Not Quite A Bride

by Kirsten Sawyer

  When I head out of my room to make a beeline for the front door, I bump smack-dab into Justin and Logan, who seem to be doing the same thing. Justin is uncomfortably carrying a kite, which thankfully distracts him long enough for me to jam my left hand into the undersized pocket of my jeans. I look awkward, but at least my finger is hidden.

  “Where are you off to?” he asks me.

  “Oh, I just have some errands to run,” I explain. “To the 99 Cents store!” I quickly add to ensure his disinterest.

  “Nice outfit for the 99 Cents store,” Logan butts in.

  “This? Thanks ... I just threw it on.” That seems like a good answer, but just to get the focus off me, I add, “Where are you guys going?”

  “We’re going to fly a kite,” Logan tells me and Justin nods somewhat sheepishly.

  “Sounds like fun,” I say as I open the door and hold it as Logan, Justin, and their kite exit. Once on the street, I hail a cab.

  As I’m climbing in, Justin asks me why I’m taking a cab to the 99 Cents store, and I quickly blurt out that my boots aren’t that comfortable before slamming the door of the cab. As we drive off, I turn back and watch the boys fiddling with their kite ... if I didn’t know better, I would think they were a couple.

  When the cab pulls up outside the restaurant, Evan is outside waiting for me—what a gentleman. He greets me with a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek. I swear ... every time I see the guy he looks more handsome. Today, he has his straight black hair tucked under a worn green Dartmouth hat, which brings out his eyes, and a white polo shirt with jeans that show off his muscular body.

  “Hi,” I say, trying to use my nonexistent sexy voice.

  “Hey there,” he says ... he has his down pat.

  “Ready for lunch?” I ask as I start toward the restaurant.

  He grabs my arm and pulls me back toward him. “I had another idea,” he says as he holds up a key and points to the hotel across the street.

  My first instinct is yes. God, yes! My second instinct is no. I’m not that kind of girl. In the end, instinct number one wins over. Obviously this isn’t a one-night stand ... clearly this is heading toward a relationship, so there is no reason not to be romantic—plus, we can go get lunch afterwards.

  We end up not going to get lunch ... we end up not getting out of bed for most of the afternoon. Room service brings us some food, but we don’t even bother to get dressed. It feels like something out of a movie ... it’s hard to believe that I am actually here in this hotel room with an incredibly handsome guy who is crazy about me and wants me so badly.

  When the sun finally starts to go down, we realize it’s time to go back to our real lives. On the street, Evan gives me one last kiss before hailing a cab for me. As I’m climbing in, he says, “I’ll call you.”

  “Okay, “ I agree.

  Obviously he will call me; I mean ... we’re practically in a relationship now. Okay, stop ... I know what you’re thinking—I’m engaged. Well, I might be engaged, but I’m still a single girl and this could really be “the one!”

  35

  The Much Anticipated Engagement Party

  The next three months fly by quickly. Mom has turned into a little bit of a wedding Nazi, so anytime I’m not at work or making a concerted effort to avoid her calls (thank you Caller ID), she’s got me thinking about or doing wedding stuff. It has been a lot of work, though much of it enjoyable, and tonight will truly be the first payoff: the first time that I finally get the bridal experience I was longing for ... our engagement party.

  Justin and I talked it over and decided a smaller engagement party would be better so it would explain why he didn’t have many (any) guests of his own there. We chose the first week of December for the party and at the time it felt worlds away, but here we are ... tonight is the night.

  Much to my surprise and disappointment, Evan didn’t call me after our afternoon in the hotel ... undaunted, I called him ... but then he didn’t return my call for a whole week. When he did call back, it was Friday afternoon ... when he should have realized I’d be at school. And then I left another message for him and didn’t hear back ... for a week, which turned into a month, and then two, and then ... you get the picture. He never called again. For the first month I was stricken with panic that he had been hit by a train or murdered on the street ... but after many extensive Internet searches, I finally became convinced that he was alive and well ... and just not interested in me. Obviously I was crushed ... but since I couldn’t share the reason for my despair with anyone, I got over it and only think about him once or twice a week now.

  Logan has permanently moved in with me and Justin has become such a regular fixture on the sofa bed that most days we don’t bother to put it back together. Although there are moments when I miss the privacy and peace that Tiffany and I shared six long months ago, in general I am happy having “my boys” (as I’ve started calling them) around. Except tonight, that is, when I really need the bathroom in order to get ready for the party, but they are being total hogs.

  Laid out on my bed is my stunning engagement-party outfit. I decided it was one of those times when I could go all-out, so Justin and I spent three Saturdays in a row scouring New York City for the perfect dress, and we finally found it at a trendy boutique in Soho. The dress is a strapless, knee-length cream satin A-line, with black satin bands around the top and bottom and a black satin sash around the waist. It looks fantastic with my black satin stiletto sandals. Justin and I had decided that something whitish would be bridal and therefore appropriate, but not too whitish that it could take away from my actual wedding dress. The only catch is that it’s freezing out and my only coat that is warm enough is my regular black wool one. What I needed is a floor-length black velvet coat, but with what I spent on the dress, I’m going to be eating Top Ramen for the rest of the month, so a coat was out—Nana’s wedding fund just can’t cover every wedding desire. Justin and I plan to get to the party early so that I can check the coat before any guests arrive and see me in it.

  Logan finally saunters out of the bathroom, looking pretty much the same as he did before he went in, and I dart in behind him like lightning. I hope he enjoyed his long shower ... ’cause now I’m going to need to speed-clean in order to be ready on time. Luckily all the excitement has me overflowing with adrenaline, so I have no problem washing and conditioning my hair, shaving my legs, bikini (who knows why), and armpits, and all the other shower necessities in record time.

  I hop out of the shower and wrap my head in a superabsorbent towel before wrapping myself in my warmest robe and heading to my bedroom. I close my door, put on my “Wedding Sounds” CD, a hand-me-down gift from Maggie, and settle on my bed to paint my toenails a bright, iridescent red. They look really fantastic, and I spend just a few minutes of relaxation lying on my bed, singing along to Bette Midler belting, “We’re going to the chapel and we’re gonna get ma-a-arried, going to the chapel and we’re gonna get ma-a-arried ...”

  Of course, my relaxation is cut short by a tap on my bedroom door.

  “Molly,” Logan calls through, “Mom’s on the phone.”

  “Okay, thanks,” I say as I roll over and pick up the old-fashioned corded phone next to my bed.

  I must admit that there is something so familiar about living with my brother again that I absolutely adore. Of course, there is also the familiar lack of privacy and other sibling-related annoyances, but in general it makes me feel good to have him around.

  “Hey, Mom.”

  “Good Golly Miss Molly! Are you ready for your night?”

  “Just about,” I lie.

  “We’re almost to the city—I just wanted to check in on you.”

  “Thanks, Mom. We’re all great here. Tell Daddy to drive safely and we’ll see you soon.”

  “We love you, sweetheart.” CLICK.

  I roll onto my back again and smile as Bette sings on in the background ... right about now, being engaged is every bit as wonderful as I ever imagined i
t would be—as long as I ignore the little voice in the back of my head that keeps asking me what the hell I’m doing.

  Somehow Logan, Justin, and I manage to get out of the house at the designated time and we arrive at the restaurant where my parents have rented a private room five minutes before the actual start-time of the party to give me a chance to hide my coat. I know my parents are already inside because Mom has called me three more times from her cell phone since I got out of the shower. She is perfecting the last details in the room with the restaurant manager and Dad is sitting in the bar watching the football game. The man is amazing ... it is remarkable that he never shows up anywhere where there isn’t a TV playing sports.

  Would you like to guess who arrives at the same time we do and is standing on the sidewalk as we climb out of our cab? You guessed it—Claire Reilly (and Brad). Of all the people I didn’t want to see me in my informal, non-matching wool coat, Claire is number one. To make matters worse, would you like to guess what she’s wearing? A floor-length velvet coat! I swear, I cannot catch a break when it comes to that girl. I greet her as warmly as I can muster and give Brad an awkward hug before darting through the restaurant door to ditch the coat and show off my dress, which is as fabulous as the coat is unfabulous.

  Brad and Claire saunter in behind me, and the bitch actually whines that she’s cold and needs to keep her coat on. God, I hate her ... maybe I can get a bartender to spit in her drink. Before I can plot any further, my mother comes flying out of the room and grabs me in a huge embrace.

  “Good Golly Miss Molly!” she exclaims as she holds my arms out and admires my dress.

  I smile, smugly, in Claire’s direction. I decide that she must be keeping her stupid coat on because her dress is really ugly.

  Justin comes up behind me and reaches over to give my mom a hug hello, and then she awkwardly looks to Logan, who is standing slightly behind Justin and greets him. Things are definitely not 100% normal between Logan and the parents, but I know everyone is trying their best.

  “Hi, Baby Boy,” she gently says her nickname for him.

  “Hi, Mom,” he says gratefully as he leans forward to hug her.

  Justin and I look at each other and smile. When Mom lets go of Logan, which feels like it takes a while to happen, she gives a quick greeting hug to Claire and Brad (I still haven’t told her all that’s gone on with him—I know it would upset her). Then she directs everyone into the party room.

  The room is stunning. The restaurant is beautiful to begin with, but they have transformed the room to look like a starry night. It’s so pretty and romantic and honestly takes my breath away. I’m still gawking at the room when Jamie walks in. She is three weeks from her due date and is the size of a house. Even dressed in all black, she looks so enormous that I am shocked—at this point, I think her pee fear is pretty realistic.

  “Kate got huge,” she announces, motioning to her belly and my niece inside, who will be named Kate Anne Harrigan-Hope.

  “Thank God ... I just thought you got majorly fat,” Logan pipes up and everybody can’t help but laugh.

  One by one, all the guests arrive and the party is in full swing before I know it. This night is making all the work and insanity of wedding planning worth it. I am having the best time. It’s wonderful being at a party when you know and like everyone there (except one person), and everyone is being so nice to me and to Justin. I wish every day was like this. Plus, the table overflowing with presents in the corner isn’t exactly ruining my good time.

  The food is fantastic, the drink is free-flowing, and the music is great. I dance most of the night, not just with Justin but with all of my girlfriends and their husbands /fiancés. For the first time all evening, I finally break away from the dance floor and grab a seat at the bar, where I suck down a club soda to try and quench my thirst, when there is a tap on my shoulder. I turn around and find Brad.

  I assume he’s there to say good-bye, but he’s not. He asks me to dance and out of shock I can’t think of anything else to say except, “Okay.”

  He leads me to the dance floor just as the song, “Just the Way You Look Tonight” comes on ... go figure. I search around the room for Justin and we give each other “oh well” shrugs as I begin to dance with Brad. To be honest, I’d forgotten what a good dancer Brad is and it feels good to be back in his arms. I snuggle a little, almost surprised at how easily I fit and how comfortable he is. I haven’t let myself admit or think about how much I really do miss him. I’m still hurt and mad at him.

  “Are you sure Claire would approve of this?” I ask, trying to hide the smugness in my voice.

  “She went home. She was tired.”

  Interesting ... she went home and left him behind. That could not have been her choice and definitely couldn’t have made her happy. This information softens me a little.

  “I’ve missed you,” I admit out loud.

  “I’ve missed you so much, Molly.”

  We pull apart for a split second and look into each other’s eyes. It’s so good to look into such familiar eyes. It’s the same feeling as coming home.

  “What’s been going on?” I ask lamely.

  “Shhh ... I love this song,” he says.

  I’m taken back four months to his engagement party when we danced to the exact same song and he said the exact same thing. It’s hard to believe how much is completely different since then. We silently dance until the end of the song. When the music starts to fade out, part of me is sorry it’s over.

  “I’m realizing some of the things you said about Claire are true,” Brad says before he lets go of me and without looking me in the eye. I’m stunned and can’t say a word in response. “I love her, though, and we’re working through them,” he adds stiffly, as if that part were rehearsed.

  “I’m glad,” I muster lamely.

  “I’ve gotta go,” and with that, Brad gives me a kiss on the head and turns toward the door, stopping to kiss my mother and sister, give Logan a hug, and Justin a cool handshake. I’m still standing on the dance floor, slightly shocked. The front of my body suddenly feels cold where his had been keeping it warm as we danced.

  By the cab ride home, many hours later, I’m still at a complete loss regarding my conversation—if you could even call it that—with Brad. I retell the story three times for Justin and Logan to try to get a handle on it, but they don’t have much luck, either.

  Besides that, though, the evening was straight out of a fairy tale. Everything was perfect and wonderful. It’s hard to imagine that the night just six short months away is going to be one hundred times more magical. Actually, maybe the months won’t be that short after all and the night won’t be that magical, I try to remind myself ... unfortunately, myself isn’t listening too well lately.

  36

  The Real Cheater

  I’m really riding high now. I am finally into the fun parts of wedding planning, Brad and I have found a place where we can be friends in spite of Claire’s restrictions, Justin is nicely filling in as the everyday best friend, and I no longer think about the way Evan dumped me.

  Justin has even “officially” moved into the apartment. Obviously he isn’t giving up his own place since he can’t stay with me after the wedding, but we decided that him moving in was another key element to avoiding suspicion. So, we added his name to the answering machine and the mailbox ... and he went to Pottery Barn and picked up some “straight-guy knickknacks” to add to the apartment. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that a) straight guys neither know what knickknacks are nor own them, and b) if they did own them, the ones he purchased wouldn’t be them.

  The Saturday after our engagement party, Justin and I are at D’Agostino together getting ingredients to make a special birthday dinner for Logan. Logan is spending the day relaxing at a spa, compliments of us, and I am following Justin around the store like a hired servant while he tries to figure out how to make lasagna (Logan’s favorite) fat-free.

  As he examines the fat c
ontent of different noodles, he orders me to get thirty ounces of fat-free ricotta cheese and report back to him immediately.

  “Aye-aye, Captain,” I salute him before heading to the dairy section.

  It takes me a while to figure out what I need because, of course, none of the brands make a thirty-ounce size, so I need to figure out if it’s more cost-effective to get smaller ones that add up to thirty or a bigger one and not use all of it. I finally figure it out, add the items to my basket, and turn on my heel to head back to the noodle aisle ... but it doesn’t happen quite like that.

  I quite literally run headfirst into Evan. Of course, because of my size I run headfirst into his hard chest and don’t realize who it is until I look up, up, and straight into his green eyes. We both look like deer caught in headlights. While one part of me is angry and hurt that he never called, the other part holds a shimmer of hope that this reunion is just what we needed to rekindle the spark.

  “Um, Molly, hi,” he mumbles at the exact same time that I mumble, “Gee, Evan, hello.” Then we both laugh awkwardly and stare at each other.

  “So, um, how are you?” he asks.

  “Oh, me—I’m great. You?”

  “Great, too.”

  The exchange is followed by some awkward nodding. I’m trying to figure out what to say next, but before I do, a third person joins our exchange.

  “Honey, did you find my strawberry yogurt?” a voice calls from behind Evan.

  His expression of fear increases greatly as he whirls around.

  “Got it right here, hon!” he screeches in a frightened tone.