Ghosts of Boyfriends Past

by Alexander, Carly

  “So what happened?” I asked. “What finally made you realize that you and Benjamin belonged together?”

  “It was at a party,” Jenna said, leaning her head back on the couch. Her dark hair fanned out over the gold velvet sofa, and I was struck by how exquisitely beautiful she looked with her shiny black hair, her smooth, creamy skin, her strong, high cheekbones.

  “A bunch of psychologists were talking, and someone was describing the components of a strong relationship. I was a little relaxed from drinking wine, and I remember looking across the room at Benjamin and laughing each time she made a point. By the time she was finished, I was totally choked up, tears streaming down my cheeks. That was when it hit me. I knew that Benjamin and I belonged together. I was in love with him, but I had buried that feeling because it didn’t fit in with my parental rebellion.”

  “Tell us the components!” Sugar prodded. “What were the elements of love that made you recognize that you and Benjamin belonged together?”

  “They were highly subjective,” Jenna said. “Not really supported by clinical evidence.”

  “Which makes them that much juicier,” Sugar insisted. “Spill, sister!”

  “Well, let’s see if I can remember,” Jenna said. “Trust was a big issue. You need someone you can trust.”

  Through my wineglass I stole a glance at Ryan. He was certainly a person I could trust. In fact, he had asked me about trust.

  “Of course I trust you! You are probably the most trustworthy person in my life.”

  “And some of the stuff seems like common sense,” Jenna said. “They talked about finding a person who is considerate of your goals and feelings.”

  I remembered Ryan in my office, the way he’d picked up my gluey mummy statue, the way he’d admired the brochure I’d written.

  “That’s what it’s about, isn’t it? Making a difference. Accomplishing the goals that matter to you.”

  Another slug of wine. I needed it.

  “And there was something else she mentioned,” Jenna went on. “Something totally unorthodox. She talked about magic, about believing in the power of love. I know it sounds like so much magazine drivel, but she talked about finding a soul mate.”

  I turned away from Ryan and leaned against the couch, afraid to look at him, afraid that everyone would feel the charged electrons in the air around us as his words spun through my mind.

  “A soul mate is the one magical thing left in life. To know there’s a person out there who can bring total fulfillment . . . it’s a miracle.”

  I poured myself some more wine as Leo and Sugar shot a few more questions at Jenna. This environment was toxic for me; I knew that. I wanted to leave the party, but I also knew that would cause a bigger scene than I could handle in my compromised emotional state. So I leaned back against the couch and anesthetized myself, waiting for the night to end.

  Somewhere in the haze someone mentioned that it was after midnight.

  “Merry Christmas!” Ryan said.

  Everyone was laughing and wishing a Merry Christmas, and I felt my face sinking into the couch as I realized how lucky I was to be in a place that was safe and warm. If only the room would stop spinning.

  37

  At some point I woke up and realized I was sleeping on Ryan’s couch, but when I lifted my head I knew I was too dizzy to walk. I let my heavy skull drop back onto the gold velvet and relapsed into my semi-coma haunted by strange dreams of Ryan and Nicole.

  In one dream, Nicole was wearing a beautiful white veil and a bridal gown made of newspaper that I had glued and sculpted for her. Ryan and Nicole were getting married in the small outdoor courtyard that the museum café used in summer months, except that in the dream version, the courtyard now featured Rodin’s “Thinker,” and I was sitting on one of the Thinker’s thighs, watching the ceremony from on high.

  Barry performed the service, and Nicole kept giggling and flicking back her blond hair. Ryan looked gorgeous at the altar, a sapphire prince who waited patiently for his bride to stop squealing with laughter.

  From the back of the crowd, Leo turned and motioned for me to come down from my perch, but I ignored him. “What’s wrong with Madison?” he asked my mother.

  “Didn’t you know?” Mom said, with a sad sigh. “Madison has been burned by love. She was trying to hold herself back from emotional involvement, think things through. But as you can see, if you take too much time to think, you might be too late. Do you know what I mean?” Mom asked.

  “I do!” Nicole squealed. “I do, I do, I do!” she shrieked, jumping up and down like a three-year-old.

  I found myself worrying that she might tear the hem of the dress I’d sculpted for her out of old newspaper and glue—until I realized that she’d just said the words that would take Ryan away from me forever. The final vows. Oh, sh-sh-sugar!

  I turned to the Thinker. “Can you believe this? Does my timing suck, or what?”

  Hmm. He had to think about that.

  Then Nicole was about to throw me the bouquet, but instead, I was showered by rice.

  “Cut it out!” I yelled at her. When the pelting stopped, I noticed someone sitting across from me, on the Thinker’s other knee. A thin man cloaked in a silky brown hooded gown.

  “Who are you?” I asked, suspecting the worst as I picked rice out of my hair. “No, don’t answer, I know. You’re the ghost of Christmas Future, aren’t you?”

  He tipped back the hood to reveal golden highlighted, silky hair. “Actually, I’m Steven Cojocaru, here to find out what possessed you to create that paper gown. Although it’s very Eurotrash-recycle-chic-meets-bedouin-bride, somehow, with her inimitable style, Nicole manages to pull it off.”

  “No! No, you can’t be a celebrity guest!” I insisted, pounding a fist against the Thinker’s thigh. “You need to be the Ghost of Christmas Future. And you have to tell me if it’s really going to happen. Is Ryan really going to marry Nicole, or do I still have the power to change the future? Tell me, Spirit! Tell me!”

  He crossed his arms. “Somebody needs a little anger management. Besides, you should have worn the Manolo Blahniks to the wedding. Those Chanel heels are so last year’s Oscars.”

  “I’m sorry.” I slid off the Thinker’s lap, down to the cement pavement. “But I love these Chanels, and I love Ryan, too. That’s why I need some answers about those two.” I dropped to my knees. “Spirit,” I whispered, the toes of my Chanel heels digging into the pavement behind me, “is this the vision of what might be, or what will be?”

  He lifted his chin and squinted at the crowd. “I’m not really sure, but I think I see Queen Latifah hiding behind that potted palm, and it looks like she’s sporting a new shade of lipstick.” He slid off the statue, landing like a cat in a fabulous pair of Yves Saint Laurent sandals. “Queen, over here!” he yelled, pulling a microphone out of the deep sleeve of his cloak.

  I turned back toward the wedding party and they were gone.

  The furniture had been cleared away from the courtyard, and a small pink object lay in the snow. I went over to pick it up, but I saw that it was smashed.

  My pink fairy ornament lay in a hundred pieces.

  I woke up facing a block of winter white sunlight. It powered relentlessly into the shadeless window, though the clock said it wasn’t even seven yet.

  Seven A.M. Christmas morning. I thought of Scrooge waking up on Christmas Day, a transformed man in a world of possibilities. If only I could be so lucky.

  Stretching, I realized I felt surprisingly good for a person who had consumed her body weight in alcohol the night before. Maybe Wolf was right about those olives. Someone had put a fleece blanket over me, and as I sat up I wrapped the blanket over my shoulders, since my sleeveless lace top wasn’t going to do much to ward off the morning chill.

  I poked my head out in the hall. The house was still. Downstairs, the furniture had been slid back into place in the living room. For a place that had rocked last night, there seemed to be very little
party damage.

  Where was Ryan? I peeked toward the upstairs corner with the master bedroom. Oh, no! He was probably in there with Nicole! I had to get out of here. I dumped the blanket back on the couch, then dissolved into shivers. I couldn’t make it in this skinny top. Inside the closet were boxes. Mostly books, but I managed to find one with workout clothes. I pulled out a gray zip-up sweatshirt and pressed it to my face. That smell—soap and cedar. With a sigh, I tugged it on.

  I hurried down the stairs, anxious to flee but unable to ignore the desperate urge to pee. I ducked into the cute little downstairs powder room, took care of business, then faced myself in the mirror. My hair wasn’t too awful, considering the night I’d had, but my mouth warranted a hazmats sign. I rifled through the sleek, recessed medicine cabinet and came up with a sample bottle of mouthwash. With a thorough rinse and a finger-combing of my hair, I could ride the subway without driving other passengers off to find seats in other cars.

  I opened the bathroom door to the smell of coffee. Coffee? Eek! Was someone up? Sneaking a look into the kitchen, I detected an all clear, though the coffeepot was full. I swiped a half cup, black, just for good measure. Quietly placing my cup in the sink, I nearly tiptoed toward the kitchen door, hoping that my coat would be hanging in the hall closet with my wallet in the pocket.

  Ryan was coming down the stairs, looking comfortable in jeans and a periwinkle cashmere sweater that brought out the blue in his eyes. His hair was damp from the shower, making me feel skunky despite my gypsy bath. “Merry Christmas,” he said, continuing down the stairs as if I were a regular morning fixture in his home.

  “Merry Christmas.” Okay, I was busted. But that didn’t mean I had to ruin Ryan’s morning. “I was just on my way out, but I didn’t want to wake you . . . and Nicole.”

  “Nicole?” He arched an eyebrow. “She wasn’t too happy with me when she left last night.”

  Nicole was gone? She wasn’t upstairs snuggling in Ryan’s big bed? I felt a devious thrill, then realized that was mean of me. “Is she mad because of me?” I asked. “Because you let me stay here? Well, you didn’t exactly have much choice when I passed out on your sofa. But I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m sure she’s not too happy with me either, and tell her I’m sorry, okay? I . . . I just let things get out of hand last night and . . .” I pressed a hand to my forehead, raking back my hair. “Just tell her I’m sorry. I really am. And ... there’s more, but I don’t want to make you late. She’s probably mad enough already.”

  “I’m not going to Nicole’s,” he said, putting his mug into the sink. “Is that what you think?”

  “Well . . . yeah.” I blinked. Ouch, that hurt when my eyelids moved. “So,” I scratched my head. “Where are you going, then?”

  “I’m not sure I want to tell you. It’s corny and dull and, Lord knows, it’ll just prove that I’m fucking persistent. Which is a black mark in your book.”

  “Tell me,” I said, following him out to the vestibule. “You know I’m stubborn. I won’t back down until you tell me.” Three large, black garbage bags leaned against the wall by the closet. They looked a little too neat to be party rubbish, but then Ryan was such an orderly guy I didn’t question it until I saw a few bright green and red ribbons springing out of one.

  “What’s this?” I asked, peering into the bag. It was loaded with gifts—more than a dozen of them.

  “Presents,” Ryan said, slipping on his coat. “For kids, okay? The kids at Union Hill.”

  “On Christmas morning?” my voice creaked. “You’re going to the hospital on Christmas morning?”

  “I told them I’d be back,” he said. “And what better time? It’s got to suck, being stuck in the hospital on Christmas Day.”

  I nodded as my brain started to absorb the facts. Ryan wasn’t going to see Nicole. He was playing Santa.

  Could this guy be any kinder?

  Could I be any stupider?

  “Ryan, that’s very kind,” I said as tears formed in my eyes. The perfect man. Here I’d been dancing around him, avoiding him, calling him names and making jokes to my friends, and all along he was the perfect guy for me. “You’re such a kind, generous person,” I squeaked, trying to talk past the knot in my throat. Just when I needed it, I was losing my voice, probably from too much drinking and too little sleep.

  “Oh, don’t start crying,” Ryan lamented, sinking at the knees. “You know I can’t stand it when you cry.”

  “I am such an idiot.”

  “No, you’re not.” He hoisted a bag of toys over one shoulder.

  “All this time I pushed you away. When you’re just, like the kindest, sweetest guy in the world. And I’m so stubborn, I wouldn’t admit that I was falling in love with you. And now you’re going to marry Nicole, after you spend Christmas Day playing Santa to sick kids. You’re so wonderful and I’m just a big stubborn boob.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  I sniffed. “Yes, I am.”

  “Okay, you are. But what was that you just said?”

  “I’m a boob?”

  He shook his head. “Before that. Something about falling in love with me?”

  I slapped my hands over my cheeks. “I know, rotten timing, right? Oh, Ryan, for the rest of my life I will be sorry that I’ve been such a stubborn ass, but I swear, I won’t mess things up for you and Nicole. I may be stubborn, but I’m not a total bitch.”

  Ryan put the bag of toys back on the floor. “I guess you didn’t understand . . . Nicole tore out of here last night. She was angry with me, disappointed with her gift.” He took a deep breath. “Maybe I misled her. She was expecting an engagement ring, but I told her that I wasn’t that into her. I mean, I just met her a week ago.”

  “So you’re not engaged?” I asked, my voice croaking like a frog.

  “Not even thinking of it. At least, not with her.”

  I felt my jaw drop as I looked up at him. He stepped toward me and grabbed the zippered edge of the gray sweat jacket. “Now if you were to ask the question, I might think twice.”

  “I . . . me? After the way I’ve pushed you away, you would still ... still love me?”

  “You know me. I’m fucking persistent. Besides, when there’s magic, it’s worth waiting around for.”

  “You feel magic with me?” I dashed the tears from my cheeks to look him in the eye. “You feel it between us?”

  “Don’t you?” He leaned down and kissed me, nipping at my lower lip just a little. “I knew it the minute I saw you, trying to blow me off in the lobby of your building. We’re soul mates. Don’t you feel it?”

  I closed my eyes and swayed against him. “I do. I didn’t before. Honestly, ten years ago, I had no idea, but now, I do.” I lifted my chin to take in his handsome face. “I feel it! I really do!”

  His eyes burned with intensity as he lifted me into his arms and carried me over the threshold, into the living room.

  “Ohmigosh!” I squeaked. “This is, like, right out of An Officer and a Gentleman!”

  He swung me over a lamp, moving toward the couch. “Except that I’m not an officer anymore, and I’ve got to end this love scene in about ten minutes and get to the hospital.”

  “Ten minutes? What is this, drive-through service?”

  “I was thinking of one of your expert blow jobs,” he teased.

  I slapped his shoulder. “I think I’ve perfected that move. A little more job, less blow.”

  “Can’t wait.”

  “But we’ll need at least twenty minutes.”

  “Fifteen?”

  Cupping his smooth, handsome face in my hands, I smiled. “Okay, fifteen minutes. But let’s make each minute count.”

  “Absolutely,” he said as he lowered me to the couch, his blue eyes glimmering.

  I pulled him down on top of me, reeling with joy. “Oh, God, can you believe it? What a difference one night can make. And to think that the spirits did it all in one night.”

  “I love you,” he said. “But can
we put Charles Dickens and the old boyfriends to rest? Send their ghosts packing?”

  “They’re gone,” I squeaked. “Long gone.”

  “You’re losing your voice.”

  “Shut up and kiss me.”

  THEY’VE MADE THEIR LISTS . . .

  As the celeb obituary writer for the New York Herald, Jane

  Conner can sum up a person’s life in three hundred words. She

  could sum up her love life in even less: Great sex = great time.

  Commitment = annoyance overload. Maybe it has something

  to do with being “overly critical,” as her boss, the short-

  sighted idiot, put it. Being “discerning” has at least kept Jane

  from making the same relationship mistakes as her sister, Ricki,

  and best friend, Emma. Hasn’t it? Now, with the holidays

  bearing down like a freight train from You Screwed Up-ville,

  Jane’s about to get a second chance she never expected . . .

  ... CHECKED ’EM TWICE . . .

  Ricki Conner has run her life on signs from the universe, and

  right now, she’s looking for guidance about her boyfriend,

  Nate, a.k.a. Mr. Mixed Signals. He keeps reassuring her that

  his divorce will be final by Christmas. So why is there still no

  ring on Ricki’s finger?

  ... NOW, THIS CHRISTMAS, NOTHING’S GOING

  ACCORDING TO PLAN

  When the pregnancy test turns pink, it’s a good sign . . . un-

  less you’ve had wild ex-sex with your former boyfriend

  while the current one was out of town. This is not exactly the

  holiday gift Emma Dee had hoped for. It’s bad enough that

  her career track at the bank has been derailed. Now, she gets

  to spend the season ladling eggnog for her friends and say-

  ing, oh, by the way, I’m pregnant with another man’s baby—