remind him of this little detail, Michael jumped in. “Wait. You’re not going to the wedding?” He studied Peter, amazed.
“I don’t do weddings.” Peter shook his head. Now I realized that all the maybes and we’ll sees were just polite ways of saying no. I hadn’t actually been changing his mind at all. He’d been determined to decline the invite the entire time.
“And you’re okay with that?” Michael stared at me now, blinking.
No, I’m not okay with that, I want to say.
“Yes,” I said, unable to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. “I mean, I can’t ask him to miss the games. That are on every week. That would be selfish of me.”
Peter missed the sarcasm. He nodded his head, relieved. I used to think it was kind of cute that he missed sarcasm. But lately…even his muscled, broad shoulders and dimpled smile weren’t enough to distract me from his other shortcomings.
“Seriously?” Michael was aghast now, glancing back and forth between the two of us. “How do you get out of these things?”
I knew he was thinking about the two kids’ birthday parties he had to go to tomorrow. I was sure he would rather be watching college football.
“It’s easy.” Peter shrugged one meaty shoulder. “Weddings are boring to everyone except the two people getting married.”
I mean, sure, we’d both agreed that most weddings were a waste of time. If I really searched my feelings, deep down, did I want to spend a whole Saturday night watching Dana stare dreamily into the eyes of her Mr. Schmointz?
Uh, probably not.
But that wasn’t the point, really. I had to go. Dana wasn’t only my best employee, she was also one of my best friends. And Peter should do this for me because it was important.
Michael looked astounded. “Yeah, but…that’s what couples do. They do boring things together.”
I wasn’t sure if Nadia thought that was sweet, insulting, or both, but in any case, she stayed quiet. She studied me, and I could almost read her mind. Told you Peter’s the wrong guy for you.
“We do plenty of boring things together,” Peter admitted. “Just not weddings.”
“Or family functions,” I blurted. “Or work events. Or—”
“That’s because,” Peter said, cutting me off. “Whenever you go to those functions, everyone asks you ‘so when is it your turn?’ It’s so annoying, right?”
“I wouldn’t know,” I said, trying to be flippant, airy. “I’ve never heard anyone ask me that about us.”
Nadia arched an eyebrow at me from across the table, and in that small gesture lay a novel’s worth of commentary. I realized in that moment, that it was true. No one had ever asked me when I was going to take it “to the next step” with Peter. Most people just plastered neutral smiles on their faces when I even mentioned Peter—which, come to think of it, wasn’t that often. And the idea of actually taking the next step—whatever that might mean—with Peter… Well, did I even want to do that?
He grinned at me. “They don’t ask about us because we avoid those types of situations. See? It all works.” He clapped me on the back almost like I was a teammate, not his girlfriend. An uncomfortable silence descended on our little table, which Peter, of course, failed to notice. Peter glanced up and eyed the cute girls in the Rockies jerseys across the bar once more, but then his attention settled back on me.
“Hey, I’ll get you some more wings,” Peter said, backing away from our table. “Ah! But this time…no honey.” He aimed a finger gun at me, and I managed a weak smile.
“Ah! Now who’s thinking?” Michael piped in, pointing at Peter as if he’d just hit a home run. Once Peter ambled out of earshot, Michael leaned over the table to my sister. “Are they a couple or not?” he asked in the loudest whisper I’d ever heard.
“I’m right here,” I said, glancing down at the enormous plate of honey-doused wings at the center of the table. Well, on the bright side, I guessed Dana officially had her answer about my RSVP: no plus-one for me.
Three
I hardly thought about Peter the next day as I sat through the wedding ceremony, a truly touching exchange of vows beneath the white chuppah, as Dana Abrams officially became Mrs. Dana Schmointz. Now I understood what people meant by the phrase “beaming with happiness” because afterward, Dana looked like she could light up the night sky with her smile. The guests gathered in the immense ballroom of the swanky hotel in downtown Denver as we all dutifully plucked our seating cards from the table where they were arranged. I glanced around the beautifully decorated reception, my attention lingering on the dessert table, where the impressive three-layer cake towered over other smaller slices of vanilla and chocolate goodness. My inner sweets monster reared its head, and I had to fight it back down. In good time, I told it. In good time.
I searched for my seat at number five, but when I found it, I wished I hadn’t. It was, quite literally, the kids’ table. I recognized the flower girl and ring bearer from the ceremony, but I didn’t know the other children. I saw two empty chairs and had a horrifying thought: what if Dana had left that spot open? What if it was just going to be me and a bunch of kids who could barely be called tweens?
Before I could descend into full-blown panic mode, I glanced up and saw a man in a gray suit and lavender tie approach. Clean-cut and attractive, he wore his dark hair swept back and bore a cocksure grin on his face. He hadn’t noticed me yet. He focused on the flower girl in the pale pink dress.
“Uh-oh,” he said, standing near one of two empty chairs. “Table five? Just the best table in the entire place, am I right?” The man slid into the empty seat next to the flower girl. “Are you kids ready to get this party started? First thing we’re going to do is order a full round of Shirley Temples, on me. Who’s with me?”
He offered the flower girl a high five, and she smacked his palm. A cheer went up from the group. He had quite obviously won over the mini crowd. He was so sweet, I couldn’t help but be impressed. I knew Peter wouldn’t have even tried. He didn’t like kids and made his dislike known on a regular basis.
“You’re one cool dude,” the flower girl said, echoing my thoughts. The stranger looked up then and caught my eye. I held the card for table five in my hand, and he smiled at me. I felt a warm little glow in the pit of my stomach. Maybe this reception wouldn’t be a disaster, after all. I scooted over to the empty chair. He pushed it back for me and I took a seat.
“Hello,” he said. “Welcome to table five, the best table at the wedding. Would you like to join us in a round of Shirley Temples? Miss…” He glanced at the place card in my hand. “Miss Cassandra Brand?”
“Uh…Cass, actually, and that sounds lovely, Mr…” He held up his card and I read it. “Mr. Zappia.”
“Robert Zappia.” He offered his hand and I shook it, the warmth of his big palm covering mine. Strong hands, I thought, suddenly enjoying a little jolt at the connection. He had puppy-dog brown eyes that never left mine.
“Make it a double, Mr. Zappia,” I joked, and he laughed,
