Jennifer Johnson Is Sick of Being Single (27 page)

“Those are eggless crullers,” Mrs. Keller says, pointing to the crispy fried brittle things on the sideboard, “and that is quince custard.”

Hailey's nose wrinkles. “It's orange gloop!” she whispers.

“Shut up,” I warn her.

“Over here we have pumpkin biscuits,” Mrs. Keller continues, “blood sausage, spinach soufflé, creamed beef on toast, Philadelphia scrapple, and chicken livers with orange sauce.”

“What's a scrapple?” Hailey whispers. “Didn't we play scrapple at Aunt Joan's house?”

“Shut up! Eat it and like it.”

“No way. I'm not freaking eating it. I'll tell you what, Lenny won't either.”

But just then Lenny leans behind Mrs. Keller and helps himself to a string bean right from the casserole dish. “Just like my grandma made 'em,” he says, “with almond slivers!”

“Yes, Leonard,” Mrs. Keller says, “you help yourself. I love string beans with almond slivers too.” What, is she in love with Lenny? “And for dessert there's raisin-spice cake,” she says, “and of course steamed chocolate sponge pudding.”

“Steamed sponge?” Hailey says. “What the freak?”

“Look,” I tell her as everyone shuffles toward the buffet, “just take a little of everything or she'll notice.” Hailey shakes her head. “No way,” she says. “I'm not freaking eating food they ate in ye olden days.” She even goes up to Mrs. Keller, probably to ask her for Froot Loops, but at the last minute she thinks better of it and goes to the buffet, where she plops a spoonful of spinach soufflé on her plate.

I sit at the table directly across from Brad, which is where I always sit. It's where I've always been told to sit. I looked it up in a Miss Manners book and it does say couples shouldn't be seated next to each other, but I think Mrs. Keller just likes to see us apart.

After the coffee is poured and we say grace, my mom asks Mrs. Keller what she thinks about “these kids” getting married.

“We think it's the most wonderful thing in the world!” Mrs. Keller says, clasping her hands together. “The moment I met your darling Jennifer, I thought to myself she's just the kind of girl I hoped Bradford would marry. More cream?”

“And we love your Bradford,” my mother says.

Mom did pretty good for the brunch, I have to say. She looks good in her new dress. I went over there yesterday to see what everyone was planning to wear, and thank God, because Hailey shrugged and said, “Jeans and a T-shirt?” and my mother said she hadn't thought about it. I yelled at them and said they couldn't go over to the Kellers' house looking like hillbillies; this was important to me. My mother promised they would look decent, and basically they do, although my dad didn't wear a tie and Hailey put a banana clip in her hair. She did pull Lenny together, though, who's wearing a seersucker jacket and a yellow tie. Mrs. Keller said he looked dashing.

“These two spend so much time together,” Mrs. Keller sighs, looking dreamily at her son. “Young love!”

“That's true.” My mother nods. “We haven't seen much of Jennifer since she met your Bradford, have we, sweetie pie?”

I shake my head no and watch Hailey pushing her eggs around her plate. Then Brad tells them all I'm moving into his house a week before the wedding and that pretty much stops the conversation cold.

“Before the wedding?” Mrs. Keller says, her forkful of blood sausage frozen in midair. “How odd.”

“Lenny and me moved in together way before the wedding,” Hailey says.

“Leonard and
I
, dear,” Mrs. Keller corrects.

“Yes,” my mother says, “Leonard and I.”

“Yeah, but we was doin' it before we got married,” Lenny says. “I don't think Ma Keller here would like that either.”

I'm smiling so hard at Lenny right now I think the veins in my temple might pop and shoot the table with arterial spray.

“That's right, Leonard,” Mrs. Keller says, “you are absolutely correct.”

Leonard laughs and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “My ma thought she was loose, too!” Hailey smacks him. “What?” he says, rubbing his arm. “She did!”

Ed clears his throat. “So you're in the insurance business,” he asks my dad.

My dad finishes chewing and takes a sip of black coffee before he says, “You bet.”

“Local group then?” Mr. Keller asks.

My dad nods. “Yep. State Farm. Thirty years and no retirement in sight.”

We all laugh awkwardly.

“Well, we ought to get you into the office,” Ed says. “We need a good insurance man.”

“Really?” my mother says. “That would be wonderful!”

My dad frowns. “We don't handle—” but Ed puts his hand up.

“We'll figure all that out. You're family now!”

“Well, that's very generous,” my mother says, “isn't it, dear? Dear? You have a little gravy on your chin. There.” My dad grumbles something about next week being tight and saws into his creamed beef. I don't think he likes the Kellers.

“Lenny lost his job,” Hailey pipes up.

“Is that so?” Mr. Keller says, and the two of them talk shop until Ed decides Lenny would make a perfect loading-dock supervisor and tells him to come in on Monday. “Family has to stick together!” Ed says, and I know it's terribly nice of him, but for some reason I feel like ripping the tablecloth from the table and breaking all the china on the floor.

After we eat, there's coffee in the living room and my mother
and Mrs. Keller tidy up in the kitchen. I clear plates, and so only catch bits of their conversation. “I just think she's an amazing girl,” I hear Mrs. Keller tell my mother. “We're so lucky to have her join the family.” She sounds so sincere, so real, that I almost think maybe her stern thing is all an act. Maybe she actually really likes me, and this is like prewedding hazing. I mean, certainly a lot of women must have wanted to marry Brad. I bet she has to weed them out and make sure they're good enough for him. I'd do the same thing.

“We're going to see the wedding planner next week,” Mrs. Keller says. “Isn't that right, Jennifer?”

“I can't wait, Mrs. Keller,” I say.

She smiles at me. “Oh, call me Mother Keller now or just Mother. That is, if your mother doesn't mind!” The two of them laugh lightly.

I grimace. “All right, Mother…Keller,” I say. “Thank you for the delicious brunch.”

“You're welcome, dear! I'm so glad you liked it. I was afraid your stomach was upset. You didn't touch your scrapple.”

 

I've never had so many new things at one time. New clothes, new shoes, new everything. I've never held onto someone's credit card for them or carried their country-club membership card in my purse. I've never dated anyone who changed the way other people look at me, at least not in a good way. My family and friends and even co-workers. People at work who never made eye contact with me before suddenly know my name.

Not to mention HOW amazing and good it felt to finally pay off my Mr. Jennings bill.

“Mr. Jennings!” I say when he tracks me down. “How good of you to call.”

“Miss Johnson?” he says, doubtfully.

“I've been looking forward to talking to you again!”

“I left a few messages,” he says. “I already extended your account twice and I'm afraid it's going to collection today.”

“No need for that, Mr. Jennings.” I take out Brad's platinum card. “Let's just pay this account in full, shall we?”

“This is Jennifer Johnson, right?”

“Soon to be Jennifer Keller,” I say. “I got engaged.”

“That's great, Miss Johnson,” he says.

I give him Brad's account number and listen to tinny Muzak while he processes my bill.

“Okay, you're all set, Miss Johnson.”

“It's been really nice getting to know you, Mr. Jennings,” I say. “I wish you well.”

“Good luck, Miss Johnson. I'm glad you didn't end up with that guy who made you wait around in a bar. I'm glad everything worked out.”

“Well…thank you,” I say and hang up. No reason to tell him the guy who made me wait around in a bar is now my fiancé. It's the last time we'll ever speak so why bother explaining that a man who pays off your credit cards can make you wait as long as he wants to?

Brad didn't actually pay off my credit cards, the Kellers did, but Brad asked them to. I'd feel weird about it if I didn't hate the credit-card companies so much. I did the math once and if I paid the minimum monthly balance on a five-thousand-dollar debt until it was totally gone, I would end up paying them something like thirty thousand dollars. So did I feel bad knowing the Kellers paid my credit cards off?

Hell no.

Not that everything's perfect between Brad and me. We fight. Everyone fights, but it seems like anything can get us going. I tried to bring some things over from my apartment to brighten
up his house, but he was like, “What the hell is this?” He was holding a vintage starburst clock. It's actually one of the most expensive things I own and I thought it might work with his décor, but he made it immediately clear that his mother doesn't like clutter.

“She doesn't like your weird crap,” he says and we had a huge fight. I told him he couldn't change who I was and his mother shouldn't have anything to do with how we decorate the house, but in the end, even after he relented and admitted I was right, I brought the starburst clock back to my apartment. He didn't ask me to, I did it on my own and I can't say exactly why. It just didn't look right in his house.

Plus, what's wrong with trying something new? Maybe I'd be happier in a cleaner, calmer environment. Maybe all these toys represented a part of my life that was ending and maybe that was a good thing.

I get jealous. I'm always wondering who's calling him and who he's texting. I'm never sure if he's sure about me. I read this
Vogue
article about a fashion designer who got cancer and her husband, who was also a fashion designer, made a whole collection of cancer-inspired clothes for her. All these headscarves and gauzy red chiffon. It got me wondering if Brad would do that for me.

“Would you still love me if I had cancer?” I ask him at the breakfast table.

“If you had what?”

“Cancer.”

“Do you?” he asks, putting his spoon down. “Are you telling me you have cancer?”

“No,” I say, irritated. “Hypothetical cancer.”

“Hypothetical?”

“Just answer! Would you still love me if I had cancer?”

“What kind?”

“What do you mean, what kind?”

He thinks about it for a minute.

“Why are you thinking about it?”

“I'd still love you,” he says.

“Oh well, thanks. Be sure to put that on the card.”

“Jesus, Jen.”

“Would you love me if I had my legs cut off?”

“What?”

“My legs, zip! Gone.”

“How would your legs get cut off?”

“I don't know, a car accident, a hot air balloon disaster, who knows?”

“You're crazy.”

“Picture it. I'm in a wheelchair, still getting used to my titanium legs and you have to help me to the toilet and into the bathtub and you'd probably have to help me put the fake legs onto my stumps every morning…”

“Will you stop it?”

“I want to know what you'd do. I have a right to know.”

“Why? Why do you think up all this crap?”

“Because if something horrible happens to me, you have to be prepared to take care of me.” He just looks at me and shakes his head. I can't believe how he's acting. He should kiss me on the forehead right now and tell me of course he'd take care of me. If I was talking to Christopher and I asked him if he'd take care of me he'd say, “Oh, sweetie! Of course! I'd buy you windup toys and tie a ribbon around your head!” He'd give me a big hug. He wouldn't sit there like an unplugged appliance and pause and wonder and think about it. He wouldn't care if my legs were cut off or my vagina didn't work; he would be there for me no matter what.

“What if my vagina just permanently closed?”

He makes a face.

“You don't love me,” I say, “not really.”

Silence.

“You don't! What if I had surgery, and they accidentally permanently sewed up my vagina. Would you stay with me then?”

“Does that mean we could do anal?”

“No, we can't do anal! I just had a traumatic surgery and am lying there processing my new life as a vaginaless woman, and you want to do anal? How many times have I told you I don't want to do anal, ever? I mean ever, Brad. Get it through your head. And that is not going to change because I have a run-in with a tractor. Boy howdy, you can bet that rule will be as intact as ever.”

“But if you use the right lube and the guy goes slow…”

“No! God! I told you it feels disgusting and plus now I know you wouldn't stay with me if I had my vagina sewed up.” I can feel hot tears welling in my eyes. I do not want to cry, so I blink several times and tilt my head back, trying not to.

“Oh, come on,” he says, “don't do that.”

“You don't love me.” I cover my face with my hands and burst into tears. I expect him to comfort me, or put his arms around me, but he doesn't. He just sits there and stares. I keep crying. After a while I start sniffling and can only manage a few small crocodile tears. Still he doesn't move to help me. I can't believe this. How can a guy just sit there and do nothing when I'm weeping in front of him? Is he some sort of psychopathic monster? One of those narcissists who had an emotionally manipulative mother?

What am I saying? Of course he did.

I turn and look at him with my red eyes and mascara-streaked
face. Can't he see I'm in pain? Can't he see I need tenderness right now? But no, he's happy as a lark. In fact he tells me he has to go into work tomorrow, which is a Saturday. So not only is this fat bastard going to leave me if I have cancer; he's going to ditch me on a Saturday and I'm not even sick yet.