I eventually had to turn on my phone, so my dad wouldn’t worry. As I scrolled through missed calls, the vast majority were from Dane. I deleted the log and all the voice-mail messages. Didn’t bother reading the texts. Then I checked in with my father, telling him I’d lost my cell at the hotel and just found it. Big apologies.
“You’ll come out to the driving range and have lunch on Sunday, right?” he asked.
That was still a few days away. I spared a glance at myself in the mirror hanging over the kitchen table. The bruises remained but had faded decently. The cut on my lip had healed. The one on my forehead had an angry look to it, so I kept antibiotic cream and a bandage over it. I could find some way to camouflage all of the wounds with makeup, sunglasses, and a visor, so I said, “Sure. Usual time?”
“Yes. And … bring Dane.” He said this hesitantly. I recognized the olive branch for what it was. And cringed. My dad was trying to reconcile and accept my choice in boyfriends. Not knowing I no longer had one.
I said, “How about I bring a friend, instead? I work with him at the hotel.” I wasn’t ready to spring the news of my departure, nor did I want anything to appear too suspicious while I was still so wrecked … and physically wounded.
“Him?” That one word in my statement seemed to perk up my father.
“His name is Kyle Jenns. I don’t know if he golfs, so this could be fun for him to get lessons from you.” I knew my dad liked doling out his professional opinion.
“Sounds great. Everything else okay?”
“Sure.” I swallowed hard, hoping I sounded normal. Because I sure as hell didn’t feel normal. And wondered if I ever would.
“All right then. See you on Sunday.”
“Yeah.” I was about to disconnect but hastily added, “Hey, Dad?”
“Hmm?”
“I love you.”
H
e was quiet for a moment, then said, “I love you, too, Sweets.”
Tears pooled in my eyes. I hung up. And started crying all over again.
* * *
Sunday came and went, and Kyle played it cool so that my father didn’t suspect any trouble in my world. As it turned out, Kyle never had golfed before, so it was an eventful morning, followed by a comfortable lunch, with him carrying the majority of the conversation, for which I was grateful.
The final week of October was spent on intensive last-minute preparations for my Halloween wedding. I’d had my doubts on how we’d pull off the theme, but it was gorgeous as a formal black-and-white affair, with fiery blood-orange and gold accents. The orange lilies used for the decorations and centerpieces were the deepest, most vibrant I’d ever seen, thanks to the extensive research I’d done with the florist I typically subcontracted. We’d looked high and low for a grower who would give us exactly what we wanted, and everyone had delivered all the way around.
On my recommendation, Grace tended bar in the private clubhouse. I enjoyed seeing her again.
I stayed for the dancing because it was healthier to my psyche than spending another night alone at my townhome. I chatted it up with some guests but didn’t hit the dance floor, despite a few requests. It felt as though it’d be a betrayal to Dane so fresh in our split. And the fact that I refused to take or return any of his calls.
Unfortunately, the evening had to end at some point. My euphoria over the striking wedding and the deliriously happy couple dissipated as I drove home. I was exhausted from the hard work and running around but my mind wasn’t quite ready to shut down. So I made out my check for the vendor booth at a huge bridal fair at the Civic Center in downtown Phoenix in January and updated my Web site with both the Delfino-Aldridge festivities and tonight’s Halloween wedding.
I wasn’t one to boast about things of this nature yet I decided it best to add the cover of Southwest Weddings magazine with my photo on it. I needed to leverage what I could in order to get back in the game. My only other event on the books was Shelby Hughes’s wedding next summer.
As I considered that, I thought it a good idea to compose some snippets about event planning so that I could branch out in that arena as well. If I couldn’t manage parties at the Lux, I could do it independently. Just not on the same scale. At the same magnitude. With the same grandeur. For Dane.
I definitely needed more work. Something to focus on other than him. And the rug that had been ripped from underneath me, as I’d predicted would happen all along.
Powering down my computer, I left that room and went into mine. I slipped into my Gretzky jersey, but that reminded me of the night on the phone when Dane had talked dirty to me and I’d had my first of many stellar orgasms because of him. I yanked off the jersey and returned it to its drawer, opting for a pair of yoga pants and a tank top instead.
The weather was mild and much more normal than the lengthy and violent monsoons we’d experienced this year. Yet I felt chilled to the bone as I crawled into bed.
My theory of not being touched so that I didn’t miss it when instances of it were too few and far between turned out to be a valid one. I’d gotten used to Dane’s touch, his heat, his essence surrounding me. I’d even relied on it in some respect, because it had become a part of me. He had become a part of me. Now there was nothing but loneliness. Emptiness. A bleak feeling.
Would I ever recover?
Did I even want to?