by Heather Gean
I stood at the dresser for a few moments more and tried to remove the engagement ring from my hand. The two middle fingers were swollen from the incident with the car door the night before, and though I had tried a few times that morning, I hadn’t been able to get the ring off. It remained like some sort of parasite or disgusting growth and sparkled obstinately on my finger. With that sickening thought in my head, I gave up and grabbed a book from my purse.
It was one in the afternoon, and I was sunken deep in the plush covers on the bed with the book in hand. I had packed it for the plane ride so it was an easy read, nothing that would encourage my headache to return. I was halfway through a ridiculous chapter, in which the heroine met Death golfing in a graveyard donning a silk top hat, when I heard the knock at the door. “Room service for Miss Clarke.” It was muffled, and I couldn’t recognize the voice. Intrigued, I sat my book aside and pulled myself from the masses of softness to answer the door. This wasn’t a hotel, but the Schroeder house had enough peculiarities that it was possible.
Ashley stood in the hallway with apologetic eyes and a tray of food. Taking my speechless shock the wrong way, his shoulders drooped. “Feed a hangover, starve a headache,” he said. Though he had twisted a cliché to fit the situation, I had to give him credit for trying. It was awfully sweet even if I was pissed at him.
“Entrance granted,” I said. I headed back for the bed and crawled into it. Ashley shut the door with his hip and positioned the tray legs on either side of my thighs before sitting on the edge of the bed. He awkwardly shifted his weight around before sitting with nearly perfect posture then slouching again. He looked uncomfortable with the situation.
“So…” I said. Strawberries, peeled orange slices, and pancakes were spread across the plate. A tiny bottle of syrup and a cup of orange juice sat in the corner. The meal was complete with a cloth napkin and utensils. I was impressed.
“You need vitamin C, and the pancakes will soak up anything left over from last night.”
“Thanks.” After smothering my pancakes in syrup, I carefully picked up the fork and knife and cut out a square. They were surprisingly fluffy. “Did you make these?”
Ashley’s eyes shifted downward as if to remorsefully say no. “Isn’t it the thought that counts?” His hopeful grin drew a smile out of me.
“Yeah, it is.” I forked another bite of pancakes into my mouth. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was.
The room grew quiet again as it had before Ashley entered, looking like a puppy who was sulking around after having been swatted with a newspaper for chewing up a good shoe. It was a side of him I hadn’t seen, and I was beginning to realize that Ashley had many sides to him: a businessman side that he seemed to have adopted too early, a college boy side that had lasted inappropriately long, and a vulnerable side that seemed to be what was left when everything else boiled down. I wasn’t sure what to make of him, but I could definitely never again say that he lacked depth.
“I know you’re disappointed,” he said.
I looked at him quizzically. “No, the pancakes are great.” I thought that was obvious by how I’d been devouring them.
Ashley looked away. “Not with the breakfast, with this relationship.” My heart sank with the tone of his voice on that last word. He may as well have taken my fork from me and stabbed it straight through my chest.
“No.” I’d tried to put off his comment as if it were the most absurd thing in the world, but my voice deceived me and sounded as uncertain as any lie could.
“I know I’m not a good boyfriend… husband… fiancé – whatever.” He grew agitated and started over with a deep breath. “It’s complicated. I have a business that takes up too much time and creates the urge to act like an eighteen-year-old again. And I know what you’re thinking. Why the hell did I fill out the request then?” Actually, he had me dead on, and just when I’d thought we weren’t on the same page at all. “The thing is, if there wasn’t a compatibility system then I wouldn’t have time to meet someone I was interested in, and I would’ve ended up with some gold digger. And when I filed that request I had been feeling like I needed someone to balance me out. Someone to make me happy.” Ashley sighed. “And it isn’t your responsibility to make me happy. I should make you happy, too.”
Ashley Schroeder had taken me completely off guard. I felt as if I had just met someone entirely different than the guy I had spent the past few days with. My head was spinning. The only thing I could do was blink slowly enough to catch up and contemplate the meaning of everything he had just spilled out to me. I looked intently at him and prepared to respond, but the pure innocence in his gray eyes jumbled up my words and made me feel shy. Suddenly, it was as if we were truly at the beginning of a relationship instead of having jumped right into one like we had done at first.
“Am I not what you wanted?” I asked quietly.
Ashley averted his eyes. “I’m not what you wanted.”
I shook my head, which was beginning to ache again. “Ugh! I feel like we’ve been in this relationship for a hundred years already.” A hundred horrible years. Ashley hung his head as if I had confirmed his statement. “Can’t we just start over? Just date. Not date with the intention of getting married, but just for a few months date and pretend that we have to work at it a little, like something’s at stake. We can’t just love each other because we’re told.”
This intrigued him. After a few moments, a grin mused onto his face. “What?” I asked.
“It’s probably inappropriate for me to be in bed with you then.” We both laughed at his odd observation. He settled more comfortably back against the headboard. “And dating will fix all this shit between us, you think?” I nodded and took a drink of the juice. “I just don’t wanna end up like my parents,” he added quietly. That seemed to be a common fear, and I felt a bit abnormal because my parents did have a stable relationship. I had seen first hand that love could work, but I was unsure that the government’s version of love could work. I couldn’t promise Ashley anything, but I wished I could say something to get that awful look out of his eyes. When he seemed sincere, my heart really went out to him.
“Can I be straight with you?” I asked him.
“I hope you’re straight. Otherwise, I’m not sure why you’re with me,” he teased. I rolled my eyes at his bad joke, and he smiled and prompted me to go ahead. “Do you have a drinking problem?” The room grew silent again. Rain had begun to patter against the window once more, but no distinct sound broke up the tension. Ashley’s demeanor frosted back over.
“Why would you think that?” He didn’t sound hurt or defensive, but suspiciously curious.
“It was just an observation.” Ashley could see right through my lie, and when his eyes finally returned to mine they hinted of absolute annoyance.
“I just had a few drinks. It isn’t like I do it all the time.” He clenched his jaw and bit back anger. “Rainy, would you do me a favor?” He slid to the edge of the bed and paused. “Would you act less like a tabloid journalist and more like a decent fucking person?” Obviously being straight with him hadn’t been cool.
“Ashley, if this is going to work we can’t have these huge secrets between us.”
“You can’t dictate how this is going to work.” His back was to me, and his body was tense. At any moment I expected him to get up and walk out. “I’m not an idiot. I know secrets can ruin a marriage.” Ashley sighed deeply and ran his hands over his head as if that would clear the clutter out of it. He let out a low growl of frustration, and then sighed again, this time with his shoulders dropping in defeat.
Ashley turned, and he looked earnestly at me again. He was mentally chipping at his icy exterior. Eventually, his mouth melted into a forced smile. “Rainy, would you maybe want to go out with me tonight? I’m warning you – I’m a little rusty at dating, but maybe going to the theater wouldn’t be too painful.”
“I think that’s worth a try,” I said optimistically. I enjoyed the theater, and
it had been a while since I’d had the chance to go. I had heard there was an old Mel Brooks show running again.
“It’s a date then,” he said. “Six o’clock?” I nodded. He reached over and took my hand in his. With one gentle kiss on the hand he left my injured fingers throbbing with pain. I winced and withdrew my hand, and he looked completely confused until he noticed the purple color surrounding my knuckles. “Oh my god! What happened to you?”
I held the hand to my chest protectively. “Last night… I accidentally slammed them in the door of Van’s car.”
“Oh, Rainy,” he said sympathetically. He reached for them again, but I kept them hidden behind my other hand. I mixed a smile and a wince to signal to him that that wasn’t a good idea. “Well, I feel horrible. Is there anything I can do?”
“Nah, I’m tough.”
“Van was supposed to take care of you! Agh, I guess I need to stop trusting you with my friends.” Though he’d only meant that he couldn’t trust his friends to ensure my well being, I felt guilty. I need to stop trusting you with my friends brought back fuzzy memories of my being so dangerously close to Van that I could almost taste him. I laughed it off and wondered if he could tell it was a cheap cover-up. He, however, was still gazing at my hand with concern. “Well, it’s just me and you tonight, and I promise you won’t return with any bodily injuries.” Ashley leaned over and kissed my forehead before taking my then almost empty tray to leave. “So I guess you have two dates today then?”
“What do you mean?” I had already picked up my book again, and my thoughts tripped over one another when he tossed that question out there.
“You and my mom. Don’t you have a lunch date here in about an hour?” Agh! Somehow I thought I had already canceled that.
“Do I have to?” I asked with a wince. I pulled the blankets up around me as if to disappear into them. Ashley, who made me seem like the funniest person in the world, laughed out loud at me.
“Come on, Rainy. It’s just lunch.”
~*~
Mrs. Schroeder looked disapprovingly on my lazy curls, which had opted to be waves that day, and on the lack of make-up I had applied that morning. Or maybe that look of disapproval was for something else entirely, like my inadequate social rank or my new role as the woman in Ashley’s life. She would find me unfit for that role in every way possible because she was a mother-in-law-to-be. I didn’t wake up every morning and polish myself like the trophy I was supposed to be. I hadn’t been trained to be socially elite because my father didn’t parade us around much like he would’ve perhaps if he had been the President. Or maybe it was that I worked for a living in a museum and wore a stud in my nose (which even my own mother found a bit distasteful) and generally didn’t back down to her condescending remarks. It was possible that I had Sarah Schroeder all wrong, but as I watched her sip at her wine with thin lips, I found that to be nothing more than wishful thinking.
“I think we should decide on a date,” she said. A planner full of notes sat open in between us at the tiny, round table that we both seemed to be sitting on the same side of. We were in a nook downstairs in the house surrounded by tall windows and decorative flower arrangements, but from her formality we may as well have been in one of the fanciest restaurants in the world. She was conducting herself with elite dignity as if I hadn’t seen her family fall apart at dinner the previous night. “Now, I have all of the dates here that don’t work for some of our family, but of course I’m not sure about which dates don’t work for yours… but anyhow, that leaves the second and third weekends in August and September and the second week in December.”
“That’s it?” I asked. Surely there were more weekends open than that. I glanced over at the giant red Xs on most every weekend with some names and engagements scribbled out to the sides.
“Unless you want to wait until next year.” Was that an option? I wasn’t sure.
“I should talk to Ashley about it. I’ll let you know when we decide something.” I rolled a bright red tomato around atop the salad I had barely touched since I was still full from the late breakfast.
Mrs. Schroeder laughed. “Oh, no, no, no! Ashley never plans anything. That’s what he has a mother and secretaries for. All we need to do is pick a date and tell him when and where to show up.” That didn’t seem at all ridiculous or unromantic.
“How many are you planning to invite?” I asked.
“Only about four hundred. I thought we would keep it small.” Four hundred? Small? “How many from your side? I’ll need your guest list as soon as possible.”
“Where are we having this wedding that we can invite over four hundred people?”
“The Plaza, of course. It is, after all, going to be the wedding of the year. At least that’s what the article for the photo shoot you two did will say! Everyone in America will be dying for an invitation to this wedding.”
The quick, short-stepped stride of someone in heels neared our table. I glanced over my shoulder to see Monica Radella strutting up to the table with a leather planner in hand. “Monica! Sit down, sit down,” Mrs. Schroeder said. I took a drink of my water and reminded myself that it was just lunch, it couldn’t last that long.
Monica positioned herself across from us and greeted me with a wide-eyed smile. If only the narcotics officers knew about her, I was sure she would spend months in jail for the amounts of drugs she must have been on to remain as upbeat and high strung as she did. I politely extended a smile to her even though she was not my ally.
“Ladies, I have just spoken with the Plaza. The only time they have available until next April is the second weekend in December,” she announced. She pulled a pen from the binding of her planner and held it eagerly over her open planner. I felt as if she’d just dropped bad news the size of a cinder block on my head.
“Well, that’s perfect!” Mrs. Schroeder exclaimed. “The second weekend in December then? How is that for you, Rainy?”
“I’ll have to check… Ya know, I’m not sure I even want to get married at the Plaza.”
“Oh, don’t be silly! Every girl dreams of getting married at the Plaza,” Monica chimed in. Mrs. Schroeder nodded along with Monica’s statement. It was a two-on-one battle, and I was on the losing end. “Where else could you possibly want to be married?”
“A church.” Mrs. Schroeder and Monica laughed in unison, though Monica’s giggle was the one that pierced through my eardrums while Mrs. Schroeder’s was merely underlying accompaniment.
“Why? You aren’t Catholic or Jewish or Scientologist, are you?” Monica asked. Jews didn’t get married in churches, but I didn’t correct her.
“Nope, just a regular ol’ Christian. Last time I checked it was cool for Christians to get married in a church. I don’t think Jesus would mind. I’m not really sure he hangs out at the Plaza.” I didn’t know why I was fighting for a church wedding, considering I hadn’t regularly attended church in years, but it was the only ammunition I could scrounge up at that moment.
“I can’t think of a simply Christian church that could adequately accommodate seven hundred people,” Monica said. Seven hundred? How had the number risen so much in a matter of minutes? “And the waiting list for cathedrals is years.” Why couldn’t I be Catholic, I wondered.
“Well, that’s not really a problem is it? I can’t even think of seven hundred people that I care to have watching me get married.”
Monica folded her hands and looked down at her planner as if I was being a difficult child she had no patience for. Mrs. Schroeder wiped her mouth with the napkin that had been draped across her lap and then sat it aside her plate. She angled herself toward me and rested one of her hands on my arm as if she was beginning a compassionate intervention.
“Rainy, dear, that just isn’t how things are done in New York,” Mrs. Schroeder said as gently as she could.
“I’m not from New York.” Mrs. Schroeder cut her eyes over at Monica, who was still watching me impatiently.
“I think we’r
e misunderstanding one another. It simply doesn’t make sense for this wedding to take place anywhere but New York, especially since Ashley was recently one of the most sought after bachelors in the country, and you should feel honored to be marrying him. When and where you become Ashley’s wife really shouldn’t be of much concern to you because you’re really in it for love, right?” Mrs. Schroeder asked.
It took a few moments for the weight of Mrs. Schroeder’s statement to sink in. She was turning it around on me, trying to use my lower social status to make my decisions look like those of a bossy, self-centered woman who wasn’t at all in love with Ashley. I could think of nothing to say to stop the force of nature that was Mrs. Schroeder. It was as if I’d gone out for a simple swim and had gotten carried away by the undertow. It felt a lot like drowning.
“Right,” I finally conceded. Monica unfolded her hands and picked up her pen again. Mrs. Schroeder’s hand slid from my arm and returned her napkin to her lap. Lunch resumed as if I had never protested at all. I may as well not have been sitting there.
“Now, we have two companies competing to cater the event and every magazine in the country has been calling about the photography and media coverage,” Monica began. She paused with a pleased smile. “You know, this is going to be the wedding of the year.”
“So I’ve heard,” I said. She continued chattering on excitedly about invitations and color schemes. After minutes of conversation about my wedding that obviously no longer involved me strung on, Monica stopped to take a drink.
“What were you thinking for the theme, Rainy?” she asked. I was surprised that I had finally been summoned for input, and since I knew it would be readily discarded the moment it left my mouth, I spat out the first thing that came to mind.
“Balls and chains paired with black-and-white striped jumpsuits because tuxedos are so last year,” I said sarcastically. I watched their reactions as I forked some of the salad into my mouth. They laughed it off in that annoying harmony of theirs and never missed a beat.