With This Ring, I'm Confused

by Kristin Billerbeck

  It’s as if we’re all rushing around trying to stop the world from blowing up, when we’re really just creating a new software patent to make some gadget boy’s life easier. The worst that could happen is that someone else could get our process and make our money. Which will happen when we ship it to China to be built anyway, and send our stock price diving. But we act like the H-bomb looms with every new patent opportunity. Rather than admit to one another how stupid we look, we all play our parts.

  I’ve finished Seth’s patent, and it’s in the pipeline, which should be enough for him, should it not? Must I actually have contact with him? He greets me at the door of Gainnet, and I’m half-expecting him to adjust a CIA earpiece.

  “How long until we know something?” he whispers desperately. “About the patent,” he clarifies as though I’m slow.

  “I know something right now. The Half-Yearly Sale at Nordstrom is coming up,” I say quietly. “Oh, and I stole the cookie from the cookie jar.”

  He gets that confused engineer look. “Ashley, do you realize how often you make absolutely no sense?”

  “No secret code, Seth; it was just a joke. For you engineers, that’s a process of comical importance that produces laughter.”

  He’s looking at me like I’m slow again.

  “The examiner’s office will get back to us when they know something. Don’t hold your breath, Seth. Just know I’ve checked every process related to ours, and you’re safe to manufacture the product. You were right. It’s an unknown process. Feel better?”

  “Do I have your assurance?” he asks, like a soap doctor saying, “Has she awakened from her coma?”

  “You do have my assurance,” I say with a salute.

  “I heard you visited the singles group yesterday.”

  “Yes, I did.” Word travels fast, does it not?

  “You danced.” Poor Seth, he will forever be tainted for dating the off-color Ashley.

  “I did, just like King David. Are you going to give me the Queen Michal speech about being undignified?” I cross my arms, and he just blinks. I guess he was going to give me that speech. Don’t you just hate it when someone sucks the wind from your sails? Tee-hee.

  “Now I’m going to dance to my office and see what Purvi has up her sleeve today. Nice to see you, Seth!” I hum all the way to my desk, drawing the attention of many yet the surprise of none. It’s great to be weird, isn’t it? People don’t even bat an eye anymore.

  As I get to my office, I see there are boxes lining the wall. Tracy has a look of abject terror, and she’s flitting about like a hyper hummingbird. The phone is ringing, but she doesn’t answer it.

  “What’s going on?”

  She just shakes her head and walks away, still ignoring the phones. I pick one up: “Gainnet, General Counsel’s office.”

  “I need Purvi. Get her in here pronto.” I assume this is the CEO by his obvious rudeness.

  “I’m not sure she’s in the office, but I’ll get the message to her right away.” I slam down the phone, not allowing for orders that I can’t fill anyway. I’m a lawyer, not an admin or a secretary. You want decent phone help? Avoid voice-mail systems doing the bulk of your customer service.

  I look into Purvi’s office, and the cardboard boxes are in even greater supply. Purvi is once again wearing her Indian salwar and buzzing about her office, riffling through paper like it’s parade confetti. This is nothing like Purvi, who usually just reverts to a little vocal exercise (yelling at me) when she needs to accomplish more.

  “What are you doing?” I ask her.

  “I’m packing. I’m going back to India.” She slams a book on her desk. “Where did I put that file?”

  “Shut up. What are you really doing?”

  She looks up, obviously wondering if I just said what she thinks I did. “My husband is ready for us to go back. I’m getting as much done as possible, and I’m going to be interviewing and training your new boss before I leave. But you may have an extra load for a time. I’m sorry about that.” She pulls her hair away from her face with both hands. “Right before your wedding too. I’m sorry, Ashley.”

  “An extra load? Purvi, I won’t be here. Remember my honeymoon? You can’t go anywhere. You just came on. I’m terrible at your job, remember? That’s the reason they hired you.”

  “Ashley, what can I tell you? I’m leaving. You’ll figure it out. You’re much brighter than you give yourself credit for. Under that power-shopping facade, there’s a brain. Put it to good use.”

  “You can’t leave. If I did your job well, you wouldn’t be here. I’m a grunt patent attorney. They know better than to have me do management’s job.”

  “It will only be for a short time. You are not bad at it. You’re just too social and don’t like what the hours entail. If you spent more time in the office and less time in your convertible on the way to shopping sprees and stress-relieving spa treatments, you’d be fine.”

  She has a point.

  “Do you want to go back?” I can’t help it. I feel abandoned. Everyone I care about seems to flee to India. Which I guess makes sense, as India is definitely an Ashley-free zone. Taiwan, on the other hand . . . but I digress. Purvi is the only boss I’ve ever loved, even through the yelling. “Stop kidding me, Purvi. I’ll stop with the wedding plans. You’ve made your point.”

  “Ashley, this isn’t a joke. I’m leaving.”

  “You can’t leave, Purvi. You thrive on Silicon Valley’s pace. What will you possibly do in India?”

  Purvi settles down into her chair. “I’m going to tell you something. You’re not going to like it, but someday you’ll say to yourself, Purvi was right all along. On that day, Ashley, you will appreciate me.”

  “I doubt that, not if you’re still leaving me. I tend to hold grudges.”

  “Marriage is not about a perpetual reign as princess. Marriage is about sacrifice. Sometimes it’s your turn. Sometimes it’s his turn. But you know what? It’s always someone’s turn. What unites you is that you don’t ever want it to be your child’s turn. So you go back and forth through life, taking turns. Or you end up in divorce court, and everybody loses.”

  I ask her about India, and the marriage sermon is from where? I’ve never known Purvi to talk on such a personal level. I know it’s bothering her, but she’ll probably never admit it. She’s a martyr through and through. When Seth asked me to go to India, I think I considered it for two seconds. What if we had been married? That leave-and-cleave business the Bible talks about definitely would have gotten in my way.

  “So are you mad you’re leaving? Sad? What?” I ask.

  “Life is not all about feelings. Americans think everything should be determined by how they feel. The rest of the world doesn’t have that luxury. I’m open to what lies ahead. It’s my turn. Sagar’s been paying the price for two years now without his family. A boy needs his father, and it’s time we went back. We want Pushpan educated in India before he forgets his culture.” She goes about filing papers, ignoring me but still speaking. “It’s all about compromise.”

  Whose?My own dilemma rises before me like a ghost. “So if Sagar wanted you to go to Philadelphia because he had a great job offer, would you go? Knowing you couldn’t work there with your degrees, and you might be watching Jerry Springer all day long?”

  Her hands still, and Purvi looks me in the eye. “If it were the right decision for our family, as India is the right decision for us now, you can be sure I would go to Philadelphia. However, I can assure you I would not waste my time with Jerry Springer. That’s an American misfortune.”

  This causes me pause. Not Jerry Springer, but her willingness to go. How can someone just give of themselves so completely and not question God’s will for her life? Where does it end? She’s already given up sleep and tons of free time. Now what? “Will you even be able to work there, Purvi?”

  “I will not work for some time. Other than helping my husband with his business. I shall like the break.”

&nbs
p; Break? Purvi wouldn’t know how to have a break if it came in the form of a shattered femur.

  “You can’t be serious. You love this job, Purvi. I don’t believe you’re just going to abandon us.” I cross my arms.

  “You don’t have a family, Ashley. You don’t understand.”

  “What does a family have to do with abandoning your dreams?”

  She laughs. “It has everything to do with it. There will be time for my dreams, Ashley. But I’ll never get another chance to raise my son in India, as his father wishes. You have to live with your choices, and this is one I wouldn’t get back. Pushpan’s childhood.”

  “What if it’s the wrong choice?”

  “Then I make the best of it, Ashley.”

  “Let me know if there’s anything I can do, Purvi.” I walk back to my office with my head hung low. Tracy is still buzzing about, and there’s a mourning look that passes between us. It’s official. I am a jinx. Just when I think my life is completely in order, I watch everyone around me fall apart or exit the building. Let’s look at the evidence:

  EVIDENCE THAT PROVES I AM A JINX

  1. Cool-hearted Kay afraid to talk to Santa Claus.

  2. Feminist-minded Kay willing to date sorry-doof who is Emily’s reject.

  3. Purvi packing to go back to a foreign country for a husband I’ve still never seen any evidence of.

  4. Seth, now not afraid of me yet still just as annoying.

  5. Future SIL hijacking my wedding while I sit by idly.

  6. Fiancé off interviewing in a town I’ve never visited. Heck, a state I’ve never visited.

  7. My dream wedding turning into a battle tantamount to the Civil War.

  8. My first wedding shower becoming a perverted peep show.

  All these things only have one common denominator: Ashley Wilkes Stockingdale. I’m like a human Swiffer, picking up all the dust and junk accumulating in the world and wearing it proudly. I most definitely need to shop. I’m craving an Origins, with all its natural oils and scrubs. When I get home, I’ll exfoliate all my troubles away—with a soothing, scented candle, I muse as I stare, unblinking, at the piles on my desk.

  “Ashley.” Tracy sticks her head in my office. “Heather at the bridal shop is on the phone.”

  “You mean Hannah?”

  Tracy whacks her head. “Yeah, that’s it.”

  I pick up the line, certain that there’s something else to add to my “sky is falling” list. “Ashley Stockingdale, Disaster Attractor.”

  “Oh, Ashley, that’s funny. It’s Hannah. Hey, I have a wedding gown here for you.”

  “I’m not wearing Scarlett O’Hara’s gown, Hannah. Being arrested in it was quite enough wear for me.”

  “Yeah, I’m sorry about that. I forgot about the alarm. Listen, it’s not that dress. It’s the Vera Wang gown. The order we canceled. I don’t know where it came from, but it’s here with your name on it.”

  Suddenly, the sun has appeared from behind some very dark clouds. “The dress I ordered is there?”

  “Paid for and straight from Vera Wang’s studios. There’s no card or explanation, just the gown.”

  Now if I were Nancy Drew, I’d go looking for the sender. But I never did have much interest in mysteries. I always wondered about the girls who went inside those dark places, looking for clues. Hello? Just shut the door and walk away. There’s good shopping to be had up the street.

  Vera Wang shantung silk . . . I just don’t see the need for questions at this point. Suddenly, my mood has drastically improved.

  23

  Obviously, work ran late today. The boxes piled in the hallway told me that much before I started anything. Although Purvi’s departure is still a week away, I can already feel work ramping up. The invisible rubber band pulling me back, stretching to full capacity, before it snaps and I fly uncontrollably into the seat of Purvi’s job.

  On a happier note, I worked late enough to realize the bridal shop was closed. Wait, here’s the learning-curve part that puts me in the top of the bell. I understood that this rule applied to me as well as the rest of the consuming public. So I only drove by and peeked in the window for a glimpse before heading home, gownless for now, but understanding there is silk at the end of the tunnel. Vera Wang and I will be together at last.

  As I walk into the house, Kay is preparing for the month of July and bringing out the summer festives. We’ve got silk flowers, picnic tables in ceramic, and don’t forget the sunflower salt ’n’ pepper shakers. Then there’s all the flag memorabilia that makes us look like we’re preparing for a national political convetion. Rhett is following her around whimpering, hoping to get his teeth around the silk dahlia stalks.

  “Hi,” Kay says to me as she arranges the silk flowers. “Don’t put your briefcase there.” She points at the basket where I’m usually allowed to place a small remnant of proof that I actually exist. “I’ve reworked the landing spot. We’ll be putting our things for the doorway in this new cabinet.” She comes over and opens it like one of Bob’s Beauties on The Price Is Right. “Ashley’s side,” she says with a flourish of the hand. “Kay’s side.”

  “I think you should be looking for another loan rather than another roommate,” I suggest. “Are you thinking someone is going to want to buy half this house, and they’re going to understand the landing spot process? Or the steak knife sharpener versus the cooking knife sharpener? I don’t think you give me nearly enough credit for putting up with you.”

  “Me? Living organized is what most people in Silicon Valley do, Ashley. We’re grown-ups. You’re the anomaly here.”

  “I refuse to believe I’m the weirdo. I do not spend time buttoning my shirts on the hanger so the hanger will feel good about itself, you know?”

  “I think if someone came in and saw the way I live versus that pigsty you call a closet, we’d have little questions as to who has the issues.”

  “Oh no, they’d see your Michelin Man down jacket, and I am home-free. That thing should have been thrown out in 1979, all the while apologizing profusely to the ducks. You need another example? I have shoes for all occasions, which means you can invite me to dinner and I’ll wear proper attire. You have shoes for different outdoor functions. Period. And we don’t live in Seattle, Kay. We barely have rain, but you’ve got a super hiking boot for any type of Gore-Tex moment. And running shoes that are grass green? Your combined vintage clothing is probably worth seventy-five cents on eBay.”

  “What about the Adam Ant CDs?” Kay lifts an eyebrow and shoots back, “Don’t think I haven’t heard you dancing in your room like a bad, early MTV video.”

  Okay, she’s got me there. I definitely don’t want to own up to the ’80s fetish. But girls just wanna have fun. Am I right? Then it dawns on me, and I point at her. “Ambrosia albums. I’ve heard you croon ‘You’re the Biggest Part of Me’ more times than I can count on one hand.”

  “At least it’s from my era, and I didn’t have to steal someone else’s. Adam Ant?”

  “It was just a few years before my era, okay? So I was mature. Shoot me.”

  “You’re not mature for anyone’s era, Ashley.”

  “Jimmy Buffet!” I strike again. Rhett starts to bark.

  “You’re upsetting the dog,” Kay accuses.

  “He just thought we were going to have to hear ‘Margaritaville’ again, and Rhett knows when to protect us, don’tcha, baby?” I say, patting his head.

  “Is there a reason you’re in such an interesting mood?”

  “Yes, actually. Purvi quit today. I’ll be taking over her job in a week, and right now I’m not fit to take over Rhett’s job. But my gown is here. My real and true Vera Wang gown. So I’m up and down, like a roller coaster, really. It depends on the moment.”

  “Need I remind you that you already did Purvi’s job once? Badly.”

  “Oh, and my in-laws are coming into town in a few days to finalize heaven knows what on the wedding.”

  “Well, Kevin will handle the
m, right? You just have to worry about Purvi.”

  “Wrong. Kevin is in Philadelphia on a job interview.”

  Kay shakes her head and sticks the last silk flower into the Styrofoam. “You must wear a Kick Me sign. Is it true, by the way, that you danced in the singles group before I got there?”

  “Can someone please tell me why that’s so scandalous? I danced. I didn’t strip, for crying out loud. Y’all need to lighten up, as my crazed sister-in-law would say.”

  “It’s because the singles group has always run a certain way, and you’re always trying to pull everyone out of their comfort zone. They like that zone, Ashley. Can’t you respect that? We respect that you dance to the beat of a different drummer.”

  “No, I guess I can’t. They’re like a bad happy hour without the booze. Eating and sitting.”

  “You’re judgmental.”

  “Maybe I am, but I’m not saying anything that the rest of the world isn’t thinking. Since when did church become about sitting on your duff waiting for the next cool experience to come along?”

  “Ashley, you’re hardly the great church historian, you know? Your systematic theology is lacking here. Just give it a rest.”

  “What’s this?” I pick up a vellum envelope from the new entry table.

  “It’s an invitation to your shower. A real wedding shower, no lingerie deal.”

  “Where’d it come from?”

  “Brea talked to your aunts. It’s all set. You’ll be a bride with actual kitchen goods. Though you’d probably get more use out of the lingerie with your culinary skills.”

  “You’re so not helping here!”

  “I’m just saying.” Kay lifts her hands in innocent form.

  “Didn’t your mom ever tell you if you didn’t have something nice to say . . .”

  “My mom told me to take ‘protection’ on my dates, so no, she forgot that one about saying nice things. She was more concerned I didn’t make her a grandmother early on. Not because she saw dishonor in my being a single mother, but because it made her old before her time.”