Getting Married (27 page)

W
hen we return from Montreal, I begin working on my report on my recommendations on how Maggie can expand her business. Working on this project reminds me what I love about my job. It makes me feel wonderful to feel passionate about my work again. This project could take me as little as a week, but I decide that I am going to give myself two weeks to write it up. I’m going to develop a new pattern. I will work out for half an hour on the treadmill at the gym, then I will spend an hour generating new business leads, then I’ll spend seven hours working on whatever project I’m currently working on.

I won’t let myself work longer than that. I will curb my workaholic tendencies, whatever it takes.

Going to the gym turns out to be more relaxing than I would have thought. It feels good to sweat and work hard. This is going to sound strange, but it’s actually something of a relief to see the naked women in the locker room because they remind me what real women look like. The last time I saw a porno film I was in college and I dated a guy who lived in a dorm. Going into a male dorm is like walking into a sex shop—it’s all porn all the time. Even though it has been a decade since I’ve seen porn, the fact is that the only women I ever see naked are the women dancing nude in the background of movies and HBO series for no good reason except for the fact that directors like to have naked woman dancing in the background whenever possible. Those women, of course, have all been surgically altered so their breasts are essentially connected to their collarbone. When I go into the locker room and see what real women’s bodies look like, even women who are fit and in great shape, it is so unbelievably different from the plastic women I see on the movie screens. It’s a relief to remember that my body looks fine, as long as I don’t compare it to women who bought their figures from plastic surgeons.

Oh and about the porno in college, here’s how it went down: I was sitting with my boyfriend on his bed and we were talking. In the dorms in college, everyone kept their doors propped open all the time so people could come in and out. Aaron’s roommate was the only guy on the hall to have a VCR, and so while Aaron and I were talking, some random guy came in and popped a porno in. One moan from the woman on the screen was all it took. It was like a cattle call beckoning the herd home. Suddenly you could hear the stomping footsteps of guys coming running from every direction. In about ten seconds flat, Aaron’s floor was covered with guys sitting Indian-style, staring zombielike at the screen, mouths agape and drooling. I was the only woman in the room, and considering what was going on on the screen, I felt supremely uncomfortable. I had to tiptoe through the pack of men, because there wasn’t enough room on the floor for me to walk any other way to get out of there. It was then that I came to this epiphany: Men are simple, simple creatures.

I
t’s a snowy, cold, gray February day when Rachel calls me crying and frantic.

“Rachel, what is it?”

“It’s Julia. Car accident. She’s been in a car accident.” It’s hard to make out what she’s saying between her sobs, but I understand the gist of it. Rachel says something about Julia being with Sandy, and something about Ed, Sandy’s ex, but that’s all I can make out. I tell her I’ll get to the hospital as soon as I can.

I race to the hospital, ask at the front desk where I can find Rachel and Julia, and then I run in the direction that the receptionist tells me to go. Outside the room is Rachel, tears streaming down her red and blotchy face, her hand covering her mouth as she peers in through the window into the room where doctors and nurses are working on Julia. Julia looks so small, just a tiny wisp of a thing.

I hug Rachel. “How is she?”

“She’s not good. There’s internal bleeding. She may have punctured her spleen. The doctors are going to have to operate.”

“Oh. Oh.” I start crying, too, and then sniff away the tears. I need to be strong for my friend right now. “I am so sorry. What happened?”

“Ed was high,” Rachel says, crying and sniffling. “He came after Sandy screaming that he was going to kill her.”

“I thought Ed was in jail.”

“His lawyer got him out. Sandy was babysitting Julia, and Sandy ran to the car with Julia to get away, and he went after them, crashing into Sandy’s car with his.”

“Is Sandy all right?”

Rachel nods. “She’s fine. A couple bruises. Ed hit her car on the right side, the side Julia was on, not Sandy’s.”

“Rachel!” I turn and see Jon barreling toward us. Jon takes Rachel in his arms. “How is she? How is she?”

Rachel tells him the same thing she told me. They hug and cry. After several minutes Rachel pulls away from Jon’s embrace and asks him where their son, Isaac, is.

“I left him with Beth. I wasn’t sure if he should be here.”

The three of us stand in mute shock until Julia is taken into surgery. We spend the next several hours tense with fear. I think what scares me more than anything is watching Rachel. She looks so awful it terrifies me. Her face is blotchy from her crying. Her makeup is blurred around her puffy eyes. Rachel and Jon never sit down. They just stand and hold each other.

I watch how Rachel never takes her hand from where it’s nestled in Jon’s hand. They never let go of one another. Sometimes he wraps her in his arms. She leans into him, letting him support her.

At some point, Rachel begins sobbing so hard she can no longer stand upright. She begins to sway and Jon eases her down into one of the chairs. He holds her as she cries.

I feel so powerless to do anything about my friend’s pain. And I think about how an adorable little girl’s life is in jeopardy because of Sandy’s loser ex-boyfriend.

I find myself tearing at the skin around my fingernails. I don’t even notice I’m doing it until I’ve peeled so deep I start bleeding and need a Band-Aid.

“I’ll be right back,” I say to Rachel and Jon. Rachel’s too out of it to notice me, but Jon nods. I go to a nurse at the front desk who gives me a Band-Aid, then I go to the bathroom, ostensibly to wash up, but as soon as I’m in there I lock myself in a stall and weep in great heaving sobs. I’m scared. I’m terrified for Julia and Rachel and Jon. I hate the fact that this little human being’s life is in the balance, and there’s not a damn thing any of us can do about it but wait and hope and pray. Love is such a precious, fragile thing. It can be lost quickly after an accident or slowly over one too many fights over garage shelves. But it’s too damn important to give up without a fight.

I return to the waiting room with Rachel and Jon. We sit tensely as the minutes pass with agonizing slowness until at last a doctor comes to speak with Rachel and Jon. My heart stops in anticipation of his words. When he tells us she came through the surgery with flying colors and all signs indicate that she will be just fine, the tears come again, but this time they are tears of relief. Through eyes blurred with tears I watch Rachel and Jon take each other in their arms.

As I watch Rachel and Jon, I understand for the first time what marriage really is. It’s bungee-jumping off a cliff without a rope—you have no idea what you’re getting into. It’s scary and terrifying flying off into the great unknown, but as you do it, you’re doing it with the person you love most in the world, hand-in-hand.

I realize, suddenly, that I want to be with Will forever, weathering the tough times with him at my side. I want to marry him. I was afraid to be wrapped up in something that would be hard to get away from—because my entire life I’ve run away when the going got tough. But I want to learn how to get through challenges, not by running away but by facing them dead on. I want to be entangled enough that when difficulties come up, I don’t just flee as I’ve done with so many things in my life. I want to face the hard times with Will at my side.

I
call Will on my cell phone and ask him if he can meet me at The Falling Rock. It’s a casual bar with good food and a wide selection of beers—and it happens to be the place where we met for our first date.

I get to the place before Will does and slide into one of the long booths. I order a beer and as I wait for Will, I watch a little blond-haired boy. I’d guess he was around eighteen months old. He squirms out of his father’s lap, wanting to be put down. There is music playing overhead, and the little boy dances to it. He has two main dance steps. With the first, he keeps his feet glued to the floor and rocks his upper body back and forth from side to side like a dashboard hula dancer. His other dance step is marching in place. He is the cutest, most precious little thing, and I smile and stare shamelessly at him. The boy smiles, too. He is filled with complete and utter joy, the absolute happiness of hearing music and letting his body express his delight with it. I want to run up to him, take him in my arms, and hug him and snuggle my nose into his soft baby skin. I don’t think his parents would appreciate that, however.

It occurs to me that the little boy hasn’t actually done anything to win my affection so completely. He hasn’t jumped through any intellectual hoops. He isn’t a successful entrepreneur who has saved businesses from the brink of bankruptcy. He doesn’t have to worry about whether he’s cute enough or thin enough or funny enough or smart enough. He is just
being
. And that is more than enough.

After a time, Will appears at the door, all bundled up in his wet, snowy coat, hat, and gloves. Even though we’ve been together for a year, I still smile and feel a flutter of excitement when I see him.

He takes off his coat, hat, and gloves. He shoves the gloves and hat into his coat and hangs the coat on the hook on the outside of the booth. He sits next to me and leans in to give me a quick kiss. “How’s Julia?”

“Julia’s going to be okay. She should be able to go to home in a few days.”

“Thank God.”

“I know. It was really scary for awhile there.”

I give him more details on the accident and Julia’s condition. I’ve pretty much gotten him up to speed when the waiter swings by and takes Will’s drink order. After the waiter leaves, I just stare into my beer, taking a moment to summon my courage.

“Will, I asked you to meet me here for a reason.”

“Yeah? What’s up?”

“Do you remember where we had our first date?”

“Of course I do. We met right here. You were sitting at the bar and I saw you and I remember thinking,
that can’t possibly be her. She’s much too pretty.
”

I smile. “Right, we met here, and that’s why I thought this would be a good place for me to ask you to marry me.”

“What?”

“I do want to marry you. I’ve wanted to all along. I have my fears, but I want to work through them instead of running away from them.”

“How…when…what changed your mind?”

“Today, when I watched Jon and Rachel together, I don’t know, the way they were there for each other, it was so amazing. I mean what they have together isn’t perfect, but it’s really incredible, and I want that with you. I want to share my life with you.”

Will smiles, gets up from the booth, and fumbles through his coat, unzipping one of the inner pockets. In it is my ring box. He sits down, opens the box, takes the ring out, and slips it back on my finger.

“You’ve been carrying that around with you all this time?”

“I was hoping you’d change your mind. I had a pretty good idea that you would.”

“Really? How?”

“Because we were meant for each other, Eva.”

I eye the glittering ring on my finger. The ring is absolutely perfect for my hand and my taste in jewelry. It’s perfect, and it’s about the only thing in our relationship that is. We’re two flawed people with messy pasts who still have enough optimism and hope to dream that our relationship can do what so many others don’t—make it.

“I was thinking that we won’t do the whole big wedding deal,” I continue. “I don’t want to get stressed out. I thought we could go to the justice of the peace and then go to Mickie’s with our closest friends for a few beers or something.”

“Great. That sounds great.”

“We’ll lose our deposit money on the DJ and the reception hall.”

“Fine. No big deal. We’ll still save a lot of money over all. When do you want to do it?”

“Well, I want to give Mom, Dad, and Sienna enough time to buy their plane tickets. I think we should have it on the same Saturday in May we planned to have it originally.”

“Sounds good.”

“You’re a tough guy to make happy, you know,” I tease.

“I just want to marry you.”

“I still want us to dress up a little for the pictures, but I think if you get a nice suit and I buy a new dress, that should cover us.”

“I’ll start shopping for a suit tomorrow.”

“You don’t have any?”

“I work with computers. I don’t think I’ve ever had to wear a suit in my life. I’ll wear a tie for job interviews, but that’s about as far as I need to go.”

“So it’s decided then. We’re getting hitched. I believe this deserves a toast.” We raise our beer glasses and clink them together. “To love,” I say.

“To love, forever.”

We sip our beers and then kiss. I feel, for the first time in months, the serenity that comes with certainty.

I
n the days that follow, I feel calm and happy. I feel certain I’m making the right choice, with none of the doubts that plagued me before. I’ve decided to resume my habit of stopping by Rachel’s shop every now and then for no other reason than to shoot the shit. Today when I go to her shop, I have to wait for a few minutes while she rings up a customer.

When the customer takes her bag and leaves, I come around behind the counter and sit on my stool.

“Hey, you,” I say. “How’s Julia?” Julia had gotten home from the hospital three days earlier.

“She’s going to be just fine. Her spirits are really good. Last night Jon was reading her a story and she was all animated and happy. It was such a beautiful thing to see I just started crying. What’s up with you?”

“Well, the wedding is back on.”

Rachel whoops and claps her hands together. “I knew it. I knew you two would get married ultimately. Congratulations.”

“I’ve decided just to have a few friends watch Will and me sign the marriage certificate and then go get a few drinks after, someplace casual. I don’t want to kill myself trying to plan a wedding.”

“That makes sense.”

“I still want to get a pretty dress though. Not a wedding dress, just something pretty that makes me feel special.”

Rachel gets wide-eyed and points her finger at me. “I’ve got the outfit for you. You said you wanted a nontraditional dress. This is nontraditional.” Rachel goes to the back of her store where she keeps new items before putting them out on the shelves.

“Is it used?” I ask.

“Think of it as preowned. It’s going to look perfect on you.”

“You know I don’t like used stuff.”

“Honey, please, for me. I saw it and it just screamed Eva to me.”

She dangles the dress in front of me. It’s red satin, very sumptuous. It does look sort of pretty.

“Okay,” I say.

We go back to the dressing rooms and I try the dress on to placate her. After Rachel zips me up, I spin around and look into the mirror, and I gasp. I am a goddess. The dress is breathtaking, and in it, so am I. It has a sweetheart neckline and short off-the-shoulder sleeves. It’s tight in the bust and sucks in my stomach, playing up my hourglass figure. The skirt is loose and flowing, making it comfortable to move in. The fabric is sexy and sensual.

“Oh, my God, Rachel, it’s beautiful.”

“It looks perfect on you.”

“But it’s used,” I protest again, with less feeling this time.

“Maybe. But this dress was made for you. Some things just fit.”

She’s right. I keep turning and twisting in the mirror, trying to find anything that’s wrong with the dress, but I can’t find anything.

“How much is it?”

“It’s my wedding present to you.”

“It’s so beautiful. It looks pretty pricey.”

“The fabric is exquisite. I’m sure the woman who owned it before paid a mint for it.”

“Did she tell you the story about why she was selling it?”

“She didn’t really sell it, she basically gave it away. She brought me a whole bunch of clothes. She didn’t even want to haggle with me. She actually said she didn’t need any money. She was just trying to downsize so she could move to Paris.”

“Why?”

“She said to pursue her true love. I got the feeling she wasn’t talking about a guy, but about another kind of passion. Singing maybe. She had a sultry lounge singer sort of look to her. She was curvy like you. She gave me a whole bunch of clothes and only took fifty bucks in payment. The clothes were worth several times that.”

“Still, you shouldn’t give it away if you could make some really money selling it.”

“People who come to used clothing stores are on a budget. They couldn’t pay what this is worth anyway.”

That gets me to thinking that maybe even though this dress is gorgeous, maybe it’s just a well-done knockoff of the real thing. Cubic zirconium masquerading as diamond.