Fanfare (28 page)

A few hours later, I made the trek to my car with the intention of sacrificing my hearing on the altar of undying friendship.

Shockingly, Hana failed to answer her phone.

Gita picked up on the third ring.

“Good, you’re not dead,” she bit sarcastically.

“Hah.”

“I knew you weren’t. Make sure to tell Crazy you’re alive and well,” she continued with a chuckle.

“I left her a message. Hopefully she’ll call me back before my lunch hour is up.”

“You should have heard her on the phone yesterday. She finally got in touch with your mother, and since Mami wouldn’t throw her a bone as to your whereabouts, the speculations grew wildly out of hand,” Gita continued.

I laughed nervously.

She paused for a moment, digesting the implications of my skittish giggle. “Oh lord. Please tell me you didn’t run off to Vegas for an easily annullable wedding.”

“No! I’m not quite that impulsive.”

“That’s a joke. You’re not even slightly impulsive. Period. Why do I detect a note of hysteria in your voice?” she pressed.

I took a deep breath. Cut the shit. “I’m engaged.”

Dead silence.

“Gita?”

“Dammit! I owe Hana fifty bucks!” she groaned.

Taken aback by her reaction, I merely said, “What?”

“I said it would take you at least two years. She said less.”

“Wait . . . you’re not . . . surprised?”

“I’m surprised at how soon it happened, but I’m not surprised by it happening. Come on, dude. You two are nuts for each other.”

“Yeah, but . . . it happened so suddenly!” I lamented.

“Are you regretting your decision?”

I didn’t hesitate to respond. “No. I feel like I made the right decision. I just don’t . . . I’m not used to being so impetuous.”

“Chica, I’ve held back for a while because I didn’t want to proffer advice like an oldass crone chockfull of wisdom, but he’s a lot better for you than that regimented fool you carted around for years. That decision was a far cry from reckless, and it didn’t work out so well.”

I remained silent for a moment. Gita was the verbal equivalent of a Mack truck.

“Are you mad at me?” she demanded.

“No. I knew you weren’t a huge fan of Ryan, but I guess I didn’t realize until now how much of a non-fan you were.”

“I wouldn’t go that far. I was just never too impressed. You’re like . . . this great breath of sunny, fresh air. He wasn’t. Killjoy. In my mind, I always referred to him as Sergeant Killjoy. You don’t want a spring day to come in contact with him,” she stated flatly.

“Ryan wasn’t . . . that bad,” I retorted lamely.

“Whatever. He’s a total moron trying to be wise beyond his years. Full of doom and gloom. Tom kind of reminds me of a kid sometimes, but he definitely suits you more. He’s not laden with issues of self-loathing.”

“How is he a kid?” I tried not to sound testy, but I was fairly certain I failed in my efforts.

“Come on, Cris. I meant it in a good way. Tom laughs more, jokes more, and stops to take in life without being forced to do so. I don’t see him struggling with indecision. He knows what he wants and goes for it. A risk taker. Come to think of it, I wish I were more of a kid sometimes. They just want to have fun. If I functioned according to that premise, maybe I would stop myself from saying dumbass things to my newly-engaged best friend and upsetting her as a result.”

I sighed with a half-smile. “I’m not upset.”

“Liar. Let me try this again. Congratulations. Ryan sucked. Tom rules.”

I laughed softly. “Thanks.”

“Don’t be uncomfortable. Even if I think it happened sooner than I would have guessed, I feel a heck of a lot better about you marrying a smiling risk taker than a grouchy douchebag.”

We ended the conversation soon after that, but the unsettled feeling in the pit of my stomach had not dissipated. I expected Gita to share some of my more worrisome sentiments, and her open acceptance of the craziest decision I had ever made in my life unnerved me. She was my practical friend, and she had always been the one to see the forest through the trees. If she readily subscribed to Tom’s school of life-changing spontaneity, I was more alone in my discomfort than I originally thought.

Was no one dismayed by the recent turn of events? How come everyone saw this coming except for me? When were they planning to share their clairvoyance?

The last thing she said echoed in my mind: “You said it was the right decision. Why are you trying to kill it with worry? If it’s the right decision for you, then everything else will fall into place. I’m not one for religion, but have some faith.”

I sat in my car, staring at the steering wheel. Engrossed in my own thoughts, the sudden tapping on the window next to my head caused me to jump in my seat. If I thought the sound was startling, I was completely unprepared for the sight of its source.

Sergeant Killjoy stood at my door and peered down intently at me.

Ryan Sullivan: the man who broke my heart . . . my first love.

Shit. Double shit.

I scrambled to open the car door and scrambled up rather clumsily.

“What are you doing here?” I sputtered and shoved my palms in my pockets like a naughty child caught with her hand in Monsieur Cartier’s cookie jar. Adrenaline made my motions jerky, and my pulse raced with the combination of shock and hyperawareness.

His hair was cropped short, and his beautiful blue eyes studied me with the same intensity that used to make my heart melt. Pain flew into my throat. The last memory of those eyes was one of devastation.

“I’m sorry. I thought I asked you a question. What are you doing here?” I bit out.

“Still a smartass.” He chuckled.

“And you’re still a dick,” I kicked back.

“I always liked that about you.”

“I don’t have time for this,” I retorted and made to return to the office building.

He caught my right arm as I tried to walk by. “Cristina. Please. Just give me five minutes.”

“Let go of me.” I gasped as the searing pain of his touch on my skin threatened to rip apart my tenuous hold on self-control.

“I’ll just follow you inside if you try to leave.”

I glared at him.

He glanced around. “I guess you’re probably not going to get coffee with me.”

“You think?” I shot back.

“Babe, stop pretending to be such a bitch. I know it’s taking you a lot of effort. Just hear me out.”

“I’m not your ‘babe,’ Ryan. Talk fast because I have very little patience for bullshit,” I said begrudgingly.

His gaze softened at my apparent willingness to listen to him. “Look . . . I’ve been trying to talk to you for a while now, and I know you’re probably not ready for me to jump back into your life like nothing happened, but there are a few things I need to say to you.”

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “You suffer from the supreme misconception that I could ever feel as though nothing happened. You . . . destroyed me. There’s no other way to say it. You left me to bury myself, and you didn’t care one bit about what that meant. Luckily, I didn’t crawl into a hole and waste away. Why are you trying to make me relive that agony?”

He grimaced at my flat tone of voice juxtaposed alongside the pain of my words. For the first time, I felt a pang of guilt for being so nasty to him. He was right . . . it wasn’t easy being such a bitch.

“There aren’t enough words in the English language to tell you how sorry I am for what I did to you. I know I owe you an explanation.”

“You know what? I thought you owed me an explanation for a long time. Now, I don’t really care,” I responded matter-of-factly.

“You’re lying. Look, I was . . . scared. There were so many things I wanted to do with my life, and I wasn’t sure that getting married was the right decision for me.”

“Then why the hell did you ask?” I grasped tightly onto the cell phone in my right pocket.

“Because I knew I’d never be able to find another woman like you.”

“And yet, you tried,” I stated quietly.

“About that . . . I meant what I said in the email. I didn’t cheat on you. I did meet someone named Amber, and I was really attracted to her. I never did anything about it . . . but I knew you weren’t going to just let me go without a fight. As terrible as it sounds, I knew the only way to get you to walk away and never look back was to tell you I cheated on you. I lied. I’m sorry.” As he made his agonizing admission, he stared directly into my face to see if the weight of his statements would have any effect on my frosty demeanor.

I couldn’t hide my painful dismay. “How could you do that? Why?” The last word sounded hideously similar to a sob.

He shrugged with a look of chagrin. “I made a mistake. You have to forgive me.”

I looked about me in an attempt to bid some time and raised my left hand shakily to my face to press my thumb and forefinger into the bridge of my nose.

“What the fuck?” Ryan’s voice was a tortured whisper. Even through my internal anguish, I realized my error.

His eyes froze on the giant cookie. I hastily shoved my hand back into my pocket.

“Are you insane?” he yelled.

I merely stared back in defiance.

“Please tell me that’s merely a decorative deterrent. Please tell me you’re not that stupid.”

“How dare you?”

“Cristina, what are you thinking?” he demanded as he grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me gently.

“Let go of me.”

“Are you actually planning to marry that moron? You’re going to move to California? You want to be a real housewife of Orange County?” he jeered as he squeezed me even harder.

I shoved him away as the scent of painful remembrance washed over me. I was too close to the man responsible for a great deal of my suffering. Tears welled as my phone vibrated in my pocket.

“I don’t have to listen to this. He’s not a moron! You don’t know anything about him, so shut up!”

“I know enough. The types of people who want that kind of lifestyle are crazy ones. They infect craziness onto those around them, and they’re unfailingly selfish. Their marriages become statistics. I know why he wants you. You’re selfless to a fault. When you love, you give everything,” he stated with the rushed pace of desperation.

“Because that’s what love is! This is the biggest problem with you, Ryan Sullivan! Love is not supposed to be convenient or easy all the time. Love is all-consuming and irrational.”

“Only a fool believes that. I don’t want to lose myself to love,” he shot back.

“Why does it have to be that way? No one’s asking you to lose yourself. This is what’s fucked up about people who intellectualize love and try to repackage it as some new opiate of the masses.”

“Look, I didn’t come here to fight with you about the perils of co-dependence. In fact, I came to do the exact opposite. Maybe I think love is damaging just as much as it has its merits . . . but it doesn’t matter. I love you. I want you back. Tell me it’s not too late.” He pulled me to him to stare down at my face openly. I tried to wriggle out of his grasp, but he held tightly onto my shoulders.

“Too late for what? I’m engaged. I love him even if you think he’s crazy and selfish. Incidentally, you couldn’t be more wrong. Before you point the finger at someone you don’t even know, maybe you should take a good long look in the mirror.” I twisted sideways and marched back towards the office building. He shouted after me.

“You’re lost, Cristina! What are you going to do with your life? Are you going to take Mami with you? You know I’m not being harsh when I say that all those Beverly Hills snobs will think she’s the hired help. Do you want to be responsible for that? I don’t want you to change anything about yourself. Stay here. Be with your family. Be near your friends. Just be with me! I’ll fix everything I broke if it takes me the rest of my life. We can be happy again!”

I stopped short as the tears cascaded down my face. Spinning around to glare at my first love, I froze at the sight of him rushing towards me to pull me into an embrace.

“Don’t do this,” he pleaded.

Even through the bittersweet sensation of hearing him say everything I had dreamed he would say each night I was forced to deal with my pain, I held tightly onto my pride.

“I didn’t do this. You did.” I shoved him aside and ran as fast as I could into the building.

My sobs were became audible, so I tore my way into the ladies room and slammed the stall door shut. Tears flowed down my face. All I wanted at that moment was to talk to Tom. I wanted to tell him everything. I wanted him to laugh at the things Ryan said. I wanted him to tell me I wouldn’t be an Orange County housewife. I wanted him to say that my mother would be happy even though her only child lived three thousand miles away from her. Most of all, I wanted him to tell me I would be happy—away from my friends, away from my family . . . away from everything I knew.

But . . . I couldn’t tell him. I couldn’t bear to hear the pain in his voice when he realized Ryan was back in my life. He would feel betrayed. I pulled out my phone as a moment of weakness washed over me. A voicemail message blinked on the screen. I pressed the keys to listen.

“Cristina, this is Melissa Nash. I’ve just spoken to Thomas. I want to release a press statement at the end of the news cycle on Friday so we can control the flow of information. Thomas’s publicist will be in touch. ‘No comment’ is about to become the most important phrase in your vocabulary. Against my better inclinations, congratulations are in order. Do yourself a favor and either disconnect your home phone or get an unlisted number. Good luck. You’re going to need it. Hollywood is not for the fainthearted.”

The phone clattered to the floor as a fresh stream of tears trailed down my cheeks.

Cartier’s cookie shimmered tauntingly on my hand.

I was so alone.

Chapter Twenty

Last weekend in Paris, British actor Thomas Abramson proposed to his girlfriend Cristina Pereira with a three-carat, emerald cut stone from Cartier. The two have been dating for approximately one year. London born Abramson is twenty-four years old and best known for his starring role in the film Apparition. Pereira is twenty-five years old and originally from Puerto Rico. She is employed by the state of North Carolina as a social worker. No wedding details have been solidified yet, but both the actor and his fiancée respectfully request that any inquiries be directed to Abramson’s publicist, Alan Goefriller.