I Want Your Heaven and Your Oceans Too

Send My Love (To Your New Lover)

"Mail's here," Bradley announces, standing in the frame of the doorway.

I barely glance up from the endless sea of make-up swatches that are slowly taking over my desk. "Anything interesting?"

"Mhmm," he's behind my chair now, massaging the weary muscles in my neck. "There's something addressed to the both of us."

His fingers knead a particularly intense knot and I discard my glasses, closing my eyes. If I didn't love him already, his masseuse skills would surely have sealed the deal.

"You open it, baby," I sigh happily as he works his magic. "Everything hurts."

"Time for a break?" He suggests gently. "You've been at this for hours."

Coming from anyone else, his words would have felt stifling or judgmental and I've been through it all before; partners who were jealous of how much my work consumed my time or resented me for my success but I knew, beyond a doubt, it wasn't the case with him. My health, mentally and physically was all he cared about and though he was absurdly supportive, always, he never hesitated to let me know it was perfectly fine to give myself time to decompress if need be.

He was usually right.

I push aside the swatches and stand so that I can hug him, craning up on tiptoe to encircle my arms around his neck. "What did I do to deserve you?"

Laughing into my hair, his lips graze my temple. "Right back at you, my love."

I asked him to open it but I can't take the suspense and I look at him, pleadingly.

"May I?" He nods, chuckling, and I take the large square from his hands. There's no return address but as he said, it's addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Bradley Cooper and it appears to be an invitation of some sort. Puzzled, I turn in his embrace and he raises an eyebrow back at me. "I don't know anyone who's getting married, do you?"

Bradley shakes his head. "I'm just as mystified as you are. Guess we'll find out," he shrugs.

Carefully, I pry open the seal and I'm confronted with weighted, crème-colored card stock. I was correct, it was an invitation. My eyes scan down and that's when I see it; printed in elegant calligraphy:

Your Presence is Requested at the Marriage of:

Christian J. Carino

&

Andrea M. Dyer

I feel my breath catch in my throat, barely taking the time to skim over the other details. Wordlessly, I hand the card over to Bradley who reads it, his mouth tightening the longer he holds it.

He puts it down on the desk and I see him struggling to remain neutral. "Wow."

"My first instinct is to fucking burn it," I admit, probably a little angrier than I'd intended. "Why now, B? After all this time?"

"I don't know, baby," he replies softly, his hands automatically coming to rest protectively on my shoulders. "Maybe he's trying to make amends..."

"By inviting us to his wedding? A phone call would've sufficed, just fine. Hell, I would have taken a text or an email." I was seething now. "This is fucking bullshit, Bradley, and you know it."