by Ashley Pullo
Theo nods. “Yeah, some dads really suck.”
Julia’s phone buzzes in her pocket as she sets down her coffee. “Hang on, Theo, I really need to take this call.”
“Sure,” he replies, tossing Fletch a large crumb when she’s not looking.
“Mere, tell me what happened,” she demands.
“I spent so much money on stupid stuff, and I can’t have a wedding with that on my conscience.”
“What money? The money you saved for a bigger apartment?”
“Yes. But not just my money, Bradley’s savings, too. With the Amex purchases, and the deposit checks, a total of twenty-three thousand dollars.”
“Holy shit! And Bradley knows?”
“I had to tell him. I screwed everything up, and I had to call off the wedding.” She sobs.
“Where are you, sweetie?”
“Ho-ome,” she cries.
“And where’s Bradley?” Julia swipes at Theo’s hand as he tries to steal her scone. No, she mouths.
“He’s meeting with the wedding planner – she’ll probably convince him to buy a unicorn.”
“Listen to me. This is not the first time something like this has happened. You’ll probably have to pay cancellation penalties, but I know a lot of the people in this business and we’ll figure it out.”
“Julia, my dra-hess-hess.”
“What? I can’t understand you.”
“I can’t return my dress, but I can’t keep it. I’m so fucked!”
“Meredith, I’m hanging up now. Please calm down and wait for me to call you back.”
Ending the call with Meredith, Julia sips her coffee and says, “Theo, give me three more minutes.”
“I’ve got all day, Jules.” He winks.
Watching as he tosses Fletch a stuffed rabbit, Julia calls Bradley’s cell phone.
“I knew she would call you,” he answers.
“How bad is it?”
“I’m not mad at her if that’s what you’re asking, and I didn’t call off the wedding. That was all Mere’s idea.”
“I know. She can be dramatic. Tell me about the meeting with the wedding planner.”
“She was difficult. I sat in her fancy TriBeCa office for two hours making pathetic excuses, but we managed to cancel everything with only minimal penalties. Did you now Meredith reserved a yacht for the rehearsal dinner? Is this what she really wants, Julia? Am I even good enough for her?”
“Bradley, I’ve known Meredith for ten years, and you’re exactly what she wants.” She smiles at Theo, gazing at her with hooded eyes while he drinks his coffee.
“I should have paid more attention to her the past few weeks. Shit, I’ve been the selfish one!”
“She does need you, and you need her.”
“I was offered a job in D.C., and I really want to take it,” Bradley reveals.
“Have you told her?”
“Maybe I can convince her to elope . . .” he mutters.
Eyes wide, Julia says, “I have a better idea. But first, go home and talk to Meredith.”
Fluttering his eyes, Theo begs, “May I please have your scone?”
“Fine.” She slides the plate across the table. “Hey, so you know how I hate weddings?”
Mouth full, he mumbles, “Yeah?”
“Will you help me plan one?”
Arriving at the Port Jefferson station at a quarter to five, Julia sends a text to her mother and another one to Meredith.
Jules: I’m here.
Mom: Be there in ten minutes!
Typing her message to Meredith, she sits on a bench and lowers her shades.
Jules: Update?
Meredith: We spent the entire afternoon talking.
Jules: Good.
Meredith: Bradley got a job offer at Georgetown. He wants us to move to D.C. during winter break.
Jules: And the wedding?
Meredith: On hold.
Jules: Do you still want to get married?
Meredith: If he’ll have me.
Annoyed by the immature game she’s forced to play, she rolls her eyes as she texts Bradley.
Jules: Question?
Bradley: Hey, thanks for getting us out of the florist contract.
Jules: I gave him ad space for the next six months.
Bradley: Can you do that?
Jules: Probably not. So, question?
Bradley: Shoot.
Jules: Describe your ideal wedding with Meredith.
Bradley: Honestly, Jules, I just want to spend my life with her. If she wants to plan a fantasy wedding with yachts and Dutch tulips, I’ll help her do it every step of the way. If she wants to hop on a bus and go to Atlantic City tonight, I’ll be ready in five minutes.
Jules: That’s all I need to know. I made reservations at Antonio’s for eight o’clock under your name. Take Meredith to dinner and propose to her all over again.
“Jules! I’m over here,” Carol Pierce chirps from the driver seat of a ’91 Volvo station wagon.
Julia waves at her mother before tucking her phone into her jacket pocket. She walks to the car and pops the hatch. Shoving her suitcase between a case of bottled water and a gym bag, Julia shouts, “Mom, there’s not much room.”
“Just toss the gym bag in the back seat, honey.”
Julia grabs the gym bag and a tennis racket and moves them to the backseat. Placing her hanging bag across the back, she snags a bottle of water and then opens the door to the passenger’s side. “Hi, Mom.”
“Nice jacket. How was the train?”
Latching the seatbelt and cracking the window, Julia answers, “Mildly pungent. Is Lauren home?”
“She’ll be here in an hour. Let’s order Chinese food!”
“Sounds great. So, how’s school?”
“I love my honors senior English class. I’m teaching a survey of literature adapted to film next semester.” Carol quickly snaps her head to ask, “What’s your favorite movie adaptation?”
“I don’t know – give me a baseline of criteria.”
“It has to be in color, similar if not exactly like the book, and something seniors would find mildly entertaining.”
“Um, most of Stephen King’s books are great films. You could actually do a study in the portrayal of youth in literature. Stand by Me, Lord of the Flies, Harry Potter, Trainspotting, Requiem for a Dream, and then close out with Fight Club.”
Carol slows to a stop at a light and turns her head to meet Julia’s sarcastic grin. “Interesting choices, Jules.”
“The light’s green, Mom.” Julia removes her phone from her jacket pocket and reads a text from Theo.
Theo: Fletch can have pizza, right?
Jules: No table food!
Smiling as she tucks the phone back in her pocket, Carol asks, “Boyfriend?”
“Just a friend.”
“I’m not meddling, I just want you to be happy. And I hate that you live alone in the city.”
“And what about you? Are you still dating Patrick?”
“Oh, Jules. He was just a sexual fling. Patrick owns a bar and rides a motorcycle for God’s sake.” She makes a sharp right and honks the horn at a double-parked car.
Shuddering at the thought of Carol riding a motorcycle in a broom skirt and Dansko clogs, Julia says, “Let’s change the subject.”
As they pull into the driveway of a modest colonial near the water, Carol replies, “You brought it up!”
Julia lugs in her bags as her mother checks the mailbox. Searching for the key under the plastic frog, she shouts, “Order the food and I’ll go to town to pick it up.”
“They deliver now, Jules,” Carol says, sorting her mail as she walks through the door.
“I’d still like to go,” Julia replies, racing upstairs with her bags over her shoulders. “Can you add an order of shrimp dumplings?”
“White rice or fried rice?”
“It doesn’t matter,” she calls from the hall.
Inside her old bedroom, Julia tosse
s her hanging bag on the twin-size canopy bed and heaves her satchel toward the closet. Everything’s remained exactly the same; the stacks of shoe boxes and CDs, the purple plastic hangers, and even the poster of Brad Pitt from Legends of the Fall taped to the back of the door.
She parts the hangers, laughing at a holey sweater she wore religiously with her black tights and combat boots. It was a phase, an adolescent desire for attention, which quickly morphed into Gap khakis and Converse. Flinching at the clear plastic garment bag peeking from the corner of her closet, Julia slams the door closed. She takes a deep breath, counts to five, and then slowly reopens the closet door. Sliding all the clothes to the opposite side, she carefully takes the bridal gown off the bar and cradles it in her arms like an atomic bomb. She warily tiptoes toward the bed as her phone buzzes.
Laying the plastic bag across the bed, Julia answers the call from her new agent.
“Hello?”
“Julia! Finally we have a chance to chat.”
“Yes, finally, Ms. Davis.” Julia sits down at her desk and searches for a pen, but she only finds a blank notecard and a mechanical pencil inside the drawer.
“Please, call me Mabel. Now, tell me what you’re looking for.”
Love. Hope. Happiness. “As far as television guest appearances?”
Mabel clicks her tongue. “Julia, you need your own show! But we’ll need to work on a pitch that’s fresh and original if we want to approach Bravo.”
Julia scribbles Desperate Brides on her notecard and snorts. “Mabel, honestly I haven’t given television much thought, but I really don’t want to be a wedding spokesperson for a cable network.”
“Oh?” Her voice plummets instead of an inflection. “Well, that’s disappointing.”
“Maybe I’m not really ready.”
“I have five minutes before my next meeting,” Mabel interrupts. “Tell me what you’d like to do . . . write a book, weekly guest spots on a talk show?”
Drawing a heart and shading it in, she replies, “I’d like to focus more on the actual love stories of New Yorkers, not just weddings and engagements. Something refreshing and real. Maybe interview couples, and then, I don’t know, tell their stories somehow?”
“There aren’t many options to tell stories, Julia. Do you have a blog?”
“No, it’s frowned upon at the Herald.”
“Any radio or podcast experience?”
Radio! “Mabel, do you think we could approach NPR?”
“As a matter of fact, I’m walking into a meeting right now for another client. Quick, give me the name of your spot to pitch an idea – first thing that comes to mind.”
Julia draws an N and a Y over the heart and suggests, “New York Love Stories?”
“I dig it,” Mabel agrees. “Wish us luck!”
“Thank you, Mabel.” Julia ends the call and sashays toward her bed, bopping her head and moving her arms – like a forty-year old man doing the cabbage patch. She tosses her phone on the pillow, and then scoops the omen of bad luck into her arms. It’s just a stupid dress.
“Get over him, sis,” Lauren digs, as she waltzes in the bedroom unannounced.
Julia jumps from the bed and shoves the gown back in the closet, leaving a strip of plastic wedged in the door as she forces it closed. “Lauren! You scared me.”
Dressed in expensive workout clothes, Lauren plops down on Julia’s bed and smiles. “You look well, Jules.”
“Thanks. You look great!” She moves to her desk and tinkers with some paperbacks, unsure of how to communicate with her younger sibling. “How’s school?”
“I picked a major,” Lauren replies.
“Oh, yeah?” She leans against the desk and crosses her arms.
“Psychology. I want to be a relationship therapist.”
Julia controls her laughter and asks, “You’re kidding, right?”
Lauren shakes her head.
“Oh. Then that’s awesome.”
Picking up Julia’s phone from the bed, Lauren asks, “Who’s Theo?”
“Give me that!” she shrieks, tripping over her satchel as she grabs for the phone.
“Chill, sis. You’re so uptight – classic buffering mechanism.”
Buffering what? “I’m not uptight. And Theo is my neighbor.”
“Then why is he sending you naked pics?”
“What?” Blushing, Julia reads the text, or rather, smiles at the picture of Theo and Fletch on the roof of their apartment building. He just happens to be shirtless . . . gratuitous ploy?
Goddamn, he’s sexy, she thinks, as she sends a reply.
Jules: Working out topless on the roof?
Theo: No, I spilled Gatorade on my shirt.
“I saw Dad a few weeks ago,” Lauren casually reveals while picking at her manicure. “He came to my cross-country meet and then took me to dinner.”
“He’s back in New York?” asks Julia, clenching her jaw and keeping her head lowered.
“He’s doing a book tour – I thought you knew?”
“No, Lauren, I didn’t know.” Julia slides her phone in her handbag and walks toward the bedroom door. “Anyway, I’m going to Chow’s to pick up dinner now.”
Lauren leaps from the bed and grabs her sister’s arm. “Don’t be this way, sis. You have to express your feelings instead of compartmentalizing them. You go through boyfriends like crazy, and you refuse to let Dad in your life. How will you ever find someone if you keep punishing men for your shitty luck.”
“Shitty luck? God, you know nothing,” she snarls, pausing in the hall and shaking her head. “Our father left us. Evan literally left me – like got on the first plane to London without a second thought. And every guy I date forms an escape plan the moment they meet me.” Lauren opens her mouth to speak, but Julia holds up her hand and clicks her tongue. “So how do I feel? I feel nothing. And I feel nothing because I’m brave enough to ignore my insecurities. Use that for your next psych class discussion.” Freeing her arm, Julia races down the stairs as the warmth of unwelcomed tears roll down her cheeks.
Taking her mom’s Volvo, she speeds toward the village, careful not to run the stop sign by the library . . . again. After several attempts, Julia parallel parks on Main Street, checks the meter, and then makes a quick stop in the bookstore. It’s a terrible plan, and one she’s not proud of, but oddly cathartic. Her fingers trail along the table promoting the new releases, and then she pauses by a popular romance novel. She picks up the floral-patterned book and quickly flips it to read the synopsis. Chewing the inside of her cheek and rolling her eyes, she places the book back on the table and heads toward the general fiction section.
Local Bestselling Author Gilbert Pierce.
The sign is a permanent fixture in Port Jefferson – Gilbert Pierce was not.
Julia studies the stacks of hardcover books displayed on a table, wanting desperately to knock them over like dominoes. Bestselling author, she repeats over and over again. She picks up his latest novel, a post-apocalyptic suspense with a really long title. But it’s the inside back flap she’s most interested in reading, so she opens the book and stares at the black and white photo of the man she hardly remembers.
Gilbert Pierce is the bestselling author of Daylight Not Gone and Daylight Gone Tomorrow. A former English teacher in the cozy Long Island community of Port Jefferson, Mr. Pierce now calls a rustic cabin in Vermont his home. He enjoys hiking in the woods, European travel, listening to his collection of forty-five records, and completing the New York Times crossword puzzle.
New York Times? Fuck that.
“Julia?”
Caught shedding a tear, Julia slams the book closed and tosses it back on the table. She quickly wipes her eyes and then addresses the voice that recused her from a pity party.
“Hi?” she replies, studying the familiar face.
“Matt,” he answers. “Matthew Woods – we went to high school together.”
“Oh, yes, hello!”
“I love your dad’
s new book! And you look great – newspaper journalist, right?”
“I am. And you?” Champion of beer pong, she assumes.
“I’m a lawyer. Working with my father at his firm for now.”
“Mr. Woods? He was our mock trial advisor for speech and debate.”
“Yep, that was Dad.” Matt glances at Julia’s hand and then asks, “Are you married?”
Because I’m thirty? “No, not yet.”
“Well, I’m on my second marriage, and trust me, it’s a lot of work,” he huffs, leaning against a bookcase of Self-help workbooks.
“Second? Wow.”
“Yeah. Do you remember Kelly Adams? Cute, little cheerleader?”
“I do. She dented my car after a football game.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. We got married and divorced within a year.”
“Why?”
“She’s not very nice. I actually hated her most of the time.”
“That’s horrible,” Julia sympathizes.
“Yeah, she made my life miserable. I couldn’t trust her with anything, and then she would blame things on me just to start fights.”
“But now you have a great marriage, I hope.”
“Jenny’s all right. I knocked her up a few years ago and just did the right thing. We live together – and we have a daughter, but we’re hardly friends.”
“But now you have a beautiful daughter?” Julia leads into the question with a smile, mostly for fun, but also to determine if she needs to kick Matt in the balls.
“Oh yeah, I love Giselle with all my heart! The best thing I’ll ever have in my life.”
Relieved, Julia says, “That’s nice to hear.”
“But who knows, maybe I’ll bring wife number three to the high school reunion in a few years.” He chuckles.
“And who knows, maybe I’ll have a husband by then!” Julia retorts.
Matt laughs until he turns a shade of piglet pink, and then regains his composure and adds, “I gotta get back home. We always make pizza on Friday nights . . . anyway, take care, Julia.”
“Nice to see you,” she replies, as he walks away.