Exs and ohs, p.1
Ex's & Oh's, page 1
Ex’s & Oh’s
Hazel Parker
Copyright 2022 by Hazel Parker - All rights reserved.
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Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Epilogue
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Chapter 1
Jenna
“Ticket please,” the gate attendant asks with a smile, and Stacey and I hand over our tickets.
“This was the best idea,” I say. To the gate attendant, I add, “my best friend is getting married in Hawaii.”
“Congratulations,” the gate attendant says with a smile, and Stacey blushes. She thanks her, and we head into the hallway that leads to the plane.
“You don’t have to tell everyone,” Stacey says.
“But you love it when they know,” I say, and Stacey giggles and nods.
“Yeah, I do. But it’s not supposed to be such a big deal.”
“Of course, it is! You’re marrying the man of your dreams—a famous pro football player, might I add—at the destination fairy tales are made of. Seriously, nothing about this can be more perfect.”
We join the line to get on the plane.
“I think you’re more excited for my wedding than I am,” Stacey says.
I shrug. “It’s not every day your best friend marries Mr. Right. Marc really is the best. I can’t wait for you guys to build the rest of your lives together.”
“You’re a hopeless romantic,” Stacey says. She flips her black hair over her shoulder.
I shake my head to disagree, but she’s right. I am a hopeless romantic. I believe in fate and destiny, in love at first sight and being with the one person that’s your soulmate. I just haven’t been as lucky in love as Stacey has. And that’s okay—I tell myself my own Prince Charming is underway. He’s just stuck somewhere, being a goofy idiot.
We board the plane, find our seats, and stuff our carry-ons into the overhead compartments before sitting down. Stacey glances out of her window. The world is hazy through the drizzle that’s been falling in a steady stream since we woke up hours ago.
“Do you think this rain is going to keep us grounded?” Her icy blue eyes are worried, her brows knitted together. She worries her bottom lip as she looks out of the little window next to her.
“It’s just a drizzle; they would have let us know if we were going to be delayed.”
Stacey nods. “You’re right. I’m just panicking. I keep thinking something’s going to go wrong.” She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.
“Everything is falling into place,” I say.
She covers her face for a moment. “That’s what’s worrying me.”
“If something goes wrong, we’ll fix it,” I say. “The wedding is still a week and a half away. More than enough time to make things right.”
“You’re right.” She lets out a shuddering breath. “I’m so nervous about what my mom’s going to do the next few days. And what she’s going to think and what she’s going to say.”
I put my hand on hers. I can feel how tense she is. She's a nervous wreck, and I don't blame her. Her mother is tough to deal with. “That’s what I’m here for. Trust me; it’s going to be fine. You leave your mom to me and focus on being the prettiest bride in the Northern Hemisphere.”
Stacey nods and offers a nervous smile. The wedding is a big deal—her guest list has five hundred of the most influential business and social people on it, not to mention celebrity sports stars, and it’s been in all the papers. She's Stacey Jackson, the daughter of Harvey Jackson, the business mogul, and she’s marrying Marc Atkins, Quarterback for the California Golden Bears. The whole world is invested in the union, and those who haven’t been invited are watching the tabloids, papers, and news broadcasts closely so they won't miss out on any of the action.
Stacey grew up in the limelight, with money and fame because of who her family is, but she doesn't like being the center of attention. Now, all eyes are on her, and it only adds tension to an already-stressful situation.
I’m not as worried as she is. I’m going to be there, too—the headlines will include me this time. But I’m arranging the wedding, and this is what I do best. I’ve been working as an event manager since I left college, and I’m good at what I do. I thrive under pressure, I make things happen even at the eleventh hour, and I’m determined to pull off this wedding so that my best friend looks as perfect as I know she is.
I also know how to handle her mother. In part, it's because Laura isn't my mother. It helps our dynamic. She can't boss me around too much, and I don't need to impress her.
Even if I weren't arranging the wedding for Stacey, I would have been there for moral support. I'm her maid of honor, and I'm going to be the best damn MOH there ever was.
After the air hostesses tell us everything we need to know about the emergency exits and what to do when anything goes wrong, the captain makes a quick speech and then we’re off. The plane takes off with a rumble and my stomach sinks as we lift into the air. I watch as the city shrinks below us, disappearing into a haze of drizzle and smog.
We climb above LA rain clouds, and the plane breaks into a burst of sunlight. I take a deep breath, and when I glance at Stacey, she looks like she's starting to relax a little, too.
Good. She has to enjoy this. It's the one big day she'll never forget. And it's going to be great.
When we arrive in Hawaii, the feeling of exoticism and relaxation hangs in the air. I taste the tang of salt on my tongue and I can feel the ocean between my fingers in the sticky, humid air. Green palm trees wave in a light breeze as we step out of the airport, and seagulls offer a soundtrack to the beautiful scenery.
“We’re here!” Stacey cries out. She’s getting excited. Now that we’re here, she already seems less panicked.
That’s what I want for her.
A sleek black car waits for us. The driver holds up a sign with Stacey’s name. She rolls her eyes when we spot him.
“My dad never thinks I can find the car myself,” Stacey says. "One day, I’m going to hail a cab.”
I laugh. Stacey’s been living her own life, working as an editor for a large publishing company and making her own way, but she still falls back on a lot of luxuries from the life she grew up in. Sometimes, I think that’s what she likes about hanging out with me. I live in a four-floor walk-up apartment, half-an-hour’s commute away from work and if people don’t ask for me by name, they don’t recognize me. I didn't grow up in a rich, famous family. I made my way through college like thousands of other nameless Americans.
There was a time when I dreamed about things being different—in high school, the quarterback was my boyfriend, and together, we dreamed about the big leagues.
But that was a decade ago, and I’ve grown up since then. Not everyone makes it big, and a life with money and fame isn’t necessary for me to be happy. I don't need a rich guy. I just want the right guy.
Stacey fires off a bunch of questions to the driver as we head toward our hotel. I turn my face toward the window and drink in the sunlight that’s so different out here. I take in the lush green scenery and tell myself I should make a point of taking a break and getting away from work more often.
Stacey turns to me. “Are you okay?”
“Fine,” I say. “Why?”
“You have that look on your face.”
“What look?” I ask, surprised.
“The look you get when you think about how things ended with Charlie.”
I shake my head. Stacey knows me better than I know myself, sometimes.
“I'm not really thinking about him, per se. I'm just thinking about relationships in general. But it’s better this way. We weren’t meant to be together.”
“You’ll find someone, Jen. I promise.”
What if she's wrong? What if I never do? I shake my head and smile brightly. “I’m not looking for someone, remember? I’m going to put all my focus into work and build my career. It’s high time I break away from the company and do my own thing, and now I can.”
It's been more than a year since Charlie and I split up. I don't miss him as much as I miss the idea of having someone. But I'm not going to tell Stacey that.
Stacey nods. “You’ve alway
“Right.”
“Besides, being single at a wedding is much better. You might meet someone hot, and then you won’t have to hold back.” She winks at me.
I laugh. “I’m not going to meet someone I don’t want to ‘hold back’ with. I’m here to make it the best event you’ve ever seen and celebrate you and Marc.”
“You’re a saint,” Stacey says.
We pull up in front of the Daimana Hotel. It's a beautiful old building, the paint honeyed over the years, and the terracotta roof tiles make it look like a setting from a movie.
Harvey and Laura Jackson wait for us on the curb. A group of photographers is hanging around, trying to look like it's not a big deal.
“Oh, no,” Stacey groans before she forces a smile. “The paps are already circling like vultures. I hoped we would have a breather. Here we go.” She adds the last through clenched teeth and opens the door.
Laura’s squeals float to me on the breeze. I follow Stacey out and we're surrounded by camera flashes.
"Shoo, shoo!" Laura shouts, waving at them. "Do you have no respect?" But she's wearing her photo-ready face. Her makeup is immaculate and her white designer dress suit looks like it's been chosen for the papers, not for a holiday in Hawaii. Her dark hair is salon-styled.
“Oh, you made it, you made it!” she cries out and hugs her daughter before grabbing me. She cups my cheeks, flattening my hair against my face.
“It’s so good to see you! How was your flight?”
Harvey is silent and commanding. He's dressed in an equally expensive suit, his graying hair combed to the side and slicked down with oil. He looks like he belongs in a boardroom, not in front of a chic hotel in the tropics.
He never looks comfortable outside his office.
After a curt nod hello to me and a stiff hug for Stacey, he mumbles something to his PR Manager and she approaches the paparazzi who won't go away. She tries to reason with them while we follow Laura into the hotel. Stacey worried for nothing—her mother is in a great mood. She gushes about how perfect everything is so far.
My room is on the same floor as Stacey’s and the other bridesmaids who are flying in later today.
I have a whole suite, and it's beautiful. Plush beige carpets stretch wall to wall and full-length French windows look out over a breathtaking ocean view. The living room has a wet bar, an intimate circle of couches, and a fireplace that I'm sure in this heat no one ever uses. The bedroom is as large as my entire apartment back in LA, with a large poster bed in the center and more couches. The bathroom has a waterfall shower in it and a jet bath.
I walk to the bed and pick up the box of chocolates and the letter I had delivered to every room the guests are staying in for the wedding. Most of the guests bring their significant others, and I set up the delivery in such a way that it celebrates togetherness for them, too.
I didn’t think it would bother me, since I sent out the gifts myself, but it does. I’m in this glorious suite alone, sharing the big bed with no one, and I’m suddenly painfully aware of how single I am.
When I pick up my phone, I scroll to Charlie’s number. We haven’t spoken since I asked him to move out. It wasn’t one big thing that broke us up—it was all the little things. He’d fought me on it.
“Who breaks up with someone about putting their wet towel on the bed?” he asked.
I packed for him, his blond hair still wet after his shower, the shirt clinging to his back where he didn’t dry himself properly before getting dressed.
“It’s not about the towel. It’s about all the little things that aren’t working for me.”
“You have to accept the cons with the pros; isn’t that what you always tell me about everything?” He was angry. I didn’t blame him. Being dumped sucked.
“The pros don’t outweigh the cons anymore, Charlie,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
He argued with me. He kept trying, all the way out of the door and to the cab downstairs, where I carried his bag for him and put it in the trunk.
“You’re going to regret it, Jenna,” he said. “One day, you’re going to end up alone because you’re not willing to accept people for who they are.”
I didn’t answer him. I folded my arms over my chest, and eventually, he had to go. He climbed into the cab, and I didn’t wait to see if he looked back.
I shake myself out of the memory, unwrap both chocolates, and pop them into my mouth. I'm not going to text him. This is what I chose. I'll find my happy ending; I just have to keep looking for the right guy and stop dating duds because I'm hoping they'll magically change.
When you kiss a frog, sadly, it stays a frog.
I need to accept that I might be alone for a while. Besides, I have friends who are there for me. It can be enough.
You're not willing to accept people for who they are. His voice keeps replaying in my mind. It's been more than a year, but I can't stop thinking about it.
I've been told my standards are too high. A lot of people have told me I'm still single because I won't accept flaws. But I can't accept less than what I'm willing to offer. It's how I see things, and someone out there has to understand. I can't be the only person in the world who thinks that way.
I don’t need a man. What I need is to build my company into something that can sustain me, and while I don’t have anyone to answer to, no one demanding slices of my time, I can do just that. Then, one day, when it’s all running smoothly, I can rethink my priorities.
That’s what I’ll do. I’ll keep telling myself that this is exactly what I wanted, and if I keep doing it for long enough, I’ll be happy with where I am.
Isn’t that what they say about relationships? You have to be happy single before you can be happy with someone else.
Well, that’s what I’m doing. I’m finding a space where I’m happy being alone, and then one day, when Mr. Right arrives at my door, I’ll be ready for him.
I throw away the chocolate wrappers and walk out of the room to find something to do that won’t remind me how alone I am.
Chapter 2
Jenna
When I meet Laura and Stacey in the dining room an hour later, Stacey looks frazzled.
“I’m just saying we should have gone with imports,” Laura’s saying. “How are we supposed to know if the quality here is up to standard?”
I sit down and glance around. Everything about the hotel has a warm, exotic feel to it. The carpet is thick beneath my feet and the dining chairs and tables are dark wood, polished until I can almost see myself in them.
“Mom, having flowers imported now is going to be crazy. I can’t do the last-minute thing, and it’s going to take days for them to get it here.”
“But we’ll know for sure what we get,” Laura says. "I don't want something local if it means we have to sacrifice quality, sweetheart. This isn't just any old wedding."
“Anything I can help with?” I ask, sitting down at their table. A pitcher with an exotic-looking cocktail waits in the center of the table and I pour myself a glass. When I sip it, it’s tart, with a healthy dose of alcohol. This might be just what Stacey needs. I pour her a glass and she takes it from me, taking a sip, too.
“Mom wants to fire what’s-her-name and get someone else to do the flowers. Something not local.” Stacey’s face is pinched.
“What’s the problem with Kaipo’s flowers?” I ask carefully, referring to the local florist we’ve all been in contact with. I asked her to send me photos of what she can do for us since she doesn't have a website we can access and it looked good.
“I just don’t know if she can handle the load,” Laura says with a sniff. “It’s a lot of flowers, and we need to make a good impression. I don’t want to sit without flowers on the day because her local little flower stall couldn’t handle anything more than one or two bouquets for tourists and their lovers. Do you really trust those photos?"
I shake my head. “Let me handle Kaipo, okay? I’ll talk to her, and I’ll make sure the flowers are taken care of. You don’t have to worry, Laura. You already have enough on your plate.”
“Are you sure?” Stacey’s mom asks.
I nod confidently. “I’ve got this covered.” Stacey looks relieved. “I don’t want either of you worrying about any of the logistics. You need to focus on the guests.” I put my hand on Laura’s arm with a smile before looking at my friend. “And Stace…you need to stop stressing about this. It’s going to be just fine.”
