“Can I take it with me?”
“I want to show it to my boss, and she hasn’t catalogued it, so I can’t really let it go yet. The work is exquisite, and we might use this seamstress for some of the custom gowns. We can make it work for you, Ashley.”
“Can I pick it up after work?”
Hannah sighs at me. “I have a date tonight. Why do you need it tonight?”
“I just have an idea. Please, Hannah.”
“I’ll get you a key. But no trouble, all right? You’ll bring it back tomorrow so Carol can see it, and we’ll order you a new one.”
I lift up my fingers. “Scout’s honor.”
“Were you ever a Girl Scout, Ashley?”
“Um, no. But I wanted to be.”
Hannah nods. “I’m sure I’ll regret this, but technically, it is your dress.”
“You won’t regret this. Who’s your date with?”
“Malcolm Waterhouse. You know him?”
I shake my head.
“He’s new. Just got a job maintaining Web sites for Sun. He looks about twelve, but he’s really thirty-four. Sort of balding.”
“Where’d he come from? Did another singles group implode?”
She shakes her head. “Atlanta.”
“Run!”
She laughs. “Are you ready to change? You look beautiful. I really think you should wear this one. Kevin dressed as Rhett would be amazing. Like Hugh Jackman in that movie—what was it called? The one with Meg Ryan?”
“Kate and Leopold.” This stops us cold for a moment while we pay tribute to Hugh Jackman in Victorian attire. “Do you have any copies of the dress I chose? I don’t think I can afford the original anymore.”
“You are asking for a copy? What’s the world coming to?”
“Hey, I’m a practical girl . . . when I have to be.”
“If you were practical, you’d wear this one.”
I scan the gown again. I’m completely unable to recognize its beauty. “Okay, I’m not that practical.”
“I’ll get you some gowns to try on. Did you want to call your maid of honor? Or your mother?”
Ah yes, more rejection. I need that in my life. “No, I’m good.” Just as she exits, I see a vase of sunflowers, and it reminds me the Sunflower project is waiting, haunting me like Purvi herself.
“On second thought, I’ll come back tomorrow. I need to get back to work, but tomorrow we need to order the gown!”
I used to love sunflowers. They were the first flowers I received from Kevin. Now they are the bane of my existence.
15
I look down the hallways of Gainnet before creeping back to my office. I feel like a night prowler.
“Hey!”
“Ahh!” I scream as I turn around and see Tracy.
“What are you sneaking around for?” she asks.
“I’m not sneaking,” I say as I try to gather my bearings. My heart’s racing like the NASCAR leader. “What are you doing hunting the hallways like a bad spy movie? Sheesh, next thing you know, you’re dropping from a line in the ceiling.”
“You’re only saying that because you’re guilty. How was your wedding dress?” she asks with her arms crossed.
“Ghastly. Thanks for asking.”
“Purvi called while you were gone. To make sure you are working on the Sunflower project, I suppose.”
“What did you tell her?” Now I don’t want anyone lying for me, but I haven’t exactly been the pillar of employees lately either. I could use a slight fib.
“That you asked not to be disturbed. Which was partially true because you weren’t exactly here to bother.”
I exhale. “I’m going to get fired by a boss I got hired. All because I went to pretend I was a Southern belle. This ought to be interesting. But if anyone can succeed at total failure, my money’s on me this week.”
“Purvi’s in no mind to care about your wedding. She’s like the walking wounded. She barely had the will to ask about patents. When she asked about the Sunflower project, it was almost like she didn’t know what it was.”
“What do you mean?”
“Come in your office.” Tracy drags me in and shuts the door. “Purvi’s husband, Sagar, is here. He wants to take their son back to India.”
I gasp. “That boy means everything to Purvi. He can’t take him back.”
Tracy laughs. “He wants Purvi to go too. She’s his wife. He’s tired of living without his family, and he’s decided he doesn’t want to live here. He says it’s time to leave America behind for now so their son will know his culture. Their son can come back for college.”
I let this information wash over me. “How did you get all that out of Purvi?” She’s not exactly the personal life-sharing type.
“I talked to her mother-in-law when I called back to ask about a patent. I didn’t think she spoke English. But she does. Quite well, in fact.”
“Well, Purvi is not going to India,” I insist, but I know she probably is going. I know that Purvi loves this man we’ve never seen and that she misses her family back in India. His family, I should say. Purvi left hers when the marriage was arranged. It’s so hard for me to understand this part of her culture. Purvi is the most intellectually stimulating woman I know. She runs her law department like everything is of White House importance, and her command is gold. So it’s so hard for me to picture this complete submission she has to a man across the world.
Yet who am I to judge? The arranged marriage statistics are a lot better than our American ones. Sadly, even our Christian marriages. Purvi is a woman of principle. She’ll do what she must. And maybe that’s what it’s about, being committed to commitment. When I think about Philadelphia and the relatively small sacrifice on my part, I cringe. When a non-Christian is better able to sacrifice than me, who’s been given everything, it doesn’t do much for my spiritual ego.
Tracy starts to straighten up my office. “So be prepared. Purvi’s going to be all business until this gets settled. You might do that prayer thing you do.”
I pull a picture out of my purse, unwilling to face another work change. Avoidance is always best in these situations. “This is my true gown. I’m going to see if my sister-in-law, Mei Ling, can make it before I reorder it tomorrow.”
Tracy looks at the photo and oohs and ahhs appropriately. “I thought you just went to see your wedding gown.”
I shake my head. “That’s the imposter. I have plans for that one tonight.” Sinister thoughts enter my head. I’m going to get rid of that one tonight. I am not wearing that overblown yellow balloon. I’ll look like a stuffed sofa from That ’70s Show. The last thing a bride wants is to be mistaken for retro furniture. And not even good retro. No, it’s the era that brought us black lacquer and brass.
My phone rings, and Tracy, being the consummate professional and completely nosy, picks it up. “Ashley Stockingdale’s office. This is Tracy.” She slowly moves the phone away from her ear. “Charming,” Tracy says with lifted brows. “It’s Emily from Atlanta.” She hands me the phone while she mouths an obscenity.
“Ashley, did you go to your fittin’?”
“I did, and the handwork is just beautiful,” I say in my best bipartisan voice. I’ve learned in negotiating to throw in a positive before dropping the explosive. “But, Emily, that dress is not for me. It’s incredibly made, and I so appreciate that you’ve gone to the effort, but I look like the Michelin Man in it. I’d like to do a sleeker gown for my special day.”
“You have time to lose weight before the weddin’. Do you have a gym membership? Can Keh-vin arrange for you to work out at the hospital? Perhaps I can find you a Pilates instructor online.”
I’m squeezing my fists to avoid saying something I’ll regret.
“Perhaps a personal trainer?” she suggests. “Would you recover from a tummy tuck in time?”
“My weight is not the issue,” I say through clenched teeth. Now I’m no lanky model, but I’m not ever going to be—even if I starve
d myself. And dealing with Emily, the chances of me doing without chocolate are slim to none (or not so slim, as the case may be), so I’d say my weight is what it is. “You know how Scarlett wanted her eighteen-and-a-half-inch waist again? I have never had an eighteen-inch waist, at least not since I was four, and I just think this gown would be gorgeous on a younger, more anorexic bride.” Shouldn’t have added that last part.
Emily takes on my college psychology professor’s voice. “Listen, it’s all right with me if you want to be in denial, but the mirror doesn’t lie, even if my brothah does. You’ll have to live with the pictures telling that truth for a lifetime, and they’ll be plastered all over the society pages here. I don’t mean to be harsh, Ashley; I just wanted you to know. I’d be horrified if someone didn’t tell me.”
“Is there something you called about, Emily? I really need to get back to work.”
“Yes, your weddin’ schedule is goin’ to have to be strictly adhered to if we’re to get everything done in time. You have an appointment next month at Stanford Park Hotel, July 2 at 11:00 a.m., for a sample meal. I’m hopin’ Mothah and I can get there, and you should certainly invite your mothah. I wouldn’t count on Keh-vin with his schedule. Next Saturday, I’ve arranged for you and him to select wed-din’ gifts at Bloomingdale’s at ten, and I’m workin’ on the chapel. When selectin’ gifts, please be sure to provide as many gift options as there are invitations. You’ll need bed linens, table linens, china, crystal, proper cutlery, silver . . . I’ve told the sales representative everything. She’ll provide you with a checklist so you will understand and be able to have a proper weddin’ registry. You’ll need to decide if you’re hyphenatin’ your name for monogramming or if you’ll be takin’ Keh-vin’s last name. I advise the latter for Southern entertainin’. I’m faxin’ your schedule. Should you have any questions, get back to me as soon as possible.”
Sure enough, the fax machine starts to beep, and I see this endless list of useless things, the kitchen equivalent of the Tussy Mussy, rolling off the machine. I read the first few things on the registry.
Coffeemaker options. Um, walking down the street to the nearest espresso shop. There’s your coffeemaker options.
Flatware options. Um, silverware. Maybe a nice set of chopsticks for eating Chinese out of the box.
Linen essentials. Duvet cover. It rarely hits below 50 degrees here. No duck should have to die for my bedspread.
Crystal stemware. If these don’t go in the dishwasher, they don’t go in my kitchen.
Sushi plates for Japanese/seafood entertaining. Four sushi restaurants in walking distance. Count them. I’m sure they’ve already purchased the fish plates.
“Emily, I’m looking over this list, and we’ve had our own places for some time now. I hardly think we need all this. My mom never uses her china, and what will I do with crystal without Kay? I’d rather just have good day stuff.”
“Ashley, you’ll be a surgeon’s wife. You’re goin’ to be entertainin’ on a regular basis. You can hardly bring out the paper plates and plastic forks for the chief of surgery and his wife. My mothah was always ready for a drop-in guest, and I would hope you’d do the same for our darlin’ Keh-vin. Being a surgeon’s wife is a job of its own. I do hope you understand this.”
The fax machine is still spitting out lists. The funny thing is, I like lists, and I like shopping. You’d think I would enjoy this part. Somehow, Emily takes the fun out of it.
“Kevin and I both work ridiculous hours. I’m just not the type to polish silver, Emily. I don’t think that’s why he’s marrying me.” If it is, Lord have mercy!
“Then you’ll hire someone. My mothah says your new house will have a maid’s quarters.”
“A maid’s quarters?” Hello, like I really want some cute young thing who can clean better than me living in my house. “We don’t have a house. We haven’t even started looking, and I should think I’ll know if it will have a maid’s quarters. It won’t, by the way.”
Tracy’s eyebrows knit together, and I can see she’s dying to know what Emily is saying.
“See page three of your agenda, Ashley.”
It says, “House Hunt,” with three addresses and a realtor’s name. “Has your brother told you he’s considering Philadelphia?” Now I’m not considering Philadelphia, but if it gets me out of the in-law real estate tour, bring on the cheesesteak.
“My fathah is ready to go into escrow on one of these three housing options. Philadelphia is not on his list of sites. This will have to be something to add to your agenda if it’s a priority.”
“Let me study this schedule, and I’ll get back to you with changes, Emily.”
“No, no, no, no, no. No changes. This is the schedule we must adhere to if we’re goin’ to pull off a weddin’ of any caliber. Invitations must be mailed in July, which means you need your chapel, your reception information, and your gift registry filed and ready for people to send gifts.”
Bridezilla has nothing on the Coordinator.
Seth comes into my office, ignoring the small fact that I’m on the phone. “Did you look up the comps yet, Ashley?”
I just can’t help myself. I start to scream, and both Tracy and Seth look at me like I’m crazy.
Emily is still barking orders.
“I have to go.” I hang up on her without another word. Seth and Tracy are both looking at me with intrigue. “What?”
“You screamed,” Seth says.
“Did I?”
“You did,” Tracy agrees.
“I feel like screaming again. ‘Get out of my office’ comes to mind.”
Seth grins that disarming smile of his. “Let’s go get some coffee.”
“I don’t want coffee. I want to work.”
My office phone rings again, and I pick it up and shoo the odd couple out. “Ashley Stockingdale.”
“Ashley, it’s your mother.”
Joy. “Hi, Mom.”
“Aunt Babe wants to throw you a shower before she leaves for Las Vegas on vacation. She’s got this great idea of having a lingerie party! I have to admit, it wasn’t my first choice, but I think it will be fun after she described it.”
That’s all this day needs, the idea of my great-aunts providing me with a thong selection. “Mom, I don’t think that’s especially appropriate. We barely know Kevin’s family, and they might think their son is getting a loose woman with that sort of shower. Underwear is sort of a personal shopping experience.” Or it should be.
“Nonsense. It will be funny. Someday you’ll look back and laugh about it. The day when you can’t get a leg into it, you’ll just roll.”
I think not. You know, call me naive, but I’m hoping that I’ll be able to get my leg in a honeymoon-something for a lifetime. “What does Mei Ling think of the idea?”
“She doesn’t like it either. I’ll admit it’s not traditional, but I thought you young girls were more hip than that.”
“Apparently not. Mom, I can’t believe this would be something you’d approve of. You wouldn’t let me wear a George Michael shirt in high school because he sang that song about sex, and this is akin to the family knowing my underwear choices.”
My mom clears her throat. “I’m sure it will be very tasteful, Ashley. You’ll be married. It’s not like they’re contributing to your delinquency. You’re lucky to have your great-aunts around to care about you so much.”
“Mom, Aunt Babe thinks home shopping for cubic zirconia is tasteful. What if I get a bunch of marabou feathers and colored lace?” I hate colored lace.
“You needn’t be snotty, Ashley. It’s nice that the aunts want to do this for you. As they say, don’t look a gift rabbit in the face.”
“Gift horse, Mom. The rabbit was in that weird English movie you like.”
She starts to laugh. “Oh right, The Holy Grail. Well, you understand my meaning.”
“I do, and that’s what scares me.”
“So does the weekend of August 7 work for you?”
“The weekend works for me. The lingerie, not so much. What if Kevin thinks he married some hoochie mama?”
“Ashley, receiving a gift doesn’t mean you have to put it on. Just put a pleasant smile on your face and say thank you. Think of it as a white elephant party with underwear. You can always pass it on.”
“Ya think? Mom, Kevin’s family is all worried that I have the right china and monogramming for the towels. I’m afraid this invitation to a lingerie party might upset them.”
“I can tell you something, Ashley. Lingerie will do more for your marriage than china.”
Ewwww! “Never mind, Mom. I got the idea. The seventh is fine for the shower.” After all, I can’t wait to see what my sparkly aunts think is sexy. “And Kevin’s family will be across the country. I assume that’s best.”
“Be sure and invite some people from work, Ashley. It will be nice to share you personal side with them.”
“Mom, I’m not inviting people at work to buy me underwear. It’s just not professional. We don’t need to get that personal.” Besides, the idea of Tracy walking into Victoria’s Secret for me scares me, to say the least.
“Well, okay. You certainly know best in that arena. You’ve done very well in your career. I can help you this weekend if you’re ready to make the candy almond favors.”
“I think it’s too soon. The candy is going to get stale.”
“No one eats it anyway. It’s not really for consumption.”
“I eat it! Mom, thanks for your help and the shower information. I have to get back to work.” Dang, I sound ungrateful. “You’re the best, Mom!”
“All right, sweetheart. Give Seth—I mean Kevin—I always forget the boy’s name. Give Kevin a kiss for us.”
It’s dark by the time I get out of work, but the Sunflower project is well on its way to Patentville. I drive up to the wedding shop, and it’s completely dark. There’s a Starbucks on the corner, but it’s half a block away, and its green glow only makes the wedding shop look darker. I peek in the window, catching my second glimpse of the Scarlett gown hanging there: a neon, tea-stained beacon of historical fashion. It’s taunting me from its central location in the store. I breathe heavily with anticipation. I can’t wait to get the gown in my hands. To show Kevin why it won’t work to have his sister as our coordinator. Physical proof that I am neither crazy nor living in a time warp and that the Coach portfolio contains Emily’s dream wedding, not my own.
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