grinning proudly at me. “Doctors can’t do anything about my grim prognosis, can’t take the sickness away, and I know the end is inevitable and near, but if only for that one precious day, I’m going to forget I’m sick and just live the hell out of it!” Dad suddenly jumped his hand up to his mouth. “Oh! Sorry. I guess you can’t print ‘hell,’ huh? You can type ‘heck’ if ya want.”

Ms. Walking smiled at him. “It’s fine. Our editor knows what to look for.”

“Well, since my amazing kiddo is doing this for me, I want to make sure she has lots of great, happy memories for her scrapbook and video diary, something to look at and fondly remember when her real wedding day comes, which I’m sure will be soon, since she’s such a catch. That way, I can die with no regrets.”

I wiped a tear from my eye, choked up by his words.

“I love you,” he said to me.

“I love you too, Daddy.”

“You two have definitely touched my spirit,” Brenda said. “Our readers really need stories like this. There’s so much bad news in the world, so many people suffering and dying. People need to see that there are bright spots too.”

Dad smiled at her. “It’s our pleasure. If I can leave people with smiles on my way out… Well, that’s a greater feeling than scaling Mt. Everest!”

Brenda Walking gathered up her notes, thanked us again and again, then bid us farewell. After she left, I stuck around at the nursing home for a while, and my dad I discussed the choices for possible make-believe grooms. When he brought up Luke, I politely laughed, grabbed my purse, and said goodbye.

* * *

I walked to the laundry room in our apartment building at the end of the hall. I hated doing laundry. Meanwhile, I pondered. As laughable and absurd as Dad’s Luke idea was, I seriously thought about it. The end result was quite the opposite of a drunk dial, since it happened first thing in the morning, when I was completely sober and wide awake from the smell of Mountain Breeze fabric softener.

As my socks and dainties spun around in the dryer, I plopped down in a gaudy orange chair and called Luke’s office; I didn’t have a personal number for him beyond the one from five years prior, well before his Ken doll face started cropping up on magazine covers in the checkout line. Since I was sure there was no way in hell he’d kept the same cell number, since he could now afford a better carrier than some pay-go dispose-a-phone, I just called the office.

“I’m sorry, but he’s not in right now,” the receptionist said. “Would you like me to take a message?”

I had no idea what to say that would entice him to call me back, especially after our less-than-pleasant impromptu reunion at the bridal shop. The options were endless, but none of them sounded right in my head, and as the impatient receptionist kept sighing at me through the phone, I struggled to come up with a suitable answer.

“This is JJ Cross. You might remember me as the girl you dated in high school, only to dump my ass to chase after Donald Trump. First, fuck you. Second, uh…I need a favor.”
I shook my head and laughed.
No. Too honest…and a bit off-putting. Whoever said, “Honesty is the best policy,” was an idiot.

Maybe I should go with, “Uh, hey, Luke. Dad is dying, so if you even remember me at all, could you please give me a call?” Nope. Too freaking pathetic. This isn’t a damn Hallmark Channel movie here.

Hmm. How about, “You’re the only one I can turn to. I have to do the hardest thing in my whole life in two weeks, to say goodbye to my dad. I need you there with me, and…”? Ew. No. Too sickeningly needy.

“Hey, you know that Christmas card you send to my parents every year, the one your secretary forges your signature on? Well, this year, just tell her to address it to my aunt, because Dad’s checking out for the big Mets game in the sky. We’re having this goodbye party. It’s sort of…a fake wedding reception, without the ceremony and all that ‘I do’ business. Long story really. Anyway, I was hoping you could come be a part of that, a part—as in, uh…the groom. You’ve already got a tux anyway, right? I mean, I’m sure Mr. Trump is always throwing black-tie affairs and such.”
I shook my head.
Too long, and it makes me sound insane.

“Miss? Did you want me to leave a message, or…” the receptionist said, jolting me back to reality.

I froze, still with absolutely no idea what to say. “No, that’s all right,” I finally answered, then quickly hung up.

I knew I would have to call him back, but I had to come up with a plan first. I wasn’t sure how to approach my former flame without things bursting into some sort of fatal inferno. For the longest time, I just sat there in that ugly chair, fiddling with my phone, checking the weather and my Facebook. Just as I was liking a stupid recipe for eggless, low-calorie brownies, an idea struck me:
Facebook! That’s it! If I send him a friend request and he accepts, maybe he’ll notice my posts about my dad and the reception and contact me about coming. Heck, maybe he’ll even bring a huge bouquet of flowers. When he does, I’ll be wearing a long sundress and a fetching straw hat, and violins will play, and…
I rolled my eyes at myself as I realized that a big executive would not be wasting his time stalking old girlfriends on Zuckerturf and reading their navel-gazing posts about choosing a wedding dress. There was really no out for me. If I wanted my ex to be my fake groom, I had to just come out and ask him. First, though, I had to convince him to talk to me.

Cringing, I dialed his office number again.

“I’m sorry. As I told you before,” the grumpy receptionist said, as if I’d interrupted her nail-filing session one too many times, “he is not in. If you don’t want to leave a message with me, I can connect you with his voicemail.”

“That’d be great,” I said, and I could practically hear her inward groan as she made the connection. As soon as the prompt ended, I spoke: “Hey, Luke, it’s JJ. I really need to talk to you. It’s about my dad.” Then I left my number and hung up, immensely satisfied with myself for keeping it simple.

After I fluffed and folded my laundry and dropped it off in my bedroom, I sat down to look at ice sculptures. Tacky as they were, I’d always been quite fascinated by the fact that someone could turn several gallons of water into something so amazing. I loved them all, from swans to hearts to doves to dragons. I was intrigued by their ephemeral beauty, by the fact that they were perfect and pristine and beautiful for just one special day, before they melted away. It was a bit emo, really, to think that my reception would be just like that, but it was true. It was heartbreaking to think that it wouldn’t really last. Sure, I’d have a dance with my dad, and we’d cut the cake and everything, but the painful pantomime would end at midnight, just like Cinderella’s ball, only instead of a glass slipper left behind, it would be my heart. We’d been told that we only had a month before hospice would have to be called in, so I knew the end was coming. It all seemed so wrong, so very backward, but my dad wanted me to have something else to focus on, rather than obsessing about losing him. The reception was his dying wish, but it was also his wedding gift to me, for a wedding he wouldn’t be able to attend when the time came.

I flicked through the binder of ice sculptures, looking at everything from motorcycles to dolphins to a bust of Darth Vader. Boy, talk about an out-of-this-world wedding. I wasn’t sure what kind of wedding would require one of those, but it had to be for nuptials in some galaxy far, far away from Planet Earth. I snapped a picture of the Darth Vader page in the binder and posted it to Facebook: “Looking at ice sculptures for my wedding reception. All I need is a frozen Vader…and a groom.”

As soon as I posted the photograph, my phone began to vibrate, and I saw Luke’s name pop up. “Hello?” I said, my voice a little high. I felt nervous, and I began to break out in a cold sweat, just like I had in high school, the first time he held my hand.

“JJ, I got your message. What’s up?” he said, sounding so much like the Luke I used to know that I almost choked up. He didn’t sound like a high-powered financier. Instead of speaking in the clipped bark of a man in a hurry, he sounded like my old boyfriend.

“It’s Daddy. He has the big C, cancer,” I managed. “He wants a party…like, a big send-off.”

“I’ll be there. When and where?”

“It’s on August twentieth at six p.m.”

He gave a low whistle. “Gosh, I’m so sorry to hear about your father, JJ,” he said.

My heart clenched when he referred to me by the nickname he used to use for me, especially because of the way it so easily rolled off his tongue.

“It’s my, uh…wedding reception,” I said.

“Oh. Well, I’ll still be there, if I’m invited,” he said, his voice neutral.

Just as I was about to tell him the truth, Zack stopped me; Kate had let him in. “Don’t do it!” he said. “You’ve got me. Remember?”

Without another word, Zack hung up the phone.

“Hey! What was that for?” I scolded, staring at him in disbelief.

“Girl, don’t get on my case. I just saved you from making the biggest mistake of your life.”

I blew out a long breath. “I guess it’s better this way.”

“You’re damn right it is! Why would you want to fake-marry yesterday’s garbage when you’ve got all this fabulosity ready to put a ring on it?”

As furious as I was that he interrupted my call, I really couldn’t help but laugh at that.

* * *

It was Friday night, and Kate and I decided to go to a sports bar for a bite to eat and to shoot some pool. There was nothing like a little eight ball to take the edge off, and she even let me play stripes, which was always luckier for me.

“Mark’s being an ass again,” she said as she chalked her cue, getting blue dust all over the tips of her perfectly pink nails. “I swear, that boy’s never gonna change.”

“You can’t change a man…unless he’s in diapers.”

She laughed. “Please tell me you’re talking about babies.”

“Well, that
Depends
,” I said, grinning at my own pun, though by the expressionless look on her face, I was sure she didn’t get my nursing home humor.

“I love Mark, but we’re so…on again/off again, ya know? We fight, break up, make up, and fight again. It’s a vicious cycle. I need to leave his ass, but I can’t. The heart wants what the heart wants.”

I sighed. “Tell me about it.”

“Does your heart want Luke?” she bluntly asked as she sank the blue two-ball in the corner pocket and grinned like the Cheshire Cat.

“It’s complicated.” I cocked a brow. “What made you bring him up anyway?”

“Because he’s
here
,” she said, nodding her head coyly in his direction.

“Speak of the devil,” I said.

“Well, Lucifer’s looking hotter than ever.”

I blew out a long breath. “Damn it. Why isn’t Zack here for this little girls’ night out? I need him to play the role of my wonderful fiancé.”

“What ever for? Zack doesn’t even like girls, and that ex of yours is smoking. I know I got on his case at the bridal shop, and it still ticks me off how he hurt you, but those blue eyes are like…that blue meth they made on
Breaking Bad
.”

I laughed. “Well, meth’s bad for you, right? Besides, I’ve seen more than his eyes.”

“I bet! You said he writes poetry and paints. Maybe he’s not all that horrible after all. Plus, he’s loaded now, right?”

“Yeah, he might be an entrepreneur and hardworking businessman these days, but beneath all that corporate suit-and-tie stuff, he has a very passionate side.” I looked around. “I wish Zack was here. Really. I need Luke to think I’m taken, or he’ll never leave me alone.”

“But you’re not taken.”

“He doesn’t know that! I need him to think I’m getting married. Trust me, it’s better this way. I don’t ever wanna jump back into bed with him again.”

“Not even for just one night? A sonnet-writing hottie like that?”

“
Especially
not for just one night. You were right about him, and so is Zack. He’s bad news, not good for me. He’s just…Mr. Wrong.”

“Didn’t you say your dad loves him?”

“Yeah, but that’s the thing. I don’t want Dad to think I’m getting back together with him. It’d give him false hope. Besides, I’m still pissed at Luke. He’s selfish and left me, just like that. He abandoned our plans to go pursue his own dreams. In the end, he left me in the dust for a paycheck, and I’ll never forget how bad that hurt.”