The M Word (Best Friends Wedding Series) Read online

  The M Word

  By Beverly Farr

  Copyright 2012 Beverly Farr Giroux

  Smashwords Edition

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. This book is for entertainment purposes only and not for the purpose of providing legal advice.

  All rights reserved.

  Cover design by Rita Toews www.yourebookcover.com

  Cover image by: Jason Stitt/Shutterstock.com

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  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

  EPILOGUE

  NOTE FROM AUTHOR

  PROLOGUE

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Brenda Williamson sat on a park bench, resting her head in her hands. She looked up to see a stocky man with a beard, standing ten feet away from her.

  She’d been crying and it took a few seconds to process what he was saying. Her first reaction was to snap, “Go away,” but then she recognized him as one of the bank’s regular customers, and professional courtesy took over. She hastily wiped her eyes. “Can I help you?”

  “May I sit here?”

  He had a slight European accent. Not German, but something similar. She said, “You want to sit here?”

  “Yes, please. If you don’t mind.”

  She did mind, but it would be rude to tell him to find his own bench. She looked around the park. She’d never noticed how few benches there were. There was one close to the playground area, but a young mom with several children sat there. It didn’t look as if there was another place for him to sit.

  Brenda sat at this bench so often during her lunch hour that she’d thought of it as her bench, but she’d need to rethink that. In the future she might have to find another place to eat her lunch in peace.

  Belatedly she realized that the man was waiting patiently for her response.

  “Yes. Fine,” she said quickly. “You can sit here.”

  He nodded. “Thank you.” There was a melodic lilt to his words. He quietly sat at the other end of the bench. She noticed that his clothes, although clean and neat, were faded and worn. He wore a metal clip around his pants legs which meant that he rode a bicycle.

  Brenda wondered how long she should sit there before getting up to leave. If she got up right away, it would look like she was trying to get away from him, which could be rude. But in a few minutes, she could glance at her watch and say something cheerful like, “Got to go.”

  She sighed.

  He said, “He’s not worth your tears.”

  She frowned. “What’s that?”

  “A woman as beautiful as you shouldn’t be crying over a man.”

  Brenda stiffened. “What makes you think I’m crying over a man?”

  “Aren’t you?”

  This conversation was growing weirder by the moment. She bristled. “That’s really none of your business.”

  “You’re right. I’m sorry to distress you further.”

  He sounded sincere, and she regretted her sharpness. “I’m fine,” she said quickly. “I’m just having a bad day.”

  A bad year was more accurate, but she wasn’t so desperate that she’d dump her woes all over a stranger. She gathered her purse and the brown paper sack that held her lunch. She stood. “Everyone has a bad day now and then.”

  He nodded. “I hope yours becomes happier.” He smiled.

  She paused for a second, appreciating the friendly warmth reflected in his brown eyes. He wasn’t making a pass; he was merely wishing her well.

  She felt herself smile briefly in return. The first true smile of her day. “Thank you.”

  His smile widened, displaying straight white teeth, but he didn’t say anything more.

  What a nice man, she thought, as she walked back to work. It was good to know that they still existed.

  CHAPTER ONE

  TEN MONTHS LATER

  “So, what are you doing this weekend?” Deborah, one of the tellers asked. “Isn’t your friend Kelly getting married?”

  Brenda didn’t glance up from her stack of deposits. “No, that’s next weekend. This weekend I’m going to keep it simple. Just watering my plants. Buying groceries.”

  Deborah persisted. “Is Steven out of town?”

  “Out of town. Out of my life.”

  Deborah whistled. “Don’t tell me you’ve broken up with him again.”

  Brenda knew no one would believe her. She had a difficult time believing it herself. Steven had been in and out of her life for more than two years. She purposefully kept her tone light. “They say third time’s the charm.”

  “What did he do this time?”

  “His wife called me.”

  Deborah grimaced. “I thought she was out of the picture.”

  “Me, too,” Brenda said flippantly. “But she’s not.”

  When she first met Steven, she didn’t know he was married. He didn’t wear a ring, and he seemed so open, so honest, so totally attracted to her.

  Within a few weeks, he said he was falling in love with her.

  He was everything she was looking for: tall, good looking, smart and sophisticated. He treated her like a queen, taking her out to eat at good restaurants and buying her gifts.

  “Move in with me,” he begged one morning as he was heading off to the law firm where he worked long hours as a successful trial attorney. “Trying to live in two places is killing me.”

  She’d held out for a few months, but when her apartment lease ended, she moved into his beautiful condo in downtown Dallas. In hindsight, she should have noticed that it was sparsely decorated: he had little memorabilia or pictures. But he convinced her that he wasn’t the sentimental type and told her she could decorate it anyway she liked.

  She thought that meant that he trusted her. She’d enjoyed picking out a new couch and better towels. She thought that down the road, they’d get married and buy a house together.

  Start a family.

  A year later, she discovered that he was married. She moved in with one of her girl friends.

  “We’re separated,” he said and she believed him. He showed her divorce papers that were going to be filed. Within three weeks, she was back at his condo.

  Brenda didn’t know why it had taken her so long to read the signs. Sometimes she thought she should have a capital “G” for Gullible tattooed on her forehead. She was a sucker for his handsome face and smooth line.

  But no longer. She was determined to get over him.

  The problem was, she’d felt the same in March, three months ago. How brave she’d been, declaring her independence. She’d moved out of his condo and into an investment house she’d bou
ght with the intention of renovating it and turning it into rental property.

  But by April, he’d talked his way back into her life. She hadn’t moved in with him again, but she let him spend the night at her place.

  It was humiliating to realize how quickly her good intentions slipped away.

  This time, she had to stand firm, or she would lose all her self respect.

  A bell on the front door of the bank jingled.

  “Here he comes again,” Deborah said in a stage whisper. “Be still my racing heart.”

  Brenda startled, fearing for an instant that it was Steven, but when she looked up at the double glass doors, she saw Marius Jaworski. She relaxed. He was the man who had been so nice to her in the park, months before. Since then, he hadn’t spoken more than a handful of sentences, but he always smiled at her, and she appreciated that.

  She watched as he walked over to a side table and filled out a withdrawal slip.

  “Beautiful,” Deborah whispered. “Watch the way he walks. Like a well-oiled machine.”

  Brenda shook her head in amazement, wondering what her co-worker saw in him. He was thirtyish, a little over medium height, broad through the chest, with thick dark curling hair that brushed his shoulders-- too long in her opinion -- and a neatly trimmed beard and moustache. She’d never liked facial hair. Today he wore jeans and a pressed cotton dress shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to display muscular arms. He was nice looking, she supposed, but she preferred Steven: tall, blonde, and sleek in his expensive Italian suits.

  Steven the rat.

  “He looks like a bear. A Hobbit,” Brenda said.

  “Dwarf,” Deborah corrected. “Hobbits don’t have beards.”

  “Whatever,” Brenda agreed. Deborah was more of a Tolkien fan than she was.

  “Can you imagine waking up next to him every morning?” Deborah continued in a low tone.

  Since her friend had been happily married for twenty-six years, with a grandchild on the way, Brenda didn’t take her comment seriously. She asked, “What about Phil?”

  Deborah laughed. “He could use the competition.”

  “Shh,” Brenda hissed. “He’ll hear you.”

  “No such luck,” Deborah returned. “Unfortunately, he always comes to your window.”

  As the assistant bank manager at a small branch office, Brenda often filled in for the tellers during their lunch breaks, but she’d never noticed whether Mr. Jaworski preferred her window. “Maybe he likes to be treated professionally instead of having someone drool over him.”

  Deborah raised her eyebrows mockingly, but said nothing, as Mr. Jaworski approached.

  Both their windows were open, but he walked to Brenda’s window. Deborah flashed her an I-told-you-so glance.

  “Good afternoon, Ms. Williamson,” he said.

  Brenda refused to let her friend’s teasing make her self-conscious. She kept her voice even and matched his formal style of greeting. “Good afternoon, Mr. Jaworski.”

  “It’s a lovely day today.”

  She’d grown accustomed to his faint accent and the only difference she noticed now was something in the tone of his vowels. The ‘o’s sounded a little different to her, but she was no linguist.

  “Yes,” Brenda said automatically, realizing that for all she knew, it could be raining. Since she’d broken up with Steven, she’d gone through the past few days in a miserable fog. But she still had a job to do. “How can I help you?”

  “I’d like to make a withdrawal.”

  “I’m happy to help you,” she said. “But you can use our automated teller machine as well.”

  He smiled. “I prefer the human interaction.”

  She smiled in response to the compliment. “Thank you.”

  She checked his account balance -- several thousand dollars -- and counted out his withdrawal. He thanked her and smiled again.

  As he left, he paused to hold the door open for another bank customer.

  He had nice manners, without being annoying.

  Deborah waited until he was out of sight to murmur, “I’d like a little human interaction, too.”

  “Oh, shut up.”

  “You know what they say: off with the old, on with the new.”

  Brenda stiffened. “I have no interest in Marius Jaworski.”

  “Too bad,” Deborah drawled. “He could use an American girl-friend right now.”

  Brenda frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  “His student visa. It’s about to expire.”

  “How do you know that?”

  Deborah tried to look mysterious. “I have my sources.”

  “You’ve been spying on him?”

  “No. There was an article about him in the neighborhood paper a few days ago. I’m surprised you didn’t see it. Everyone else was reading it and talking about it in the lunch room.”

  At that moment, another bank customer approached Deborah’s window, cutting short their conversation. Brenda was grateful for the interruption.

  During her next break, she walked to the lunchroom, a small windowless office equipped with an ancient microwave, a tiny refrigerator, a table and some plastic chairs. She casually glanced at the piles of magazines and old newspapers scattered about. “This place is a mess,” she said with self-righteous fervor, and started straightening up, which gave her an excuse to look at each newspaper section before stuffing it in the trash.

  She found the article a few minutes later, and flattened it out. Diversity in Dallas, the headline read. There were several photos of local immigrants accompanied by brief bios. For Marius Jaworski, there was a photo of him sitting at a library table, surrounded by books. “As a student at SMU, Marius works for the university and tunes pianos, following in the footsteps of his father and grandfather who tuned pianos in Poland.”

  So he was Polish. She looked at the photo. It was a good likeness. He wasn't as handsome as Steven, but he did have a nice smile. A genuine smile.

  She skimmed the rest of the paragraph. It mentioned that his student visa was expiring and ended with the sentence: Marius, do you know any nice American girls?

  Brenda’s brow furrowed. His immigration status was none of her concern, but she wished him well. If he did have to leave the country, she’d miss their pleasant interactions.

  But customers came and went on a regular basis. It was the nature of the banking business. It was best not to get emotionally attached to anyone.

  She crumpled up the newspaper and put it in the trash.

  #

  A week later, Brenda sat at a long rectangle table in her friend Kelly’s back yard, slapping at an occasional mosquito that managed to get past the smoke pots. The last thing she wanted to catch was the West Nile virus. Margaret, Kelly’s mother, had rented a huge awning and there were brightly colored flowers everywhere. The dinner was a catered Mexican buffet. A small Latino band played classical guitars.

  Brenda had come straight from work, but she’d left her black suit jacket and conservative jewelry in the car. She’d added a multicolored belt and large dangly turquoise earrings to liven her look. She took a bite of her enchilada and smiled at the conversation around her, without participating.

  As far as she was concerned, Rehearsal dinners were a waste of time, money, and effort.

  What was the point? They were just another expensive meal before the wedding, to celebrate the wedding. They were like the endless pregame shows before the Super bowl, where the analysts keep talking without saying anything of value.

  “Just get it on with it,” she wanted to say.

  What was a wedding anyway? Two people promising to love each other in front of family and friends. It should take no more than ten minutes, tops.

  And afterwards, if they wanted it, they should have a nice meal. Take a few pictures. But there was no reason to go crazy over it with engraved invitations, the bridesmaids, the groomsmen, the showers, the rehearsal dinner, the wedding luncheon, the dinner and reception. Not to mention the
flowers, the clothes, the limos, the alcohol.

  In her opinion, too many people bought into the myth, trying to create a perfect fairy tale event.

  Considering the current divorce rates, it was a bad financial investment. Women would be wiser to put the money they would have spent on an elaborate wedding into a money market account, or a house.

  That’s what she would do, if the occasion ever arose.

  But as her best friend’s maid of honor, she was obligated to participate.

  Not that Brenda minded. Kelly had stood by her through thick and thin over the years, so she’d do almost anything for her.

  She glanced at the main table. It was strange to see Kelly and Lars, together at last. Poor Lars looked a little stiff, but then, he was a serious, quiet man. He was also absolutely gorgeous, six foot five and built like a Nordic god with piercing blue eyes. Smart, too, with a good job. Kelly had hit the matrimonial jackpot.

  Brenda wasn’t jealous, not really. She was happy Kelly was getting married and having a baby. But she’d hoped that one day she and Steven would be doing the same.

  Brenda sighed and then rolled her shoulders back and lifted her chin. She refused to think about Steven.

  After the toasts, the tables were cleared and the guests could mingle. Brenda walked up to Kelly’s mother, Margaret, to kiss her cheek. “How are you holding up?” she teased.

  Margaret frowned slightly. “I’m fine. It really isn’t difficult . . .”

  “No,” Brenda said quickly, regretting her joke. She had to remember that Kelly’s family weren’t as sarcastic as her own. They were much sweeter people. Brenda smiled to put Kelly’s mother at ease. “Everything was lovely tonight. The food was great, and I think everyone is enjoying themselves.”

  “Thank you,” Margaret said, then asked, “Steven couldn’t come?”

  His name was a like a knife to her heart. Brenda shook her head. “No.” She gave no explanation, and hopefully there was no emotion on her face. She didn’t want to cast a damper over the celebration by spilling her guts.