“It’s not your fault,” I say softly.
He blinks his brown eyes. “So whose fault is it?”
“It’s nobody’s fault.” I struggle into a sitting position, wiping my eyes with my palms. “It’s just a crappy situation.”
Will looks at me for a moment, then finally nods. “The wedding thing is my fault though. The fact that it’s taken us so long to get married.”
I manage a tiny smile. “Yeah, that’s your fault.”
“Well, I’ve got the tickets now,” he says. “December thirteenth. You’re going to be my wife, and then we’re going to figure out this baby deal. One way or another, we’re going to be parents someday. Someday little Hammy is going to be ours.”
I snort. “I thought I vetoed Hammy.”
“No.” He grins at me. “I think Hammy’s still on the table.”
I allow him to take my hand in his. I find the calluses on his palm deeply comforting.
“But we better hurry,” Will adds, “because according to Tiffany, we’re about ninety years old.”
I manage a laugh—my first genuine laugh since Tiffany walked in.
“I love you,” he says softly as he squeezes my hand in his.
“I love you too,” I say. And with those words, most of the sadness I’d been feeling dissipates. There’s no reason for me to be jealous of Tiffany. I’m marrying the man I love in a few short weeks. And one way or another, we’re going to have a child together.
Will smiles at me. “Let’s go have Thanksgiving dinner, okay?”
I groan. “No, Will… I can’t go out there after I started crying like a crazy person.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He shrugs. “My family is pretty cool about that. You’re definitely not the first person to have a meltdown during the thankful conversation. And it’s definitely not the worst meltdown.”
I stare at him. “Seriously? Who else had a meltdown?”
He’s quiet for a second. “So imagine you’re a fifteen-year-old kid who only recently found out you’d be spending the rest of your life in a wheelchair. Then your mom makes you sit at the Thanksgiving table and tell everyone what you’re thankful for. How do you think that would go?”
I raise my eyebrows at him.
He smiles crookedly. “Hey, at least you didn’t hurl a tub of gravy at the wall and tell my parents to go fuck themselves.”
That gets yet another laugh out of me. “You did that?”
“I was fifteen.” He rolls his eyes. “So I definitely win the award. Forever. But I would say about forty percent of the times we’ve done it, someone has been having a bad year and gets pissed off. Oh yeah, remember Stephanie? She went on a fifteen minute rant about grape-pickers, for some reason—speaking of crazy. Honestly, I don’t know why my mother even makes us do it. You’d think she’d learn.”
“She’s just excited about Tiffany being pregnant,” I say. “I can’t blame her.”
“Right,” he says. “So nobody is going to be obsessing over you. This is the Thanksgiving where Tiffany got knocked up and surprise married my brother. That’s all anyone will remember.” He gives my hand another squeeze. “So will you come out?”
I nod. I can do this. Will’s family is great. I’m going to be fine.
And thankfully, nobody mentions my meltdown when I return to the table, and an hour later, everyone seems able to look me in the eye again. Most of the conversation gets dominated by baby name suggestions. Strangely enough, when Will mentions the name Hamilton, Tiffany totally goes for it. There may be a Hammy in the family after all.
Chapter 25
I avoid shopping on Black Friday at all costs, so I wait until the next week to continue my search for the perfect dress to get married in. Note that I say “dress to get married in” rather than “wedding dress.” Considering we’re going to get hitched in Vegas, it seems ridiculous to wear something white and frilly. I want something tasteful and beautiful.
I eventually end up in Ann Taylor, which is where I always end up. Ann Taylor is classy, the same way Will is classy. And the dresses here won’t break the bank. Not that Will would be adverse to paying for my dress, but I’d like to buy it myself. Even though it’s not technically a “wedding dress,” I want the day we get married to be the first time he sees it.
After walking around the store for about twenty minutes, getting sidetracked by a few really nice pairs of skinny jeans, I fall in love with a silk georgette sleeveless gown with a scoop neck and scoop back. I can’t even believe it when I see it because it’s just so perfect—exactly what I wanted. It’s a very light shade of pink that’s nearly white but still definitely pink. The tag describes it as “whisper pink.” And it’s on sale for just over two-hundred dollars.
I yank it off the rack and bring it to the dressing room. I peel off my jeans and sweater, and shrug the dress over my body. I close my eyes as I allow the fabric to fall into place, not opening them until I feel the hem of the dress brush against my ankles.
Oh my God, this is it. This is the dress.
Now I know how Cinderella felt when her fairy godmother waved her magic wand and said “bibbidi bobbidi boo,” and her rags suddenly turned into a beautiful dress. I can’t wait for my handsome prince to see me in this. To marry me in this.
I thought I’d end up in another dozen stores (and to be honest, I hadn’t been dreading it), but this is just so perfect, I know that I could never find anything better. I’m buying this dress. Now.
I’m heading out of the dressing room, still somewhat giddy like I always get when I’m buying something really amazing, when I hear someone call my name.
“Libby!”
I’m so absorbed by this beautiful dress that I didn’t even notice the woman hovering in front of me. I look up and see a puff of red hair. There stands Stephanie, looking just short of insane with her wild orange curls and vivid pink suit that barely restrains her giant knockers. She adjusts her glasses on her slightly hooked nose as she smiles at me.
I narrow my eyes at her. “What are you doing here?”
Stephanie’s smile falters slightly. “I’m… shopping.”
I look over Stephanie’s pink suit. There is no way in hell she shops at Ann Taylor. “Oh, really?”
She lowers her voice slightly. “Could we go somewhere to talk? Like, for coffee?”
I clutch the whisper pink dress to my chest. “I’m afraid not.”
Stephanie looks me over appraisingly. “So that’s how it’s going to be? William snaps his fingers and that’s it? You’re done?”
“Yes, that’s it,” I say. “Will is my fiancé and I love him. I’m not going to jeopardize his career.”
Yes. I’m choosing Will over the pigs.
“Having coffee with me would jeopardize his career?”
“It might.”
I start walking toward the cashier with the dress. Stephanie is so short that she nearly has to jog to keep up with me. It’s actually almost adorable. “Reid told me how hard you’d been working,” Stephanie says. “You can’t just throw that away.”
“I’m not throwing anything away,” I say without looking at her. “I’ve worked really hard on this rally and that wasn’t for nothing. But I can’t do it anymore.”
It looks like everyone else got all their shopping done on Black Friday, because I’m the only one at the cashier. I place the dress on the counter and the salesgirl rings up my purchase. I wish Stephanie would disappear but she doesn't. She just stands there.
“Do you have a rewards card?” the salesgirl asks me.
“Uh huh.” I start digging around in my purse.
“You have an Ann Taylor rewards card?” Stephanie asks the question like I just told her I had a Ku Klux Klan membership card.
I just shoot her a look as I whip out my card. There is nothing wrong with having an Ann Taylor card. I mean, Will thinks it’s ridiculous, but you save a lot of money if you have a rewards card at places where you shop a lot.
I think
Stephanie notices that she pissed me off, because she quickly adds, “That’s a really beautiful dress.”
“I’m going to wear it to our wedding,” I say.
“Oh.” Stephanie looks sad for a moment. At least, it gets her to stop talking. Now if only she’d leave so I could buy my dress in peace.
I watch the salesgirl wrap the gown in tissue paper, fold it, and put it in a bag. Every time I look at the dress, I feel a shiver of delight. This is the dress. God, I love it.
Unfortunately, after I complete my purchase, Stephanie hasn’t gone anywhere. She’s still standing there. Some people can’t take a hint. Or they take it and don’t care.
“Listen, Stephanie…” I start to say, but before I can get out a sentence, Stephanie injects with:
“Reid told me you’re failing biology.”
Well, that gets my attention. I turn to stare at Stephanie. “He really told you that?”
She nods, clearly pleased that her tactic worked. “He said there’s no way you could pass that class.”
I drop my head. “He had no right…”
“He did it to help you.” Stephanie puts her hand on my shoulder. “Libby, I believe everything happens for a reason. Maybe school isn’t your thing, but you have such a passion for helping animals. Why don’t you come work with me?”
I stare at her. “What?”
She smiles. “I know you’ve got some shit secretary job. I can offer you something so much better. Our firm has been a champion for animal rights and we could really use you on board.”
“But I don’t have any experience with…”
“I’d vouch for you.”
I suck in a breath. The truth is, I’m intrigued. I’ve really loved working on this protest rally—doing something like that as a career would be amazing. Stephanie is offering me something that’s a once in a lifetime opportunity. There’s only one problem…
“Will would kill me,” I say.
She raises her eyebrows. “He wants you to be happy, doesn’t he?”
I make a face. “He’s not a fan of yours, Stephanie.”
Stephanie laughs. “To put it mildly, right? Well, don’t worry. I can make amends with him.”
I just stand there, not sure what to say.
“Will you have coffee with me?” she presses me. “Just hear me out?”
I know Will told me not to talk to Stephanie, but really, what’s the harm in having one cup of coffee with the woman?
Don’t answer that.
_____
We go to the nearest diner—a small Greek joint that’s practically empty, but it still takes us a good five minutes to get a table. I’m so used to walking into a place and having the staff tripping over themselves to help me—either because I’m with Will, who’s in a wheelchair, or with Mia, who’s gorgeous. It’s weird to get ignored. We might have stood there for half an hour if Stephanie didn’t start yelling that somebody needed to seat us now.
When our waitress comes by, Stephanie immediately says to me, “Get anything you want. It’s on me.”
“I just want some tea,” I say.
“Tea?” Stephanie looks aghast. She looks up at our waitress. “I’m going to have a cup of coffee. Black. One cream on the side. On the side. Got it?”
As the waitress scurries off to probably spit in her coffee, Stephanie shakes her head at me as if they already got her order wrong. She sighs. “William loved these sorts of places. These… proletariat diners. Does he still?”
I don’t know what the hell she’s talking about. Proletariat diners? “He likes pizza a lot.”
She smiles. “I remember. I told him he was going to have a heart attack by forty.”
If Will has a heart attack, it’ll be because he’s working himself to death. Not because of pizza. “What did he say to that?”
“He told me if he had a heart attack, it would be because I gave him one.” She laughs. “That was when he meant it to be funny. When things were still good between us.”
It’s bad enough that I’m sitting here with my fiancé’s ex-girlfriend, but I recognize it would be worse to start asking her questions about the relationship. “How did you two start dating?”
Oh well. Too late.
“It’s an interesting story, actually,” Stephanie says.
The waitress arrives with our drinks before she can tell the story. Stephanie inspects her coffee carefully, and I’m almost certain she’s going to deem it inedible, but then she accepts it and nods her thanks to the waitress. I watch her take a long sip of the drink and her eyelids flutter slightly.
“Good,” she sighs. “I needed that.”
I take a somewhat less orgasmic sip of my own drink.
“Anyway,” she continues. “The first time I ever really paid attention to William was when we were debating each other in our civil procedure class. He had to get up in front of the room to speak, and you could just see how incredibly nervous he was. I think everyone in the auditorium felt really sorry for him.” She smiles fondly. “But then after a few minutes, he got into his rhythm and… well, he demolished the other guy. He was such a good speaker and so clearly intelligent. I knew I wanted to get to know him better.”
I clutch my tea cup between my hands, feeling the warmth disseminate.
“So after class, I went up to him and asked him if he’d like to get a drink with me.” She takes a sip of coffee. “It was adorable how surprised he looked. It was late in the year and half our class had already hooked up with the other half, but not William. I’d never seen him with any of my female classmates. They were mostly very young—too shallow to like someone like him.”
“Did he say yes?”
Stephanie laughs. “Of course he said yes. But I had to make the first move. Lord, he was shy.”
I imagine a younger version of Will sitting in a bar with a younger version of Stephanie. I imagine her leaning forward and pressing her lips onto his. At first, he’s shocked, but then happy. Then he kisses her back.
I hate that I’m imagining this.
“You were never bothered by…” I bite my lip. “You know, him being in a wheelchair?”
“Not at all!” She shakes her head vigorously. “All the men—boys—in my class were so immature. William was different. He was very serious and sweet. Having to deal with a disability made him into a grown-up before the rest of those idiots. Probably a good number of them still haven’t grown up.”
I smile to myself, remembering Katie Corrigan’s comment about how Will was the first guest she’d had on the show who hadn’t hit on her.
“I used to think we’d get married,” she says softly. “After we graduated, that is. I thought we’d go into practice together. But he didn’t want that. By the end, I could tell he just wanted to get away from me, but he didn’t have the heart to dump me. That’s why I ended it—not because he joined Satan and Hitler. I would have… I mean, I could have dealt with him working there if…”
There’s a distant, sad look in her green eyes. I don’t know what to think of all this. Is Stephanie still in love with my boyfriend? If so, isn’t having coffee with her a huge mistake? Maybe this is all just a scheme on her part to get Will back.
Yet somehow I trust her. I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s all that frizzy, orange hair. Or maybe it’s because I’m a sucker. After all, Will didn’t trust her.
“Anyway,” Stephanie says, shaking her head as if to clear it. “You want to hear about the job or what?”
So the job. Stephanie describes what I’d be doing in a fair amount of detail. And seriously? It sounds nothing short of amazing. I would be doing real research into charges of animal cruelty and taking steps to change things. Even though I wouldn’t actually be an animal doctor, I’d be making a difference in the lives of so many animals.
“Do you mostly do animal cruelty stuff?” I ask her.
“I’ve been moving towards it,” she says. “In the beginning, it was more civil liberties stuff. Like, I worked really close
ly with the ACLU—the civil liberties union.” She hesitates. “My father got me involved in that.”
“Your father?”
“My father was an old school Jewish socialist,” she explains. “Back when it was a dangerous thing to be a socialist. But he believed really strongly that everyone should have the same rights, regardless of race, gender, or sexuality. He was the one who convinced me to go to law school. I remember him taking me to these rallies when I was a kid and saying to me, ‘Stephanie, one day you’re going to be up there speaking at one of these things.’” She smiles almost shyly at me. “That reminds me, do you want to hear my speech for our rally?”
“Sure,” I say with genuine enthusiasm.
Stephanie fishes around in her gigantic red purse and pulls out a draft of her speech. And you know what? It’s really good. No, not just good. It’s amazing. So amazing that by the time she finishes the last sentence, I’m tearing up.
And then she breaks out a manila envelope.
“I thought I’d hold up these photos,” she says. “I’ll make some copies so I can also pass them around.”
These are photos I’ve seen before, of the horrific conditions that animals on Hanford’s farms are subjected to, but on the tail end of Stephanie’s speech, I almost lose it. I feel a tear running down my cheek and I wipe it away self-consciously.
“You’re going to blow everyone away,” I tell her.
“It needs something though.” Stephanie taps the envelope against her mop of red hair. “I’m not entirely sure what.”
“It doesn’t need anything,” I insist. “It’s perfect.”
She smiles at me. “You’re going to come to the rally, right?”
I shake my head vigorously. “No. I can’t.”
“Libby…”
“I can’t.” I try to block out the images of pigs with open blistering wounds. “Will would be so angry. I can’t do that to him.”
(Almost) Happily Ever After Page 17