Diary of a Single Wedding Planner (Tales Behind the Veils Book 1) (14 page)

Monday, November 18th

Cabe called and asked if I was free for dinner tonight. Two nights ago we did the double feature at the drive-in and didn’t get home until after two. Last night, we listened to a jazz group at a bar downtown and rolled in a little after midnight. I needed to do laundry and run some errands tonight, not to mention get some sleep, but he is so damned persuasive when he wants something.

“Come on, Ty. It’s dinner. You’re going to eat anyway. It might as well be with me. I’ll come over after we eat and help with your laundry. Okay, I’m not going to lie and say I’ll help with your laundry, but I’ll come hang out and watch you do your laundry,” he said.

“It’s not just laundry, dude. I need mouthwash and laundry detergent. I gotta return the lamp we got at Lowe’s since it’s too big for my end table. Then I need to check my mail at the post office. I have a lot of running around to do.”

“So swing by and pick me up. We’ll get it done. Then we’ll eat dinner and go back to your place for laundry! Sounds like a blockbuster evening to me! What time shall I be ready?”

“You want to run errands with me? You so need to get a life!”

“Look who’s talking. I’m offering to give up other exciting things I could be doing in order to hang out with you. But for you, this is actually your planned agenda for the evening. Who needs a life? Hmm?”

“Okay, okay. I’ll pick you up around five. Wait, why don’t you drive to my place and leave your car there? Then I can come home straight from work and I won’t have to take you all the way back home after this exhausting evening,” I said.

Errands ended up being fun. Of course. I swear Cabe and I can have a good time anywhere doing anything. We ended up staying in Target for over an hour. Cabe happened to wear a red V-neck T-shirt and a pair of khakis, which blended close enough with Target’s employee uniform that customers keep stopping him to ask him questions.

He took his new “job” very seriously, walking people around the store trying to find what they were looking for. He even started going up and asking customers if he could help them with anything. All the while, he was making eye contact with me as I followed along like some weird Target stalker. Mouthing things and rolling his eyes, cracking me up in general. Cabe is simply hysterical. Naturally funny. He doesn’t have to work at it or be conscious about it.

“I bet I get good comments,” he said while on a break from helping people. “I bet I get nominated for employee of the month. Corporate will be all like—‘What? Who? Wait, we have to find this man. We need him to be the face of the brand. We need him to train all our employees on how to treat the customers.’ I’ll be a Target movie star. I’ll be in all their ads.” He struck a pose near a rack of baby clothes, a creepy Vanna White smile plastered across his face.

I laughed and pulled him away from his dreams of stardom. “I bet someone has already reported you for being a creep and impersonating an employee. Any minute now security is going to bust out from behind the strollers and arrest you. I’ll be too embarrassed to ever shop in Target again.”

“But you’ll come visit me in jail, right?” he asked.

“If I’m not in jail right beside you as an accomplice! I’ll even bring you good coffee, because I’m thinking you won’t be getting that expensive stuff you like in the slammer.”

“Didn’t think about that. We better get out of here before I get caught. I can’t live without my organic fair-trade coffee,” he said, pretending to look around for security as he tiptoed away from the racks.

We finished my errands, and Cabe suggested we eat at the Japanese steakhouse.

“It takes too long,” I whined. “You have to sit through the whole show, and then it takes forever to get the check when they’re done. Let’s just grab a pizza.”

“Oh, come on. I’m craving teriyaki shrimp. We can sit at a normal table where they bring the food to you without seeing the chef make butter fly and build an onion volcano.”

“They have normal tables? Wait, are you sure?” I asked.

“Yeah. They always ask at the podium if you want a Hibachi chef or not,” he answered.

“Then why in the hell do we always sit around that hot grill of a table and watch some dude throw shrimp tails in his paper chef hat?”

“Because I like it. It’s like a double bang for your buck. Dinner and a show.” He spread his arms and nodded like he had made an amazing announcement. “Eh? Eh? How ’bout it? Wanna see a dinner show, or sit at a regular table and be bored?”

I rolled my eyes, but he already knew I’d say yes. I’ve never been good at saying no to him. It’s been worse since he’s come back home. I think I’ve been so happy to have him back that I pretty much do whatever he wants. I should probably get that in check before he starts really taking advantage of it.

The seating hostess at the podium asked if we wanted the Hibachi grill or a booth. Cabe answered a booth, shooting me an eye roll as though he was being forced to do the lamest thing on Earth at my request.

She gathered two menus and said, “Follow me.” She led us around the bar and into a long hallway with gold lanterns and paintings of dragons on bright red walls. The farther down the hallway we got, the less decorated it was. Eventually, the hallway was dark. We could barely see the hostess ahead of us. Luckily, I did see her turn to her left, and then the light at the end of the hallway outlined her silhouette and made it easier to see. This new hallway had no color or adornment at all. When we reached the end, the room was equally as dull and boring.

No bright red walls like the main restaurant, but more of a grayish-beige color that wasn’t even a color at all. No festive lanterns or silk dragon kites hung from the ceiling. A lonely painting of a pagoda high upon a mountain adorned one wall. The others were bare. Plain brown booths lined both sides of the room with a couple of sets of dark brown tables and chairs in the center. Only one other couple and one family sat in this dining area. They all looked at us with a strange mixture of pity and camaraderie, as though we were new arrivals to some captive situation.

When we were seated, the hostess said, “Someone will be by shortly to take your order.” Then she was gone.

“Wow,” Cabe said. “I feel like we got banished.” He drew his shoulders up tall and scrunched his face. “You no want Hibachi grill? Fine, we banish you to back room to eat table scraps,” he said in a terrible attempt at a bad Asian accent.

The menu featured all Chinese entrees, not the Hibachi fare we normally get.

“Dude, it’s not even the same menu. I thought it would be the same food only cooked in the back instead of right in front of you.”

Cabe looked around the restaurant and turned completely around to see the exterior door leading out to the parking lot. “Do you know what this is?” He whirled back to me and then turned back around again. “Do you know where we are?”

“Um, at the Japanese steakhouse?” I answered, uncertain of what he was asking. Had we traveled through some time and space continuum I was unaware of?

“We’re at the Chinese restaurant,” he leaned low across the table toward me as he whispered.

“What?” I asked, looking at the front door to get my bearings. “What do you mean?”

He whispered again, holding his menu up to shield his face from the other patrons.

“They did banish us. When you pull into this shopping center, you can see the huge entrance to the steakhouse, but a couple of doors down is a little Chinese restaurant. It doesn’t even have a name. The neon light just says ‘Chinese’ in red letters. We’ve been banished to China. You don’t want Hibachi?” His terrible Asian accent came out again. “No steak for you. You go to China and eat lo mein.”

“You’re kidding. Why would they send us to a different restaurant?” I asked, but as I looked out the front door and into the parking lot beyond, I could tell he was right. We were no longer in the steakhouse. We were in a completely different restaurant.

Cabe started doing an impression of Seinfeld’s Soup Nazi, saying “No steak for you!” over and over again.

I couldn’t help but laugh at him. I swear no matter where we are and what we are doing, he makes me laugh. I guess maybe we have the same sense of humor or something. I mean, what he was doing in Target wasn’t that hilarious when I explain it here, but when it was happening it was so funny I couldn’t stop laughing. My laughter seems to be a catalyst for him, because the more I laugh, the funnier he gets. Every time. I’ve never had more fun with anyone than I do with Cabe.

When we got back to my apartment after our Chinese debacle of a meal, we sat in my car laughing about the night and how crazy it all was. Suddenly, Cabe got quiet. He shifted his weight in the seat and rubbed his long fingers down his thighs, sighing heavily.

“What?” I asked. “What happened? What did I miss?”

His entire demeanor had changed. He stared out the passenger window, his jaw clenched tight and his smile gone.

“Hello?” I placed my hand on his arm, but he flinched slightly so I pulled it away. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I felt . . . happy tonight. But then I thought about everything that’s happened, and I remembered that my life is shit right now. I shouldn’t be happy.”

“Cabe, that’s a total crock. Of course you’re allowed to be happy. You’ve been unhappy. You’ve been miserable. It’s okay to be happy. It’s okay to laugh,” I said.

“No, it’s not. I’m living in my mother’s pool house, Ty. I have pretty much screwed myself out of any kind of promotion at work since they now view me as unstable. I’m going through a divorce, which I never expected to do. I’m flat broke from moving cross-country twice. I feel like in the last year, I just picked up my life and scattered it to the winds. I have no idea how to put it back together. I don’t what my next step is. I’m not even sure who I am at this point. Or what’s real anymore. But I do know I have nothing to be happy about right now.”

He exhaled a quick rush of air as he opened the car door, and he was out before I could even process what happened. One minute he was fine, full of joy and being the old Cabe I remembered, and then a cloud rolled in over him and the broken Cabe was there in his place, vulnerable and exposed.

I got out and followed him. “Cabe, wait,” I said, but he kept walking. “Dude, listen to me. You can still be happy. Cabe, wait. You’re going to figure this out. Cabe, please wait.”

He didn’t. He got into his car and drove away without a word.

I still feel confused. I don’t even understand what happened. It was so quick, so sudden. I absolutely adore the silly, goofy, fun, lovable man that he is. To see him wrestling with regret and self-doubt kills me. He’s always been the strong, confident one in our pairing, and I’ve always been the hot mess. I’m not sure I know how to step up to the plate.

Maybe I should have stopped him from driving. Maybe I should call to see if he’s okay. Or maybe I should just leave him alone and call tomorrow. Let him do the whole man-retreating-to-his-cave thing. I don’t know.

In a weird way, I remember feeling the pain I saw in him tonight. I remember when I first moved here, and I had no idea who I was or where to find me. My idea of myself, my definition of who I was, had been defined by another person and what I thought I had with him. When that got stripped away, I felt exposed. I felt lost. God, I don’t ever want to feel that way again. I don’t ever want that haunted, dark emptiness in my brain and in my soul.

I wonder if that’s why I haven’t found anyone yet. If maybe that’s why everyone I go out with has some glaring default I can’t ignore or abide. Maybe as much as I say I want someone to spend my life with, I also don’t want anyone to be able to hurt me. Maybe being alone is not such a bad thing. It’s safe.

Tuesday, November 19th

Cabe called at six this morning.

“I hope I didn’t wake you, but I haven’t been able to sleep. I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wig out and disappear.”

“It’s okay, Cabe. Are you alright?” I asked, yawning.

“Yes. No. I don’t know. Sometimes I think I’m okay, and then something triggers a memory or a thought, and I’m right back where I was. I don’t know how to accept where I am, Tyler. I didn’t intend to be here. I thought when I picked up everything and moved, it was a commitment to something that was going to last. And it didn’t. I feel like I got no say in it. Like, we went into this life together, made these promises—these vows—then she changed her mind and I had to come home with my tail between my legs. That’s not how I thought it was going to turn out.

“I thought I loved her, you know? I thought I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her. But evidently, I didn’t even really know her. That’s messed up. How did I screw up that bad? How did I not see it? Shouldn’t I have known my wife was gay? I don’t even know what I feel at this point. Angry. Bitter. Stupid. Like I did the wrong thing. Made the wrong choice. Now I can’t undo it. I can’t go back, and I’m not sure how to go forward. It pisses me off.”

His voice spewed with anger. I welcomed it, though. Anger he could use as fuel to get over this.

“You should be pissed off, Cabe. What Monica did was wrong! Unfair. If she wasn’t sure she wanted to be with you, she shouldn’t have married you. Screw her! She doesn’t deserve you.”

I thought encouraging the anger would help. It didn’t make him angry, though.

“You’re right,” he said. “Why would you marry someone if you weren’t sure? I mean, I thought I was sure, but now I don’t know. So maybe she was sure, but then after she married me, I did something. Or didn’t do something? Maybe she did love me, then something happened and she stopped.”

“Cabe, it’s not you. You can’t think that. She was confused. Maybe she’s been struggling with her sexuality for a long time. Who knows? I don’t know why she did what she did, but you can’t say it was you. You didn’t do anything.”

“How do you know, Ty? You don’t know what I did or didn’t do. A relationship doesn’t fail because of just one person. It takes two to make it. It takes two to break it. Evidently, I didn’t do something right. Emotionally or physically. Or both.”

I understood the hurt and anguish of betrayal and what it does to your confidence and self-esteem. But I couldn’t imagine the double whammy of not only being left for another but having no way at all to compete.

“Look, sweetie, what that chick had, God didn’t give you. That wasn’t something you could change. If Monica had feelings or needs she got fulfilled from another woman, it’s not like you could have done something to supply that, you know? It was probably something she’s been dealing with for a while. This girl happened to be the one who helped Monica be open about who she was. You can’t beat yourself up.”

“You don’t understand, Ty. It still comes down to me not being enough. I couldn’t keep her. I couldn’t make her happy. We never should have gotten married.”

His anger had gone, and he sounded empty again. I felt completely helpless. How come we can send documents, videos, and pictures instantaneously across the wires, but we can’t figure out how to hug someone through the phone?

“You want me to come over?” I asked.

“No. I’m fine.” He took a couple of deep breaths. When he spoke again, his voice was steady. “Sorry. I called to apologize and ended up going off on a rant. I’m a mess. Look, Ty. I had a great time with you last night. I’m sorry I screwed it up. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Wait, Cabe. Don’t hang up. Let me come over. We’ll get breakfast. I don’t want you to be by yourself.” I couldn’t even hear him breathing. I thought maybe he had hung up. “Cabe?” Still no answer. I stayed on the line just in case. After an eternity of silence, I heard him sigh.

“No. I’m fine. I need to be by myself. I’ll talk to you later.” Then he was gone.

I wanted to drive over there despite what he’d said, but a quick check of my calendar reminded me I have a planning session this morning. So now when I finish my coffee, I get to go listen to a happy couple gush about how in love they are. How excited they are. How beautiful their wedding will be.

I can’t even warn them it may not all work out the way they plan. Within a few years, maybe less, she may stop trying and he may stop caring. She may become a closet alcoholic, and he may fall for some pretty little thing at work. Her parents may interfere too much, and he may lose his job and their house.

It’s all so stupid. These people come here and spend thousands of dollars on a wedding, and in the end, it’s all a crap shoot. No one knows what the future brings or if the other person is going to hold up their end of the bargain. Hell, even if they do hold up their end, something like cancer or a car accident or Alzheimer’s steps in and robs you blind.

No matter how pretty the dress is, no matter how gorgeous the flowers are, and no matter how many people show up to watch your vows, the whole thing can be ended with the stroke of a pen. It doesn’t even have to be mutually agreed upon. The whole ’til death do we part is a joke. It’s a hope to strive for. A hope that nothing else tears it apart before death. A hope death doesn’t end it unexpectedly early.

Why do people do it? Why even try? Why are we willing to stand before our family and friends and pledge something that may mean nothing? Why are we willing to risk the pain, the suffering, the disappointment, the failure? And why do we get so gosh-darned excited about the prospect of it all? We march into it with music, flowers, ribbons, and bows. That’s bullshit. We should go to all weddings wearing black and mourning the sacrifice of the heart.

Boy. I’m going to be a cheerful wedding planner today, huh?