Page 50 of How to Ruin Your Ex's Wedding
He checks his watch and before he turns to leave, he says, “I have to go, but I will be at the Cascadian House at four-thirty.”
“I’ll see you then,” I call after him. He’s already clicking away on his phone. Today, we are viewing a venue that is large enough to accommodate seven hundred people. A number that makes me shudder. Because I’m sure if he put his mind to it, Hunter could justify inviting that many people.
It’s an older venue set atop a cliff overlooking the sound. I know from the photos that the views are absolutely breathtaking. And it’s one of the few properties with its own lighthouse. But it has some flaws. Many of the features are outdated as they are original to the time when the home was built. It tends to get a little too cool inside the buildings and the ancient elevator has been known to spontaneously stop working.
Some say it’s the ghost of the original builder, William Cascadian, and his wife trying to get people to leave so they can spend eternity in peace, relaxing in his masterpiece. As legend has it, it took Cascadian ten years to finish the property, and he went bankrupt doing so. Shortly before it was completed, he traveled to Chicago to meet with potential investors for funding to finish the project and open as a luxury hotel. On his return flight, the plane had mechanical difficulties and crash landed. It was reported there were no survivors.
Upon hearing the news, his wife was so distraught she took her own life. Days later, William appeared, having survived the crash along with a few other passengers. When he learned of his wife’s passing, he locked himself inside the main ballroom and drank himself to death. Literally. Hence the reason the ghosts yearn for peace and the chance to enjoy the fruits of their labors. Who knows if it’s true, but I like the story anyway.
So, this venue excites me just because of the history involved. That, and a number of fantastic movies have been filmed there. I would love to immerse myself in the vibe and soak up the ambiance. It’s my first pick for a venue, but I don’t want Hunter to feel as though that gives him free reign to invite twice as many people.
I finish my coffee and head to our home gym for a workout before getting ready for my day. I think about calling Crystal to see if she can come work out with me, but I know it is more hassle than it’s worth. For her, not me. I’m more than happy to section off an area for the twins to go crazy in. But it means she has to get them all packed up and ready to go, get toys and changes of clothes, snacks and drinks, diapers and wipes, and any other number of things that I’m forgetting in order for her to come over here for an hour.
She gets her workout in getting them ready to go before she even comes over for the workout. But she loves it. And I’m happy for her in the same vein that I’m jealous of her. Her life is complete, she has everything she wants. Meanwhile, I feel like I’m over here flailing to keep my head above water, plan a wedding, and convince myself it’s okay to spend my life with a really good guy.
I hit the elliptical machine and force myself up to level seven for thirty minutes. Then I sprint on the treadmill for another thirty before moving on to free weights. Yes, I know I obsess about my weight. See how you would feel if you grew up in the public eye during puberty, playing a role that required you to stay cute and small. Next, imagine adulthood when you might finally relax about it, only Hollywood prefers hipbones to show and your fiancé likes you to be rail thin.Thenhe decides he wants pictures and videos of the planning and wedding to be plastered everywhere.
Weight would be your primary focus as well.
14
Pax
Today’s wedding adventure has us touring the Cascadian House located on a neighboring island. The only way to get there from Seattle is by ferry. At least with some of the islands, like the one I live on, I can take Tacoma Narrows Bridge through a few neighboring towns and over to Port Orchard. It’s not super convenient, but it lets me avoid the mess that is the commuter ferries when I want to. And trying to be anywhere at four-thirty in the afternoon using the ferry, puts us at commuter times. So, it’s crazy busy.
Like right now, I’m in line to drive onto the ferry. It’s like waiting in line to get on an airplane. Everyone lines up and waits. Then sits and waits. Then travels and waits. I’m not even on the ferry yet and I already feel like this outing has taken too long. There’s still a twenty-minute ferry ride to get there after this. Good news is, I’m charging Nipplecock by the hour and that includes travel time.
Today is my first foray into the photography world as Matthew Hanhauserwithoutmy mustache. I’m fairly confident I won’t be recognized. I haven’t really been in the press since the breakup with Tabatha. And you’d have to be a hardcore photography fan to have seen a picture of me or know what I look like anyway. But I’m still using the remainder of my disguise—the hat/wig and the glasses.
Tabatha is the only one who will know it’s me, making me wonder if she said anything to the fiancé about Matthew being me and vice versa. I can’t imagine I’d still have this job if she did, so I’m going to guess the answer to that is no. I drove my Jeep today so I can enjoy satellite music. “She’s So Cold” by the Rolling Stones is playing. I drum my hands against the steering wheel in time to the music, take a peek at the surrounding cars, then drum my hands some more. I seem to be the only person this agitated. The person behind me is just staring off to the side. I wonder if she’s asleep.
Wait a minute.
I’d know that red hair anywhere. Tabby is in line behind me.
I suppose, given the appointment time versus the ferry schedule, the chances are good that we’d be on the same one. But one in front of the other in the same lane is a surprise. I watch her for a while, but she doesn’t move or do much. She looks good. Sad, but good.
A car horn sounds from somewhere behind us, Tabatha jumps and accelerates. Her car bumps into mine, which flusters her. There can’t possibly be any damage, she wasn’t driving more than five miles per hour. I watch her put it into park and move to exit the car. The lot attendant knocks on her window, gesturing her forward. I laugh when she tries to argue with him. More honking occurs. And I notice I’m actually the problem in our line, not her. The cars in front of me have moved, and I’m still sitting here. I proceed onto the ferry and park my car, waiting for her to pull up behind me.
She gets out of her car and peers first at her front bumper, then at my back one.
“Any damage?” I ask, ignoring Tabs and looking only at the bumpers.
“I don’t think so, I’m so sorry—” She looks up. “Oh god, of course it’s you. How did you manage this one? I mean, I’m actually impressed that you somehow engineered me running into you.” She makes apfftnoise and throws her arms up. “There couldn’t possibly be any bigger pain in my ass for me to run into anywhere in the greater Pacific Northwest.”
I pretend to see her for the first time. “Tabatha? Is that you?” I narrow my eyes at her. “Are you stalking me? Or do you hate me so much you just want to wreck my car?”
“You wish. This was an accident and you know it,” she says. “I didn’t even realize it was you in front of me. Someone behind me honked and I was looking in the rearview mirror at them when I accelerated. I just assumed that whoever was before me had moved on along with the line of cars like they were supposed to.”
“Tsk, tsk, Tabs.” I shake my head. “You know you should always be looking in the direction you are driving.”
“Yes, well—”
“And you should never assume anything when behind the wheel. I thought I’d taught you better than that. Always be driving defensively.”
She rolls her eyes. The ferry horn sounds off, echoing through the parking level, as it pulls smoothly away from the terminal.
“There’s no damage, as you can clearly see.” She gestures to the bumpers.
