“Fine,” I state venomously, an evident edge in my voice. “Since my marriage ended. I didn't realize that we were mincing words. But, at least now I know I'm right—that Liz is exactly what this is all about.”
“You think I'm standing here telling you that I don't want to get married like this...with the entire population of Garrison in attendance...with your mother's hand in every part of the wedding that I've spent my entire life dreaming about...and you honestly believe that I want to postpone it because your ex-wife showed up at our engagement party just to prove that she could?”
She holds up a hand, preventing me from interrupting her. “Trust me, Cohen, Liz was on my radar only long enough to piss me off and make me snap at her. It was tacky and completely unnecessary for her to show up there. If you’re upset with anyone for making a scene at the party last night, it's her you should be upset with. Not me. Because anybody there with half a brain would realize your ex-wife had no business showing her face at that party. And if you’d calm down and get past the fact that you're just angry at me for not keeping up the pretenses and making sure that everybody thinks that I’m just this perfect little version of Vienna Anderson that I've always been, with the perfect grades and the perfect boyfriend and the perfect life that never stresses me out, and that I don’t get frustrated or angry and my emotions never get the best of me, then maybe you would realize that it’s really not me you're probably angry with. It's yourself as much as anyone.”
She pauses, and if I knew what to say, I'd jump in. But she's rendered me speechless and all I can do is stand there at the counter, staring at the woman I thought I knew—who I thought was happy—and wonder where the hell I've gone wrong.
“Cohen, we've got to stop doing everything for everyone else. You, yourself, know very well that you’re not content with the way these wedding plans have go
ne. Between your family and mine, not to mention the rest of Garrison, it's managed to become a monster that neither of us know how to gain control of. Whatever happened to simple and lowkey, like we discussed in the beginning?” She’s pleading with me to understand.
“It's gotten out of hand, I'll admit that.” I run my hands through my hair, letting out a slow breath as I try to compose myself. “But, Vienna, we can't just cancel everything because it's not going how we wanted.”
“Sure we can!” she exclaims. “We can do whatever we want, Cohen. That's the beauty of it. It's our wedding.”
“So, you want to wait to get married, until what? Everyone else just hopefully forgets that we were going to do it the way things have been planned?”
“Cohen, we're going to need to tell people, but—”
“Yeah, and just think of the uproar that will create.”
“Let them be frustrated! Let them not get their way!” Her hands jut out in exasperation. “If they don't like the wedding we've planned for ourselves, then that's really not on us, now is it? Most of the people in question are already married, Cohen. They had their own wedding already. And if their own wedding didn't turn out the way they wanted to and they're living vicariously through us, too damn bad.”
“You're really serious about this, aren't you?”
“I really am,” she replies easily. “It’s not the end of the world, Cohen.”
Unfortunately, I don't believe her.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Vienna
He just won't listen.
Cohen is so frustrated and so—I don't know, scared?—that he can't even bring himself to stop defending what's been going on long enough to hear what I'm trying to suggest to him.
I don't like arguing with him, and I sure as hell don't like seeing him tied up in knots over something that should have been a good, celebratory thing. That's exactly what last night's engagement party should have been for both of us—fun.
Instead, here we are, squaring off against each other in the middle of his kitchen, wondering how the hell it all went so wrong.
“Cohen,” I try again. “I'm trying to fix this.”
“Funny,” he retorts. “Fixing this seems to be the furthest thing from what your little speech seems to be doing to this situation.”
“You know what?” I toss my hands up and turn away, slipping my fingers through my coffee mug’s handle and plucking it up into my hands. “If you're that upset with me for defending myself against your ex-wife, defending our engagement party and all that it was supposed to be against a woman who should have never been there in the first place, and if you’re frustrated enough that you would rather just let our wedding turn into everyone else's wedding, then I guess there's no more to say in this conversation.”
“So what, then?” Cohen's eyebrows shoot up and he shrugs at me. “That's it? We’re just going to forget about this and pretend you didn't just say you’d rather not marry me than have to deal with my overbearing mother and the baggage that I happen to come with?”
“Be careful, Cohen,” I warn him, narrowing my eyes. “I can deal with the fact that you have an ex-wife, and I can deal with your mother. Neither of those people are news to me. I never said I couldn’t deal. What I am saying is, I won't put up with said ex-wife showing up and staking claim. I won't stand by and let your mother turn our wedding into whatever the heck she wants it to be.” My eyes are steely as I swallow past the lump in my throat. “Now, we're going to take a break from this conversation because we’re going in circles and not getting anywhere. And the very fragile, very thin line of communication between us seems to be very, very broken.”
I walk toward him, but don't bother to go to him. Instead, I pass by. “I'm going to have a shower,” I add. “If you're at all interested when I come back out, then maybe we can try this again. But you're going to have to listen, Cohen, instead of just getting defensive and thinking I'm trying to end the best thing that's in my life.” I turn, making sure my eyes are locked on his. “And, in case you didn't realize, I'm meaning you, and the relationship we have with each other. Just in case that part wasn't clear, either.”
I don't hesitate to disappear back up the stairs without looking back at him. There's too much fire smoldering between us right now for anything good to come of continuing to try to talk. And as I grab a change of clothes from my dresser and head back downstairs to the bathroom where I keep my makeup and personal belongings, I wonder if we will get anywhere by even trying again.
The truth of what is happening between us hangs in the air like the steam that begins to billow from the faucet as I turn the shower on. Cohen has no desire to listen to anything I might have to say regarding a change in wedding plans or my stance on his ex-wife's motives, and I have no intention of backing down and letting this fiasco continue on the road it's taken.
Even above the sound of the water beating against the tub, I hear the doorbell sound through the house.