Page 80 of How to Ruin Your Ex's Wedding
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Tabatha
“I can’t believe you are getting married tomorrow!” Crystal cries.
“I know! It feels like it’s happened so fast and so slow at the same time.”
“What time do you want me there tonight? Is Maisey doing our hair and makeup tonight too?”
“Yes, so maybe be here around three o’clock if you can swing it, and we can have a relaxing afternoon, just us girls before the rehearsal dinner,” I say.
“Perfect,” she says. “See you then.”
We disconnect the call and I lie back on my bed.
I’m getting married tomorrow.
To Hunter.
A decision I’ve gone back and forth on all week. His weirdness only got worse after Pax and Gregor brought me home drunk. I don’t remember a lot of the night, outside of having a great time dancing, and feeling safe and comforted with Pax. He held my hair back when I puked.
Oh god, I puked.
So embarrassing.
He was fine about it. Supportive even, whereas Hunter was pissed. Which only got worse when some pictures surfaced of me dancing on the table in the VIP area. They are grainy, and obviously taken from far away with a camera phone. But it’s still clear that it’s me. Big hair, bigger smile, short shorts, high heels, eyes closed, arms raised, hip cocked to the side. I look happy. Slightly possessed. Genuinely happy.
Part of me is tickled to have such a photo of myself. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen me asme. Since I was a child, I’ve always been some version of me based on the situation. But this, this is the pure essence of Tabatha Ann Seton. And she is loving life.
Is it possible to be that happy normally?
Crystal is.
Crystal is the anomaly.
Hunter has only spoken to me this week if it’s been directly related to the wedding. And even then, he’s been terse and short. I’m interested to see how he acts tonight at our rehearsal dinner, where we are to be the happy couple tying the knot tomorrow. He won’t want anyone in attendance to think there is something wrong, so my thought is he will be the doting fiancé.
I’m just not sure how much that bothers me. Oddly, I’ve not missed him this week. The five days leading to today—rehearsal day—where we should be in our pre-wedding-honeymoon phase and deliriously happy. Or so I would imagine. I’ve spent most nights on the couch, and he’s spent all his days at the office. I was still on set through Wednesday, longer than I’d originally intended, but it didn’t seem to matter since he was upset anyway.
Yesterday—Thursday—would have been the day for us to spend together, discussing last-minute items for tonight or tomorrow, or even just hanging out and having fun. But instead, he was gone all day. So, I spent the day pampering myself. I got a massage, gave myself a facial, deep conditioned my hair, painted my toenails, read gossip magazines about myself, and coveted my picture ofme.
Today, he was gone before I woke. I’m assuming he’s at his office, and I’m fine with it. I’m trying not to dwell too much on the fact I don’t miss him and that I’m not bothered by not seeing him all week. What kind of monster am I that I’m not even affected by his absence? Which leads me to the wisdom in my decision to marry him. I remind myself that I love him, he’s a good guy.
My go-to phrase for him: good guy. But these last few weeks, he hasn’t been. He’s been a judgmental and controlling guy. And as far as loving him goes, how do I love someone who wants me to be different? Further, how does he love someone who he wishes were someone else? I take two antacid pills to try and calm my stomach.
Crystal and Maisey will be here in a few hours, that will cheer me up. In the meantime, I check my email, update a social media account, and speak with Liza to make sure she doesn’t need help with anything. All of which takes about twenty minutes.
Okay, Tabatha, tomorrow you are going to marry Hunter. Pledge your love in front of six hundred people. Promise to be with this man forever.
Unless we divorce.
You can’t think about divorce before you’ve even gotten married. Though, that’s essentially what the prenuptial agreement does, which we signed weeks ago. Even though Hunter assured me it didn’t mean he was anticipating the breakup of our marriage. The pragmatic side of me sees the wisdom of a prenup. But the romantic side of me thinks they are evil. A precursor of doom. Admittance of impending failure. How do you go into something, a commitment until death do you part, anticipating it won’t last until death. That it will end much sooner than that.
The more emotional side of me began to have my first niggling of doubt that day. Who would I be if I were twice divorced? And if my second marriage lasted as long as my first, I’d be twice divorced before my mid-thirties. Does that put me on the path of Elizabeth Taylor? Or any number of other actors who have married multiple times?
Because, if Hunter can think about the demise of our marriage so easily, then I should be able to as well. Which brings me to today and wondering about whether marrying Hunter is the right decision. Even if it’s not, how do I call off such a large production on such short notice? I can’t do that to him. I’d rather get married, realize it’s a mistake, and be twice divorced than hurt or embarrass Hunter. He doesn’t deserve that.
Listen to yourself, Tabatha. Ridiculous on so many levels.
