Page 90 of How to Ruin Your Ex's Wedding
“Do I go see her before the wedding, or should I really do one of those interrupting things when the minister asks if anyone objects?”
He shrugs, and takes sip of his coffee, washing down a mouthful of food.
“What if they don’t do that part of the wedding? Then I can’t object. That’s not going to work.”
He shakes his head.
I take a few more bites before continuing, “You were right before. The only option is to talk to her before the thing even starts. Fuck, what if she won’t talk to me?”
He scrunches his lips as though thinking about it.
“Then I know for certain how she feels.”
He smiles, but it’s weak at best.
I take the final bite of my breakfast. “Okay, I’m gonna take off. Shower. Get Tabs some flowers . . . wait, no there will already be a million flowers there, that’s cheesy.”
I take my dishes to the sink and rinse them before putting them in his dishwasher, then order a Lyft. “Maybe I’ll get her some chocolate? No, that’s even worse.”
My pants from the night before are laid out over the back of the couch, which had to have been Gregor’s doing because I know I left them crumpled on the floor when I took them off. Just like I do at home. “What do I get her, G? And am I proposing? Or just telling her not to marry him? Do I want to marry her again?”
I finish dressing and tie my shoes, head into the bathroom to finger brush my teeth, then pocket my wallet and cell phone and make a beeline for the front door, stopping before opening it to turn back toward him. “I mean, I guess I do want to marry her if I don’t want anyone else to, right? Shit, maybe I’ll just get her . . . oh, I know, I’ll find her ring from when we were married and give that to her. That’s romantic, right? Okay, I’m taking off. Wish me luck. Good talk!”
* * *
Traffic getting through downtown is hideous and it takes forever to get to the ferry terminal. By the time I make it home, it’s been over two hours.
Eleven forty-eight a.m.
I have four hours to find the ring, shower, dress, figure out what I’m going to say to Tabatha to make sure she doesn’t marry this guy, get to the Cascadian House, and stop the wedding. No problem.
Twelve twenty-two p.m.
I thought for fucking sure the ring was in my safe, but it’s not. Which makes me wonder if it’s in the safe deposit box at the bank. Which is back in downtown Seattle. Although, I have to go back to downtown to catch the ferry to the Cascadian House anyway. So, I need to get dressed, get back to Seattle, get the ring, and get the girl.
One thirty-three p.m.
I missed the one-thirty ferry by three minutes. The next one isn’t until two o’clock. Which, at first, caused some panic. But, as I think about it, that should be fine. Then I’m back in Seattle by two-thirty, get to the bank, get back to the ferry terminal and over to the Cascadian House by four o’clock. No sweat.
Five minutes past two o’clock.
Okay, I have thirty uninterrupted minutes to sit and draft a speech worthy of changing Tabby’s mind and convince her that we aren’t such a bad match after all. Actually, I should be more positive than that. I need to convince her we are a great match.
I make a list.
Reasons Tabs and I are a great match.
1. The sex is fucking fantastic.
2. We get along.
2. Compatibility
2. Sexual compatibility
Wait, isn’t that the same thing as saying the sex is good?
Shit.
