Chapter 3

As I was being dragged out through the side door of the reception hall, I ran into a few guests who were coming out of the restroom.

They glanced at me, being held by security, then looked over at the stage.

One of the women covered her mouth and whispered, "Is that him? The one whose name was on the cake, Ben?"

Another man shook his head. "Tsk, a stalker. People these days..."

I wanted to explain.

I opened my mouth.

But what could I possibly say?

Should I tell them I'm Claire's husband?

Three minutes earlier, she had called Ryan the most important person in her life, and there I was, being hauled out by security.

Put those two scenes together, and what else could I be but a stalker?

I was shoved out the hotel's main entrance.

The night breeze carried the chill of early autumn.

The security guard released my arm, his expression icy. "Sir, please don't show up at Ms. Harris's events again."

I stood at the hotel entrance, my tie crooked and a fresh crease on my suit sleeve.

I checked my pocket.

The ring box was still there.

The hotel reservation confirmation was still there.

My thousand-dollar suit was left to chill in the early autumn night breeze.

I stood there for about thirty seconds.

Then I pulled out my phone and dialed a number.

It rang twice before someone picked up.

On the other end, I could hear the chaos of a video game and Jack yelling at full volume, "Jungler, are you even playing? My tower's gone and you're still clearing jungle camps?"

"Jack Howard," I said.

There was a brief silence on the other end.

Jack's voice suddenly turned serious. "What's wrong? You don't sound like yourself."

"Come pick me up. Silvercrest Hotel entrance."

"Ten minutes," Jack replied, not asking anything else.

I hung up and crouched by the flower bed at the hotel entrance.

Across the street, a couple walked by, arm in arm, the girl laughing sweetly.

I looked down at my shoes and spotted a smear of cream on my leather shoe, not even sure how or when it got there.

White, of course.

Must've come from the cake.

I brushed it off with my finger.

*****

When Jack's beat-up old Corolla pulled up in front of me, he hadn't even bothered to change out of his flip-flops.

He rolled down the window, looked me up and down, and joked, "What happened to you, man? Did you get roughed up on a blind date, or kicked out of a job interview?"

I opened the car door and got in. "Let's go. Find somewhere for some barbecue."

Jack started the car. "It's so late, man. You look like a mess, what happened?"

I didn't say anything.

Jack was my childhood friend. We'd shared the same bunk bed from elementary school all the way through college, and even copied off the same test paper. He knew about Claire, and he knew about my secret marriage.

When we got to the roadside grill, I ordered fifty chicken wings and two cases of beer.

Jack stared at the two cases of beer on the table, his face falling. "Did something happen between you and Claire?"

I took a bite of a chicken wing. "Tonight, at the annual party, right in front of more than three hundred people, she said Ryan was the most important person to her."

Jack was stunned.

I went on, "Then they brought out the cake I ordered for our fifth anniversary and put it right on stage."

Jack's hand froze mid-air.

I took a swig of beer. "The cake had 'Happy fifth anniversary to my wife' written on it, signed Ben."

Jack set his wing down.

"And then security dragged me out like I was some kind of stalker," I said.

Jack took a deep breath.

He was quiet for about five seconds.

Then he slammed his hand on the table. "Ben, are you the most miserable damn husband in the whole country or what?"

I didn't argue.

Because, yeah, that was pretty much me.

Jack took a big gulp of beer. "So, what are you gonna do now?"

"Divorce," I said.

Honestly, I thought I'd choke on that word when I said it.

But I didn't.

It came out, no hesitation at all.

Jack looked at me for a moment, then nodded. "Alright."

He didn't try to convince me otherwise, or tell me to think twice, or say I should give her another shot.

That was how Jack was.

He took another big gulp of beer. "So, what's next for you?"