A Previous Engagement (2 page)

Kendra shook her head. “If you paid half the attention to cooking that you do to your marketing proposals, you wouldn’t have so many near-death experiences.” She sighed, exhaling two-plus decades’ worth of frustration. “But I guess cooking just isn’t your thing. I guess I should return the mixer I bought for your birthday.”

I grimaced. I really wanted a mixer, but then again, I rather enjoyed having all four of my limbs. “You’re right. I’m sorry about all this. I don’t know why I thought I could bake the damn cake.”

“You’re lucky I love you.” She chuckled as she walked away, grabbing a stack of aluminum trays for the buffet table. “But I have to ask. Was this all an elaborate scheme to get a last-minute date with a fireman for the party?”

I rolled my eyes. “Everything is an opportunity to set me up, isn’t it?”

A few minutes under the ladies’ room hand-drier and I was feeling better, much less wet. I surveyed my own damage in the mirror—flushed cheeks, runny mascara, general disarray. I retrieved the emergency touch-up kit I stashed underneath the third sink, because I never knew when my next fire emergency would occur, and ran a brush through my hair. I wet my fingers and dabbed at the smudged mascara and dried tears, then powdered over the streaks with my compact. I looked more normal for sure, but not like I was about to host a surprise engagement party for my best friend. I stared at myself for a few moments and tried to look gracious and host-like, or at least happy. Tough to do when I thought about Christian’s fiancée Marcy, and how much we didn’t like each other. I pinned the corners of my mouth up with two fingers and let the muscles adapt the pose, then got back to work.

In the kitchen, my screw-up featured prominently, reminding me that I’d ruined Christian’s party by torching his cake. I did a quick wipe down while I tried to ignore my thoughts, and it was like the whole thing never happened… as long as we kept the oven closed. Before long, I settled back into my other set-up duties, desperate not to fall behind schedule. I was always late—always—and I just wanted this to be perfect for him, or at least on time. It was a rare opportunity to throw a surprise party for him, so I couldn’t screw this up.

Christian, Kendra and I grew up in the same neighborhood, best friends since the days of homemade pillow forts and paste-eating contests. Like any kids, we had our fair share of tiffs, things that seemed catastrophic at the time but now provided ample cannon fodder against one another. Christian forgave us for trying to kiss him in the kindergarten sandbox, so Kendra and I forgave him several gum-in-hair incidents. I forgave Kendra for singing “Christian and Tessa, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G” and Christian forgave me for telling our class that he wet the bed.

Adult life brought new problems, like Marcy. Christian’s fiancée was nice enough, but there was something off between her and me. This party was my official welcome-to-the-family for Marcy, a chance to start anew and put the awkwardness behind us. Even if I was fifty-fifty on whether she deserved it, Christian certainly did. As my personal number-one fan, he always found ways to celebrate my little achievements. A month earlier, he threw me a Congrats-On-Your-Promotion party. I knew his engagement was as big for him as my new job title was to me, so it made sense to mark it with friends, family, and delicious food at our favorite party venue in Boston.

Done with the scrub down, I pushed through the doors into the main dining area and soaked in its beauty. Birch’s Restaurant was comfortably homey, especially with the warm light from the candles dancing across the tables. Twinkling white lights and lush ivy vines adorned the rafters, serving as the canopy to our man-made forest. More rings of ivy surrounded each centerpiece—a framed photo of the happy couple. I pushed in a few misplaced chairs and laid out the green fabric napkins atop each place setting. The deep greens were a striking contrast to the baby blue table cloths, the exact color of Christian’s eyes. Barring the faint smell of burnt cake and the resulting lack of a dessert, everything was perfect.

After admiring my handiwork, I found Kendra in the kitchen working on the solution: a gorgeous glazed chocolate cake, a much-improved version of the recipe I’d—well—overcooked. I gasped in delight.

“I baked it this morning,” she said, without looking up. As she spelled out
Congratulations, Marcy & Christian
in green frosting, I restrained myself from hugging her. If I ruined a second cake, Kendra might actually dismember me. She wasn’t exactly known for her gentleness.

So I kept it simple. “You are amazing. A goddess, even. Odes and sonnets shall be written in your honor.”

“You’re not mad that I predicted your failure, are you? You seem to be taking it better than usual.”

I shrugged, too relieved to be annoyed. “As long as Christian gets his party and his chocolate cake, I’m happy.” Now, everything really was perfect.

****

I dimmed the lights, turned on a soft jazz mix, and played hostess to the first guests as Kendra and Grant lit the Sterno flames beneath the buffet trays. The delicious aroma of her famous stuffed mushrooms mingled in the air with guests’ perfumes and colognes. The full buffet included Christian’s favorites, the perfect comfort food for a chilly spring evening. The only thing more comforting than eating Kendra’s bacon mashed potatoes was the ambiance our efforts created. Birch’s wasn’t an ordinary wood-paneled family eatery anymore; it was a romantic forest glade, alight with a thousand twinkling fireflies. The concept I’d imagined a hundred times before was almost too beautiful for words in real life, enchanting each guest at the door. Christian’s dad raved about the décor as he thanked us for coordinating his son’s special event. A handful of couples swayed to the music, eyes alight with romance. Even Kendra was smiling. I thanked the champagne for that one, but the rest was all me.

Watching it all from my corner of the room, I started to get nervous. More disastrous than a blazing chocolate cake, my guests of honor were missing.

Of course, with my mother on hand, not a troubling detail was lost. About an hour into the party, she slinked over to me, tapping her watch. “Really, Tessa. Christian’s never been late a day in his life. Are you absolutely positive he hasn’t called?”

“I’m sure,” I exhaled. It wasn’t like him to be late, and especially not to call, even for the casual dinner plans he thought we had.

“You’re sure you gave him the right date? The right time?”

“Mom, please.” I gritted my teeth. “He knows.”

“How can you be sure? Did you confirm?”

I ignored her and stared at the door. If I sent him a telepathic message, would he hear it? Maybe. It worked once in seventh grade. By now our skills might be rusty, so I concentrated extra hard.

“Planning a big event like this is a lot of work, dear. If you’re not going to take the time to confirm your guests of honor, a lot of people could wind up wasting an evening. Here we are, sitting around, twiddling our thumbs. If it weren’t for Kendra’s food, there’d be nothing to do.”

My father, sensing his first-born’s distress, appeared out of nowhere with a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “Great job tonight, Tessa. Everyone’s having a blast.”

“Joseph, don’t lie to her. Everyone’s asking about Christian.”

“I called to confirm,” I said above Nat King Cole’s “L.O.V.E.,” a favorite song of Christian’s. “He’ll be here, Mom. Nagging me won’t help, okay? Excuse me, please.”

I pushed into the crowd, eager just to move so I felt useful. I wanted to scream at my mother for planting her seeds of doubt. I’d called Christian plenty of times. My heart sank. Maybe too many times. What if he figured it out and was late on purpose just to mess with me? He could be sitting outside in his car, laughing with his perfect little fiancée about how frantic I’d be, waiting for the ideal moment to drop in and turn the surprise on me. Whoa, Tess, whoa. I reached the gift table and set down my champagne, which was clearly unbalancing my paranoia quotient. Christian knew better than to torture me like that. He would show up, explain everything as a simple misunderstanding—car trouble, a lost contact lens, a toddler who’d wandered away from his mommy—and then we’d laugh, eat cake, and drink champagne.

My eyes darted around the room, hoping to lock in on that familiar face, adrift in a sea of loved ones. Maybe he’d snuck in the backdoor and been swallowed by the crowd. Without spotting the
Congratulations
banner hung across the rafters, such a large gathering at Birch’s could be confusing. Should I go look for them?

I took a swig of champagne, which proved helpful after all, and scanned the room again. Mom and Dad engaged in a silent battle of wills. My sister Lucy flirted with the local veterinarian, an old friend of ours from high school. Kendra and Grant served lasagna to hungry guests. Father Collins from St. Mary’s. Christian’s boss. Marcy’s parents. Kendra’s brother Joe in his EMT uniform… That’s when it hit me that something could be wrong. Really, really wrong.

“Kendra!” I called, waving my free hand frantically. She looked up and raised an eyebrow, prompting more emphatic waving. “Come here! Right now!”

She rolled her eyes at me, knowing that my twisted mind had Christian dead somewhere in seedy Mattapan. Because she’s a patient friend, she pushed through the crowd to placate me face to face.

“Where the hell is he?” I hissed, as soon as she was within earshot.

“Relax. He’ll be here,” Kendra crossed her arms, turning toward the door. “They’re probably doing it or something.”

I tried to laugh, forcing air through my tightened throat, and squeaked instead. Kendra grabbed my arm then, her eyes fixed on the door. One look in the same direction and I saw him framed in the doorway. My heart leapt into my throat as my eyes locked with his across the room. His shirt was un-tucked, his hair mussed, and everything just as usual, except for two little details. Christian was alone and he looked pissed.

CHAPTER TWO

A wave of silence swept the room as the guests noticed Christian in the doorway. His expression turned steely and he backed outside, escaping the anticipation and one hundred half-raised toasting glasses. I bolted after him, regretting every loving detail of the damned party as I left it. The banner, the fairy lights, the crowd—each one now a perpetrator of some unknown crime.

With Kendra on my heels, I chased Christian across the parking lot. He stormed off into the night, heading toward his apartment a few blocks away. The crisp spring wind stung my skin, whipping my pony tail into my eyes. I caught up to him at the edge of the lot, grabbed his arm, and spun him around.

“Leave me alone, Tess,” he warned, eyes fiery. “I’m not in the mood for a party.”

“So I see.”

“Don’t be a smart ass.”

I crossed my arms, accustomed to his childish retorts after a particularly moody sixth grade year. “Forgive me for trying to celebrate your impending nuptials.”

His eyebrows pinched together, cracking his stony expression. “That’s not the problem.”

“Then tell me already. Who broke it off?”

“
That’s
where your mind goes?”

I held my hand up. “Please. It’s obvious. Did you do it or did she?”

Christian’s eyes darkened in silent response and I knew he’d been hurt again. Automatically, I hugged him. He squeezed me tightly, a shared relief sweeping between us.

“I’m so sorry.” My voice was muffled against his shoulder, my face pinned there by his chin, resting atop my head. Christian’s favorite way to remind me of one important detail. “Yes, I know you’re taller than me. Still.”

“And don’t you forget it.” His voice rumbled against my ear.

“Well, I’m still faster than you,” I said, happy for all those years outrunning him on the high school track. He squeezed me even tighter, smothering my face in his jacket. “You’re—squishing—me. Stop.”

As he released me, all playful airs evaporated. I turned, spotting Kendra and Grant sitting together, watching us. Knowing Kendra, she’d probably figured it out already. Grant waved two beers in the air, an invitation.

“Come on. Have a beer and relax.” I tugged his arm.

“How can I relax with all those people in there? What am I supposed to say?”

“I’ll handle that,” I said, more confidence in my voice than I felt. “Isn’t that what you think I do anyway? Talk for a living? Besides, Grant’s got beer and Kendra made cake. That’ll fix you up in no time.” Taking his hand, I coaxed him back across the parking lot.

Grant tossed a can to Christian. “Looked like you could use a cold one.”

“Thanks, man,” Christian flipped the tab open and took a swig. He turned back to me. “So what’s the plan, boss?”

“Well, for my first trick, I’ll make the entire audience disappear. I’ll find you in the kitchen when the coast is clear, okay?” I shooed the boys around to the back entrance and set my jaw for the unpleasant task at hand. Bad news was not something I typically delivered in my line of work, unless a marketing campaign tanked. I decided to treat this issue with the same diplomacy and frankness I would’ve used for a budget meeting.