by Hilary Dartt
Summer and Josie responded with appropriate “Awwww” and “Ohhhh” sounds, and Delaney stretched her arm across the table so they could admire the ring. Again.
The solitaire diamond shone, and the image began to waver when Josie’s eyes filled. A fat tear dropped onto her arm, and Summer handed her a bar napkin, too.
“Our Delaney’s growing up,” she said, blowing her nose.
Josie nodded, “We’re so happy for you, Dee.”
“Are you actually crying?” Delaney said. “Josie Garcia is crying over an engagement? This deserves a toast of its own.”
Delaney raised her glass, but before she could speak, Josie said, “To Delaney and Jake, and a long, happy marriage.”
***
How was it possible to feel so sad—no, make that devastated—and so happy at the same time?
Josie’s chest was practically exploding with happiness for Delaney, who, just a few months ago, was dating every loser with a stained necktie who walked into Rowdy’s with a soggy sob story. But Jake matched her perfectly.
At the same time, Josie felt like she was being ripped apart at the seams in her own marriage. She supposed it wasn’t a simple ninety-degree right or left turn that had sent it down the course toward … wherever they were now. It was probably one very slight turn after another, until they ended up traveling in a completely different direction than the one in which they started.
She remembered showing her ring to Summer and Delaney after Paul took her on that surprise trip to San Diego. She danced her way into an impromptu emergency Happy Hour meeting the next Monday evening, and used every opportunity available to show off her ring.
She pointed at a new rodeo photograph on the wall, acted out one of her co-workers’ rants about not being selected for the choir teacher position, and lifted her glass way more often than usual, all with the diamond and sapphires sparkling from her left hand.
By the end of that evening, the girls had been hysterical, asking Josie every question they could think of to get her to use her hand again. For some reason, they spoke in Southern accents, fanning themselves with coasters.
“Excuse me, madam, could you please point me to the ladies room?”
“Where did you say the sun sets? The east? No? Well, by golly, ma’am, could you point the way to the west, then?”
“Could you please hand me a napkin, sweetheart? Bless your little heart.”
“Oh, darlin’, you have something on your face, there, on the left side. No, up a little, down a little. Yes, you’ve got it.”
Now it was Delaney’s turn, and Josie could practically feel that same happiness again.
For the next couple of hours, Josie basked in it, listening to wedding plans, color choices, flower options and honeymoon destinations, giving her advice and engaging in thoughtful discussions about whether to serve lunch or dinner, whether to get live music or a DJ, and whether each layer of the cake should be a different flavor or they should all be the same.
Delaney, anxious to get back home to Jake and get his opinions on roses versus calla lilies, floated out of Rowdy’s at six p.m. sharp, leaving Summer and Josie alone in silence.
“Who called right before Delaney got here?” Josie asked. The question came out as more of a demand than a conversation starter, and Summer jumped off her stool.
“It’s—uh, it’s nothing. No one. Look, I’ve gotta go.”
Summer was gone in a cloud of vanilla scented lotion. Josie scrambled to follow her to the door. Summer never acted like this. Josie’s usual tactic would be to interrogate her until she opened up. But tonight, she found herself taking a new approach. After all, wasn’t she keeping secrets, too? When they stepped out into the cool evening air, Josie put a hand on Summer’s shoulder. Summer stopped, but Josie could feel her entire being aching to walk down the sidewalk to her van.
“I know it’s not nothing,” Josie said.
When Summer opened her mouth to deny it, Josie held up a hand to stop her.
“I know it’s not nothing,” she repeated. “But I understand if you’re not ready to talk about it right now. Just remember I’ll be here when you are. Okay?”
Summer bit her bottom lip and her chin quivered, sure signs she was about to cry. She nodded, pulled Josie in for a quick hug and walked away.
Standing alone on the sidewalk, Josie congratulated herself for keeping her secret and for letting Summer keep hers. Neither of them wanted to taint Delaney’s happiness.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“Even though I knew he was planning to pack his stuff, I was surprised when I got home and discovered he took the single serve coffeemaker.”
Josie sat in Dr. Strasser’s office, watching the palm fronds sway in the air conditioner’s breeze.
“How did that make you feel?” Dr. Strasser asked.
Josie took a deep breath. “Lonely. Sad. Like a failure. But then I kept reminding myself that he said this is just a break. It’s not forever. He wants to keep trying. So that bolstered me a little, even when I saw so many of his clothes were gone.”
Dr. Strasser nodded, his chin, as always, resting on his fingertips.
“I just don’t know what he wants from me,” Josie said.
“Don’t you?”
Do I?
“Kind of, I guess.”
“What I heard Paul saying was that you seemed unhappy, impossible to please. Can you think of examples of how that manifested in your communications with him?”
Plenty.
How about all the times I’ve bitched him out for the sound he makes when he sips his coffee? Or how I purposely leave my mostly-empty coffee cups all over the house because I know it drives him crazy?
“A few, yes,” she said.
“Can you think of ways to change the nature of those communications?”
Stop being such a bitch, I guess.
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“Look, Josie. It doesn’t really matter why you act the way you do. It’s become a habit, hasn’t it?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. “What matters is that you realize you do it, and you make the choice, each time you talk with Paul, to change that habit.”
***
For months Josie hounded Paul about never being around, but he was almost always in bed when she woke up. When her alarm went off he’d raise a heavy arm, drape it over her and pull her in close to his body. And if he wasn’t, she knew he’d be home within twenty-four hours.
Not today, though. Josie wished she could stay under the covers until Paul decided to move back in.
In his texts throughout the day yesterday, he said he was recovering well and wasn’t in much pain. His sergeant had him riding a desk and he was bored out of his mind. He didn’t say anything about missing her.
Josie chose an orange blouse, hoping the cheerful color would buoy her mood.
Scott Smith spotted Josie the moment she walked into the school building. He was on his computer, but his gaze snapped from his screen to her torso faster than a third grader could stash a piece of gum under his desk.
Where Paul would say something like, “Oh, you’re wearing orange today. Need some cheering up?” Scott nodded at her and said, “That shirt really shows off your waistline.”
“Inappropriate, Scott,” Josie said.
Suddenly, he was up and walking around the side of his desk with a sense of urgency that had her backing up as he approached her. She almost yelped when he grabbed her upper arms arms.
Her memory flashed on that damned extracurriculars folder sitting on the passenger seat of his car and then on Blair Upton’s hand inside his waistband.
“Could we have another meeting?” he asked. “To discuss the extracurriculars?”
Suddenly, she felt revolted. He was manipulative. Complimenting her on her waistline now, rubbing Blair’s waistline later. Anger flared up, and she felt heat rise to her face.
Although she was desperate to call him out on the Blair Affair (she’d have to trademark that, it w
as pretty good), she decided to keep it close for now. She would save that card until she really needed it. She had to enact her plan, gather evidence, first.
“Can’t you just put it in an email? You know how it is this time of year. I’m really busy.”
Scott’s shoulders drooped in a cartoonish way Josie found mildly comical.
He rubbed a hand across his forehead as if it pained him to even consider putting the information in an email. Finally, he said, “Yeah, I guess so. I just thought it’d be easier to explain in person.”
You had the chance, Scott. “I’m a visual person, so seeing it in print would be better for me anyway,” she said.
“Yeah. Okay.”
Josie turned to leave.
“Listen, Josie?”
She bit back an exasperated sigh and stopped in the doorway. She didn’t turn around. “Yes, Scott?”
“Would you want to go out for drinks one more time? Just once?”
This time she let the sigh come rushing out of her mouth and she hoped he could read her frustration. “No. Thank you, Scott.”
***
Too bad shopping was not an acceptable long-term stress relief solution. Josie pulled on a pair of bright pink leggings and a black tank top with pink piping. Summer swore she’d read running would make Josie nicer. Well, she hadn’t used those exact words, but Josie felt doubtful.
She admired the outfit in the mirror and thought she could get into running for the outfits if it wasn’t for the panting and the side aches. She clipped on her Mp3 player and filled her water bottle. All geared up.
“All the gear in the world isn’t going to burn calories or produce endorphins, Garcia,” she said aloud.
She wondered if Paul’s fake audience was still here, or if they’d hitched a ride in his suitcase and were, at this very moment, watching him gesture wildly in Terry Schmidt’s leather-and-steel bachelor pad as Paul described the reasons he had moved out.
After a lengthy internal debate, Josie had ended up choosing black and white running shoes. The same style had come in a fluorescent orange, but she opted for something that would match all her new leggings.
“Maybe I should get a pet,” she said. “A dog. To run with.”
Although it was tempting to go to the shelter and adopt one immediately instead of going for a run, Josie grabbed her water bottle and headed out the door. At first, it felt like she was trudging rather than walking. She took a deep breath and thought about how Summer would tell her to visualize bringing in the positive energy.
“Visualize the light entering your body,” she would say.
It seemed to work, at least a little.
After walking for a few minutes, Josie found the running playlist she’d created on her Mp3 player and began to jog to the dance remix of, “I’ve Had the Time of My Life.”
Absolutely nothing about this felt like the time of her life. Or stress-relieving. Her skin tingled and all those body parts Summer and Delaney referred to as curves jiggled or bounced with every step she took. Infuriating. How the hell did people run marathons?
“You’ve got to make it through at least one song, Garcia.”
One of their neighbors, an ultra-fit blond Barbie who had no curves to speak of, walked out her front door to her mailbox as Josie approached. She waved and smiled, but her smile contained that level of concern she’d have if she were looking at someone who appeared to be on the verge of fainting or throwing up.
Well, I guess I fit into both categories.
Josie smiled. Then she took it a step further and waved aggressively.
Just after she passed Barbie’s house, it happened: her foot caught on an uneven sidewalk panel. One minute she was jogging and the next thing she knew she was on all fours, her palms and knees burning.
Quickly, she glanced behind her to see if Barbie had seen the spectacle. Fortunately, she was already inside.
Probably watching through the window. Probably saw everything.
Josie hadn’t fallen since childhood, and was surprised at how jarring it felt. She climbed to her feet, one at a time, and noted with some surprise that her body already felt stiff. She’d ripped holes in both knees of her leggings. Those holes revealed huge, bloody scrapes, and a fresh wave of anger.
Although she wanted to open her mouth and wail at this misfortune, she picked her way back towards her house, trying to act like she felt normal, but failing miserably.
How did people think running reduced stress? It was stupid. It hurt. You fell. You ripped your brand new, expensive leggings.
Forget the stupid race. She’d pay Summer and Delaney back for the entry fee. She could do something else. Something where you didn’t move at high speeds. Yoga, maybe.
I hate yoga.
Okay, maybe the elliptical.
Speaking of quitting, The Marriage Intervention was as stupid as running. She would quit that, too. It wasn’t working, anyway. Summer and Delaney had high hopes, but they didn’t know their plan had created results opposite from what they intended. They still didn’t know Paul had moved out. They didn’t know she had failed.
The moment she walked in the door of her house, Josie gave in. She burst into tears.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Froth, Juniper’s only bridal boutique, sat one block off the downtown square in a remodeled Victorian house with an English flower garden out front.
The owner, Debra Mills, served brides and their friends chilled champagne and fancy crackers while they pored over design books.
Saturday morning, Josie and Summer flanked Delaney as they approached Froth, the three of them walking completely in sync, arms linked, just like they’d done in junior high and high school.
“It never gets old. I love shopping for wedding dresses,” Summer said.
“I love shopping for wedding dresses and drinking the bubbly,” Josie said.
Summer stepped forward to open the door, and Josie gestured for Delaney to go in ahead of her. Debra greeted them with champagne flutes on a tray.
“Isn’t your mother coming?” she asked Delaney.
Delaney nodded. “She’ll be here soon. She and Dad just got back from Scotland. Jet lag. She wanted to sleep just a little longer, but she said she wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Josie felt her eyes sting at that. Her own mother hadn’t been there for any of Josie’s wedding festivities. She blinked away the tears and took a sip from her flute.
This morning, when the girls met in the small parking lot Froth shared with The Barkery, Summer had casually asked Josie, “What’s Paul doing today?”
Josie knew it was the perfect opportunity to mention that he was staying at Terry Schmidt’s and was probably watching porn and drinking cheap beer. But she didn’t. Delaney’s wedding dress shopping day was hardly the backdrop for that particular piece of news.
Josie downed her drink on the short walk to Froth’s library, and although Debra raised her eyebrows, she refilled it without comment before pulling a stack of oversized books off a shelf and setting them on the table at the center of the room.
“So we have traditional here, and contemporary here,” she said. “Where would you like to begin, Delaney?”
They spent the next several hours looking through dresses, discussing what Debra called “important considerations,” like how difficult it would be to go to the bathroom in a full skirt, how much wedding cake Delaney would be able to eat in a tight dress and how challenging it would be at the end of the night for Jake to get Delaney out of a gown with a thousand buttons.
At some point, Camille came in, looking cozy in a wool sweater and boots, and giving each girl a kiss on the cheek before dabbing her eyes with one of Debra’s soft handkerchiefs.
Josie noticed with no little satisfaction that Camille downed the alcohol as quickly as she did, if not even faster, and she wondered whether she’d ever have a daughter to send off into wedded bliss.
Although Summer involved herself fully in each question of wheth
er a waistline was too high or too dramatic or too plunge-y, her eyes remained shuttered and Josie knew the topic of that phone call during Happy Hour was still eating away at her.
They finally narrowed the choices down to a contemporary dress with slim straps, a scooped neckline, and a semi-full skirt.
“It’s the best of all worlds,” Delaney said. “It’s slimming and it should also show off the few curves I have.”
“I think I have a few similar styles in stock,” Debra said. “You’re welcome to try them on.”
Josie, Summer and Camille grinned at each other, and Delaney blushed.
“That’s exactly the reaction you had freshman year when Matty Donovan sent you a note at lunchtime asking to kiss you after school,” Josie said.
They laughed, Camille looked scandalized. They made their way to the fitting salon. Camille went into the changing suite with Delaney, and Summer and Josie sat on the plush leather couch at the back of the salon.
For once, they didn’t speak, and neither of them made a big deal of it.
The girls had come to Froth to find Josie a wedding dress six and a half years ago. Her memories of that day were slightly fuzzy, thanks to Debra’s champagne. To the girls’ mutual surprise, Josie had been a relatively easy-to-please bride. Considering her taste for fashion and her tendency toward bitchiness, it was astonishing that she chose her dress in a matter of minutes.
“I want to look like a princess,” she said when she sat down at Debra’s library table.
Debra answered, “I have just the thing.”
It was just the thing, too. With a silky satin bodice and lace from here to Texas, the dress suited her as if the designer had climbed right into the eight-year-old-Josie’s imagination and created the perfect princess bridal gown.