With This Ring, I'm Confused

by Kristin Billerbeck

  As I look over at my gorgeous, albeit exhausted fiancé, I realize what a warped place I live in, because his movie-star looks are not all that sought-after here. This is probably the only place in the world where men five-foot-six and under are actually a hot commodity. The geekier they appear, the more band instruments they played in high school, the higher up they were on the AV staff, the hotter their dating résumé is. That’s because their geek pursuits often led to wildly successful careers here in Silicon Valley, where Erector set and Lego mentality lead to fabulous engineering minds and big stock options.

  I know men who couldn’t get a date in high school who have become the most eligible bachelors in town. But let me tell you the downside of most of these stock jockeys: money doesn’t change them. They were cheap when they were mere engineers, and they’re cheap when they become millionaires. Granted, you might live in a mansion because that’s tax deductible, but heaven help you if you want to buy something unreasonable like an umbrella for the rain. If you didn’t buy it at their perceived value or under, it’s going back to the store.

  I’ve seen bosses who owned $8 million homes take back pancake mix to Costco because their beloved didn’t get it for the best price per ounce. As they say, cheap runs deep. Unless it’s tax deductible, of course. Then the sky’s the limit.

  My point is that I’ve learned to speak engineer. I can learn to speak Southern. Fried okra, sweet tea, tomato sandwiches, Keh-vin. See, I’ve learned already. And I am heading for Bloomingdale’s hand in hand with my fiancé and armed with the knowledge that the salad spinner is my friend.

  “What are you thinking about, Ashley?”

  “Tomato sandwiches and your groom’s cake.”

  “I’m having a groom’s cake?”

  “You sound surprised, but this is one Southern tradition I think is fabulous. It was once said if you took a piece home and ate it, you’d dream of your future groom.” I pause for a minute. “How cool is that? Maybe if I’d had it at twenty, I wouldn’t have been so anxious to be married. I know it’s going to be great for the singles group. I’m going to tell the tradition at the wedding and send all the engineers into commitment-phobe insomnia that night.”

  Kevin raises one eyebrow.

  “Going back to the Stanford Shopping Center is so appropriate for us. This is where we first met. Do you remember?”

  “I do. I was being politically correct at the time. Trying to rid myself of Arin and date her friend. You know, I broke the guy code for you. If that ain’t love, well—”

  “Why would you do that?” I’ve heard his explanation, of course, but I’ll ask him when I’m eighty, because I get all warm and tingly when he tells me.

  “Because when I saw your face, I realized what I was looking for all along: a woman I could bring home to my family. Granted, you may have stumbled over those first words a bit, but I knew the spark was there. I’d seen you sing, you know, and your voice touched me in a way I still can’t explain.”

  “Did you know that they say women have a symmetry to their faces that makes men find them beautiful? The better the symmetry, the more beautiful they’re considered?”

  “Where do you get this stuff? Can I go back to being romantic now? Because I want to tell you that when you looked at me, it was as if you looked right inside. I’d never seen eyes like that. They actually made me feel something. Just with a look, and it wasn’t long. You wouldn’t look at me much.”

  I giggle. “I remember thinking it was like staring directly into the sun, looking into your smile. Every time I look at you, Kevin, I feel completely unworthy and know that God must truly love me to bring you to me.”

  He nods. “That day, I’d just had a dentist friend try out whitener on my teeth. They were pretty bright.”

  I lift up my head. “You did not.”

  “I did.”

  “You mean all this time I thought I fell for you, and I was really blinded by peroxide?”

  “There are lesser things marriages have been built upon.”

  “True.”

  “Hey, did you get your real dress? I had a discussion with my sister. She knows you will not be dressing as Scarlett. I wish you’d come to me earlier. How goes the rest?”

  “Well, I’ve found the photographer. Your sister picked out the invitations, and you know the chapel I want. I just have to get confirmation. I was going to ask Mei Ling to make my wedding dress, but I think I might try something off the rack in San Francisco’s warehouse district.”

  “Did you just say ‘off the rack’ for your wedding dress? All right, what’s going on?”

  Here it is. This is the moment when I have to tell him I have no money.

  “Emily has distinct ideas about our wedding, and Southern weddings in general. She canceled my gown order in order to present me with what we’ll call the Scarlett Fiasco. I’m having to scramble to get something else.”

  Kevin closes his eyes and processes all this. One thing I’ve noticed about Kevin is that he’s not that quick on the draw when it comes to people. He always looks for the best in people, which is a good quality. I mean, he’s marrying me, right? It’s only an annoying trait when he’s more gentle as a dove than wise as a serpent. There’s supposed to be a balance. I suppose this is why we’re a good couple. A positive and a negative charge binding together.

  “My sister canceled your wedding dress order?” he repeats slowly.

  “Yes.”

  “Why?” He drawls this out so I really hear the Southern gentleman in him.

  “Because she had the other gown designed for me.”

  He crosses his arms. “When I left so quickly the other night, I had a talk with Emily after seeing you in that dress. I knew something wasn’t right. But, Ashley, why didn’t you tell me what was going on?”

  “I don’t know if you noticed, but that’s an exact replica of Scarlett O’Hara’s gown from her wedding to Charles Hamilton in the film.”

  Kevin raises his eyebrow again. When I nod to say it’s true, he starts to bubble over with laughter until he’s literally cracking up. “My sister thought you would dress like Scarlett? I knew she had something to do with that dress.”

  “It’s a beautiful gown,” I say in Emily’s defense. “It’s just not really for me.”

  “No, I wouldn’t think it’s your dress, Ashley.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Do you want to look like the type to wear Scarlett’s dress, Ashley? Is this one of those ‘Does my butt look big in this?’ questions, because I’m not very good at those. Humor me until I learn the code, all right?”

  “I don’t want to wear it, but I don’t want you to think I don’t look good in it either.”

  “You looked fabulous in it. It just looked like a costume. I imagine that would mean Emily imagined me as Rhett Butler?”

  I shrug. “You’d have to ask her, but most likely yes, you’d have to be Rhett Butler.” You and the dog.

  “I lived my whole young life in Atlanta, and I never knew anyone to have a Gone with the Wind wedding. While I’m sure it happens, most likely it’s not native Atlantans doing the deed. It’s probably tourists who come down with a false notion of how we live.”

  I breathe a sigh of relief. “So I’m a little behind schedule on a few things, and that’s why. Emily wants to make you happy, Kevin. That’s the important thing to remember. She thought this would make you proud.”

  “My mother would have a conniption if her friends showed up for a wedding like that. It would be humiliating at best.” A look of understanding crosses Kevin’s face, and he lets out a rush of air. “I think I figured out our little belle’s motive.”

  Now I feel bad. Emily was trying to impress her family, and now I have guilt. I know it’s not warranted, but there it is. As Kevin speeds into the parking lot, we’re right on time for our 10:00 a.m. appointment at the department store. We hold hands and walk down the outdoor walk of stores. I catch Kevin giving a look of contrition to
the store, as though he’s sorry for having to break the “non-shopping” guy code, but this must be done.

  “It won’t take long,” I say enthusiastically.

  “It will take forever. I’ve done this before.”

  I stop at the door. “You’ve what?”

  Kevin’s green eyes cloud, and he focuses on the water fountain running in the middle of the mall. “I was engaged once.”

  “Hello? Pertinent information! When were you planning to tell me, and are there any other dark secrets before I tackle the most intimate task of selecting china with you?”

  “I was nineteen, Ashley. It was before I went off to college. I think in California you’d have called it a fling, but with my Southern roots, I was ready to get married. I loved her!” He says with Broadway drama and drops to his knees, which of course makes me laugh.

  “Get up. So that’s who the mysterious Amy Carmichael is?”

  “What? No, Amy is a friend of Emily’s. She always had that big brother crush on me. She’s just a little confused and thinks we are meant to be together. Sort of like you were about George Michael. I have a feeling she’ll come to the wedding hoping for some romantic reunion. She’s watched too many Meg Ryan movies.”

  “Where do you find these people?”

  “Have you met my family, Ashley? We seem to attract a different sort. Mentally incapacitated? Please, come sit by us. Besides, you’ve got nothing to worry about. Amy couldn’t pass the Mensa test if it was multiple choice with one bubble.”

  “I know that’s supposed to be a joke, but you’re creeping me out, Kevin. Remember when you were this nice, mannerly gentleman who took me out to fancy dinners?”

  Kevin puts his hand on the small of my back and tries to lead me into Bloomingdale’s. “Courtin’s over, babe. I got you now. I can use me real manners now.” He winks at me, then stops and holds my gaze, suddenly serious. “Do you trust me, Ashley?”

  I do trust him. I look back at him, nod, and my stomach swirls.

  “I was engaged for two months when I was nineteen. When her father got wind of it, that was it. Turns out she was seventeen. She just graduated high school early.”

  “So you’re saying the Mensa requirement started early?”

  “She went off to Yale, and I never saw her again.”

  “I’m getting all weepy. It sounds like a Nicholas Sparks book. Or a movie of the week. Where are the tissues when you need them?”

  “Get in here.” He shoves me in the door, and our conversation about his brief engagement and Amy Carmichael is over.

  Kevin puts his arm around my waist as we walk into Bloomingdale’s and through the makeup section, the shoes to my right, the gowns to my left. I feel this very strong tractor beam pulling me in multiple directions. You know, you can have the fancy boutiques. I’m a department store girl. I’m like a kid at Disneyland. I can’t decide where to look first. Should I go for the shoes? Start with the outfit? A handbag? Oooh, lipstick, lipstick! I was just like this at my brother’s wedding in Las Vegas. I’m not a gambler, but I couldn’t resist all the lights and bells. It appeals to my love of shiny, blinking things.

  “Can’t we just look around a little?” I ask with a tinge of whine in my voice.

  I feel his hand push harder. “Go.”

  “Victorian women had it easy. They got to shop for a trousseau. They left it up to their mothers to buy plates and linens. I think I need a trousseau. I’m bound to get a lot more use out of it than plates. You know my favorite restaurants already have plates.”

  “I think that Scarlett dress is having an effect.” He taps lightly on my forehead. “Bring back Ashley!”

  Jocelyn meets us at the top of the escalator. My, she’s efficient. “You must be Kevin and Ashley. Welcome to Bloomingdale’s.” Jocelyn is drop-dead gorgeous, with dark straight hair and a shiny, model face. How do they get that? Is there some great beauty secret that gives you that plastic-perfect Barbie skin? Because I want it. I’d ask her for the procedure name, but exchanging plastic surgery information in front of one’s fiancé in Bloomingdale’s is probably frowned upon.

  “We are Kevin and Ashley!” I say with too much enthusiasm. So much that Kevin looks at me as if to say, Down, girl.

  Jocelyn claps her perfectly manicured hands together. “We’re going to have such an interesting day together. Since most of your list is complete, we’ll start with linens.”

  How is it that her salary at Bloomingdale’s pays enough to look like that? I’m in the wrong business.

  “Wait a minute. What did you say?”

  “Your registry. Since most of it is filled, we’ll begin with linens and pots.”

  “But we haven’t registered for anything yet.”

  Jocelyn looks confused—well, as confused as her shiny face allows. I think Botox probably prevents big shows of expression. “Your wedding coordinator faxed your list, and I’ve put the items into our computer.” She pulls out a long computer printout from her portfolio. “Right here. We can start with your platinum dishes.”

  “Platinum?” I ask.

  “Right here.” Jocelyn leads us to the plainest plate I’ve ever seen. It is white china with a silver ring around it. Period, as in nothing else.Zip, zero, nada. Oh, wait. It’s a platinum ring, judging by its name. How very déclassé of me.

  “Yeah?” I say expectantly. “That’s a nice plate.” For my grandmother! “But I’d like to see something with a little more color. You know, a little more contemporary.”

  “This is the plate on your registry.” She picks it up so I can examine it more closely. But it’s not like I need an intricate examination of the design. Platinum. Circle. Got it.

  I look around to the Kate Spade hot-pink plates and the Vera Wang collection that seems to shout at me, Ashley, come get us. You love color. We make a statement! Leave the mundane to the engineers.

  I thrust the plate away gently. “It’s beautiful, but it’s not what I’d pick. And I think you can throw that registry away. I didn’t pick anything yet. Can we see something with a little more . . . personality?”

  “It’s what your wedding coordinator faxed in. You want to change it? It’s not a problem. I just want to make sure I’m understanding you, because she’s got quite a bit to go with this theme.”

  I look at Kevin, who’s staring at the lighting fixtures on the ceiling. “Kevin? We want to change it, correct?”

  “That was my mother’s china, I think.” Kevin squints his eyes and looks closely.

  “Great, then we can borrow hers if you get lonely for it.” I start to tap my foot.

  “Emily helped with my last registry. Maybe she had the information somewhere.”

  “Let me process this. Not only am I preregistered, but it’s someone else’s registry? I’m getting a second-hand registry? Why don’t we just register at the Salvation Army?”

  Jocelyn clears her throat. “Well, I’ll leave you two to discuss our next step.”

  “Ashley?” Kevin says gently, which breaks me out of my horrible thoughts. I think I need to read less Poe.

  As I stare at Kevin’s guilt-ridden expression, I have the sudden urge to go home and label something like Kay. Maybe my underwear drawer:

  Big White Underpants

  Minimizers

  Shapers

  Do you get my drift? I need some control. If it has to come in the form of ultrastrength Lycra, I’m good with that.

  “Throw the registry away,” Kevin says to Jocelyn. “We’ll be starting from scratch.”

  I rush to him and bound into his arms. “And here I thought you weren’t even paying attention,” I say gleefully. “Have I told you lately that I love you?”

  “Let’s see the Kate Spade plates,” he says, and I know I’m so in love. He knows Kate Spade! He is my missing puzzle piece. My soul mate, my window into the future.

  “Oh, can we see the Sheridan bed linens too?”

  “Anything your heart desires, Ashley.”

  I squeeze
him tight. “I have everything my heart desires.” And I do. Now bring me that Oneida collection!

  19

  It’s Tuesday, and Purvi is out again, so I sneak out of work early (if you call 6:00 p.m. early!) and rush to get to the pedicure I booked. As I sit back in the chair and let the attendant go to work, I think back to last weekend’s blissful registry shopping experience. (Kevin even let me throw in an Ann Taylor “going away” outfit, once he saw me in it.) Then I remember Jocelyn’s face when we ditched Emily’s whole registry selection.

  One thing I’ve learned is that if I’m going to get married, it’s not going to be a blasé affair that happens with simple phone calls and gentle catalog searches. It’s going to be an all-out brawl, like the final two gals on The Bachelor who pretend to be friends but would scratch the other’s eyes out if given the opportunity. Simply put, my life is complicated. And while God won’t give you more than you can bear, with Emily in the picture, I think there was some miscommunication about just how much I could bear. Perhaps I look more muscular from above.

  So I sit here in the vibrating pedicure chair as this young girl who doesn’t speak a lick of English massages peppermint salt rub into my legs and feet. Here’s a girl who gave up everything she knew to come to this country and wash feet for a living. She smiles up at me, and there’s a quiet glimmer in her eye, a tad sinister in nature. Maybe she’s glad she can’t speak to me. I’ve tried talking to her a multitude of times, but I just make her nervous because she can’t answer. So now I sit reading a patent schematic, ignoring her and giving a big tip at the end, hoping she might be better for it.

  The experience does provide perspective that whining about the right plate on my wedding registry is ridiculous. Kevin seemed such a dream to me when I met him. I remember hearing power ballads when he walked into a room. He was the kind of man one didn’t actually date but looked on with awe from afar. Then God brought him close, and I see that no matter what someone’s appearance, everyone has their Achilles’ heel. Kevin’s is his family and his insecurities because of them. Yes, he’s a magnificent surgeon, but nothing’s ever good enough for him.