Lauren laughed at that, but Corinne pulled away from his arm and sat up straight in her seat again, not looking particularly amused.
“Can I see it?” Ava asked. Russell handed the contract to her and she read it swiftly. When she looked up, she realized everyone at the table was watching her. She could feel the blood rising in her neck and cheeks.
“It’s pretty stupid, isn’t it?” she said. “I don’t know what they were thinking.” She wished they’d all stop looking at her. She wanted to kill Lauren. And her parents.
“Are you trying to nullify this?” Russell snatched the paper out of her hand and held it to his heart. “Claiming they weren’t of sane mind when they wrote it?”
“It’s so silly.”
“You’re hurting my feelings,” Russell said. “She’s clearly trying to get out of it,” he announced to the others. “Do you think it’s my looks? Is it my looks?” he said, turning back to Ava. “Am I that big a disappointment to you? I mean, two minutes and you want out already?”
“Smart girl,” Corinne said. “Run while you can.”
“There you go,” Russell said to Ava. “Right from the horse’s mouth.”
“Don’t call me a horse.”
Lauren said, “Don’t mind Ava. She’s a lawyer. It’s in her nature to look for loopholes. On the other hand”—she shot a look at Ava—“she loves her contracts.”
It suddenly became clear to Ava why they were there: Lauren had said she would get revenge for that meeting with Carolina—and here they were.
“You do realize that you’ll be wife number three for this guy?” Cole said to Ava.
“Seriously?” Lauren said before Ava could respond.
“Yep.”
“You’ve already been married twice? Then is she—?” Lauren gestured at Corinne, who immediately tossed her head in the opposite direction and reached for her orangey-pink cocktail.
Russell shook his head. “Number two? No.”
“He got rid of number two a long time ago,” Cole said.
“Happiest day of my life,” added Russell.
“I thought that was supposed to be the wedding day,” Lauren said.
“Clearly you’ve never been divorced.”
“Just so long as you’re not completely done with marriage yet,” Lauren said, with a nod toward the piece of paper he still held.
“I thought I was.” He smoothed out the contract and looked at it again. “But I guess this changes everything.”
Corinne said suddenly, “We should order our food. I’m starving.”
Rachel immediately said, “Me too. Where’s the waiter?”
Lauren ignored them. “Your attitude worries me,” she said to Russell. “If you’re going to marry my big sister, I think you need to show a little more enthusiasm.”
“Give me time,” he said. “I’ve known about the engagement for all of five minutes.”
“Me too,” Ava said.
“You didn’t know about this before?”
Before she could answer, the waiter approached their end of the table. “Would you ladies like something to drink?” he asked.
“We can’t stay long,” Ava said with a pointed look at Lauren. “We promised our mother we’d be home soon—”
“Was it my imagination or did she just say, ‘I think I hear my mother calling’?” Russell asked the others.
“She did,” Cole said.
“We have plenty of time,” Lauren said. “Don’t listen to her. We’d each like a glass of Chardonnay,” she said to the waiter, who nodded and turned away.
“Stop him, Cole!” Rachel said, grabbing her husband’s arm and pointing to the waiter.
“Hold on,” Cole called out to the waiter, who turned back.
“We’d like to order now,” Rachel said. “We’re very hungry. And our party is finally all here.”
“Let me just get their drinks and I’ll be right back,” he said.
“I hate this place,” Corinne said as he walked away.
“It’s especially bad tonight,” her friend said meaningfully.
“Lauren,” Ava said in a low voice. “We should go.” The other women so clearly didn’t want them there that she couldn’t see why Lauren wouldn’t just leave. The joke was over now, wasn’t it? Lauren had successfully embarrassed her and gotten her revenge. It was time to go.
“Aw, don’t be in such a hurry to leave,” Russell said. “We have so much to plan—the venue, the date, the caterer, the music, the divorce . . .”
The wedding talk wasn’t doing anything to improve the mood of the other women. Or hers. Ava wished he’d stop with it.
But Lauren insisted on egging him on. “I think you should wait on that last bit,” she said. “It seems like bad luck to plan the divorce at the same time as the wedding.”
“All right, then,” he said. “We’ll wait until after. But there’s still so much to do. By the way, I’d just as soon not wear a tux, if it’s all the same to you girls. Feels like bad luck to go black-tie the third time around. But it’s the bride’s call. We can figure it all out once we’ve ordered.” He cocked his head at Ava. “Unless you still hear your mother calling?”
“Don’t worry about her,” Lauren said. “Of course we’re going to join you for dinner.” She put her finger up. “But I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist on a black-tie wedding.”
“Shouldn’t that be your sister’s call?”
“Trust me,” Lauren said. “You don’t want to leave the fashion choices up to Ava.”
“Ouch,” Russell said with an exaggerated wince.
Ava was barely listening to them at this point, too distracted by the way Corinne and Rachel were now leaning across the table to talk in a low voice to each other while they shot little sideways glances at her and Lauren. Their hatred was almost palpable, but she didn’t blame them. How would she feel if she were dating a guy and some random woman came in and announced she was engaged to him? Even as a joke, it was in bad taste. And Russell had deliberately made the situation worse by flirting with Lauren and being rude to Corinne.
She looked across the table at Lauren, who was laughing at something Russell was saying, saw how adorable Lauren looked with her curly hair and pretty top and how both men seemed captivated by her. The other women’s hostility only seemed to inspire Lauren to work even harder for the men’s admiration and attention: it just made Ava want to flee.
But then, Lauren was equipped to go toe to toe with these women. Lauren, like them, was stylish and flirtatious and hip. A restaurant like this—a hot spot—was her natural element. You could plunk her right down between Corinne and Rachel and no one would sing, “One of these things is not like the other” (except, Ava thought loyally, Lauren was prettier and fresher than the other two). But stick Ava in there, with her dowdy clothes and un–made-up face and air-dried hair, and the imaginary spectator would do a double take.
Not that she minded. She didn’t want to fit in with women who looked like that, who thought that fashion magazines held all the secrets to success. Let them spend hours on their overstyled hair: she would do something better with her time. She didn’t envy them or want their companionship.
But that knowledge did nothing to make her feel less self-conscious, and the realization that even people she held in contempt could nonetheless make her feel embarrassed and awkward drove her crazy with frustration.
Ava slumped down deeper in her chair, wanting desperately to leave. The only good thing was that no one seemed to be expecting her to contribute to the conversation: Lauren was perfectly capable of doing all the charming and talking for the both of them.
Shortly after their entrees had been cleared, Lauren excused herself to go to the ladies’ room and Ava immediately jumped up and followed her. As she passed by the other end of the table, Corinne gave her a very deliberate once-over, raising her eyebrows as she took note of the cardigan and skirt. She looked back across the table at Rachel and said, “Oh, that reminds me.
I have to go to Target soon—I’m running out of toilet paper.” Rachel snickered obligingly.
Ava flushed and darted after Lauren.
She caught up as Lauren was entering the bathroom, which was blessedly empty. Once they were inside the door, Ava said, “Can we please go home now?”
“Aren’t you having fun?” Lauren said, rearranging a few of her curls in front of the mirror.
“No. I want to go. You should have heard those women just now, Lauren.”
That caught Lauren’s attention. “Why? What’d they say?”
Ava repeated the insult for her. “I honestly don’t care what she thinks. But I don’t want to spend any more time with these people. Can we—”
“I can’t believe her. If I were wearing something that tacky, I wouldn’t go around criticizing other people’s clothes.” She patted Ava’s arm. “Don’t worry, A. I’ll get back at them. They won’t know what hit them.”
“I don’t want you to fight with them,” Ava said. “I just want to go home. This whole thing has gone on long enough.”
“But the guys are cool even if the girls aren’t.”
Ava crossed her arms. “I’m leaving. If you don’t want to come with me, find another way home.”
“Okay, fine, I’ll go,” Lauren said. “Am I at least allowed to pee first?”
Ava gestured impatiently at a stall and Lauren went inside. She waited in the bathroom for her to finish: she wasn’t about to go back to the table by herself.
Once they had returned there together, Lauren announced that she and Ava were leaving.
“Really?” Russell said, rising to his feet. “Why so soon?” Lauren just pointed to her sister, and Russell said, “She hears your mother calling again, doesn’t she?”
“We have to go,” Ava said flatly.
“But you’ll stay in touch, right? Now that we’ve re-connected?”
“Are you free on Friday?” was Lauren’s immediate response.
He glanced down at the end of the table. It wasn’t clear if the other women could hear them or not: they were watching, but the restaurant was pretty noisy. Russell said in a low voice, “Friday night’s good.”
“Great.” Lauren moved around the table. “It was so nice meeting you all,” she said. As the women raised listless hands in farewell, she stopped for a moment and pointedly studied Corinne’s outfit, then turned back to Ava with a clearly audible “Oh, that reminds me—I have to stop at Forever 21 and get a joke gift for my friend.”
Corinne’s jaw fell open and Rachel’s face mirrored her friend’s, but before they could say anything, Lauren spun around on her heel, took Ava by the elbow, and walked with her out of the restaurant. “That felt good,” she said.
While they were waiting for the valet to bring their car around, Lauren said, “Wow. Wasn’t Russell totally cute? I mean, not handsome cute, but interesting cute—but then I kind of like big noses. What did you think?”
“I think I hate you,” Ava said.
“Why?” Lauren said. “Because I sprang something on you without telling you first? And made a big deal out of a little piece of paper? There’s been a lot of that going around lately. Have you noticed?”
“This is totally different,” Ava said. “I was trying to help you. You’re just trying to embarrass me.”
“I needed a debt counselor and you need a boyfriend,” Lauren said. “We’re both just trying to help each other out. That’s what sisters do, right?”
“A boyfriend?” Ava said with real outrage. “Is that what this is about? You’re trying to find me a boyfriend?”
The valet drove up with the car, and Lauren said, “Let’s go.”
Once they were both seated and the valets had closed their doors, Ava said, “Where did you find that stupid contract, anyway?” She pulled away from the curb with a quick and furious jolt that made the tires squeal.
“Seat belt not on yet,” Lauren sang out. “Thanks for caring.” She fished behind her and buckled it in quickly. “It fell out of the cabinet—remember when we were looking for a pen at Mom and Dad’s?” She put a finger to her temple in exaggerated thought. “Now, why were we looking for a pen again? Oh, right! It was because you wanted me to sign a piece of paper saying I’d move out of their house by a specific date. Because—stop me if I’m wrong about this—you believe that signing a piece of paper makes things come true. Like, for example, a mother’s wish that her daughter marry a specific young man. That would count, right?”
Ava said through clenched teeth, “If I smashed your side of the car into a pole, I could say it was an accident.”
“What are you so mad about?”
“That was the single most excruciating hour of my life,” Ava said. “Having his friends stare at us. Watching you pull out that fucking contract.”
“My God,” Lauren said with delight. “You swore. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you swear before. I mean, ‘shit’ maybe when you hurt yourself—but not ‘fuck.’ Not like that, in the middle of a sentence, an actual adjective—”
“Oh shut up,” Ava said wearily.
“This could be really good for you. He was cute, Ava. That’s kind of cool, isn’t it? That he was actually what you’d want him to be?”
“I didn’t want him to be anything,” Ava said.
“I thought he was perfect for you.”
“Did you notice? He has a girlfriend.”
Lauren waved her hand dismissively. “He’s so not into her. You could blow her away in an instant.”
“In my whole life, I’ve never blown anyone away,” Ava said. “And anyway, that’s not the point. Did you see what she looked like? That’s the kind of girl he likes.”
“We just have to teach him to appreciate someone like you.”
“Why?” Ava said. “Because our parents made a joke two decades ago?”
“Because you’ve taught me the value of a signed piece of paper,” Lauren said with mock gravity.
“Oh, will you just let it die?”
“Not until after Friday night,” Lauren said.
Chapter 5
Some guy was yelling at the nurses. Apparently his mother was supposed to have been put in a private room for her chemotherapy but was instead being asked to sit in the more public general seating area, where about half a dozen reclining chairs and corresponding IVs were separated from one another only by optional curtains. Nancy had been settled in one of the reclining chairs and her bag started about ten minutes earlier, and Lauren was sitting on a stool at her side. A young girl who was there with a much older man—a father? grandfather? hard to know—caught Lauren’s eye and rolled her own in the direction of the yelling guy. Lauren grinned at her, two strangers bonded by their disapproval of another stranger’s bad behavior.
“For God’s sake!” Yelling Guy had backed one of the nurses up against the wall. “What does it take to find someone who’s actually competent around here?” He was fairly young—probably in his early thirties—clad in khakis and a button-down shirt. His thick dark hair was cut short and he looked like he worked out a lot, which added to the menacing quality of his stance. His mother was sitting on the edge of one of the reclining chairs a few feet away, looking exhausted and completely detached from whatever battle he was fighting. With a little thrill, Lauren noted the bag at the woman’s side: it was Hermès and retailed for several thousand dollars.
“I’m sorry if there was a misunderstanding,” the nurse said, squaring her shoulders. She was short but had an impassive strength to her that would have intimidated Lauren. “We never promise a private room in advance.”
“You should have told your colleague that,” he said. “The one who promised me one last week.”
“What was her name?”
He looked around, like he might spot her. “I don’t know,” he said. “She had red hair. She was probably about your age.” His eyes flickered across her face and he added deliberately, “Maybe a little younger.”
The nurse scowled.
“Well, whoever she is, she had no right to promise you a private room. They’re strictly on a first-come, first-served basis for all our outpatients, and we’re full up today. These chairs are very comfortable and we can draw the curtain around her if—”
“I don’t want a fucking curtain,” he said. “I want a private room.”
“Please keep your voice down and watch your language. Show some courtesy toward the other patients.”
He put his face even closer to hers, forcing her to draw back. “I’ll do that when you show some courtesy toward my mother.”
Lauren was rooting for the argument to escalate into some real drama. She was bored. With any luck, the guy would get so belligerent that security guards would be called in.
Unfortunately for Lauren, the nurse chose to defuse the situation.
“I’m sorry,” she said, firmly pushing the young man to one side and stepping around him so she could address his mother directly. “I really am, ma’am. If we had a private room available, there’s nothing we’d like better than to see you happily settled in there. But since we don’t, why don’t we just make you comfortable here and get the drip started, so you can be back home and in your own bed ASAP?”
“That’s fine,” the mother murmured. She was bone thin and sallow but still beautiful, with elegant cheekbones and wide-set gray-blue eyes.
“You should have a private room,” her son said to her. He looked a lot like his mother, except he radiated health. And fury. No, not fury—Lauren amended that—more like frustration so great he was going to explode with it. “They promised last week. You heard that nurse, didn’t you? She said—”
His mother put up her hand. Her fingers were so thin that her knuckles looked far too big for them. “It’s all right,” she said. “I don’t care. I just want to get through this.”
“I can make them give us one,” he said. “I’ll go to the head of the hospital if I have to.”
“Please, Daniel. Let’s just get through it and go home.” Slowly and carefully, she swiveled her body, moving her legs up and onto the leg rest part of the recliner. The casual slip-on shoes she wore—basically slippers with a thin leather sole—didn’t fit with her elegantly tailored pants and silk top and were the only noticeable sartorial concession she had made to her illness. Well, that and the scarf around her head, which was probably there to hide thinning hair but was so pretty and so artfully arranged that it looked like something Jackie Onassis would have tossed on to walk the streets of New York. All she needed were the big sunglasses.
The Smart One and the Pretty One Page 5