He picked me up and placed me on top of the parking meter, then kissed me right off that thing until we were both kissing and laughing our way around the street corner.
Somebody—the right person—finally loved me. And I vowed, this time, to let them.
***
I bustled around my office stacking files and rearranging potted tulip plants in between daydreaming out the window. This is what content people in love do on sun-kissed spring afternoons. I am not totally sure why my luck finally changed for the better, but who was I to question it?
My telephone rang with the “I’ve Got You Babe” ringtone. Corny, maybe, but second time around, love did that to people.
“Hey, baby, how are things coming along? Do you need me to haul anything to the park?” Justin asked.
“Nope, I’ve got it covered. But I love you for asking,” I said. “This is my deal. Remember, that was the agreement. Just meet me at the boat pond at two pm sharp. I can’t wait!”
I hung up the phone and finished the last of my wedding preparations. Justin agreed to legitimize our relationship in the middle of Central Park, just a small gathering with a wedding officiate, my brother and his brood, Shannon, Candy, Paddy and a few of Justin’s mysterious work associates.
I dressed simply in a vintage light pink chiffon cocktail dress. A quick peek into the full-length mirror that was stashed back in my file room made me giggle. I looked like one of the wives on Mad Men, except I wasn’t smoking or swilling drinks, at least not anymore. And as I lingered on the thought of retro women cocktailing in the middle of the afternoon, I thought of my mother. Then I cried ever so slightly. Go ahead. You are ready. I breathed in deeply, and because I was still a Catholic at heart, I prayed that maybe now things would be different.
I picked up the phone, fingers trembling, and dialed. Midway through the digits I started to hang up, but with one glance at an adorable phone-side photo of Justin and me posed next to a parking meter, I grounded myself.
“Hey, Mom, how are you?” I said.
“Samantha, is that you? Where are you? I hope you finally came back home. Get up here, Sal! Your daughter is on the line.”
God, help me.
“Samantha?” my dad said.
“Oh good, you’re both there. Before you say anything, I just wanted to say that I’m sorry. And I love you both.”
Dead silence—a “pregnant with twins” type of pause. And then, I heard what sounded awfully close to a dry heave of some sort, and then some muffled sniffles.
“It’s okay, Mom, you don’t need to say anything. I just wanted you to know that I’m back in the states. And I am doing okay now. Actually, I’m amazing. And I know you probably won’t approve of this because I never went through with the annulment, but I’m going to Central Park today to marry Justin. He loves me, and I love him. I’m ready this time. I hope you can find a way to be happy for me.”
My father grumbled in the background. I wasn’t sure if he was swilling a beer or sneezing, but it really didn’t matter.
“Well,” he said, and then I could hear my mother smack him on the back.
“I guess that’s okay. It’s good you found someone finally,” he said.
My mother smacked him again.
“We do love you, Samantha. We always have. Emotions have never been easy for me. You know that.” And finally, I did.
“What we are trying to say is, we’re happy for you.” And then she dry-heave cried into the phone. Some things would never change, and that was okay.
“All righty then. You guys take care. I love you.”
I looked at my watch and realized it was time, my time. In a fit of excitement, I touched up my make-up, smoothed my up-do into place, and ran out the door. As I gazed out over Manhattan, on the most magnificent first day of the rest of my life, I looked up to the sky, made a subtle sign of the cross, and said, “Thank you.”
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Acknowledgements
This book would never have been possible without the tireless support from head cheerleaders Candy Jackson and Shawna Parks, who flat out refused to let me give up on this dream. I am forever grateful. Candy, you wore far too many hats to count, some of which included fangirl, beta reader, marketer, fashion consultant, tear wiper, ego plumper—the list is endless—but most importantly, friend. You have been a part of every major milestone in my life, the highs, the lows, and everything in between. This book (and my sanity) would not exist without your love and encouragement. Thank you.
Eileen Lydon, your friendship and support are immeasurable. We have shared so many incredible moments over the years. I have you to blame for making my time in Manhattan some of the most amazing (and raucous) times of my life, in all the gnarly and beautiful glory that was our thirties. Though life would eventually pit us on opposing coasts, nothing could or ever will stand in the way of our friendship.
To my readers, my fabulous readers. Thank you, thank you, thank you! If it weren’t for you, this story would have remained nothing more than a closed book. Thank you for taking the time to get to know me through these words. Your support means the world to me.
To the tireless team at Limitless Publishing, thank you for taking a chance on an unknown author and supporting me every step of the way. I couldn’t ask for a more committed group of professionals to lead the charge. Laura Kemmerer, thank you for your attention to detail and insightful edits. This book is the best it can be thanks to your work.
To Ann-Marie Nieves, Laurel Hilton, and Rick and Amy Miles. You “got it” and made sure the rest of the world would not only know about this book but read it. Thank you for taking all my crazy ideas and running with them, and for knowing when to kibosh a few of the really out-there ideas. You are all brilliant at what you do.
Robin Madell, you dropped into my life at the precise moment I was about to give up. Your belief in my work gave me the courage to carry on when I needed it the most. You became the first professional champion of this story, and I couldn’t have asked for a better advocate. Your eagle-eye editorial insights brought a welcome and crucial perspective. Thank you for the role you played in getting this book out into the world. It would have never happened without you.
Thank you to Lauren Patrice Nadler, my first beta reader. I remember that night when I showed up with my beloved brand new (old) rescue pooch Cari-Anne. You came barreling in with a gigantic dog-eared first draft of my manuscript, with ideas out the wazoo on how to make it sing. Some of your notes went on to shape the very fabric and heart of this story. It’s come a long way since then, in part due to your input early on. To my critique partners and fellow writers Patsy Ann Taylor, Barbara Toboni, Amber Lea Starfire, Kate Reeves, and Ana Manwaring, you offered critical feedback early on, when I desperately needed an outside perspective.
To my brother, Joey, who slogged through a very early draft, and made it to the finish line despite what you like to refer to as “all the penis talk.” You have been a beacon of support and encouragement my entire life and for that, I am oh so grateful. To my sister-in-law Debra, who wiped away the tears and celebrated the triumphs, and thankfully, convinced me to move to the Napa Valley, where at long last I would actualize this dream of a writer’s life. Mom and Dad, you brought me into this world and showed me what it means to live life to the extreme. You also taught me to never, under any circumstances, take no for an answer. Thank god I listened to you for once!
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To my husband, Derek, and our heart-melting twins Cindy and Dakota. You all are my rock, my salvation, my everything. Your love and support are what make this life possible and worthwhile.
And finally, to all the other men who came in and out of my life. Without you and your daring, loving, and at times deplorable behavior, none of this would have been possible.
About the Author
Christina Julian writes snarky rom-coms that celebrate the underdog and live to make people laugh. She adores dysfunctional leading ladies and the tangled twisty lives they lead. She adamantly believes there is nothing in life that can’t be conquered with a bodacious wine, strong cup of coffee, or a generously iced cupcake. When she is not tapping out her next novel or wrangling her 3-year-old twins, she can be found swilling and swirling in the name of research as a wine and food columnist in Napa Valley. She strives always to live her life to the extreme.
Christina’s work has appeared in the San Francisco Chronicle, Wine Enthusiast, Weddings California, California Home + Design, 7×7, Napa Valley Register, Napa Valley Life, Bohemian, Weekly Calistogan, NorthBay Biz and beyond. Connect at christinajulian.com.
Facebook:
http://facebook.com/ChristinaJulianAuthor
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https://twitter.com/christin_julian
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http://www.goodreads.com/Christina_Julian
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