The Only Rule: The Casual Rule 3

by AC Netzel

  I look past Ben’s mother and see five women from “The Club” seated around the rest of the table. “The Club” is their summer hangout in the Hamptons. I’m shocked they made the trip. Beverly must have some influence over these women.

  We make our way around their table with Ben introducing me to each club member.

  “Julia, this is my mother’s friend, Dolores Reid.”

  “Benjamin, darling. So happy to see you.” She kisses both his cheeks. “Congratulations. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Julia.” She extends her hand, and we politely shake.

  “Thank you for coming all this way,” I say.

  “We made the best of it, dear. The limo is waiting to take us to Atlantic City when this occasion is over. We have tickets to see Barry Manilow at Boardwalk Hall.”

  So, my shower is a Fanilow pit stop. Great, now I’m going to have ‘Copacabana’ stuck in my head all day. I suppose we’re all trying to make the best of today. We greet the rest of The Club women with friendly hellos and small talk then finish out the room, greeting my aunts and some old high school and college friends. A few of them secretly winking and nudging me on my side for landing such a hot guy.

  At the Copa … STOP!

  “I’m going to say goodbye to my mother before I go,” Ben tells me.

  “Do you have to?” I ask, pouting.

  “Say goodbye to my mother?”

  “No. Go. Don’t leave me alone with these women.”

  He pulls me into a hug and kisses my hair. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “Your mother…”

  I hold up my hand. “Say no more. She has wedding things to do with me, doesn’t she?”

  “Something like that. I have to get back to the city. I have a writing deadline. My cranky editor is a taskmaster. She’ll be all over me if I don’t meet it.”

  “I happen to know that your editor likes being all over you,” I say suggestively, arching a brow.

  “I bribed Allie to stay the night with a bottle of tequila. She’ll keep you sane or at the very least, intoxicated. She brought a change of clothes for you.”

  “Aww, you do love me.”

  He chuckles. “I do. Come with me.” He takes my hand in his and we stroll over to Beverly who is still seated at the Table O’Snoot, probably gossiping about my family.

  “Mother, I’m leaving. Have fun this afternoon.” As the words leave his mouth, my six-year-old niece, Emma, sidles up to him, pulling at his shirt.

  “Hi, Uncle Ben.” Emma ‘broke up’ with Ben after we got engaged. He took it like a trooper and asked her to call him Uncle Ben for now on. It was adorable.

  Ben lifts her up and kisses her cheek. “Emma, you look very pretty in that dress. I like the butterflies on it,” he tells her.

  “Connor Roberts already told me that.”

  “Oh? Already replaced me?”

  “I broke up with you, remember?” She rolls her eyes and exhales an exaggerated breath.

  “Yes, of course.” He kisses her forehead and sets her down. She stares at Beverly then narrows her eyes.

  “Who’s this?” she asks, pointing her tiny index finger directly in Beverly’s face.

  “This is Ben’s mom,” I tell her.

  She tilts her head and purses her lips. “Why are you wearing those sunglasses? There ain’t any sun in here,” she asks Beverly.

  “I …uhh…” Beverly removes her glasses and places them on the table. I fight the urge to laugh. I have to say, this little girl has gumption.

  “Mother, this is Emma, my soon-to-be niece.”

  “Oh, how lovely. How do you do?” Beverly says, offering her hand.

  Emma shrugs. “How do I do what?”

  Ben places his hand over his mouth, stifling a laugh.

  “Ahem.” Cam-eel trots next to us, clearing her throat.

  Attention whore is in the building.

  “What?” Emma asks. This kid is just like my sister, no bullshit.

  “That’s a lovely dress,” Cam-eel says.

  “I know,” Emma tells her.

  “Did you also know that repulsive, slimy caterpillars magically transform into graceful, beautiful butterflies? Just like butterflies on your dress.”

  Cam-obvious is trying to win some points to get back on Ben’s good side. It’s easy to see he has a special relationship with Emma and she’s looking for an in. With my niece.

  Ugh, this stupid girl drives me insane.

  Emma purses her lips and places one hand on her hip. “Lady,” she huffs. “They’re still bugs.” That’s a six-year-old’s version of ‘fuck off.’

  Cam-eel’s eyes widen, looking absolutely flabbergasted. Emma has rendered her speechless.

  This kid is my hero.

  “You’ve got a point,” Ben chuckles. “Come with me, Emma. I’m going to say goodbye to your grandma.” He takes her hand and walks away, leaving Cam-eel dumbstruck. Or plain old dumb—either fits. I follow, leaving Cam-eel hanging.

  After enduring another painful cheek pinching from my mom, Ben says his goodbyes and heads out. I walk him to the double door exit.

  “Do you have to go?” I whine.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m going to miss you tonight.”

  He smiles, tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear. “We’ll make up for it when you get back.”

  I smile back at him. “I’d like that,” I say, surrendering to my fate inside this room. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.” He kisses me sweetly on the lips, which sends the entire room of women into a collective swoon and a ridiculously long-winded “Awwwww.”

  “Get a room,” my sister Sophie yells out.

  My face heats up. I’m sure it’s a brilliant red. Ben chuckles into my lips, wraps his arms tightly around me, then kisses my forehead.

  “That’s my cue to leave. Call me later.” He gives me a quick peck on my cheek and leaves me to the lionesses.

  ~o0o~

  Thankfully, the wait staff serves the food immediately. I can’t wait to dig into the bowl of penne vodka in front of me. I’m starving and it smells divine—tomatoes, garlic, and an inch on my thighs.

  As I’m about to take my first bite, my sister Isabelle nudges me with her elbow. “You knew, right?’

  I laugh. “Yeah. Mom must have asked me a thousand times if I was coming to New Jersey this weekend.”

  “She sucks at surprises. Oh well, all par for the wedding course.”

  “I suppose. I can’t wait for all of this to be over.”

  “It’ll come soon enough, and you’ll be an old married lady like the rest of us.”

  “I’m looking forward to that.”

  “Yeah, marriage is great. Best six years of my life.”

  “Isabelle, you’re married for seven.”

  “I know,” she says, flashing a grin.

  I laugh and go back to my pasta. I’m starving.

  “Enjoy it while you can. Once you have kids, there’ll be no more spontaneous sex on the kitchen counter,” my sister Sophie adds.

  “Kids are a long time away,” I assure her.

  “That’s what I said, and then boom, nine months later Olivia was born.”

  “More like bang,” Isabelle corrects.

  “And delivery is no picnic,” Sophie adds.

  “I know, take the drugs.” I’ve had ‘take the drugs’ drilled into my head a thousand times from my sisters.

  “I’m not talking about pain. I’m talking about the other horrors. Your husband will witness sights he’ll never unsee. I shit on the delivery table. No one told me that could happen but it did. I was pushing out a baby and everything else left inside me came along with it. Sexy stuff. Jim couldn’t look me in the eye for days.”

  I hold up my hand. “Please stop.”

  They laugh, more like cackle, at my expense and thankfully go back to their meal.

  ~o0o~

  Leave it to my mother to go all out with the menu.
After the salad and pasta course came the entrée: your choice of Chicken Marsala, Eggplant Rollatini, or Herb Crusted Salmon with all the sides. You can’t go wrong with any choice you make. The food is delicious. Angelina could cook an old boot and you’d ask her for the recipe. Even the Table O’Snoot seemed satisfied.

  For as much as I enjoyed my chicken, finishing it means I have to interact with everyone and that means stupid games.

  Allie stands from her seat next to me, bangs a knife against her champagne flute a few times making a loud succession of clinks, and quiets down the room.

  “Okay Peeps. It’s time for the bride-to-be to take the hot seat.” She points to an enormous white wicker chair then looks at me. I shake my head, my eyes pleading with her to go easy on me. She nods with a wicked grin. “Bride. Sit,” she orders.

  I stand and trudge over to the wicker chair in the front of the room.

  “You’re not going to embarrass me, are you?” I whisper to Allie.

  “Of course I am,” she whispers back.

  Sighing, I meet my fate and sit in the Chair of Doom. “Okay, let’s do this.” I plaster a phony smile on my face.

  “It’s ‘How Well Do the Bride and Groom Know Each Other’ quiz time. We had Ben answer a series of questions. We’re going to see if his answers match Julia’s.”

  “Super,” I mumble sarcastically under my breath.

  Allie stands next to my chair, with a white sheet of paper in her hand. “First question: How many children does the groom want?”

  “Ben doesn’t want children,” Cam-eel calls out, in a know-it-all tone.

  I stare at her incredulously, and then Allie, then my sister’s who are standing beside Allie. Sophie slowly draws a finger across her throat. Finger to throat means death. Foolish girl, the last place you ever want to be is on my sisters’ radar. I don’t need to concern myself with her anymore. They’ll handle her.

  She’s toast.

  “Two,” I answer, staring directly at Cam-eel.

  “Let’s see what Ben wrote.” Allie looks down at the paper in her hand. “Two is… correct,” she says, glaring at Cam-eel.

  Cam-eel crosses her arms across her chest and frowns. Oh honey, let’s get something straight. He didn’t want kids with you. He wants it all with me, right down to the baby carriage.

  So far, I’m enjoying this game.

  “What’s his mom’s maiden name?”

  I’m dying to indulge Beverly’s Jackie O obsession and answer Bouvier, but I go for the truth. “Alexander.”

  I peek over at Beverly who’s nodding with a tight smile. I think I may have scored a point or two with my mother-in-law.

  “He wrote… Alexander. Next question… What’s the one thing in your apartment Ben would love to get rid of?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know. I guess my unraveling crocheted blanket.”

  “He wrote down… The dust.”

  The room bursts out laughing. I shake my head and laugh along with them.

  “Unfortunately, it’s true,” I admit.

  “What is his favorite breakfast food?”

  “Turkey bacon.”

  She looks down at the paper. “Turkey bacon.” She looks out to the roomful of women. “Who the hell would willingly eat turkey bacon? It’s like eating cardboard.”

  Cam-eel raises her hand. “I would.”

  This girl! She’s like an itch you can’t reach. So damn annoying.

  “Camanda,” Allie says sharply, purposely mispronouncing her name. “It was a rhetorical question. No one wants to hear your answer.”

  Somehow she’s maintained a phony smile giving off the impression she was joking. My sisters deviously relocate closer to Cam-eel and stare her down. I almost feel sorry for her. She’s made the wrong enemies.

  “Where was your first date?” Allie asks.

  “Emilio’s,” I say through a laugh. “Last week.” The women in the room look at each other perplexed. There aren’t many engaged couples who have been together a long time and just started dating a week ago.

  Allie laughs with me and checks the answer sheet. “He said… ‘I was recently informed that I’ve never asked Julia out on an official date. Subscribing to the ‘Happy Wife, Happy Life’ philosophy—I asked her out and took her on our first date last week at Emilio’s. Best date of my life.’”

  Cue the collective sighs from the older women.

  “Awwww.”

  “He’s so romantic.”

  “Oh Julia, you’re a lucky girl.”

  I smile wide. Yeah, Ben is romantic.

  “What’s his favorite piece of his wardrobe?” Allie asks.

  “I guess his Columbia University T-shirt.”

  “He wrote… ‘Columbia T-Shirt. Or my white button down shirt… when Julia wears it.’” She fans herself with the paper. “Sexyyyyy,” she teases.

  The crowd ‘woo- woos’, turning me into the proverbial blushing bride. I cover my mouth with my hand, holding back a laugh.

  “Where’s the wildest place you two ever had sex?”

  My eyes widen. “Allie, his mother is sitting right there,” I warn, my voice low. I nudge her hard with my elbow.

  “Jules, he’s twenty-nine years old. His mother knows he’s had sex.” She twists her neck side to side until she spots Beverly. Her eyes sparkle with evil delight as a sly grin curls up from the side of her mouth. “Hey Bev,” she calls out.

  Beverly looks up, her brow crinkles. “Yes?”

  “You know your son has sex, right? ‘Cause let me tell you… he and Julia have a lot of it.”

  “Umm. Ahh.” Beverly fidgets uncomfortably in her chair, speechless. I place both hands over my face again, praying the earth will swallow me whole. My grandmother bursts out laughing and gives me a thumbs up. Et tu, grandma? I scan the room through my splayed fingers and spot my mother nodding proudly and Cam-eel shooting daggers in my direction.

  “Okay, we’ve now established that everyone knows the Virgin Son has dipped his wick. Answer the question,” Allie commands, enjoying the fact that she’s mortified me and the entire Table O’ Snoot with her broadcast.

  “I’m not answering that question.”

  “You have to,” she insists. “It’s the rules of the game.”

  Vigorously, I shake my head. “No. I’m not answering. Next question.”

  She huffs a long frustrated breath. “Fine. Let’s see what Ben said.” She glances down at her paper and laughs. “He wrote… ‘Nice try. Julia will never answer that.’”

  I exhale a relieved breath. No one here needs to know about all the public places Ben and I have fooled around. Risqué business is addicting as hell. The stairwell at our Central Park apartment building leaves me with particularly fond memories.

  Note to self: Take the stairs more often.

  “Are we done embarrassing me?” I ask.

  “One more,” she promises.

  I roll my eyes and sigh. “Okay, let’s get it over with.”

  “When did Ben know you were ‘The One’?”

  This is a tough question. I know when he first told me, blind drunk, that he loved me. And I know when he told me, for real, when he begged me to be with him after I left him two winters ago. But when did he know? Really know? I’m not sure he knows the answer to that. We never talked about it once we got back together. I was so happy living in the present. It never came up.

  “I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “I really don’t.”

  Allie looks down at Ben’s answer and smiles warmly at me. “Our first Christmas Night,” she says softly.

  Tears well up in my eyes, a few falling down my cheek. That night, we slow danced in his bedroom and made love, not just sex, for the first time.

  And it was beautiful. So very beautiful.

  It’s the same night I stopped lying to myself and knew I loved him. Ben was so afraid of what he was feeling, he let me go—but he did know.

  “Sorry,” I apologize, wiping away my tears with the back of my hand
.

  Allie walks over to me, crouching down until we’re eye level.

  “You have the real deal, Jules.”

  ~o0o~

  I’m sitting on the giant white wicker chair with a humungous multi-colored bow hat on my head after opening gifts. Curling ribbon is dangling limply over my eyes. I look like a drag queen having a fashion emergency. I used to think hell only had fire, but apparently, it comes with fluffy bows too.

  Cam-eel seems to be taking particular delight in my embarrassing predicament. She leers my way with her permanent bitch scowl and then whispers something in Elizabitch’s ear. Fuck her. She goes home with a shower favor. I go home with Ben.

  The women have been enjoying their desserts and coffee while I opened the gifts. Although I received some incredible things, I’m thrilled it’s finally over.

  “Oh, you’re not done,” Sophie says.

  “I opened all the gifts.”

  “Not all of them,” Isabelle adds, pointing to the side of the opened present pile.

  “Is that a wishing well? People still do that?” I ask.

  When Sophie had her bridal shower, my mom insisted we have a wishing well. It was made of a tall kitchen rubber pail covered with a ton of white crêpe paper. A broom and mop served as the handles and it was filled to the top with all sorts of kitchen stuff.

  Isabelle and I argued it was old fashioned. My mother won that argument. It was full of unwrapped small kitchen gadgets, tons of them. I think Sophie went home with eight vegetable peelers and five melon ballers that day.

  “We do,” Isabelle tells me with a devious smirk.

  “I don’t like the way you said that.”

  “Oh, stop your worrying,” Sophie says, turning her attention back to our guests. “Ladies, while you finish indulging in your desserts, Julia is going to go through her Wishing Well gifts.”

  We’re going on hour three of my shower. Most of my guests are giddy, thanks to the Bellini bar. Allie drags the wishing well across the floor until it’s to the side of me and my Fantasy Island wicker chair. Allie and my sisters are side-eying each other with evil grins. I know those grins all too well. This is a set-up. I don’t know what they plan to do.