After an excruciating half hour with Cynthia, I couldn’t stand to hear about wedding plans anymore and made the excuse that I needed to leave for the conflict resolution class. Why I thought that would be a good place for me to go, I couldn’t understand. Maybe I needed to prove something to myself.
I only proved I was a royal idiot.
As I drove home on this clear night, I turned on my windshield wipers. The sound drowned out all the sniveling I was doing, and the squeaking noise distracted me from thinking about anything hot pink.
When I returned home, there was a message from my dad, congratulating me and telling me he was sorry he missed the dinner, but that he would be coming home from the hospital Thursday.
I fell onto the couch, more ashamed of myself than I’d ever been. I was picking out cakes and designing wedding invitations like a woman in love. How could I do this to Edward? To myself? How could I have become this big of a coward in life? Was I willing to throw away my life’s happiness because I was scared of confronting the truth?
I curled my knees to my chest, hoping Cinco would call, but he didn’t. I prayed Edward wouldn’t call, and thankfully he seemed to have had his fill of me. The phone was silent, my apartment was silent, and the whole city seemed silent. But inside my mind, one horrible scenario chased another. I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling, tears dropping down both of my temples and wetting the couch on either side of my head.
“God,” I whispered through the quiet night. But that’s all that came out. What else could I say? I needed his help, but did I really want it? Didn’t God have a history of shaking things up? Really shaking things up? I’d tried so hard in my life to make sure nothing was shaken or stirred or rocked or messed up. With one prayer, God could undo it all.
You know, you’re doing a pretty good job of stirring and shaking all by yourself. If you’re not careful, you’re going to end up with one funky martini.
I knew I couldn’t shut Jodie up. Not tonight. So I just let her talk. And she did. Rambled until daybreak, when I finally opened my eyes. I looked at the clock. It was 7:00 a.m., which was strange since I hardly ever woke that early. I sat up and immediately noticed how refreshed I felt. I thrust my arms to the ceiling and stretched until my back popped. My first instinct was to go turn on the coffee. After all, this wasn’t really my time of morning. But surprisingly, I didn’t even feel groggy, nor did I feel particularly depressed.
I felt normal.
I sat there for a moment, wondering why. I was still engaged to Edward. I still had a crush on Cinco. Nothing had changed from just a few hours before.
I decided to make coffee anyway. My body was probably just in shock. I was pouring the water into the coffeemaker when the phone rang. I didn’t look at the caller ID.
“Hello?” I hoped it was Cinco. Mother’s voice dashed that hope.
“Hi, Leah. How is my newly engaged daughter?”
The reality of my crisis began to come back. “Hi, Mother. I’m fine.” I glanced at the clock. Why was she calling this early? “Is everything okay?”
“Wonderful! They’re releasing your father today, thank the good Lord.”
Today? “A day early! That is fantastic.”
“A day early? No. This is when they’d planned to.”
“On Wednesday?” Maybe I’d misunderstood Dad’s message.
“I woke you up, didn’t I?”
For once, no. “No, why?”
“Well, honey, you seem a little groggy.”
“Groggy? Why do you say that?”
“Well, dear, because it’s Thursday.”
I dropped the phone. Thursday? I’d slept through Wednesday? I slumped onto the counter, trying to make sense of it. That meant I’d lost an entire day! A day of writing! Of . . . of . . . I glanced at my answering machine. It was blinking. People had called!
I remembered the phone and quickly picked it up.
“Dear, are you there?”
“I’m here,” I said, squeezing my eyes shut. I would have to work doubly hard today to catch up on my play.
“Anyway, the reason I’m calling is to see if you could meet us at the hospital and drive my car back to the house. I’m calling for a driver today so I don’t have to worry about anything, but I don’t want the car stuck at the hospital.”
No . . . no . . . Not today, of all days!
“Leah?”
“Sure, Mother, no problem. I’d be happy to.”
“All right. Meet us at the hospital at eleven, all right?”
“I’ll be there.”
I hung up the phone and listened to the coffeemaker gurgle. Then I punched my answering machine.
“Hey, Leah, it’s Edward. Wanted to just touch base with you about a couple of things concerning the wedding. Call me around six; I should be home. Thanks. Love you.” Beep. “Leah, it’s J. R. I need you to call me as soon as you get this message. Thank you.” Beep. “Leah . . . it’s me. Where are you? Maybe out shopping for that wedding dress, huh? Can’t wait to see you in it. Well, if you get in before eight thirty, call me. If not, call me tomorrow before I leave for work, okay?”
I glanced at the clock. I had just enough time to call him. But I hesitated. I was getting so tired of playing the game. I’d just slept through an entire day. Hadn’t I had enough? I dialed his number, praying for a miracle, like God speaking through me. No, for me. That would be convenient.
“Hello?”
“Hi.”
“Hey, you,” he said in his new gushy voice. “You got my message?”
“Yeah, sorry I’m just now calling.”
“Well, I figured you were out shopping for your wedding dress.”
I gulped loud enough that he was sure to have heard it. “Edward, listen, about that—”
“Cynthia can help you with that too. I don’t know if women want help with that or not, but she can help. I’d be happy if you came down the aisle in blue jeans and a T-shirt . . . well, not really. People say that, you know, but it’s more a figure of speech for the idea that I’m just happy to marry you. But what can I say? I’m a traditionalist about that sort of thing. Other than being white with lace, though, I really don’t care.”
I held my face in one hand as I held the receiver in the other. I hated lace, for one thing. But I couldn’t focus on that right now.
“Edward, don’t you think . . . ,” I hedged, and I could hear him breathing. I imagined him glancing up at his wall clock, realizing he was getting ready to be late. It was exactly 3.2 minutes before he had to leave. How could I break off an engagement that quickly? Or maybe I was fooling myself. Maybe it would take less than thirty seconds. Could I bear that? Edward hanging up on me and never talking to me again?
“What is it? I’ve got about three minutes before I need to leave for work.”
I smiled. There was something to be said for this kind of predictability. “It’s nothing. We can talk later. I’ve got to go help Dad home from the hospital.”
“Is he doing better?”
“Yeah. Expected to fully recover,” I said, closing my eyes at that statement. I was afraid this relationship was not destined for the same optimistic outcome.
“Okay, well, listen, maybe we can get together tonight and—”
“I’ve got the class,” I blurted. Yeah, like I really intended on going.
“You’re really still going to that. Amazing.”
“It was your idea.”
“I know, I know,” he said lightheartedly. “I just didn’t think you’d be this . . . excited about it.”
“It’s not exciting. Only helpful.”
“Helpful in what way?”
“You better go. You’ve got .8 minutes before you’re running late.”
“Oh, right. I’ll talk to you later on, okay?”
“Bye.”
I stared at my coffee. I needed something stronger than coffee but not as threatening as alcohol.
I grabbed my keys and headed for the Godiva out
let. It didn’t matter that I would have to wait two hours before it opened.
Chapter 24
[She starts out whispering.]
I was crying. Hard. I was sobbing goo and liquid out of all the orifices in my face, but I didn’t care. I had to let some things out, and surprisingly, the class, sitting in a neat circle with Marilyn at the helm, looked as if this was fully expected and they were exactly the right people on whom to unload. I even spilled the beans that the mysterious kidney-disease–stricken brother of mine was actually Edward, my fiancé. Getting the lie off my shoulders felt good, even though I noticed that Cinco didn’t look too happy. But he also didn’t look surprised.
I could feel myself splotching, but I never made a move to cover my neck. After all, my face was doing plenty to keep their attention.
I threw up my hands. “So I don’t know what to do. I feel like I’m in an impossible situation. I’m going to hurt so many people, but my life’s happiness is at stake here!”
Marilyn moved into the empty seat next to me, put a packet of tissues in my lap, and patted me on the shoulder. “First of all, Leah, it’s good to let this all out. Obviously you’ve been holding in a lot of emotion for a long time.”
I tried to see her through my teary eyes, fumbling to extract a tissue. “You have no idea. I’ve never felt I had the right to express emotion. I might hurt someone’s feelings.”
“That’s been your entire concern all these years? Others’ feelings?” Carol asked, the loudest she’d ever spoken before. “That’s truly beautiful.”
But Marilyn said, “I disagree. I don’t think it’s quite as noble as that. No insult intended, but I think the person you’ve been protecting is you.”
I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know if it was true. I would’ve liked to think my intentions were motivated by others.
“But it is natural,” Marilyn added. “We all have an instinct inside of us that makes us want to protect ourselves. But it’s impossible to do. You can do it for so long, maybe, but eventually it will all catch up to you.”
Glenda said, “It’s not only caught up with her; it’s beaten her to a bloody pulp.”
I took that as Glenda’s attempt at sympathy.
Marilyn returned to her seat. “We’re going to scratch the lesson plan today and work out this problem. Leah, I think what you need is practice. You’ve never stood up for yourself, you’ve never voiced your opinion . . . you simply need to practice. So that’s what we’re going to do. Practice. And we’re all going to help you through it.”
“How are you going to do that?” I blew my nose and set the tissue packet on top of my handbag.
“Well, we’re going to do a little role-playing. Now, we need someone to play Edward.”
My eyes widened as I glanced around the circle. I looked at Cinco, and he said, “I’ll do it.”
Before I had a chance to argue, someone brought a chair and set it in front of me. Cinco quickly plopped down in it, his eyes focused and steady. Confident. Always so stinking confident.
I cut my eyes to Marilyn. “You know, I think Carol might be a better pick for Edward. She has blonde hair and . . . and the same color eyes and—”
“I think Cinco will be just fine,” Marilyn said knowingly. I looked at Cinco, blushing my way through an apologetic smile. He smiled back. Sort of.
“Now, Leah, where would you feel most comfortable breaking off this engagement to Edward?”
“In a morgue. I’d be dead, so that would make it pretty easy.” I sighed when no one laughed. “His apartment.”
“Okay. Why?”
“Well, it’s isolated. Nobody else around, plus I could leave on my own terms, and I wouldn’t have to wait for him to leave.”
“All right. Then we’re going to set this in a crowded restaurant.”
“What?”
“It’s a neutral place. That way if things go unexpectedly when you really break off the engagement, you’ll be prepared for anything.”
I swallowed and looked at Cinco, who looked eager to get started. Marilyn assigned Glenda, of all people, to be the waitress, and then gathered the rest of the class to the side.
I searched my feelings for a moment, trying to identify the exact place humiliation was hiding. But to my surprise, I didn’t really feel humiliated. I felt relief. If I could just say the words, even in pretend, maybe I’d find the courage to really do this thing.
I swept the hair out of my face and sat up tall, ready for my new role in a performance that was sure to be Oscar-worthy. From the side, Marilyn actually said, “Action!” I had to laugh. But Cinco was taking his role a little too seriously. Concern now plagued his normally placid expression. I tried to settle into the role-play.
“Edward,” I began, “I wanted to tell you why I brought you here, to this restaurant.”
“I assumed it’s to celebrate our upcoming wedding,” Cinco said, a little too cynically for my taste.
I took in a breath. This was more nerve-racking than I thought it would be. “It is to talk about that.”
“Good. Because my whole life revolves around this marriage now. It’s all I think about, all I dream about.”
I tried not to roll my eyes. Edward wasn’t quite that pathetic. Cinco reached out and took my trembling hands, startling me, then distracting me. I suddenly knew what it felt like to have my hands in Cinco’s. It felt . . . right. But then again, he wasn’t Cinco. He was Edward . . . or playing Edward.
Concentrate, will you? Let’s get on with this thing. It’s actually pretty entertaining.
I gritted my teeth and tried to offer a casual smile. “Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that . . . well . . .” The words were on the tip of my tongue. Just one hefty push of courage, and I would say them out loud.
“May I take your order?” I whipped my gaze upward, and there Glenda stood, with an imaginary pad of paper in her hand, smiling and pretending to chew gum.
Cinco let go of my hands. He said, “I’ll have the”—he looked at me—“chicken.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “I’ll have the bull,” I said.
Glenda raised an eyebrow. “I realize you’re from the South, but we don’t serve bull here.”
“Oh, that’s too bad,” I said, avoiding Cinco’s amused face by pretending to look over the menu. “Okay, then I suppose I’ll have the . . . triple-garlic medallions.”
Everyone looked disgusted, but what could I say? The garlic might help my cause. Glenda walked off, and Cinco said, “So, there’s something on your mind, besides making me the happiest man on earth?”
I wiped my mouth with my pretend napkin, which ended up just being the back of my hand, and with all the strength I ever had in me, I looked Cinco—Edward—right in the eyes and said, “I don’t want to marry you.”
The room grew completely silent, but all I could do was laugh. I actually said it! I said it out loud! “I don’t want to marry you,” I said again, holding my breath to contain my wildly beating heart. This was like riding a roller coaster. I engaged Cinco’s eyes. “I can’t marry you.”
“Why not?” Cinco asked, feigning a wounded expression.
“You’re not right for me, Edward,” I said, the words rolling off my tongue as easily as if I were making weekend plans.
“You’ve been with me over two years, and you’re just now figuring this out?” Cinco said, his voice growing angry. It didn’t deter me.
“Yes. And I’m sorry. I am. But Edward, sometimes you don’t realize that a person isn’t right for you until you start thinking about the rest of your life. I need someone who is . . .” I looked into Cinco’s eyes, and we connected so strongly for a moment that I lost all concentration. I couldn’t even remember what I was saying.
“You need someone who is what?” Cinco asked softly.
I wanted to reach across our imaginary table and take his hands again, but instead I simply said all I knew to be true. “Someone who will make me the best person I can be.”
“Of what?”
“The best person you can be.”
“What about it?” There was something odd in his tone.
“You lied to me.”
I cut my gaze sideways. Everyone was still watching, so I tried to keep the mood light. But Cinco’s brow was heavy across his dark eyes.
“Lied to you?” I noticed I had that same ring in my voice that my mother used to indicate a mood change was in order.
“You told me Edward was your brother. But he wasn’t. Just wondered if you wanted to address that now or later?”
All the applause and “good jobs” that lingered in the air fell to the ground with a thud. I wanted to glance around the crowd and smile as I normally would when assuring people that despite the humiliating situation, I was “perfectly fine.” But I knew this crowd wouldn’t buy it. So I cleared my throat, ignored Cinco, looked at Marilyn, and said, “I’m not quite over the hump yet. Can we have two people play my parents?”
I called Mother after class to see if she and Dad were still up and asked if I could come by. Mother seemed to want me to. With Lola’s untimely vacation, she sounded nervous about being all by herself to take care of Dad. I’d helped them home from the hospital earlier that day, but Dad had pretty much just gone to bed. Mother told me on the phone that he’d slept nearly seven hours, but now he was awake and propped up on the couch.
As I drove to my parents’ house, I was still reeling from class. I couldn’t believe Cinco had humiliated me like that. What he did was at the very least inappropriate. But Marilyn had talked a lot about keeping conflict in its place, not allowing it room to grow inside my head. So I did my best not to think about it.
My Life as a Doormat (in Three Acts) Page 22