10. Letting Go

CHAPTER 10

LETTING GO

MISTY

I hip bump and whoop it up on the dance floor, having a good time with my date at the wedding—Anastasia. She was thrilled to step in when I told her the improv group had a busy weekend and needed one more person to accompany me to fulfill the Groom's request. We're posing as his cousins several times removed from Seattle because the poor thing has very little family to speak of.

I feel kind of bad not correcting Sebastian on his assumption I had a date tonight with another man. But I don't know him well enough yet to let him in on the details of my life. Or the little nuances that make me who I am. I hardly know that myself anymore.

But he kissed me on the forehead… I can't stop thinking about that. It makes me dizzy, in fact, or it might just be the alcohol.

The song ends, and the DJ announces that the bride will be doing the bouquet toss soon and that'll be the last event of the night. By our contract with the groom, we'll be free to go after that. This has been fun, though, arguably much better to act happy for the couple than sad for a body in a casket. I should ask the improv group if I can do more weddings.

We return to our table and I plop into the seat, taking the load off of my heels. My feet kill me, the only detractor of the night. The pink champagne is definitely a bonus, and I've gotten a little tipsy from the never ending flow of it. A server comes by with a bottle and refills all the glasses on the table. After they move on to the next table, I grab two from the place settings next to us because those people never showed up.

Usually not one to drink to excess, especially while working, tonight I'm having a few. Okay, maybe a more than a few. Let it all go has been the mantra on replay in my head ever since Sebastian's lips touched my forehead.

Let go of anymore stupid thoughts of stupid Gregor.

Let go of the shame spiral of being young and stupid and allowing my heart to lead me astray to Canada and away from my career pursuits.

Let go of the stupid worries that Dad is disappointed in me.

All the stupidity of my life miraculously vanishes with another glass of champagne.

Yes. Tonight I let go. I need to. But in the morning, this pink bubble I'm in will end and I'll go back to my regular life. I suspect big changes are in order. Things I haven't wanted to put in motion, but need to for my mental health.

I know my mother's depression and anxiety debilitated her, kept her from living her life. Dad and I don't talk about her much—at all—but I researched the things I overheard him say to Nana once when I was younger. I don't think I have the personality disorders Mom had, although certainly my head and my heart haven't been in the right space since I left Canada and returned home. Amberlyn has been urging me to seek counseling, to help myself get out of the negative space I've been in since returning home, but I haven't gone.

I will though; I don't want to end up like Mom. I want to live, be happy, do what I love, be with someone special. Is that too much to ask from the world?

I'll answer that tomorrow. Right now, two men are eyeing us, and one of them smiles at me and waves. "Don't look now, but I think we're being watched. And they're kind of cute."

Anastasia looks up briefly from her phone. "That's the groom and one of the groomsmen."

"Oh." I really have had too much to drink. "Well, the groom looks like a very skinny Tom Hiddleston, doesn't he? The famous actor from all those comic book movies? I'd do him, even though he's too thin for my tastes. But that voice, the British accent. God, if the Ass Man with the body like Zeus could have had an accent like that." Of course, I'd filled her in all about the forehead kiss. "If only he wasn't so… So nice . He'd be the perfect man, I swear." I down one of the three glasses in front of me. I love pink champagne.

"See, that's the problem with women today. We can't handle nice men. We want the men who will treat us like crap and then we complain when it all goes horribly wrong. Which is why I write romantic heroes with heart and soul. Only the good guys." She turns back to her phone, giggling at a message there.

I squint at her screen and see Connor's name at the top. Anastasia's thumbs have been tapping away on her phone off and on all night. Things appear to be heating up between them. Fast.

"Then I have a question for you. Is Connor the nice guy you write about, or a bad boy?" I try to wink, but my eye doesn't cooperate; both eyes squeeze shut. A delicious numb feeling overcomes me and I feel like I could float away on a cloud right now.

"I'm pretty sure he's a very bad boy. But I'd like to try taming him when we meet up soon." Her sly smile cracks me up. Good for her. She could prove me wrong; there might be something to positive affirmations after all. In that case, Universe, please bring me a man with an ass like… Ass Man. With or without the British accent.

"I'll drink to that," I say and I take up another glass.

"Slow down, Misty. I haven't seen you drink this much in forever."

I sigh and sip at the pink bubbly. Then another and another. The image comes to mind of Sebastian showing me the chicken dance earlier tonight, the huge buff man flapping his wings and shimmying next to my car—only right now I picture him doing it naked and I'm behind watching him. Suddenly, a fit of giggles kicks in and sends bubbles out of my nose. I grab the pink linen napkin and wipe it fast, choking in the process.

"Are you okay?" Anastasia tosses me an irritated look. "Shit. The groom's coming."

I pretend to be coughing, and I'm really not okay. In fact, I'm beyond tipsy now. I pull myself together as best as I can and toss the napkin on the table. But the room sways as I glance up to the very tall, way too skinny groom.

"Hi Chuck," I greet him a little too loud. He glares at that, but recovers.

"Hi, Trudy. Isabelle." He nods at us. Only I can't recall if I'm Trudy or Anastasia is Isabelle. Crap. Which cousin of his am I supposed to play at? "David, my boss from work, wanted to meet my family. So here we are."

Thank God for Anastasia. She jumps up enthusiastically to greet them. "Yes. Charles. So nice to see you again, cuz. And hello, David. You must be so proud to have our hard-working cousin on your staff."

"Hard," I say, snorting and cracking myself up. "Very hard." The three of them peer down at me, but I'm too gone to care now. The giggles have overrun my system. I reach for another glass, but Anastasia moves all of them further away.

"Don't mind her. She's just had a little too much to drink. I'll keep an eye on her for the rest of the night." Suddenly, music hits my ears, something familiar. "So, David, Charles tells us you're the owner of an engineering firm. What kind? Mechanical? Chemical? Coffee? Tea? Me?"

Nothing she says is making sense and I doubt what I think I heard her say is what she said, because my brain is in a fog, fighting to stay on conversation but hearing the song playing. There's a rush of people to the dance floor and I suddenly know exactly the song this is. I stand but fall back to the seat on my butt, then stand again.

"The chicken dance!" I interrupt David speaking whatever benign thing he was in the middle of sharing about boring engineering. "Come on, Anastasia, we must do this." I tug at her arm and head to the dance floor.

"Uh, that-that's a nickname she calls me. I'm really Trudy. His cousin." I hear her explain to the men behind me. She yanks away from my grasp and the motion sends me reeling faster to the dance floor and right into the bride's arms.

"I love the chicken dance." I gush at her.

"Me, too." She giggles. She reminds me of a platinum blonde Glinda the Good Witch with a soprano voice to match.

I right myself and stand next to her, smiling widely. We bond over flapping our wings. "The chicken dance!"

"Yes. So fun! We do this at every wedding back home," she shouts over the music with a little slurred twang in her voice. She's probably had as much or more to drink than me.

I'm so grateful that Sebastian offered to show me how to do this dance. He's so smart. And so… So nice. I think I might like nice for a change.

We laugh through the motions and when it comes time to swing your partner, we grab onto each other and give it a whirl. Only with her enormous bridal ball gown skirt, she can hardly move, so I hold on to both her hands and twirl us in a circle together.

"Isn't love gr-hic-grand?" She asks with a hiccup. "I love Charles so much. I just wanna be hap-hic-happy with him forever."

"Chuck is amazing. Have you seen his ass yet?"

"Of course I have. You're so funny calling him Chuck. He never lets me call him that."

"I recently met a man with a perfect ass." Whoa. I almost trip on the hem of her dress. We'd both go tumbling to the ground together and wouldn't that be a sight? "But I'm scared to let myself get to know him."

"Oh, don't be. Falling in love is the best part, um, whoever you are."

"Trudy. Or Isabelle. Your husband's cousin from Seattle. Whatever." I shrug and the music changes up, so we laugh through the motions again. Only my stomach starts to churn. But I'm sure I'll be fine. I'll switch to coffee after this dance. "He kissed me. I liked it. And he calls me Sweet Pea."

"I vote yes. Kiss him some more. Hold on to him and make him yours. Because love is grand!" She hollers, waving her arms in the air.

"Yes. Love. We all deserve love," I shout behind her. The next thing I know, she grabs my hand and places it on her waist, and quickly other guests follow suit behind me and we have a conga line going all around the room until the song ends.

"All right, everyone. If our bride is ready, we'll toss the bouquet. All the single ladies in the house come stand in the middle of the dance floor," the DJ announces.

I run to the middle of the dance floor, along with several other ladies. Even Anastasia rushes beside me. "If you catch this, you marry Connor!" I tease. She's not laughing with me.

"On three." The DJ says. "One, two, three!" The bride tosses the bouquet high in the air. The singles turn into a pack of hungry wolves, out for blood. Call it because of my past hockey training, but I eye the prize and sprint forward. I can see the trajectory of the bouquet landing in my hands—until someone trips me and sends me flying forward.

The next thing I know, I land on my knees, barfing all over the bride's pretty white skirt.

There's a sudden flurry of activity. Anastasia's by my side instantly, picking me up, apologizing to the bride and groom profusely. I lean into my bestie, and the room spins out of control as she guides us quickly out, all the while she has a nasty exchange of words with the bride's momzilla.

The rest is fuzzy, until I realize I'm laying in the back seat of a car, my head on Anastasia's lap. She must have called a car service to take us back to her place. She softly brushes the hair from my face with her fingertips, and I peer up at her. I know that face. She's worried, staring out the window.

"I'm sorry," I cry. Tears burn my eyes.

"It's okay. I knew this day was coming, where you'd finally have a little breakdown. Hopefully, this was it. Because I need my friend back, Misty. The before-your-ex one. I miss her."

Her words register, and my tears fall, wetting her dress. The thing is. I don't think I can go back to that person I was before. But I also can't be who I was when I let Gregor walk all over me, either. I need to figure myself out as soon as possible.