Page 23 of Lightness In My Dark

A couple days later, Finn informed me of a meeting with the wedding planner. He said it was best if I met with Jillian alone from this point forward. I assumed it was punishment for not being available for his impromptu dinner. I had little choice. Besides, he worked, and I had the time. The notion of spending time with Jillian twisted knots in my stomach. I searched through my closet for something comfortable, but everything was form fitting or revealed skin.

Note to self: find some flowing clothes.

Finn made sure baggy wasn’t an adjective to describe my wardrobe. I settled on a gray, high waist, large button down, retro wool skirt, paired with a black blouse and black tights. It didn’t hug everything I own, which saved me from any comparison to Jillian’s model stature.

We met at a restaurant in the Blackstone where Finn wanted the reception. Black-and-white checkered flooring ran along the outer perimeter of the reception area. Through a large archway stood a two-tier fountain, the restaurant tucked on the left-hand side. Jillian sat at a table, talking on the phone, when she noticed and waved me over. A host asked to take my coat, which I declined.

Some of Jillian’s unsecured curly hair from her messy bun cascaded down her back. Her deep blue eyes magnified by her blue suit. My appearance paled in contrast to hers, and the thought of running to the nearest bar sounded quite appetizing.

Stay away from the alcohol. Remember the last time?

She held out a hand, and I took it. “It’s so good to see you again, Wren.” I acknowledged her with asame to you. “What would you like to drink?”

“A seltzer with a lime, please.”

Jillian called over the server to place our drinks. Since it was only eleven, the restaurant didn’t have too many customers. The servers and bartender glanced over at our table, admiring, no drooling over Jillian. If only I could do this online from the comfort of my bedroom in sweats. In her presence, I felt like a piece of gum on the bottom of a shoe. Not any piece of gum, but one that lost its flavor within the first thirty seconds—tasteless and rubbery.

I hadn’t realized Jillian was talking to me until she said, “Wren? Is everything okay?”

“Yes, fine. My mind wandered off there.”

She gave me a tight smile and delivered her next line. “I really love your pixie. In high school, I cut my hair short, and it looked awful. I don’t have your high cheekbones or sculpted jawline.” I gave a soft thank you.

With a lower voice, she asked, “How’s your fiancé doing?”

“Fine, thank you.”

Jillian eyed me for a moment, as if waiting for me to say more. She sat back in her chair. “Why don’t we check out the ballroom to see if the décor and size are to your standards?”

“Sounds good.” I rose, but she pressed an icy hand on my arm. I returned to my seat, pretending to adjust my skirt.

“We can finish our drinks.”

I sipped my seltzer as she scrutinized me. The host came over to inform Jillian the manager of the hotel was available. She excused herself to talk to him. While she was gone, I opened the folder she had on Finn and me. There were little notes around the border.Uptight fiancé. She’s spacey. Finn’s gorgeous. King of fucks.Then she drew a smiley face. Finn proved my assumptions correct. The nagging hunch he was taking his frustrations out and releasing his stress with women became reality. He fit the mold for a wandering eye, and although our commitment wasn’t real, it showed what I’d be dealing with for the three years of marriage.

From a distance, the click of heels came closer, and I closed the folder. The air thinned, my eyes brimming with tears. He slept with our wedding planner and expected me to continue meeting with her? How humiliating? I composed myself in time. I wiped the tears that fell, took a sip of my drink, and cleared my throat.

Jillian approached. “Wren, this is Mr. Caldwell. He’ll be showing us the ballroom. Mr. Caldwell, this is the beautiful fiancé, Wren.”

She was mocking me.Bitch! She has the looks. Why does she feel the need to belittle me? Maybe she didn’t get the memo that high school was over. Grow the hell up!

My thumb stroked my index finger fast to calm myself. The humiliation turned into anger, so I left for the washroom. In a stall, I slunk down the wall, crouching against it to control my breathing and shaking hands. I closed my eyes to focus on the songBrave by Sara Bareilles. Am I amazing? Should I keep quiet or say something? My breathing evened out, and a hint of a smile caressed my face. In the mirror, I gave myself a pep talk, patted cold water on my cheeks, and made my way back.

I returned to the table and asked Mr. Caldwell to excuse Jillian and me for a moment. He said he’d be outside the ballroom.

Jillian crossed her arms over the folder. “Is something wrong?”

I took in a deep breath, focused all my energies on my words, and said, “Yes, Jillian, something is very wrong. I’m sure you’re a great wedding planner, but not for mine.”

Slipping on my coat, she reached for my arm, and I snatched it away. “Wait! What’s wrong? I’m sure we can work it out.”

“No, we can’t.” I slid my purse over my shoulder. My voice raised with every word. “I can’t work with anyone who slept with my fiancé.”

She took in the area to see who was listening. As if insulted, she responded, “Excuse me?” Jillian stood, towering over my pint-size frame. In a low voice, she said, “I never slept with Finn.”

Ah, first name basis. She must have screamed his name so many times.

I grabbed the folder before she could protest and read, “King of fucks. What were you referring to when you wrote it?”

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