Page 9 of How to Ruin Your Ex's Wedding
I moved back to the Seattle area to be with Hunter about a month ago, after maintaining a long-distance relationship for almost a year. Deciding, once again, to leave show biz and just keep my focus on the clothing and makeup lines. Both provide enough financially that I don’t have to work aside from them if I don’t want to.
Hunter lives, rather we live, in a small suburb outside of the city, which he says is the new Silicon Valley. The area where we are is very green and scenic, with a mountain feel. The downtown area boasts a decent green grocer, small boutiques, and a great yoga studio. And it’s only a ten-minute drive from downtown Seattle.
I hop in my car and head down the hill into town. The roads are wet and the sky gray, but the air smells clean. Which is probably my favorite thing about moving from California back to Washington, it always smells good here. Where California has sunshine and palm trees, Washington has evergreens and fresh air.
Crystal and I meet for yoga three times a week. Best friends since high school, she was literally the only girl who would talk to me. But it worked because we totally hit it off and have been near inseparable since, even though we are opposites in almost every way. She’s short and curvy with shoulder-length, shaggy, dark hair and a sexy America Ferrara vibe. I’m taller and more a cross between Julia Roberts inPretty Womanand Molly Ringwald inSixteen Candles. Mostly legs, teeth, and hair.
Crystal and I pull into the parking lot at the same time as one another. She waves frantically, as though I don’t know her car, or that she’ll be here, which makes me laugh. In the last few years, our lives have gone in opposite directions. Prior to that, she came and hung out with me in LA for a few years. I paid her to be my personal assistant, but that mostly meant that we hung out and goofed off.
About three years ago, she decided to “get her life together”—her words not mine—move back to Washington, and focus on establishing a career. She became a medical device rep, which is how she met her doctor husband, Michael. He asked her out, they eloped six months later, and now she’s a deliriously happy stay-at-home mom with twin eighteen-month-old girls. I would kill myself if I had her life.
“Hey, fancy pants,” she says as she gets out of her car, the nickname she’s had for me since high school. I was fancy pants because I’d come from Hollywood.
“Hey, baby mama.” A new nickname I’ve adopted for her since becoming pregnant and having babies. Prior to that, I just called her C. Obviously she’s the more creative one between us.
We hug and head into the studio.
Most times I don’t get a chance to talk to her until after our class. Today is no exception. She usually hires a babysitter for three hours so we can get coffee after yoga and catch up on things. Like we’re doing now.
“Have I told you how happy I am that you’re back?” she squeals. Yes, squeals. It should be annoying, but it’s not. Crystal has an adorable squeal. It goes right along with everything else about her, also adorable.
“Me too,” I tell her. And I am. LA gets old after a while if you aren’t in the thick of it—acting, auditioning, preening for the paparazzi. Not actively going after movie roles is the epitome of not being in the thick of it.
“How goes wedding planning?” she asks.
“Barely begun, but not bad,” I say, taking a sip of my Americano, wishing I could afford the calories of creamer. But with wedding dress shopping around the corner, I need to watch my intake.
“Have you thought about locations yet?” Crystal asks, pulling the lid off her cup and scooping out whipped cream with her finger.
I’m jealous.
“No, not really,” I say.
“What do you think of Court in the Square? Michael and I went to a medical mixer there a while back, it was amazing.”
“I don’t know. Hunter wants fancy, and I think I’m still undecided.”
“Definitely Fremont Foundry. It’s fancy as fancy gets.”
“It’s to be expected, right?”
“Absolutely, when tech genius takes fancy pants as his bride, people expect shiny and spectacular.”
I laugh at that. Crystal is the only person I seem to be able to laugh at myself with. And only because she instigates it. With everyone else, it’s all seriousness all the time. Including me with myself.
“What about dresses?” Crystal asks. “When do we go dress shopping?”
“I need to lose ten pounds first.” My weight is a sore subject between us. I’ve always been a bit preoccupied with how much I weigh, how I look. I am an actress after all, and my face and body are constantly photographed. Plus, Hunter’s constant observance of my weight adds pressure too. And the camera adds ten pounds. Since pictures and video from this wedding will be seen on television, in magazines and all-over social media, not losing ten pounds isn’t an option.
“Are you kidding me? From where?”
“My ass, my stomach, my upper arms. I’m hideous right now, Crystal. I’ve totally let myself go since I stopped acting.”
“Tabs, your body is amazing. The envy of many. You work out like a fiend, totally watch what you eat, have perfect dimensions. Don’t think I didn’t notice you sipping on plain black coffee there—yuck, by the way. You do not need to lose any weight.”
“Not all of us have breastfeeding as a means of weight reduction,” I complain.
“Well, not just breastfeeding but running after two little monsters all day. Did I tell you, we started weaning them this past weekend?”
