The Royal Wedding

The wedding of Prince Harry and Meghan Markle, Ceremony, St George's Chapel, Windsor Castle, Berkshire, UK - 19 May 2018

No, not that Royal Wedding, although we can all take a moment to appreciate the beauty of Meghan Markle (Harry’s not so bad either…)

As of late, the days were leading up to another wedding, one that has been a long time coming, as PC repeatedly informed me. He had a lot of specific requests in the days leading up to his second-time-around nuptials; detailed timelines of the weekend, the reasons why he needed to get the kids early, and multiple attempts to engage me in conversation.

He wanted me to take the bait so he could brag about the wedding. How amazing it was going to be in their new home, complete with a gag-worthy name. How there would be over 200 guests, according to the kids. He wanted to remind me, in his sicko way, that he is doing better than I am, he has moved on, he’s finally capitalizing on the love story he began over twenty years ago.

I didn’t take the bait.

But, as people will, the night of the wedding pictures found their way onto my phone. Curiosity, of course, took over, as I perused the limited pictures of PC and Trollup, their guests (her friends), and my sweet children. PC painted a picture of it as the Royal Wedding, but what I saw?

A smattering of people, none of who are PC’s friends.

My children, who looked downright miserable.

PC’s clearly drunk face.

PC and his evil mother, hugging each other as if they have a relationship that borders on warmth instead of what it really is: two narcissists who only get along when they have a common interest of ruining someone.

And the next day. The morning after the wedding. The morning after PC righted what he claimed was the greatest wrong in his life…where did life find the lovebirds? At the pool. First came Trollup and my daughter. She uncomfortably arranged herself in a crowd that was thin, due to impending storms, and primarily made up of my tribe.

PC arrived a half hour later. He came into the facility through the bar, and proceeded to sit below, with our son, in the amount of time it took to drink a full beer. He eventually made his way up, another beer in hand, and proceeded to blatantly walk around the pool to his bride in effort not to pass by me.

Day one of marriage….it was more important to make a statement to me then it was to stand by your wife.

Day two? Same scenario. Literally. PC and our son, who seemed increasingly miserable as the weekend wore on, arrived first. Trollup and our daughter, separately. She proceeded to sit on the edge of the pool and watch the kids play while PC sat directly behind her, in the shade, ogling his phone. This went on for over an hour.

At one point, one of my Reckless Friends made the astute comment, I feel sorry for her.

You know what guys? I feel sorry for her too. Really, think about it. Imagine it. You’ve just gotten married. The very next day your husband takes you to the place where you are guaranteed to run into his ex-wife and her friends. Not only does he do that, he makes you sit alone with them while he drinks a beer downstairs. The next day he does it again, and he barely speaks to you.

And the Royal Wedding was not what she dreamt of. She may have had the decorations, and the dress, and the home she’s always dreamt of. She may have her first “love” and all of her childhood friends were there. But what she doesn’t know, what I’ve heard, is that all of her friends, every last one, hates him. Hates her choice. And even sadder, they aren’t even good enough friends to tell her the truth.

There was no ring, there was no shower, there was no honeymoon. Two and a half years since they dropped the bomb, two and a half years of drama, stress, divorce, moving, and who knows what else she finally got her day. If it was me? I would have been disappointed.

According to my son, the wedding was a big shit show of drunk people. And two days later, as I watched Trollup sitting on the side of the pool, alone, I too felt sorry for her. Because I can only imagine she has no idea what she’s in for, and now she’s in it deep. She might have gotten the picture she wanted. But the picture I saw–the one we all saw–was more telling.

If she is like I was, she will assume that things are going to change. The divorce is over. PC and I are relatively civil. The two of them are married and moved into their mansion. She may assume, incorrectly, that the drinking and the nonsense and the drama will end now and the life she always wanted will unfold slowly. I joked to my Reckless Friends that maybe we should befriend her…partly to piss off PC and partly because, well. She might be a cheating homewrecker but the price she’ll pay is awful.

(Sidenote: The Reckless Friends are not ready for such civility…)

Moments after my children were finally returned home, another friend texted me. As people seem to do, he informed me that he was sitting at a bar and guess who just walked in…your ex. Moments after dropping off the kids…kid-free for the first time since The Royal Wedding. And what does PC do? Does he rush home to his blushing bride?

Of course not. He goes to the bar.


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