Dating For Decades Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Blank Page

  About The Author

  Dating For Decades

  Tracy Krimmer

  Copyright © 2016 Tracy Krimmer

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 1534600639

  ISBN-13: 978-1534600638

  Front Cover Design by Najla Qamber Designs

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  For Stephanie

  Thank you for believing in this book.

  Chapter

  One

  I just plucked six hairs from my chin. Hairs! From my chin. I’m going to pretend I don’t even see the stray grays intertwining with my auburn strands. My fortieth birthday isn’t for almost eight months, and I’m already transitioning into an old maid. The top of the hill is in my sight, and as soon as I cross over, I’m sure I’ll collapse and spin down until I crash into a wall. Can I stop this?

  There’s no time to worry about that right now. I’m waltzing down this aisle in fifteen minutes whether I’m ready or not. These gray hairs will be a shiny accessory, matching the platinum bracelet hanging from my wrist and necklace plunging down between my cleavage. Gosh, I never noticed in all my fittings how much my boobs were exposed. I hope they’re not the main event.

  “Time to line up!” The wedding planner, Hillary, gathers us all, spinning and straightening us until we’re right where she wants us. “Cassie, hold your flowers closer to your chest.” She shoves the bouquet against my dress, nearly snagging it in the process.

  We’re all behind the shut double doors of the church and the groomsmen are lined up on the other side waiting. I’m not the least bit nervous, except for the testosterone that has taken over my face. Will anyone notice? They won’t grow throughout the day, will they? If they do, I’m in trouble.

  A few latecomers slip past us and find their seats, trying not to bring attention to themselves. The ceremony should take less than an hour and after pictures, I can kick off these godforsaken shoes and change into something more comfortable. I’m looking forward to the ballet flats waiting for me in my car. These shoes seemed like a great idea at first, but now that I’ve been standing in them for an hour, I can barely feel my toes. I love heels, but these are more like suction cups with sticks on the bottom. Whoever made these hates women.

  Hillary claps to grab our attention like we’re a class of five-year-olds. She runs through the instructions again, as though walking down an aisle requires a ton of direction. She hands me my flowers and I take a quick whiff. These were a great choice. The purples and whites complement each other and really pop against the gowns. I personally would have gone with a purple dress and put yellows and ivories in the arrangement, but that’s me, and I’m not a florist. Sasha is.

  The music begins playing, which is our cue to begin our parade down the aisle. Four others go before me. Four, which means I’m fifth in a line of seven, which equates to a total of fourteen people, sixteen if you add the ring bearer and flower girl. I don’t even know how we’ll all fit into one frame in a picture, but that’s the photographer’s problem, not mine. By the time we’re all up front and squared away on our appropriate sides, it feels as though a full thirty minutes has passed.

  I take a deep breath as everyone stands and the doors open again, this time, a glowing, confident, beautiful woman stepping through in a flowing, white gown. My young cousin, Sasha, commands the room as she takes my Uncle Ray’s arm and makes her way down the aisle to her groom.

  Twenty-five years old and starting her life with her husband. Almost fifteen years younger than me and settling down with the man she loves. Soon she’ll be thinking about babies and family photos and trips to the zoo. Here I am, almost forty and no prospects in sight.

  How does the saying go? Because it fits me perfectly.

  Always the bridesmaid, never the bride.

  •••••••

  What an amazing dinner! The tender chicken is doused in marsala sauce, which runs like a river into my mashed potatoes. I splurge on a piece of chocolate cake. My waistline keeps me in check and I don’t usually eat sweets outside of events like this. I worked my ass off to fit into this dress and I fully intend to stay this size, but after the sixty-minute ceremony and another hour of posing for photos in chilly weather, I’m stuffing myself.

  The rain didn’t start until dinner, so we managed to finish the pictures without a problem. They say April showers bring May flowers, but the precipitation was sparse last month. The rain is very welcome because my perennial garden could use some water after last year’s drought. I can do without the below average temperatures.

  My favorite part of a wedding is always the dancing. This time, though, I’m a bridesmaid, so I’m required to do the bridal party dance. I prefer the fast songs to the slow and to dance by myself. Sasha paired me up with Phil, her new husband’s stepbrother. At only twenty-two years old he loves to drink and by the time we arrive on the dance floor, he’s already pretty drunk.

  Sasha selected “That’s What Friends Are For” by Dionne Warwick for the dance. I guess the choice is appropriate — all of her friends and family coming together on this special day. When Phil wraps his hand around mine, he squeezes and a smile spreads across his face.

  “I’ve been eyeing you up all day.” I could probably get drunk off his breath alone.

  His left-hand slides further down my side than I’m comfortable. He winks, and though I want to roll my eyes, I instead move his hand up so it’s nestled on my waist. “The ceremony was beautiful.”

  “As are you.”

  I’m tempted to stick my finger down my throat but refrain from the childish act. I extend a thank you and push through the song. Once the last note is played, I rush off the dance floor to the bar. I need a drink. Now.

  The couple went all out with an open bar. A risky move, if you ask me. One thing I’ve learned about allowing the alcohol to flow free is that people tend to drink things they normally wouldn’t, and usually it’s the more expensive alcohol. I order a beer. As much as I want to get as shit-faced as Phil, I left that stage of my life back in my twenties.

  “Sorry about my stepbrother.”

  I turn to Garrett, my cousin’s new husband, who is leaning up against the bar. “Oh, don’t be. He’s young.”

  He smiles at my
remark, and I know this is because he’s young, too. I forget I’m the old lady in the bunch of this wedding party. I never expected to be a thirty-nine-year-old bridesmaid. Sasha and I are more than cousins, though. We’re friends. I like having such a young cousin in some ways. We’re actually into some of the same music, and we’ve even gone to a few concerts together. Of course, I’ve done the same with her mom, my Aunt Dorothy. In fact, I’m closer in age with my aunt than I am with my cousin.

  Now with this realization, I could have a daughter almost Sasha’s age. My stomach lurches at the thought.

  “I hope you’re having fun.” Garrett orders a beer for himself.

  “Yeah, I am. This is a very nice wedding.” And it is. Although I never intend to have one, I still like attending and viewing the spectacular gown the bride picked out, listening to the music that is sometimes too loud, and people watching. I’ve already taken note of the group of girls who can’t take enough selfies, witnessed a man bitching that the wedding is during a Brewers game, and a couple who is displaying way too much PDA. A creative mind could go crazy here. Good stuff.

  “Thanks. All the credit goes to Sasha and Hillary, though.”

  “Hillary,” I laugh. “She’s a character all right.” And by character I mean psychotic wedding planner.

  Garrett and I look beyond each other, not sure of where to head with our conversation. While we’ve met multiple times, our only commonality is Sasha.

  “Well, I better get back to my wife.”

  His face glows when he says the word wife. He and Sasha had a whirlwind romance, and within a year of meeting, are now married. A real-life fairy tale if I’ve ever seen one. “Yeah. You don’t want to keep your new bride waiting.” We clink our bottles of beer together in a quick toast before he heads off.

  “So, Cassie…” I cringe at the voice of my great Aunt Ella coming up behind me. Before I can make a run for the door, she has me by the elbow. “When are we getting an invitation to your wedding?”

  Of course I couldn’t avoid this. Here I thought I’d make it through an entire event with no one mentioning my spinster status. What an idiot I am! Why is this always the focus? Why doesn’t anyone ever ask about my job? Everything comes back to a man.

  “Hi, Aunt Ella.” The cigarette stench radiates from her clothes. “No time soon, unfortunately.” I add the unfortunately for her benefit because, to be honest, I’m really not too bothered by it.

  “Aren’t you dating anyone? Didn’t you bring a nice boy to the wedding with you?” Her pink lipstick is on a little too thick, and when she smiles, the color is transferring to her teeth. Is that hair above her lip? I touch my finger just below my nose. Whew. I’m safe. No mustache starting, only the chin hair, but that’s bad enough.

  “No, I didn’t.” I wouldn’t drag a date here and introduce him to my crazy family. Even if I had brought someone, I’d neglect him the entire time anyway because I’m required to be in so many places as a wedding party participant. That wouldn’t be fair.

  “Maybe you’ll meet a nice boy here.”

  “No offense, Aunt Ella, but I don’t want to meet a boy. If I meet anyone, it’ll be a man, and no one here interests me. I think they’re all too young, or family.”

  She crinkles her nose and scans the room, dropping her glasses down as though that helps her vision. “There are a few good-looking fellows here.”

  Hey, I’m not denying these boys are cute, but they’re just that — boys. I’m a grown woman. I’m not getting involved with someone in his twenties. “Yes, there are some attractive guys here.” I down the rest of my beer. “I think Sasha is about to toss the bouquet, so I better head out. Nice seeing you, Aunt Ella.”

  “You too, dear. I hope you meet someone soon.”

  I give her a quick peck on the cheek as I find my way back to the dance floor. My goal is to make it through the remainder of this night without commentary on my dating status.

  The garter toss is annoyingly graphic for me. I’m clueless as to why men insist on using their teeth to retrieve it. I really don’t want a peek under my cousin’s dress. I watch as he tosses the piece of fabric and the best man, Garrett’s closest friend, catches it.

  Next is the bouquet toss. I don’t want to participate, but Sasha gave me a lecture at her bachelorette party about how I’m one of the only single people that will be here, and she’ll be so embarrassed if no one participates. Sadly, this is true. The circle consists of me, my second cousin Megan, a couple of other little girls I don’t recognize (probably from Garrett’s side), and one other woman who is maybe in her twenties.

  This isn’t embarrassing for Sasha, but I’m humiliated to be singled out and part of this! But today is about her, not me, so I suck it up.

  Garrett covers Sasha’s eyes with his hands as they slowly begin to spin in a circle. Those of us surrounding her start our march opposite her. Everyone in the crowd is watching us and clapping their hands together. Aunt Ella waves at me and I roll my eyes. When will this be over? I hope one of these little girls catches it. I know when I was that age, I would have loved it. I’ll need to make sure it’s easy for them.

  The music stops and Garrett halts Sasha. She dips down and whips the bouquet back, which is coming right for me. I glance around and the little girls have their arms in the air. There’s no avoiding the inevitable, though. I can either dodge it and let the flowers hit the floor, or I give in and make the catch. If I miss on purpose, I’ll never hear the end of it from Sasha. As much as I’m annoyed to do so, I put my arms out and it lands right there as though meant to be.

  The crowd cheers and the groomsman who caught the garter is eyeing my cleavage. This will be a fun dance.

  The DJ announces us and puts on a Luther Vandross song. Once this dance is over, I’m headed for the bar again. And I don’t think I’ll ever be a bridesmaid again.

  Chapter

  Two

  One Month Later

  I can’t handle another meeting right now. My lunch consisted of the crappy coffee in the break room and a fortune cookie left out on the table in between meetings. No wonder I’m able to keep my figure. My boss, Terrence, has pulled me every which way he can, from conference room to conference room, and I need to catch up on my own stuff. Sometimes being the manager really sucks.

  It’s already three o’clock, and if I don’t find a real meal soon, I may pass out. Terrence scheduled this meeting yesterday, though, and if I ask to reschedule, he won’t be happy. An unhappy boss equals overloaded Cassie because he’ll drop everything on me.

  I knock on his door and wait for him to invite me into his office. I have my own space as well, but since he’s the Director of IT, he gets a window view of Lake Michigan. I may be able to relax a little if I had this view to look at every single day. His desk is slanted into the corner, and the entire back wall is nothing but windows. The wall to the left is filled with diplomas and certificates he’s earned throughout his career. One day I’ll be in this office. One day.

  “You wanted to see me?”

  “Yes, Cassie. Thanks for coming.” He sticks his pen back into the holder and locks down his computer. We all learned to do that once the help desk decided it would be fun to play pranks on people who walked away from their computers without locking their screen. Juvenile, perhaps, but a little horseplay is good for the office. Terrence and I choose not to participate, and even if we did, it would take quite the balls for the staff to mess with us. We’ve got a sense of humor, but screwing with the bosses is a no-no. Still, better safe than sorry.

  “Take a seat.” He motions to the maroon chair in front of his desk.

  I sit, thankful for the lake view before me. I take a mental picture and file it. I can use it when I try to fall asleep tonight. “I hope your day is going well.” Terrence enjoys small talk. He’s softer then.

  “Fairly well, thanks. I’ve probably been in and out of about as many meetings as you today, but I can’t complain.”

  He always takes a
n hour lunch and usually goes to some swanky restaurant. I’m sure his belly is full and he can concentrate. Too bad I can’t say the same.

  He straightens a photograph of his wife so it’s angled toward him. Maya is gorgeous and a sweetheart to boot. We’ve met a handful of times, and she often brings sweets to the office. Working at a bakery and fudge shop offers that advantage. I try not to partake too much. I’ve been down that path before and it doesn’t end pretty.

  “Now, I know you’ve been working very hard on the Pilot Project. Let’s just say I’m glad I don’t pay you overtime because you might run the company out of business.” He folds his hands in front of him, a noticeable twitch in the corner of his eye.

  I smile at him because we both know the truth of that statement. I love being salaried, but when it comes to all of the after hours I work, I certainly don’t see immediate benefit from that. My year-end bonus is always awesome, though. Last year I finally bought the Louis Vuitton pumps that entered my dreams for six months straight. I don’t splurge often, but when I do, I do it right.

  “That project is about all I can focus my time on right now. I pushed everything else to the back burner.”

  He rubs the scruff on his face. “Actually, that’s what I need to talk with you about. The Pilot Project is the biggest thing on your plate at the moment, but we can’t allow the smaller projects to suffer.”

  “Oh, I didn’t mean to imply that I’m not getting other things done.” I live and breathe this job. If he ever came into my office, he’d see the to-do list I keep at my desk. My laptop comes home with me every single night, and if I’m out and about, I always keep my iPad Mini with me in case I need to access the network.

  He waves his hand at me in opposition. “You’re a great worker and an even better manager. However, it’s important to recognize when to delegate.”

  Delegation. This may be the most obscene word in the English language. It’s not that I don’t delegate any tasks, but if something needs to be done right, I do it myself. Let’s be serious here. While a wonderful team supports me, almost all are new college graduates. Not brand-new graduates (those kids work like horses because they want to impress me), but the ones with about three years under their belts. They do enough but are finding ways to slack off. I’m well aware of who they are (Kimmy, Julian, and Trevor). They don’t fool me one bit. Every review I receive, Terrence and I discuss delegation. And every year we agree I will try my hardest to divide up projects so I’m not taking on everything. I delegate one to two projects a year, but a majority of the time I work my tail off to do everything myself.