MESSED UP - completed!

36- The wedding

36 The Wedding

"Best friends' day," Big Thick says, explaining what he wants for his new project. "I want a video about it. But like not too long. It's for Instagram. Make it one minute tops."

"Okay," I say.

"Great."

My smile is wide while fixing my skirt on my knees. "I need to tell you something."

"Go ahead."

"I got fired from Whoosh. Not because of inefficiency. But still."

"I know. The new manager told me."

"Who?"

"Sara."

"Of course. I just thought you should know."

"Thanks for being honest."

"Thanks for trusting me with your project."

"You kiddin' me? Whoosh is far off the damn business. I'd couple projects with them, and the results? Fucking shit."

"That bad?"

"Don't you follow me on Instagram?"

"Is it the right time to act like I don't have an Instagram?"

"Ouch! Hurts to see you're this fast in moving on."

My mouth curves. "Three years ago, Tony. Even Taylor Swift would move on by now."

"Taylor Swift never moves on," he says with a smile. "She just rerecords her albums."

I give him a firm shake, and he leaves the bar. I grab my bag, and before I head out, someone bumps into me.

"Sorry," I mutter, and she nods as she leaves, uncovering a familiar face sitting behind her on the bar stool.

"Jon?" I approach him, and he glances up to find me.

"Miss perfect!" He smiles, lifting his drink in front of me. He's drunk. Again.

I sit next to him. He doesn't move to give me space. "Jon, what happened?" I ask. He wants to protest, but I stop him. "You know I'm worried about you. That's why I'm asking." He sighs and drinks again. "Jonathan?"

"Don't call me Jonathan!"

"The world can't be this small. You must be stalking me."

He stares at my belly for a few seconds, not talking. "You're r-really pregnant," he stutters.

I move my hand on my stomach instinctively. "I am."

"It ain't gas."

"Not all of it. Enough drinking!" I try to take his drink away, but he holds it tighter.

He fights my hand back and holds the bottle harder. "No."

"I'm too pregnant to take care of you."

"I don't need you to take care of me." The bartender comes and takes a look at Jon's face. He turns to me.

"You'll take him home, right?" Asks the bartender from me. "Can't take care of someone at this hour."

"Of course I will," I assure him.

'Can you pick me up? I'm at Pete's with my friend. He's drunk.' I text Ian, and he responds quickly.

'Okay, I'll be there in twenty minutes.'

"You texting Isla?" Jon asks, and I shake my head.

"What happened?" I ask.

He holds his head in his hands. "N-Nothing."