With This Ring, I'm Confused

by Kristin Billerbeck

  I walk into my bedroom with Rhett on my heels and take out my bridal book. I look at all the items on the to-do list to see if there’s anything I can do while out shopping for Kay. I’m disgusted with myself that I haven’t planned nearly what I should have by now. According to the checklist, I should be reserving rooms for out-of-town guests. I don’t even know who those guests are, and if I don’t get a move on, they’ll be camping out under my dad’s beer bottle collection on the family futon.

  The doorbell rings again, and this time, I am ready to give the Kay brigade a piece of my mind. I stomp up the hardwood floor hallway and open the door to—Kevin. With a bouquet of peach-hued roses.

  “Kevin!” I fall into his arms, rather too swiftly, and nearly topple us both. I thought he was on his way to Philly. My hand traces his jaw to make sure he’s real.

  “I have a present for you before I catch my flight,” he says.

  “More than the diamonds?” I narrow my eyes, teasing. “I thought you said the courting was over.” I’m refusing to let him go, clutching him like Miles clutches his baby Gloworm. Kevin is like the sweetest apparition come to glorious life. “I have my present,” I say as I squeeze him tighter.

  “No, this is better.”

  I take the flowers from him. “Come on, let’s go inside. It’s been Grand Central Station here all day. I’ll put these in water.” I look around to his other hand. “Did you get me See’s truffles too?”

  “No, greedy, I didn’t.”

  “It was worth a try. So what’s my surprise?”

  “What do you want more than anything in this world?”

  “The Vera Wang gown I picked out originally?”

  “I’m not Houdini, Ashley. You sure don’t make this easy on a guy.”

  “I want to marry the man I love,” I gush.

  “In . . .” he trails off.

  “Stanford Memorial Chapel.”

  “Ta-da!” He hands me a card. It’s engraved, and it has our wedding date on it!

  “What’s this?” Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy!

  “It’s our reservation for the church.”

  “You didn’t!”

  “I did. The chief of surgery attends services there and agreed to vouch for us. We’re in, Ashley.”

  “Oh, Kevin!” I squeeze him again.

  “Now will you trust me that I’m coming back from Philly in time to spare you from a whole week with my family, and unless you say so, we’re not moving?”

  “I trust you.” And I really do.

  “So now that you trust me, who was that guy leaving your house?”

  I blank for a moment. “Oh, that was Matt. Your sister’s psuedo-date while she was here. I guess her absence has sparked a rekindled interest in Kay.”

  “Good. I know Kay can handle herself. I’m not sure about Emily.”

  I shake my head. “I’m not sure about that, Kevin. You know, last week she told me this old pastor had ruined her life. Today, the man and his wife came here, and it’s not that I don’t think pastors are capable of sin and all that; but the guy looked like Santa Claus, and his wife was a dead ringer for Mrs. Cunningham without makeup.”

  “Looks can be deceiving.”

  “I know that. I’m with you, aren’t I? But something tells me Kay has a lot of anger that needs to go. These people seem to want to bury it.”

  “Kay?”

  “I wouldn’t think so either, but the whole thing just smells of mystery.” I pose with a fake gun pointed, my arms straight out in aim. “You won’t be sorry I’m on the case, Charlie.”

  “Good work, Angel. They’d have gotten away with it too, if it weren’t for you meddling kids!” We break into laughter, and I realize that inside this gorgeous creature is a true inner geek. Just like me. Isn’t God good?

  21

  Sunday morning has taken on new meaning since I’ve become engaged. I am no longer “one of them” in the singles group, and I’m treated like a leper of biblical proportion. Gazes are avoided. Conversations verboten. I am the plague, come to life in the form of a woman-over-thirty getting married. You might think there would be rejoicing and excitement. But no, not gonna happen. This is Silicon Valley, and the only thing better than one succeeding is watching the other guy go down in a ball of flames.

  I represent fear and trembling for the men, because I “caught” one, and if Kevin was here, he’d be the flopping fish on the hook while the others watched with trembling gills. I am dangerous, dark, and I possess hidden talents they must not see. I am that something shiny in the water that looks so good. Perhaps I might ensnare them too, ripping them from a life of freedom and video games.

  To the women I am nothing more than average, and they can’t for the life of them see what Dr. Kevin Novak would see in me. I should be prettier (because I certainly couldn’t be better dressed). So they avoid me, as is the easiest route, which surprises me, actually. I would think they’d be looking for tips. Not that I have any, but still.

  “He could have had anyone,” I hear someone whisper, lest you think I’m just paranoid.

  “He could have had Arin,” I hear in a male tone.

  Is it any wonder we women are rife with insecurity? One cannot turn on the television without seeing how deflated we are, how our waist has expanded to unnatural, non-Barbie-like proportions. I mean, if we believed everything on TV, women would have no hips. We would look like nine-year-old boys with overfilled water balloons on our fronts, so out of proportion that any moment we might topple forward, popping the silicone protuberancies. And our lips would take up half our faces, always in a seductive pout.

  Naturally, we’d all be competing for the attention of one man, to give the impression that he’s Bond. James Bond. Our womanly communication would be subversive, as life is one big game played by keeping emotions close to your heart—until it is time for the close-up. Then bring on the tears. We are pent-up wineskins of emotion spurting forth when the time is right.

  Now, to be fair, I wasn’t the most popular woman here before I got engaged. Apparently I have too many opinions for popularity.

  “Ashley, what are you doing here?” Not your typical church welcome. Pastor Max has always relied more on his charm than communication skills. He’s extremely good looking, still convinced that his high school quarterback position makes him a lifetime leader, and he’s married to a head cheerleader type who doesn’t question his many boasts or authority. She just gazes admiringly at him while he entrances others. In his defense, he has about one-tenth the education of most people here in Silicon Valley, so being cool is his upper hand. His power over the geeks is still going strong. Pastors have a thankless job in Silicon Valley, where the average admin makes more than they do and actually has some respect. Church? God? How could you be so unenlightened?

  “I’m not married yet, Pastor Max. Kevin’s out of town, so I thought I’d see how the singles group was faring without me.” Like I’m such a big loss. “Good to see nothing’s changed. I’ve been coming to church but haven’t made the time to get back to group. Did you miss me?”

  “Well, it’s been relatively quiet here. No call for thank-you notes,” he says, in reference to my one outburst for Kay, who wasn’t appreciated at Thanksgiving. I just asked the group to do the decent thing and send thank-you notes. They complied, but I think I got a feminist reputation. “Isn’t Kay here with you?” He looks around me, hoping to find my roommate, who softens my edges, behind me.

  “She went to see her mother last night and left a message that she was staying over.”

  I’ve never fit in with this group, which is probably not a bad thing. I’ve always been on the lunatic fringe. Now, as I scan the room, I wonder if anyone truly fits in. This is a fairly antisocial group. Not because they’re Christians, but mostly because Silicon Valley is an anti-social place. Heaven forbid you make a connection with someone in person, rather than text-messaging or e-mailing. Face-to-face conversation is known around these parts as intimacy, and it’s a th
ing to be feared. I remember back on the prayer times within the group, careful little slices of true emotions offered up as a small sacrifice, so as not to embarrass ourselves, or worse yet, be transparent.

  I don’t feel smug because I’m getting married and they’re not. They don’t want to get married. More importantly, they don’t want to change anything for anyone. Their lives are completely in control. Not fun, but within their limitations. I feel sorry for them that they don’t know the joy of living without trepidation and careful planning. It’s such an awakening when you realize you can’t control life. I wonder if some of them will ever come to it. I wonder if Kay will realize it before she owns every piece that Organized Living sells.

  Besides, making a fool of oneself is half the fun of life. Getting arrested in a wedding dress is probably too ambitious for most, but I just wish they could know true enjoyment. Maybe that’s my calling. To show joy to the severe. I’m going to try it.

  There’s a Christian song we sing about whether your limbs truly dance free in your joy. I wonder if taking that to heart would make a difference. I look toward the pastor as he shuffles his papers on the music stand.

  “You know that song, Pastor Max, about your limbs truly dancing free?”

  “Yes, Ashley. The one Kevin Marks wrote. He’s a member of the Highway Community now. Are you going to sing it for us?” he asks with trepidation.

  “No, I was hoping we might sing that today. You know,” I say with a little swaying movement, “part of praise and worship.”

  “Thank you for the suggestion.” Now go away, I’d swear he added silently. “Ahem.” He calls the class to order with his fake cough. “Let me start with announcements. Kay is not here this morning, but she’s planned a wonderful summer potluck and game day at Rinconada Park.”

  Potluck. Okay, that would assume someone besides Kay would be bringing something to eat, and that’s beyond optimistic.

  “Kay’s left a sign-up sheet.” I see him lift the clipboard. Ack! The clipboard lives. I thought I got rid of it once and for all! She’s hiding it from me to get her organizational fix! “Please feel free to pass it around.” So you can all get a clear view of its empty lines that Kay will have to fill.

  “Let’s have our time of worship. Ashley Stockingdale has requested we sing an old favorite.” He grabs his guitar, truly a man for all seasons, and starts to pluck the familiar cords.

  The slow dirge begins.

  “Joy, people!” I shout with a few claps, and I start to sing with vigor. There are a few people helping me, bless their hearts, but the song is quickly becoming a solo, which was not in my plans. But I’m game. I got the decent voice instead of Jennifer Garner’s body.

  “Child, dance with me . . . You are my soul’s delight.

  Here there is no more pain . . . There is no more night.

  You know I died for you, but do your limbs truly dance free?”

  Like a bad music video, I feel my body move to the rhythm. I’m skipping through the pathway of the room, and some are clapping with me, but some have just assumed I’ve ingested too much caffeine. Is emotionless praise, praise? Maybe it is in Silicon Valley. I’m not certain. I raise my arms to the ceiling, feeling His presence with my whole being.

  “Set aside your fears, they have no place with Me.”

  The room is spinning. No, wait, that’s me. To my shock, Pastor Max stops the song, and the entire room is looking at me. Solo is one thing. A cappella, hey, everyone has their limits.

  “Do your limbs truly dance free?” I ask meekly, without the assistance of music. Okay. Clearly not. Am I hearing crickets?

  “Ahem.” Pastor Max clears that persistent frog again. “Ashley is very enthusiastic now that she’s getting married. And why wouldn’t she be?”

  I think I’m offended.

  Uncomfortable rumble of laughter here, but Jake, one of the older singles, comes beside me and puts an arm around me.

  “I know we don’t understand Ashley’s method, perhaps,” Max says, “but we certainly admire her enthusiasm. And perhaps God does too.”

  Crickets again.

  “You know what they say about the prophet in his hometown.” I walk toward the door. “I’m sorry if I offended. Jake, thanks.”

  This singles group makes me crazy. They’re more concerned with their own comfort level than other people going to hell. Well, I wish them the best, but I think it’s time I moved on.

  “As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord,” I mumble as I walk out the door.

  I think there’s applause as I leave the room. Good thing I’m not taking it personally.

  Add “Find new church” to my list.

  “Ashley?” Kay is walking up the hallway toward me. “What are you doing in the singles room?”

  “I’m not married yet.” I let my eyes pierce hers. “Don’t think I didn’t see the clipboard.”

  She blows her bangs toward the heavens. “Why are you leaving early?”

  “You know, I came around to say my good-byes.” I nod my head. “I said them. Sang a little. My work is done here.”

  She focuses a narrowed gaze at me. “What did you do?”

  “Nothing. I sang a song.” I shrug. “A solo. Said good-bye, that’s all.”

  “Ashley, I know you better. You even look guilty.”

  “You had some visitors yesterday. Happy birthday, by the way!” I say to avoid the subject at hand. Special lawyer trick.

  “Thanks. Are they going to be talking about you when I walk in?”

  “How would I know? I mean, maybe, if they didn’t like my singing. The arts are so subjective, you know? What is one person’s Shakespeare is another’s dark and stormy night.”

  Kay purses her lips. “Who came to see me?”

  “Who didn’t is a better question. There was a visit from Santa and Mrs. Claus. Oh, and Matt Callaway.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Simon and his wife came by to see you. They really seemed desperate to talk with you.”

  “Did you say Matt came to see me?”

  I think Kay actually blushed. Is that possible? When she said Matt’s name, she softened like warm butter. But must I remind her, Matt isn’t a believer? I don’t even think he’s officially available, but I could be wrong. And our feelings aren’t our actions, right? Right.

  “He wanted to take you out for your birthday and didn’t want to take the chance on just calling.”

  She’s stifling a giggle. Kay Harding is stifling a giggle. That’s not on her clipboard, and I’m baffled. She’s smarter than this, and while Matt is handsome, he’s also smarmy. He went out with her, then dumped her. Why does this not register when she’s holding an apparent grudge from 1977 or thereabouts?

  Kay straightens her mouth. “I’ll have to check my appointment book, but a birthday dinner sounds agreeable.”

  “After what he did to you with Emily?” I say with outrage.

  Kay clicks her tongue. “Ashley, don’t be ridiculous. He wanted to feel masculine again, and she is a ridiculous creature. I’m sure her girlishness appealed to him. It appeals to most men before they realize what it is they want.”

  “And when the next girl comes along? And I do mean girl. ”

  “Ashley, I do wish you’d try to be more tolerant of others. Sometimes you can be so judgmental. You don’t even know Matt.”

  “I know enough. The Bible says not to be caught up with the unbeliever, unequally yoked, and all that. Forget all that, that’s too spiritual for this situation. Let’s just focus on the fact that he’s a dog. Is that good enough for you?”

  “I’m not in need of a sermon, Ashley.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to preach.”

  “What did Matt say when he came by?” she asks while practically salivating for the answer.

  “That he wanted to take you out to dinner.” Did we miss that?

  “Did he look like he meant a date-date, or a friendship date?”

  “You’re asking me
?”

  “You read people well, Ashley. You seemed to understand that dress would work for me that night.”

  I give up. “It seemed like a date-date,” I answer reluctantly. “Are you coming home after church? I have your gift put up high so that Rhett won’t destroy it, and I’m looking forward to giving it to you.”

  “You bought me a present?” Kay gushes.

  “Of course I did. You’re my roommate and one of my closest friends, are you not?”

  “My mom didn’t even buy me a present.” Kay has a tear in her eye, but of course, she doesn’t wear mascara, so no worries on the makeup front. “Did Simon say he’d be back?”

  “I told them you didn’t want to see them. I hope he listened. He seemed like a reasonable person.”

  “I thought so too, once. I know better now.”

  “What’s the worst they could do to you now? Apologize?”

  “You don’t understand, Ashley. I don’t expect you to, and be happy that you aren’t ever going to be in that situation. That’s all I’ll say about the matter. I just hate to be a hostage in my own home.”

  “Seems to me it’s better to just get it over with.”

  “Why don’t you come back to singles with me?”

  I start to giggle and shake my head. “Trust me on this one.” I lift my arms up and start to skip down the hallway, “Child, dance with me. You are my soul’s delight. Here there is no more pain. There is no more night.”

  I hear the exasperated gasps and smile as I continue my rendition. Why did it take my getting engaged to wake up that group? Hello? I clearly missed that obvious-path gene. God was leading me out a long time ago. Like Moses in the desert, I just chose to walk around in a circle.

  22

  Patent work is like living in a pressure cooker. (Not that I’ve ever used a pressure cooker—I remember my mother’s ominous warnings, and I don’t think steaming artichokes warrants a risk to personal safety.) In the high-tech patent arena, everything is treated like it’s of international spy importance. Maybe it’s the way engineers liken themselves to 007. I don’t know, but after a few years of the same game, it starts to feel hilarious. Like you’re whispering, Trust no one.