“Anyway, I came here because I wanted to congratulate the happy couple! What’s wrong with that?”
“What’s wrong with it is that I know you’re still butt hurt over the fact that I married someone else and you had to come here to try to get me back! It’s too late, in case you weren’t positive.”
“Butt hurt, huh? Do I look butt hurt to you? Think I’m all tore up over not calling you mine?”
“Don’t look butt hurt or tore up to me,” Chad says. I glance behind me and do a double take when I see he has a plate of food in his hand, shoveling some potatoes into his mouth. He points to the plate then leans over so he can see the not-so-happy bride and groom. “Good choice on the garlic mashed, Han Han. They’re fucking amazing. And this pork?” He leans back and lets out a loud, “Whoop! Have mercy!”
Ah, hell. The booze is definitely getting to him. The one who was supposed to keep Johnny and me in line is now off the rails completely. Fuck, I love my friends. They’re the best.
“Holy crap, y’all are so annoying! Just get on with it, already,” she half growls/half screams. Fists tight at her sides and face getting red. I don’t really mean to laugh but damn, it’s funny. Probably not my most mature moment, coming here and interrupting her reception, and I feel a twinge of regret for it. But I can’t let that get to me right now. Even though…
She’s pissed.
Like raging mad, pissed.
But she won’t show it, and I know this because in…
3…
2…
1…
She shakes off her anger, smiles, places a hand on her new husband’s shoulder, and looks down at him lovingly. It’s so classic Hannah, so predictable that it doesn’t even surprise me. Now, I have no doubt she doesn’t love him, but I see the façade she’s putting up. Hannah might love him. She might even be happy with him. But I can see in her eyes that he’s not the person she wants him to be. He’s not nearly man enough for her. She might want the appearance of being with someone who doesn’t get dirty for a living, but at the end of the day, I know without a shadow of a doubt that she wants a man in her life who can fix shit and take care of whatever she needs.
Probably makes me sound like a jerk, but fact is, his version of working hard is putting in forty-one hours rather than the standard forty. He doesn’t know the difference between a Phillips screwdriver and flat head screwdriver. His hands are softer than most women’s. I know this because I shook his hand once when I met him. He winced at the pressure from my completely normal handshake.
But, maybe I’m wrong and that’s what she was looking for all along and if that’s the case, I definitely wasn’t the right guy for her.
I smile wide. “There she is. Mask firmly in place so I can continue?”
She falters, her smile dropping for a second before it’s back.
“Let’s just get on with this, shall we? You need money? Is that why you’re here?”
What a bitch. Johnny actually coughs the word behind me. She knows damn good and well I might not be in the tax bracket that she wanted so desperately to live in — or, wasn’t, anyway — but I make pretty good money and bonus for me? It started with me. No money backing me when I decided I wanted to open my own shop. No daddy’s inheritance to get me started. I worked my fingers to the bone working construction, roofing, laying cement — whatever it took — by day and as a mechanic at night. I took on side jobs and did them in my own garage for over ten years, not getting to sleep until the early hours of the morning, only to have to be up and alert by six ready to do it all over again.
“Yeah. That’s it. I’m praying that you kept a spare twenty in your wedding dress and I came over here to see if you could give it to me. Fuck no, I don’t need money.”
She rolls her eyes and scoffs. “Right. So what is it then?”
“I wanted to congratulate you, like I said.”
I’m being aloof only to piss her off further. I might have started it but her snarky comment about me needing money then her clear dismissal of me saying I don’t need it pissed me off, too. Eye for an eye, I guess you could say. We were always pretty good at that. Growing up the poor kids in a rich kid town, we knew how to use our words to get our point across if someone was making fun of us.
“Thanks, man. Appreciate it.” Cameron swallows hard after saying those four words, like he just poked a bear and is terrified of the ramifications of it. Another glaringly obvious difference between us. I would have said it along with a satisfied smirk knowing that I was getting to the girl. Cameron’s voice trembled.
I glance at Hannah but her mask doesn’t cover the twinge of annoyance that brought her. It almost brings me a bit of happiness, but I’m a big enough person to admit that I don’t want her settling. Cameron might bring her financial stability, but I pray there’s more to it than that.
Looking behind me, Johnny nods once, encouraging me to do what I set out to do. He now has a plate in his hands, too. Johnny lifts his fork in my direction and says around a mouthful of food, “Chad was right. This is fucking delicious. You need some before we leave.”
I shake my head and turn around.
“Hannah.”
“Brody.”
“Congratulations on your wedding.” I wonder if she realizes that I said wedding and not marriage. Because that’s what she’s all about. The show. The party. Not what comes after.
“You said that already!” she shouts.
Several times, actually. Just to annoy her. It worked, too. Looks like after all these years, I still know how to set her off. “I know. I know. I just… I also needed to tell you thank you.”
“Thank you?” she asks, skeptically.
“Yeah. Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Well, you see, since I wasn’t distracted by you, I focused on my work.”
She rolls her eyes. “Oh, good. Your fabulous job as a mechanic. Bless your heart.” She giggles like she just really dug in there. She says the word mechanic like it’s a curse word. What she doesn’t realize, is that not a single other person in this room is laughing with her. Not even Cameron’s seemingly stuffy family. She’s only acting like a snob and no one missed it.
“That’s right. My job as a lowly mechanic. The one that I’m so damn good at, it caught the attention of this fancy shmancy big wig,” I say, letting my southern twang really hit home. If she thinks I’m nothing more than a redneck hillbilly, I can act the part. I shrug as if I’m stupid. “They used a lotta big words I didn’t really understand but I signed the contract anyway.”
Oh, that gets her attention. Her back goes straight and she narrows her eyes. “Contract?”
“The one with lotsa numbers. Yeah. I don’t really know what I signed, since I’m a hick, and all, but hopefully that doesn’t bite me in the ass.”
“Cut the crap, Brody. What contract?”
Chad and Johnny chuckle behind me. “She’s about to blow, my friend. Better wrap it up so we can get on with our night celebrating.”
“Celebrating what?” she huffs, irritated with me. I’m not even embarrassed to say that it makes me a little happy.