A Mess of Reason (21 page)

“A little toast,” I say as I entwine my arm
with her laced-up white-gloved arm. I know I can’t get all sappy
and heavy here; that was last night. It would be downright cruel
for me to grovel now, just minutes before she’s about to take on a
new life.

“I’ll meet you on the flipside.” I say it
solemnly, along with a wink and a kiss on her forehead.

“The flipside,” she answers back, barely
audible, lips quivering, eyes brimming over.

“So, you all set to fly off to Paris? Bags
packed?”

“Yeah, right over there.” She points to the
corner where her small, red leather trunk sits. The very one I’d
given her in high school. The same trunk she’s taken to every
rodeo.

“You still have that thing?” I’m chuckling
because the girl could buy herself a train full of Louis Vuitton
trunks and yet she keeps that old thing.

“It’s one of the first vintage pieces you
gave me. It was my seventeenth birthday.”

She smiles a real smile. A big, glowing,
full-faced smile. Then in unison we both say, “Janis Joplin.”

“I used my entire summer savings to buy that
thing at auction, drove three hours to pick it up. You’ve probably
put more miles on it than she did.”

I take half a step back, giving her a
once-over. She’s magnificent. All I can do is wish to hell the
world would stop spinning so I could hop off of it with only her at
my side.

“Well, good, then you really are ready. Are
you also ready for me to walk you down the plank?”

We both cringe as my words come out.

“I mean, give you away? Pass the torch? Dump
you into hell’s lap?”

She comes at me with a right hook and it
hits me like pure unadulterated love. “Stop it. You’re only making
it more painful.”

“Good, then this is going to hurt. I need
you to remember this moment.” With Tess in my arms, I lay the kiss
of a lifetime on her lips. One of those kisses that feels “Star
Spangled Banner” emotional in your guts. Knowing all the while
she’ll need to pull away this time, because for me time is standing
still…and in this bubble, she’s all mine, and I have no choice but
to be selfish about it.

The tent bells rings frantically, startling
the hell out of both of us, then Roxanne charges in. She’s
breathless, her face beet-red as though she’s just run a mile
sprint.

“I need to talk to you guys. I need to…holy
fuck! Um, listen Tess, maybe you alone…or no…maybe you, Scout.
Wait. Oh shit…shit!” She’s panting, waving her arms around, trying
to attach words to her chaotic state of emotions as if she’s come
straight from a crime scene.

“Rox, take a breath! Did someone have a
heart attack out there besides you?” I ask impatiently.

She shoots from one side of the room to the
other in wild-eyed storm-chaser mode.

“No, everything is
not
okay. I
mean…
yes
! Everything is fucking great.
Shit!
No, I
didn’t mean it like that…oh God, I don’t know…” She grabs the Dom
and tips it back for a ten-second guzzle.

“What the hell, Rox?” I look at her, then
back to Tess, who looks pale and flushed at once. A look of
disquieted bedlam chases her flustered movements.

“I need to tell you guys something. Holy
fuck! I don’t know which one of you I should tell. I just…oh, I
don’t know…” As though she’s trying to choose between terrible and
awful, she plants her hands on her hips, shaking her head in
disbelief while looking at the ground.

“You are mad dog rabid! For God’s sake, tell
us both already!” Tess is yelling, clearly freaked.

Rox whips out her iPhone, fingers it, then
puts it in front of our faces.

Holy mother of God.

We all stand in wide-eyed silence while
examining the image on Roxanne’s phone. I suddenly feel like I just
found out Chuck Norris is my dad. But Tess…she falls to the ground.
Roxanne and I follow her down, surrounding her in a group huddle.
Rox’s gaze meets mine, the waggle between our brows a clear
translation that Rosetta Stone should consider adding to their
foreign language assortment.

“Tessie girl…oh, sweetheart.” I’m not going
to tell her it’s okay, because what Creed did is by all definitions
of the word
not
okay. I’m also not going to tell her I’m
sorry, because I’m happier than the day I found out the IRS was
giving me a lottery-winning-sized refund. We’re in a group sway as
I give Rox a
scatter, sister
shake of my head. After
planting a kiss on Tess’s head, she scoots out of the room—but not
before giving me the classic exaggerated
holy-fucking-sweet-Mary-and-Jesus
look.

We sit on the floor, Tess in my lap, our
usual configuration in situations like this. But here’s the thing:
this situation, it’s beyond any that we’ve ever encountered. The
running commentary in my head is a bit helter-skelter with this
unexpected surprise. I know what I want to do. I’m not an
over-thinker. I certainly can’t ask. So I act.

For her, for me, and more than anything, for
us.

I stand, holding her in my arms, grab her
Janis Joplin trunk, then white knight myself by kidnapping her.
Technically it’s a bridenap, and even more technically, I’m not
taking her against her will…although I do have a motive. I’m saving
her. Because it’s the right thing to do when you catch your best
friend’s fiancé with his cock buried in someone’s ass minutes
before he’s about to marry your friend. Did I mention what a wanker
he is?

Tess says nothing the entire way to the
airport, save the muffled cries. In fact, not one word has left her
mouth since Rox showed us the photo. She’s nestled in my lap as I
drive with one hand around her, one on the wheel. I sing to her the
entire ride, because for the life of me I can’t come up with any
words that feel appropriate.

Truth be told, I’m over-fucking-joyed and it
would be cruel for me to gloat even though my heart is flying
faster than a sonic boom on acid. I have no idea what’s going
through her little—more than likely messed-up—head right now, but I
can of course imagine it’s a landslide of emotions.

Just as we’d gotten in my truck, I’d texted
my pilot to wrangle the crew for a last-minute trip to Mexico and
had my PA book us a penthouse suite at the Four Seasons in Punta
Mita. By the time we arrive, my jet’s on the tarmac, ready to
roll.

Tess’s hands are covering her face as I lift
her out of my truck and carry her up into the jet. We settle in on
a bank of seats near the back. One of my flight staff covers Tess
with a blanket and shortly after brings back the bar cart, nestling
it right to my side for easy access. I pour out six shots of
tequila, knowing this flight is going to need more than our typical
lube job. I sink two shots back, loving the burn as they hit my
throat, then settle with a warm sting into my empty belly. I kiss
Tess’s hands that are still on her face in a gripping shield, then
I kiss the top of her head as I slide the big gaudy engagement ring
that he’d given her off her finger. I know Tess may want to use it
for trapshooting sometime soon. I shove it into my pocket for
safekeeping.

She still hasn’t looked at me or uttered one
word. I go into Red Cross mode and take her pinky finger, then
start the silly rhyme I’ve done dozens of times before when she
needs a distraction after a nuclear bomb disaster like this
one.

“This little piggy loves you,” I say
wiggling her pinky, then wrapping mine around hers. Then I grab her
ring finger. Yeah…that empty one. “This little piggy is a wanker
that fucked some slut’s ass and lost the best woman in the world.”
Then the middle finger. “This little piggy is flipping the cuntlick
off.” Then her pointer finger. “This little piggy wants to pick
your nose to see if he can force a smile,” and yes, because I’m her
best friend I put it up her nose, which does encourage a tiny smile
at the corners of her mouth. Then onto her thumb, which I dip into
tequila. “And this little piggy wants to get drunk on tequila all
the way to Mexicoooooo.” I hand her a shot, which she throws back
like a thirsty drunk.

“Hi,” I say as I grab the second shot and
take it to her lips. It’s down the hatch in seconds.

“Hi,” she returns. It’s the first word she’s
spoken since we saw the photo on Roxanne’s iPhone.

“Another,” she says in a black whisper, lips
quivering, eyes drowning.

“Anything for you, my girl,” I say as I hand
her a third, which goes down as quickly as the other two.

“Hungry?” I ask as I smooth down her hair
and kiss her tear-stained cheeks.

“Yeah, I’d like his fly-sized nuts, charred
over a grill and served with a very sharp knife, please.” Another
barely-there smile forms on her lips. This time I see her teeth as
she comes alive with sarcastic edges forming a plateau for her to
stand on. I’m sure she’s going to go through the stages of grief.
I’ll be here for all of them. Shock, denial, anger…then onto hope
and recovery—I fucking pray.

“I’ll text my bounty hunter. But his nuts
are so small, it’s going be like
Horton Hears a Who
to find
them.” She’s nodding through rivers of tears that flow down her
face, chasing mascara tracks.

“I wanted to have babies…went off the pill
four days ago…have an appointment coming up next week so I can see
if I can have my left nipple reconstructed so I can breastfeed my
non-existent babies…. And my dad…oh nooo…”

She goes from nothing to everything as she
talks a mile a minute, then breaks out into a broken sob that makes
my knees buckle. The acid in my stomach upon hearing her cries
could dissolve razor blades. I want to tuck her in my heart, tell
her it’s a safe house, tell her she’ll never get hurt there, but
I’m clear—there’s no airtight solution to get her through her
pain.

“My—my dad…. He’s still sitting there,
waiting for me to walk down the aisle. I might have just broken my
daddy’s heart. Is anyone…you know, the cane and all…he’ll need
help. He can hardly walk. Who will tell him what happened? He’ll
die if he really finds out. Is he going to see his own
grandchildren before he dies?” The pained expression on her face as
she chokes on her words catches me off guard as I camouflage the
angst I feel for her.

“Baby. Rox has him covered. I know you’re
hurting, sweetheart. I know you’re sad.”

Then she goes into babble overload.

“My ovaries are aging…they might not even
talk to me again after this. They might boycott me altogether. I’ve
been making them promises for months. This is what I get for safe?
A side of ass-fucking? Now I have no one… Did you see her
Empire-State-huge tits in his hands while he was pounding her?
Well, I sure as hell did. I guess all his talk about not being a
tit man was bullshit. Not that mine would inspire any man to
greatness.”

Here we go… We’re churning through the
stages at a Nascar pace. At this rate, we may reach acceptance and
hope by the time we get to Mexico. Not that I’ll take advantage of
the jilted bride…unless she reverts to stage six, reconstruction
and working through. I got game for that stage.

“Tessie girl…first of all, you’ve got me.
Second, your ovaries are fine, for Christ’s sake, woman. And for
the record, I’ve had your delicious tits in my mouth, and the
Empire State has nothing on you, baby. You are more beautiful than
any manmade architecture on the earth, okay?”

“Fine…ha! Lest you forget, my own mother
died of breast cancer at forty-five. I’m sort of playing Russian
roulette, you know.” She’s sinking quickly into stage four:
depression, reluctance, loneliness. Is this where I call in a
lifeline?

“Knock it the fuck off.” I grab her cheeks
in my hands and stab a solid eye-fuck into her. Sorry, not fair…but
this is a warlike situation that calls for pulling out all the
stops, and I’ll come clean here—sandbaggin’ is not out of my
realm.

She gasps as her bottom lip shoots out in a
pout. Her eyes dart away from mine as though I’ve scolded her. She
knows I don’t bite. I know she’s in survival mode; I know how she’s
built. A little ass-kickin’ helps with my girl.

“Now listen. I will never forget the day
your mother died. I was in the very room where she took her last
breath, and your hand was in my own. I know your heart is broken
right now, and fuck, Tess, if I could swallow all of your pain, I
would in one swift shot, like a fiery dagger. I would do anything
for you. I want to tell you it was adorable how blind you were, but
it wasn’t. And, I’ll be honest: I’m not sorry about this. I’m not
sorry that the fuckwad you were about to give it all away to has
finally flashed his pea-fucking-cock colors…and it took you out at
the knees. As for your ovaries, they have plenty of time to drop
eggs that will get hammered on sperm. You weren’t in love with him,
let’s face it. You wanted his semen and the idea of a
picture-perfect life that was safe with lots of little roped-off
boundaries. It was a Twinkie move if ever.”

“I happen to like Twinkies, and for the
record, your inappropriateness knows no boundaries.”

Full pout mode comes at me like a freight
train, tears and all. Really, I couldn’t give a shit—a little tough
love might help her through the stages.

“You know what I think?” I ask her as I
deliberately pull her closer, splitting her legs over mine in a
straddle, one knee resting next to each of my thighs, with all the
flounce of her wedding dress skirt sitting around her like a pile
of goose down.

“No, but I’m sure you’re gonna tell me.” Her
hands are on my shoulders, and the intimate feel of her touching me
while sitting on my lap makes my hunger for her stir in a primal
way.

“Of course I will. I think you’re a
sparkling little hypocrite hiding in a dustbowl of glitter.”

“Pfff! Fuck you!” she says with a snort. Her
eyes get big and bright as they light up with amusement-laced
anger.