Page 63 of How to Ruin Your Ex's Wedding
“So, you’ll drop the role?”
“No, I can’t do that, I’ve already committed.”
“Surely you can’t be that tied to it if you just agreed to it today. Unless you’re lying about when you accepted.”
“Why would you say that? Why would I lie about something like this?”
“Never mind.”
“I promise the role will not interfere with planning the wedding.”
“I don’t see how you can promise that.”
“I’ll make certain the director knows before filming begins. I’m sure it won’t be a problem.” I already know I can’t promise him that. And the director probably won’t do anything about it, but I don’t want him to worry further. What’s that saying? Ask for forgiveness later, instead of permission now? Plus, I really don’t think he and Liza will need me for anything anyway.
“Fine. I won’t be home for dinner, I’m working late.”
“That’s . . . fine. I don’t want you to be angry. Are you?”
“No. I’m not angry.”
“Okay, if you’re sure. I’ll see you later then. I love you.”
“See you later.”
He doesn’t say he loves me back. He doesn’t call me “my queen.” He’s definitely upset and just not willing to admit it. This is our first fight. I mean, it’s not really a fight. More like a disagreement, but still, it makes me uncomfortable. My stomach rolls, acid burning as it flares up. I take an antacid pill and drink a large glass of water, then make a salad for dinner and settle in with a glass of wine to finish the book. To say that I’m excited about this role would be an understatement. It’s a game changer for me and my career. I text Angela once I’m through with the book reiterating how thrilled I am with the opportunity.
My phone dings a short time later with a text.
But instead of Angela, it’s from Pax.
PAX: Hey, sorry if it’s inappropriate for me to text you. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay from yesterday. With you and your guy.
My heart warms at that. It’s easy to forget sometimes just how kind and caring Pax can be. Because we are divorced, my thoughts of him aren’t always fond. There’s something about the act of divorce that makes you automatically remember only bad times. Or at least it’s that way with me.
ME: I think he’s still a little upset . . .
I erase that and start again.
ME: No problems at all . . .
I delete that too.
ME: Thank you. He was caught off guard is all. But it’s fine now.
That one I send. Along with:
ME: Sorry you lost the job.
PAX: Ex’s weddings aren’t my bag, baby.
I can’t tell if he’s calling me baby or just quoting Austin Powers. Deciding it’s Austin Powers, I say:
ME: That why you pissed in my Prada? :-)
I’m not asking him seriously. He said bag, I thought Prada, and it reminded me of the past, our epic fight just prior to the divorce. And on TV, no less.
PAX: And just when we were getting along. . .
