Page 3 of It's Always Us

The laughter halts as they study me like I’m some kind of new trend that challenges their highly strict values. It’s my cue to find somewhere else to be in this twinkle-light-flower-infested room.

“Alex is taking some classes and assists Seth at the firm, but once they’re married, you know how it is. Wifely duties take over.”

Her ability to make excuses for my line of work never ceases to amaze me. Helping Seth move his office furniture doesn’t even remotely qualify as working for his firm. As far as schooling, I’m enrolled in a singleprogram working toward an ASE certification, as in Automotive Service Excellence.

School was never my deal, but working with my hands, specifically on cars, is where I belong. I grew up in my grandpa’s garage, filled with foul-mouthed men and the scent of oil and brake fluid. Those men are my family, and that garage is my life.

I want to get married, have a family, and work on cars. That’s my dream. It’s simple. It’s not flashy or grand, but it’s mine. But here I stand in a room full of people who will never understand me or the thrill of diagnosing a broken vehicle, repairing it, and returning it to its grateful owner.

The pool of women I’ve encountered in my life that seem to understand my career choice could be counted on one hand. There are even fewer men who appreciate it for more than assuming I’m some chick who cluelessly tinkers under a hood because it’s ‘cute.’Gag.

Women in the garage are rarely accepted, but someday, Grandpa’s garage will be mine, so I’m doing what I can to give myself the best leg up when that day comes.

Wanting no part of the load of crap being shoveled out here, I excuse myself. “It was nice meeting you all, but I need to find Seth.”

They all nod in unison.

“I’ll catch up with you later about dress shopping,” Gail chimes in an overly eager tone that causes my feet to move even faster.

I weave my way through people, most of whom I’ve only briefly met over the past two years, searching for the man who’s supposed to be helping me through this. The one who’s supposed to be standing by my side yet never seems to be present when I need him most.

These are his people, his family, and his friends. If I had it my way, I’d forgo all this pomp and circumstance. Unfortunately, my ideas were vetoed immediately once Gail got wind of our engagement. But maybe this extravagance is giving me the time and observance I need to put things in perspective.

I stop at the bar to set down the glass of wine I didn’t order and would never drink. Chugging it is an appealing idea if I didn’t think it would come right back up. Then again, maybe that’s not such a bad plan.

“Hey, Pal.”

I turn to the man who’s taught me everything I know, his slightly wrinkled gray button-down shirt only mildly fitting over his short, broad frame. He leans an elbow on the bar, surveying the room.

“Hey, Grandpa.”

“Your mom messaged me. She got caught up at work.”

I nod, wishing I could get back to working on the truck that came in this afternoon with a valve cover leak.

“This is quite the setup. You doing all right?”

My eyes roam over the room filled with people and things representing nothing of the world I belong to or my preferences. The white linen covered high-top tables with elaborate pale pastel floral centerpieces and hundreds of twinkle lights strung from one end of the room to the other. It’s all elegantly stifling and stiff, just like my dress.

I tug at the scratchy material around my neck. “Yeah, it’s all a bit . . . bright.” I spend my days in coveralls or jeans covered in grease and grime; T-shirts and flannels are my go-to. All this flowery vibrance is nauseating.

Grandpa chuckles. The low, gravelly sound so familiar eases the waves of panic, cresting higher and higher with each passing minute. “That it is. How are your nerves? Time is ticking.”

I can’t meet his gray-blue eyes because this man will see right through my shaky conviction. “They’re holding on.” I try to joke, but it comes out flat.

In my periphery, I see one of his bushy gray brows arch as he studies me. I pretend to search the room again, attempting to ignore his prying eyes.

“No one is forcing you to do this.”

My head snaps in his direction. I’m used to Grandpa being blunt, but this comment came out of nowhere.

“What?”

He rests his back against the bar, turning his attention to the room full of men and women dressed for the Kentucky Derby. This was supposed to be an informal engagement party for family and friends—a.k.a. Gail’s family and friends.

“All this,” he gestures around the room with his head. “I want to be sure that this is what you envisioned when you think about the rest of your life. Seth is a good guy, but he’s not . . . ”

Don’t say it. Don’t even say it.

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