Arranged (13 page)

Chapter 12

Just Friends

I
wake up with a start at six-fifteen. It’s way too early to get up, but I can tell by how awake I am that I won’t fall back asleep, so I kick off the covers and pull back the drapes. It looks like it’s going to be a beautiful day. No clouds in the sky, and the ocean is still calm.

A nice day for a wedding.

I open the closet and look at the dress I bought the day before I left. It’s cream-colored cotton, with a light brown pattern of leaves and vines running over it. A black ribbon ties around the waist. The skirt is loose and flowing and falls below my knees. It’s not the wedding dress I always imagined, but it’s pretty enough.

I look at the clock by the bed. Six-twenty.

Christ. This waiting is going to be torture.

I put on a baby-blue two-piece, a cover-up, and some flip-flops and leave my room. It’s already hot, despite the early hour, and the heat is bringing out the aroma of the bougainvillea. I breathe in the lemony scent as I slip down the path.

The pool is a large kidney shape surrounded by deck chairs and palm trees. White-uniformed staff members are pouring chemicals into it. They tell me they’ll be finished in ten minutes, so I sit on a deck chair and close my eyes, trying to block out the waves of panic that keep creeping up on me. I concentrate on feeling the sun on my skin and remember the kiss Jack gave me last night at my door—a duplicate of the one on the dance floor. A kiss that kept me up for hours.

When the pool is open for business, I stand on the edge and test the water with my toe. It feels cold, but I bite the bullet and jump in.

The water is much colder than the pool next door was yesterday, and I surface sputtering from the shock. I do a couple of laps of crawl, then hoist myself out and wrap my towel around me, finger-combing my hair. A woman in her mid-forties is sitting in the deck chair next me, frowning at her BlackBerry. Her expression reminds me of Sarah. I miss her. I wish I could’ve told her why I was coming here and had her support. She wouldn’t have actually supported this decision, but still, it would be good to hear her voice.

I glance at my watch. It’s not too early to call. I pull my cell phone out of my pool bag and dial.

“Hello?” Sarah answers in a muffled, sleep-filled voice.

Crap, maybe it is too early to call.

“Hi, Sarah, it’s me. Sorry, did I wake you?”

“Anne? No, it’s okay, I was just waking up.”

“You’re such a liar.”

“I should be awake.”

“How come you’re not?”

“Late night at the office. I was planning on sleeping in.”

“Go back to sleep, I’ll call you later.”

“No, no, I’m awake now. What’s up?”

I’m getting married today. I’m freaking out. I need you to tell me what to do.

“Nothing. Just hanging by the pool. I thought I’d call you and gloat.”

“Are you sure? You sound funny.”

I clear my throat. “I was at a club last night. I’m fine.”

“
Clubbing
. . . Good for you, Anne. What’s it like down there?”

“Hot.”

“Any nice men?”

“Um, kind of. I think I met someone yesterday.”

“You
think
you met someone?”

“Okay, I did meet someone.”

“Already?”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“What’s in the water down there? Clubbing, meeting men.”

You have no idea.

“Must be all the margaritas.”

She laughs. “Aha. So what’s he like? Is he from here?”

“Yes, Mom.”

“I just don’t want you to waste your time on something that can’t go anywhere.”

Sarah, Sarah, always the voice of reason. If only I could put her voice in my head.

“I know, Sarah. Thank you. Anyway, yes, he lives near you, in fact, and he’s really nice.”

“What’s he look like?” she asks, her voice full of suspicion.

“Not like what you think.”

“I’m glad.”

My heart skips a beat as Jack walks around the corner. His hair is mussed from sleep, and he smiles when he sees me.

“Listen, Sarah, I’ve got to go.”

“Hot date by the pool?”

“Something like that.”

“Okay. Have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Fat chance!

“Bye.” I close my phone and look up at Jack, shading my eyes from the sun. “Good morning, Jack H.”

“Is that my name forever now?”

“Maybe.” My voice squeaks like it does before I have to give a speech. Nice.

“I can handle it.”

He looks relaxed and rested (how is that even possible?), and he’s wearing red swimming trunks that are too big for him. He has a streak of what looks like zinc oxide across his nose.

“Where did you get that stuff?” I stand up and wipe some of the zinc off his face with my thumb.

“Isn’t this what everyone wears?”

“Uh, no.”

He shrugs. “I had it kicking around in my apartment, so I packed it.”

“Kicking around from an expedition to Everest?”

“A man’s got to be prepared for any eventuality.”

I pull my hair back from my face and tuck it into an elastic. “I’m going to get some breakfast. Want to join me?”

“I just ate. But I’ll see you at nine for therapy, right?”

“Right.”

We stand there staring at each other. My mind wanders back to our kisses last night. And maybe his mind is wandering there too.

“I’m going to go swimming now,” he says.

“I’m going to go to breakfast now.”

Jack flashes me a grin, then turns and takes a running jump into the pool, creating a giant wave that nearly drowns an older man doing laps. “Sorry, man, sorry,” Jack apologizes as he surfaces.

I watch him horsing around in the pool. He looks thinner without his clothes on, though his body is far from the lean, fit bodies of the men I’ve always fallen for. I remember in particular how cut Stuart’s abs were and the thrill I always felt looking at them.

I shake that thought from my mind. I’m not going to gain anything by comparing Jack to my standard-size man.

At the buffet in the main dining room, I fill my plate with an assortment of smoked salmon, French toast, and fresh fruit and make a disgusting-looking mix of freshly squeezed papaya, watermelon, and green melon. I’m going to feel virtuous after drinking this, but I may also need to spend some extra time in the bathroom.

I run into Margaret at the end of the line. She’s wearing a long linen shirt and flip-flops.

“Where’s Jack?” she asks.

“He’s in the pool.”

“You should keep an eye on him. He’s cute.”

“Thanks.” I feel kind of proud. As if I had something to do with creating him. “Where’s Brian?”

“Waiting for his omelet.” She points to the special-order grill line, where—there’s no other way to say it—an enormous man is standing with a plate in his hands.

“Oh. He’s, ah . . . he looks nice.”

“He’s huge,” Margaret says matter-of-factly.

What can I say? He
is
huge.

“But you don’t care about looks, right? You said yesterday.”

Ah, hell.

Margaret seems unperturbed. “Nope. I don’t care what he looks like.”

“That’s good. And you said you had a great conversation . . . I’ll bet you’re a good fit.”

“Of course we are. Say, you and Jack had it going on last night.”

I blush. “I don’t usually do things like that.”

“Having sexual energy already is great. It’s way ahead of schedule.”

“What schedule?”

“You know,
the
schedule.”

Jack walks by the window, wrapped in a striped towel. He gives me a smile and mouths, “I’ll see you later.” I wave at him and feel my nerves return, taking away my appetite.

“You want to sit with us?” Margaret asks.

“We have our therapy appointment soon, so I think I’m just going to wolf this down, but thanks.”

“Sure, see you later.”

I carry my plate to an empty table. I take a few bites of everything, but it all tastes the same, except for the disgusting colon-cleaning juice concoction, and that’s not a taste I’m enjoying.

I push my plate away and look at my watch. Not even eight yet.

I can’t take this anymore. I feel like pieces of me are about to fly off in every direction, as if I’m being held together by gossamer, the tiniest little thread.

I need to kill some time and some nerves before the therapy session. I need to relax. I need . . . a massage. Yeah, that would be perfect. I abandon my food and hurry toward the spa, praying there’s a vacancy. I’m in luck—the first appointment of the day hasn’t been booked. I sign some forms and am escorted into an all-white room. There’s a Japanese waterfall in the corner and a massage table in the center. I lie down on the soft, warm mattress, and the masseuse places a white sheet over me that feels like it has a thread count of a thousand. She turns on some generic Muzak that’s a synthesized version of streams and wind and trees, and she goes to work relieving the knots in my back, neck, and legs.

The forty-five minutes pass quickly. And when we’re done, I feel ready to have my head examined.

D
r. Szwick is sitting in an armchair in his room, looking relaxed. He’s wearing Bermuda shorts and a bright Hawaiian- print shirt.

“Jack, Anne,” he says when we enter. “Good to see you again. Please sit down.”

We sit in the two chairs facing him. Jack’s leg is bouncing up and down, the first real sign of nerves I’ve seen in him.

“So, Samantha tells me you’ve decided to go ahead. Correct?”

Samantha? Oh, right, Ms. Cooper. Somehow the name Samantha seems much too . . . human.

“We have,” Jack answers for both of us.

“Very good. I’ve been working with each of you individually, but from now on our sessions will be together. As you know, Blythe and Company believes every couple should do a year of therapy after they get married.

“I know that in order to come here, you’ve already put aside many conventions and preconceptions about your life and about love. In fact, you might think you’ve already come as far as you need to in order to succeed. You’re wrong. You’ve made a good first step, but you don’t really know yet what you’ve gotten yourself into. Marriage takes work, and commitment, and effort. And this kind of marriage is going to be even harder in some ways. You’re flouting convention. You’ll be hiding the truth about how you met from those closest to you. You’ve been told the person you’re with is the right person for you, but you’ll wonder at times, maybe even often, if that’s really the case. These are just some of the reasons you’ll need to be in therapy and committed to it.

“You’ll see me once a week for the next year. During our sessions, we’ll work on creating a foundation that will keep you together, and on any specific issues that might arise. Right now, however, we have a simpler task: to prepare you for the step you’re taking today. And that’s how you should think of it, as a step. Any questions?”

We shake our heads.

“All right. I want to discuss a few specific issues I’ve zeroed in on from your separate sessions. Have you two talked about living arrangements?”

“No,” I say.

Dr. Szwick looks back and forth between us. “Well?”

Jack shrugs. “I live in a studio apartment.”

“Anne?”

“I guess . . . Jack can move in with me.”

Dr. Szwick frowns. “Why did you say ‘I guess,’ Anne?”

I can feel Jack looking at me, waiting for my answer.

“You’re not going to let me get away with saying, ‘I don’t know,’ are you?” I say.

“You should know better than that by now. Come on, Anne, what is it?”

I look down at my feet. I obviously should’ve thought about this before, but somehow, in all the rush, excitement, and nerves between Ms. Cooper’s phone call and the plane ride, I didn’t. And I can’t quite place my finger on the reason why I care where we live. I know only that I have a funny feeling in my stomach, like a warning.

“We can get a new apartment if you want,” Jack says, taking my hand.

I meet his eyes, and now I have a different feeling in my stomach. A better feeling.

“Thanks.”

Dr. Szwick interrupts our moment. “That should work. Have you spoken about kids?”

Jack’s hand tightens on mine. “No.”

“You both indicated that you wanted kids, maximum two. You wouldn’t have been matched if you had a difference there, but have you discussed timing? Jack?”

He shrugs. “I thought we should get to know each other first.”

“I’m sensing what you really mean is that you have no time frame in mind, am I right?”