Meant to Marry Me

Despite her promise to Hank, Bree couldn't stomach attending the breakfast Monica had organized Thursday morning. Instead, she was back on the beach. She had a lot to think about. Tomorrow night was the rehearsal, and then on Saturday, at 2:00, Trent would be a married man--unless Bree could figure out a way to speak the truth about how she felt about him in a way that made him realize he would rather be with her than Monica.

He still had feelings for her. Not only could Bree see it in his eyes, she could see it in Monica's. If Trent didn't like her at all, what was Monica so afraid of? When the bride had seen the two of them chatting the night before, she'd flown over there and insisted he come back inside. Bree had felt so sorry for him, watching him sit there, pretending to care about what Monica and her friends were talking about. It was like he was already strapped to the old ball and chain. And he hadn't ever even asked her to marry him. Why would she do that? Was she so desperate to sink her hooks into him that she couldn't just give him the time he needed to know for sure that he wanted to propose to her? It was all so... odd, to say the least.

She'd been sitting there in the shade of the large rocks for a couple of hours when she saw Hank walking toward her. He was wearing his swim trunks, and she could tell by the way he was walking he wasn't particularly happy with her, though he didn't look completely pissed either.

He dropped down beside her on the sand, arms resting on his knees, staring out at the ocean. Eventually, she felt the urge to say, "I'm sorry. I just... couldn't."

"I get it," he said. "You should've sent me a text, though."

"You're right. I should have. How was it?"

"Okay. They all went to some go-kart place. I told them I was too big for that, meaning tall, and wide, and they let me out of it."

"Good." She rubbed him on the shoulder. "Hank, what's going on? What is it that makes you not want to be around them?"

He shrugged. "I don't want to talk about it."

"I understand." She didn't want to press him, as much as she wanted to know the answer to her question. "Did you know that Trent never asked Monica to marry him?" The nod came so quickly, she was surprised. "I know."

"Trent told you?"

"No, Mon did. She said she didn't think he'd ever get around to asking. She had to take matters into her own hands."

There was something familiar about the way he said that nickname--Mon--but Bree couldn't quite place it. "I didn't realize the two of you were that close."

Again, his answer began with a shrug. "Did Trent tell you?"

"Yeah, last night. Right before she ordered him back inside."

He snickered. "You're a threat, Bree. She sees that."

"A threat? A real threat? You can't mean that. She can't honestly think that he would call this all off to be with me."

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"I don't think she would expect him to do that, but that doesn't mean that she doesn't think about what it would be like to be married to a man who is meant to be married to someone else."

The use of her song title didn't escape her. "Hank, that's not how it is."

"She doesn't know that." He looked at her for the first time. "Neither does Trent. Bree, I think you're here for a reason. I think you're here because your song is right. Are you going to sit on your hands and let this happen, or are you going to do something about it?"

"You can't be serious, Hank!" She felt frustration boiling up inside of her. "Are you implying you think I should actually try to get Trent to call off the wedding? He's your best friend. Don't you want to see him happy?"

"Yeah, I do want to see him happy. Thus, my point in saying I think you should say something before it's too late. He might be happy with her, but he won't be nearly as happy with her as he would be with you." With that, Hank got up off of the beach and headed out to the surf.

Bree watched him go, her mouth agape, trying to justify why he was wrong, but if there was even the faintest chance Hank was right, then, didn't Bree have to do something?