Me vs. Me (20 page)

“But admit it, you're in-in-treeked. We should be having this conversation over drinks.”

“I'm already in bed.”

“Fine, let's have it at your place.”

Patience, I remind myself. Think of your job. “Definitely not. I have a roommate.”

“The more the merrier.”

And then I laugh. I can't help it. His audacity amazes me. “I don't think that's her thing.”

“I've been known to change a girl's mind. What's your address?”

“You are so not coming over.”

“All right, Arizona. I give up for tonight. Tonight only. I'll see you in the morning. Wear that silky pink top of yours. The one where I can see down your shirt. Sweet dreams. I know you'll be in mine.”

I knew I shouldn't wear that pink shirt to work. From now on I'm only wearing turtlenecks in front of Ron. “Good night, Ron.” I end the call and stare at the dead phone.

Fuck. What the hell am I supposed to do? Maybe I should tell Curtis. She can tell me what to do. Although her first warning to me was that Ron was married and that I should keep my hands off. I doubt telling Curtis that I'm having personal issues with her bread-and-butter is going to help me. If she has to take sides, she's going to take his. And if it gets messy, I'm the one who'll be shown the door.

Perhaps I should go to HR. Maybe they can help. Or maybe not. I don't have any proof. Ron = ratings. Gabby = gone. I toss and turn and toss and turn.

Hire a lawyer? Go to the press?

Heather throws open the door.

Wonderful. Just who I feel like talking to now. “Yes, Heather?”

“Please ask your friends to not call in the middle of the night. Some of us are trying to sleep.”

I so don't feel like dealing with her right now. “I thought you're an insomniac.”

“That's hardly the point. New rule. No calls past eleven.”

“Heather, as long as I'm paying half the rent, I'm going to get calls whenever I want.”

“Then maybe you should find yourself a new apartment.” She slams my bedroom door.

Excellent. A perfectly shitty end to a perfectly shitty night.

A thought occurs to me. If I leave this reality, will it cease to exist altogether? Or will Heather soon be advertising for another roommate? Will there be an investigation regarding my sudden demise?

Will Cam be too busy bopping Lila to give a rat's ass?

 

Three weeks to the wedding! All the reply cards have been received. (Sent to Alice's of course. “But dear, it makes more sense this way. You'll probably lose them.”) The orange flowers, the party favors (silver picture frames), the menu (salad, dumplings, orange chicken or teriyaki salmon), the five-tier white wedding cake—everything has been arranged. Alice has taken care of it all. Except for the part about me in the white dress, I am practically a guest at this wedding.

I am sitting in the living room listlessly watching TV and packing Cam's stuff while he works on his insurance case, so we'll be ready to move into the new place right after the wedding. I wanted to move in earlier and take a honeymoon right after the wedding, but I was told that that was a bad idea.

“It's better that you go after Blair's baby is born,” Alice said. “You don't want to have to come home for it.”

Of course there's the issue of where to go. I want to go somewhere exotic. Like Kenya or Fiji. Alice disagrees.

“You should go to Hawaii. Richard and I loved it there. And you can get super specials in the summer.”

Ever since I found out about the miscarriages, it's been hard for me to put my foot down. Not that I was great at it before, but at least I was trying. These days I'm pathetic. I finally relate to Viagra commercials—I feel seriously impotent. I would have thought that the strength I've been gaining in New York would spill over. But instead, it's inversely related. The stronger I feel there, the weaker I am here.

I think this box can fit one more book, tops. There we go. I close the folds, then tape it all the way around so it stays closed. “Hey,” I say to Cam, realizing that he's joined me.

He shakes his head. “That's not the best way to do it.”

“To do what?”

“To tape a box. You should tape it up first and then pack it. If you tape it after it's packed, it's going to rip. Let me show you.” He sits next to me on the floor, sets up a box, then tapes it. Of course, it looks perfect. “See, that makes more sense.”

“Things you should know,” I say warily.

“It'll make packing easier. Trust me.”

“Do you know everything?”

“Yes,” he says and winks. He must see the weary expression on my face because he asks, “What's wrong?”

Sigh. “Nothing.”

“Something's wrong Gabby. I can tell something's bothering you.” He sits down beside me. “You seem kind of unhappy lately. What can I do?”

“I'm fine.” I say and bite my thumbnail.

“How come you started biting again?”

I take my hand out of my mouth. “Just nervous. Wedding stuff.”

“Don't be nervous,” he says soothingly. “Everything is going to be fine.”

I take a deep breath. “It's just that, well, sometimes I feel kind of useless.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Like I can't do anything right.”

“That's ridiculous,” he says, sounding like Alice. “You shouldn't be so insecure.”

You shouldn't be so patronizing,
I think but don't say. It occurs to me that he's gotten more patronizing as I've gotten more insecure.

“Anyway, you do a lot of things right.”

“Like what?”

He pushes aside the box and kisses me on the mouth. “You kiss pretty good.”

I smile through my sadness. “That doesn't count.”

“It definitely does. You're a terrific kisser. And you're smart and sexy. You're brimming with usefulness. Overflowing.”

If I'm brimming, why do I feel so empty? Sometimes I feel like a ghost. As if no one can see or hear me.

As if I'm not really here at all.

Don't Forget to Smile

“S
urprise!”

Not again. Not another surprise party. Only this one isn't an engagement party. I have just stepped into my surprise bridal shower, and all the guests are female. At least fifty women are gathered in Alice's house, a few I recognize, most I don't.

Orange streamers are draped on the walls; platters of square sandwiches and potato salad line the countertops; piles of gifts are stacked by the fireplace. I was told to come over for an emergency seating-plan crisis, but I realize too late that the pleading phone call was just a ruse.

“You have to see the look on your face!” shrieks Jessica. “You had no idea, did you?”

I scan the room to see just who exactly is here and am relieved to spot my mother, in the corner, with a none-too-pleased expression on her face, eating a dry celery stick, and then Melanie, on the couch and deep in conversation with Lila.

Oh no, Lila. I've pretty much come up with every excuse in the book so I won't have to see her. But here she is, in all her fiancé-stealing glory.

I say hello to strange faces as I make my way toward my mother. “Surprise,” she says, with more than a touch of bitterness.

“I can't believe you didn't warn me,” I whisper.

“What, and ruin all the fun?”

“I said I didn't want a shower.”

“I know. So you can imagine my surprise when I got the invitation in the mail. It was so nice of her to consider consulting me on the date.”

I sigh. “I've learned to just shrug it off.”

“Now you're going to have spend your whole life shrugging things off. You should have confronted her at the beginning and nipped this mother-in-law problem in the bud months ago.” She stabs her celery stick in the air to make a point. “You're in for years and years of aggravation.”

Have I ever confronted anyone? “That's a wonderful thing to say to your daughter the week before her wedding.”

“They don't pay me to sugarcoat.”

“What does that even mean?” I grab onto her arms. “I need to say hello to my two friends. Come with me?” I'm afraid to leave her alone in case she attacks someone.

“Go ahead. I want to check out the house. I was thinking of sneaking into Alice's sock drawer and mixing them all up so none of them match. I bet that would drive her nuts. Then maybe I'll just hide in her closet until this is over.”

“Try to control yourself. I'll be back soon.” I reluctantly let go of her arm and head over to my friends. Along the way, I notice that Alice's friends and family (which is ninety-nine percent of this party) are staring at Melanie, the Monica Lewinsky of Arizona.

“Thank you so much for coming,” I say, hugging her, feeling awful that she has to endure all this unpleasant attention today. Next to Alice's yapping friends, the tabloids seem tame.

Melanie squeezes me tightly. “Wouldn't miss it for the world.”

I guess now I have to hug Lila. “Hey.”

“I can't believe it's your shower!” she sings. “You're almost a married woman.”

“I know.”

“You sure you're ready for this? You'll never have sex with another man.”

“That's usually what marriage means.”

Melanie puts her arm around me. “You guys are meant to be. I just know it.”

Lila winks. “It'll be a sad day for the singles of Arizona when you two are officially off the market.”

I know she's kidding and that her comment was entirely appropriate (within the context of this conversation), but it still sends willies down my spine. You don't just wake up one morning and find your roommate's ex-boyfriend sexy. You harbor a crush on him, waiting for your chance, waiting to pounce. Waiting for his girlfriend to move to New York. No, I'm convinced that even in this world, Lila has a thing for Cam.

There's a sourness in my mouth, a sourness I can't swallow away. I look for the platter of celery to clean my palate, but don't see it. “Has either of you seen the veggie plate?”

Melanie shakes her head. “I don't think there is one.”

So where did that celery stick come from? Oh, God. My mom brought her own carb-free snacks from home. I start biting my fingers again. How insanely embarrassing. How insane, period. I should never have let her go off on her own. When my mother is in one of her insane phases, she's a serious danger—I'd better find her before she does any serious damage to Alice's sock drawer, I decide. “I'll be right—”

“Excuse me! Excuse me!” shrieks Alice. “It's the time we've all been looking forward to. The time to play How Well Does the Bride Know the Groom?”

I wonder if I can join my mother in that closet.

“Gabrielle, you have to sit here,” says Alice, pointing to a chair that has been decorated with—shock of all shocks—orange streamers. “I've asked Cam twenty questions about himself, which he answered. Now I'm going to ask you the same questions. Every time you get an answer wrong, you have to take another piece of gum.” She points to the bowl on the coffee table, which is overflowing with Bazooka bubble gum.

I cannot believe I am going to have to participate in such a lame game. I cannot believe how embarrassed I'm going to be when I get all these answers wrong. This is the most miserable game I have ever heard of, obviously invented by a group of sadistic mothers-in-law hoping to humiliate their future daughters-in-law. I fake a smile and sit.

My mother takes this opportunity to rejoin the party. She leans against the wall and waves. She unzips her purse and removes a plastic bag filled with celery sticks.

“Here we go!” chirps Alice. She takes out a stack of white index cards and begins reading aloud. “What is Cam's favorite color?” She leers at me, waiting for me to get the answer wrong.

The pressure, the pressure! The crowd of strangers is staring at me, waiting for me to say the wrong answer. But wait! I know that one! It's…“Purple!” I say triumphantly.

“Yes,” says Alice, checking the back of the card.

The crowd claps politely.

“What was his first pet?”

“Ruffles the cockatoo is the only pet he ever had.”

“Right again,” Alice says and the crowd claps.

I look up at my mom and she gives me a thumbs-up.

“What is Cam's favorite movie?”

Hmm. That's a tough one. “His true favorite movie is
Caddyshack.
But there's no way he'd admit that, so I'm going to go with
Vanilla Sky.
”

“Right again,” she says, sounding more than a little surprised. “Plus you got the next question right, too—what's his favorite movie that he's too embarrassed to admit?”

More clapping. I'm on a roll! Except my audience is starting to fidget. I think they're getting bored.

“What is Cam's favorite meal?” Since Alice's eyes are twinkling for this one, it's not too hard to figure out.

“Coconut shrimp.”

She smiles, but then the questions start coming fast and furious.

Alice: “How old is his oldest pair of underwear?”

Me: “Eleven years.” I have to admit it makes me uncomfortable that Alice has any information regarding Cam's underwear.

Alice: “What is my son's favorite sports team?”

Me: “The Cardinals.” And this is supposed to be hard?

She fans the index cards. “You know, this game is getting a bit tedious. Let's play something else.”

Hey, I was just starting to have fun! Sure, they were all excited about the game when they thought my mouth would be stuffed with gum. “No, let's continue,” I say. This is my chance to show Alice that her son confides in me. That I'm important to him. That I'm the next queen of his court.

“How about bridal bingo?” the very pregnant Blair asks.

“I think we should finish this game,” says my mom from the back of the room.

Alice rolls her eyes. “But it's boring.”

“My daughter wants to continue, so let's continue.” There is an edge to my mother's voice. One I recognize.

“I don't want to,” Alice says, eyes slit.

My mom reaches into her purse, then into a plastic bag, and slowly, purposefully, removes a celery stick, lifts it high above her head…

Oh, God. She's going to do it. She's going to throw the stick at Alice.

…tilts her hand into tossing position…

Don't do it! Mom, no!

“I think Gabby should finish the game,” Melanie pipes up.

After an audible gasp in the room at the sound of the quasi-celebrity's voice, Alice mutters a quick, “Fine, we'll finish the ridiculous game. What does Cam like on his pizza?”

The celery stick pauses in midair. Then, instead of soaring across the room, it finds its way to my mother's mouth.

Chomp.

Whew. “Pineapple and pepperoni,” I answer.

My mom winks at me, and I wink back.

 

When I get home, Cam is waving a bottle of champagne.

“What's this for?” I ask.

He's smiling. “We closed the house today.”

“Really? Wow. Congrats.”

“Congrats to us.” He pops the cork and it flies into the ceiling, making a smacking sound and a slight dent in the paint. “Whoops.”

“At least we don't own this place.”

He pours the champagne into two glasses—two glasses we registered for. “In the new place, we'll be opening all bottles outside.”

 

Tuesday, the week before I get married, I step out of the elevator and there he is.

There
they
are.

Nate and Mystery Woman. They're standing outside the building, on the other side of the glass doors, talking. But not regular how-are-you talking. Not that I can hear them. Not that I need to. You know how in TV shows, the characters are always standing absurdly close together so the cameraman can get the right shot? And you hope that the actors carry around breath mints or spray because their faces are barely a millimeter apart? That's how close Nate and Mystery Woman are. His hand is in fact touching her upper arm. I peer. At least, I think it's her upper arm.

My feet are stapled to the lobby floor. Heather was right. Nate has hooked up with someone else. A coworker, perhaps? Jerk. Ass-wipe. He sleeps with me (yes, yes, not sleep-sleep, but still) and says he'll call, but doesn't even have the courtesy to tell me he's seeing someone else. Or the courtesy to tell me that I should no longer be waiting for his call! It's been many weeks and I haven't been staring at the phone, praying for it to ring, but I have occasionally glanced at it while cursing its silence.

He steps into the street and hails a cab. He and Mystery Woman get inside. And I thought that hailing was something he did just for me.

I feel like crying.

But the crappy part is, the absolute worst part, is that it's not because of Nate's rejection. No, I feel like crying because I feel empty. Like a shell. Because I realize that I don't really care that Nate rejected me. Because as much as I wanted to find someone new to be in love with, Nate didn't really matter to me at all.

And that's what makes me want to scream, to kick, to cry.

The fact that I may never love anyone the way I love Cam.

 

“Follow me, everyone,” instructs Tricia, physically placing us in order. It's Thursday evening and we're in the middle of the wedding rehearsal at the hotel. So far the evening is going relatively smoothly, except for a few small concerns: one, my mother has been eyeing Alice like a lion eyes a gazelle; two, Blair looks so pregnant that I'm afraid she might give birth at the ceremony; and three, I'm concerned that I'm going to feel like a guest at my own wedding, since I barely know any of the people on the guest list. And I only like one of my bridesmaids. Furthermore, I didn't choose the menu. Or the flowers. Or the tablecloths. Or the band. Safe to say, it's nothing like that beach ceremony I used to dream about.

And the groom? Is
he
the man of my dreams?

“Now you have to walk slowly,” Tricia is saying. “One foot in front of the other, and don't forget to smile.”

First the grandparents, then the bridesmaids and ushers, then Blair and Matt, Alice and Richard, Cam, Lila, my mom and then my dad (yes, they each walk on their own).

As I wait my turn, I feel like a fraud. And it's not because I'm wearing a blue sundress, although that isn't helping. It's because I promised myself that I would have to decide ASAP which life I want, and ASAP has already passed. I still don't know. I don't want to be married in one life and remain fancy-free in another. It's just wrong. I'm getting married in four my-time days (two Arizona days) and I'm still torn. One second I think I should get married, the next second I think it's a mistake. I have to choose one life over the other, once and for all. But I can't make up my stupid mind. And the worst part is, even if I do finally make a decision, what then? Will I even be able to actually choose? Deep down I believe that the act of choosing a life will block the other one out, but what if I'm wrong? What if I'm destined to spend my whole life divided?

“Your turn, honey!” my mom calls from down the aisle. “Keep your shoulders down!”

“Yes, Gabs,” says my dad. “You don't want to look like a quarterback.”

Hey, look at this! My parents are getting along.

“No!” both Alice and Tricia shriek simultaneously. I stop in my tracks.

“The bride absolutely cannot be part of the rehearsal,” Tricia says.

Alice runs up the aisle. “It's bad luck,” she says, at my side again and breathless.

It's a wedding miracle. My parents are agreeing. Alice and Tricia are agreeing. I better not have entered another parallel universe. I really shouldn't joke.

Tricia says, “The maid of honor is usually the stand-in.”

“Blair, get over here!” calls Alice.