Not Quite A Bride (14 page)

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Authors: Kirsten Sawyer

BOOK: Not Quite A Bride
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24
Shouting It from the Rooftops
I
wake up the next morning and am surprised how well I slept. I thought I would be too nervous or too excited, but I guess after such an exhausting week nothing was holding me back. I creep into the living room, half believing that Logan and Justin will still be where I left them and still be talking. They aren't, though. Logan is gone, presumably in his bed, and Justin is stretched out—as best he can—and hanging over the couch.
I cross the room and sneak into the kitchen to get the coffee going. Once I have a full mug in my hand, I tiptoe up to Justin and gently shake him awake. His eyes open, partially, and I hold up the coffee cup so he can see it.
“Coffee,” I whisper.
He makes a small grunt, pushes himself up to a sitting position, and stretches. His bones make some disturbing cracking noises as he takes the mug from me.
“You know this couch pulls out to a bed, don't you?”
“No, I wasn't aware,” a grumpy Justin answers.
Normally in the mornings I wait for Justin's coffee to kick in before I speak to him, but today I cannot wait.
“How did last night go? How's Logan?”
Justin takes a big, slow gulp of the coffee before fully opening his eyes and looking at me.
“I think he's doing as well, or better, than anyone else in his situation. You made the right decision to tell him the truth—it was very unselfish of you. I feel like talking to me helped him a lot. He said it did, anyway.”
I am overwhelmed with relief. I had been worrying about Logan from the second he told me his news. Now that I feel like Logan is definitely going to be okay and I know I have Justin on his side, I turn my attention to spreading the fake word about the fake engagement. I start with my mother because I realize she'll never forgive me if she isn't first—plus, I'm sure Dad told her about his conversation with Justin, which means for a week she's been waiting by the phone for my call.
I give Justin a hug good-bye at the door (he's going home to try to catch a few hours' sleep in a normal bed before he does a lunch shift) and then pick up the cordless and dial my mother. She answers on the first ring, so I guess I wasn't that far off when I said she'd been sitting by the phone, waiting for my call.
“Mommy ... ” I taunt her.
“Yes?” she plays the game back.
“Guess what happened yesterday?”
“I have no idea. Why don't you tell me?”
“Come on,” I urge, “guess.”
“I can't. You tell me.”
Finally I end her suspense. “I'm engaged!”
“I know you are!” she cheers.
It's both thrilling and dismaying how excited my mom is. In the week she's known it was coming, she's already started wedding planning. She has location suggestions for me to look at, florists for me to talk to, dress styles for me to consider. All that is the thrilling part ... what is the dismaying part is the little angel on my right shoulder constantly reminding me that I am a liar, liar, pants on fire. I allow the devil on my left shoulder to shush the angel and I resolve to enjoy my moment.
My mom really has been working on this project already, so I spend a good half an hour on the phone with her, hearing about everything that she has researched.
And
, she's made an appointment for us to look at the banquet room at The Plaza hotel next Saturday at three, since when I was a little girl I always said I wanted to get married there. The fact that she remembers this brings a tear to my eye, the fact that it might actually happen brings the tear rolling down my cheek. We chat, excitedly, a little longer until I convince her that I have to get off so that I can tell other people, namely Jamie.
When Jamie answers, I immediately say, “I'm engaged,” and she immediately squeals and screams and then reassures Bryan that she is totally fine.
“Oh my God, I can't believe it. I'm so happy for you!” she gushes.
“Thank you,” I say, beaming through the phone line.
“Uh-oh, when will the wedding be?” she asks.
Why “uh-oh,” I think to myself. “The end of June, June 30th,” I say, cautiously.
“Oh, thank goodness ... the baby will be born! I was afraid it was going to be when I was really huge and there would be a risk I would pee during the ceremony.”
Jeez, again with the pee fear.
“No, don't worry,” I say patronizingly. “You'll be back to normal, and I want you to be my maid of honor.”
“Matron of honor,” she corrects me before agreeing to it.
“Do you know how many bridesmaids you're going to have?” Jamie asks.
“I've been thinking just you,” I tell her.
The truth is that a) I'm not a big fan of big wedding parties. . . sometimes it can start looking a little crowded up there, and b) I would feel too guilty making a ton of my friends buy dresses for a fake wedding ... even though nobody but me, Justin, and Logan will ever know it's fake. Plus, c) I've been in so many people's weddings that to select a small group from all those girls would be sure to hurt feelings, whereas just having my sister avoids it. And, d) it turns out that my sister is
extremely
touched by this.
“Just me? Molly, I'm so honored. I promise you that I will be the best Matron of Honor ever.”
“Thank you, Jamie ... I know you will be.”
And the truth is that I really do believe that she will be. It is the ideal job for her. She loves weddings and anything to do with them. She's creative and generous, plus her love of the spotlight will work perfectly because she'll like the attention of throwing showers and planning bachelorette parties. She loves to be in charge. And it's an added bonus that I know she has good taste, since her own wedding was stunning.
Jamie and Bryan got married at Bryan's family's country club on Long Island. It was a fantastic location, made worlds better by Jamie's meticulous flower selections, insistence on far more votive candles than anyone on earth thought necessary, and one of the best wedding bands I've ever heard. She looked more beautiful than I'd ever seen her in a white chiffon, strapless gown, which was perfect for her petite frame. It was floor-length and flowed perfectly when she walked and danced. She even chose the only bridesmaid's dress I have ever worn and not only not hated, but wore again (to my friend Sabrina's wedding later that summer)! It was also chiffon and strapless, but hit just below the knee in a stunning grass green color. I actually still have it—not in the dress graveyard, but hanging in my closet!
“Have you started thinking about your dress?” she asks as I am remembering hers.
“Honestly, no,” and I can't help but giggle, because I have thought about my wedding dress practically every day of my life, except the one and a half I've been engaged. “I mean, I have an idea of what I want just from seeing dresses on other people and walking through Barney's bridal department every time I am near the store, but I haven't given it serious thought yet.”
“How about me? What should I wear?”
“Gosh, I hadn't thought about it yet. What do you want to wear?”
I'd never been able to nail down a bridesmaid's dress style, color, etc., that I wanted. I know it wouldn't be big, or ugly ... but then did any of these brides who had tortured me realize they were doing it?
“Maybe something similar to what I wore in yours?” I offer, tentatively ... Jamie's always sensitive about people “copying” her.
“Mine were stunning, weren't they?” she replies confidently.
Her modesty amuses me.
“You should pick your dress first, though,” she explains expertly, “so that my neckline will compliment yours ... it'll look better in pictures.”
I nod ... that makes sense. I can tell that while Jamie will be annoying at times, no doubt about it, she will also be a wealth of information. She gives me a list of book titles I need to pick up, and another list of things that I need to accomplish immediately, and makes me promise to call and check in with biweekly updates before she will hang up. As I set the phone back on its cradle, I'm smiling ear to ear.
I flip through my phone book and call all the important friends and relatives (the ones Mom hasn't already gotten to, anyway) and share the exciting news. I graciously accept their “Congratulations” and “Best wishes,” and answer questions about Justin and any plans made so far. All in all, it's a pretty fun way to spend the morning. There is only one downer ... I keep flipping past Brad's name and I'm not quite sure what to do about it.
Should I call him? Are we on speaking terms? Will we ever be on speaking terms again? I haven't heard from him (and, obviously he hasn't heard from me) since the awkward night of Logan's outing, but I decide to, once again, be the bigger, better person and I dial his cell (I said bigger and better ... not braver), hoping that on a Sunday he'd be busy at some sporting event and I could leave a generic message. No such luck.
“Hello?” he answers.
“Hi, Brad ... it's Molly,” I say, awkwardly.
“Oh, Molly. Hi,” he replies stiffly. “I meant to call you, to see how Logan is doing ... but ...”
“Right,” I cut in. “He's doing okay. Thanks for asking.”
“Sure.”
“That's actually not why I called you.”
“Oh, what's up?” he asks cautiously.
“I'm engaged.”
After a long beat of silence, he says, “Really?”
That's right ... not “Congratulations,” not “Best wishes,” not even, “Wow.” “Really?” A question.
“Really,” I confirm.
“I guess that makes you happy.”
“Yes, really happy,” I reply defensively. “We're getting married June 30.”
He snorts, “You've gotta be kidding me.”
“No. We've set our date.”
“And you've set it for one week before my wedding. Nice, Molly.”
Oops ... totally an oversight. I hadn't thought at all about when Claire and Brad were tying the knot when Justin and I agreed that the last weekend in June seemed like the perfect time.
“I guess so. Is that a problem?”
“I guess not. Well, congratulations. I have to go now.”
“Thanks,” I say, but before it's completely out of my mouth I hear CLICK.
I shake my head a little ... that was weird. Could have been better, could have been worse ... couldn't have been weirder.
I decide that I've done enough spreading of the good news for one day and snuggle into my big couch with the remainder of the summer vacation essays.
25
Brunch With the Girls
T
he next week flies by. Logan has remained a permanent fixture on my couch and I'm pretty convinced that he has decided to move in, permanently, without informing anyone. Every evening he and Justin talk, endlessly, and I whisper on the phone to my mother the updates of how I think he is doing. I think he's talked to Mom a few times, and maybe to Dad once. Mom has not asked me when he's coming home, though, and he hasn't mentioned going back there. Justin has either slept on the pull-out sofa, or taken a cab back to Brooklyn after midnight when they are finally talked out.
Outside of the apartment, things have been hectic as well. Going to school on Monday and sharing my exciting news with all my co-workers was as much fun as I always thought it would be. Everyone oohed and aahed as I held my hand out for them to admire my ring. And my little students were all very excited that their teacher was going to be a bride, especially the little girls who are at an age when Barbie Bride is hot and weddings are already starting to be on the mind. I must admit that I felt a specific type of awful, lying to a room of eight-year-olds, but obviously they will never be scarred by what I'm doing, so it's okay. I just try to keep out of my head that I am technically supposed to be a role model for them.
So far, it seems like I have a great group of students this year. They have moved at top speed through my lesson plans, which is a good thing, but it also means that my evenings are spent adding to the next day's teaching and devising new ways of keeping them interested and involved. Between trying to keep an eye on Logan, dealing with my mother, and doing
my
homework, I've hardly had time to think about anything else.
On Saturday, I awake early and jump into the shower before either of the boys stirs. Today is my monthly “girls' morning out.” I meet Alex, Lauren, and Maggie at a coffee shop where we used to go to for hangover breakfasts in college. I am especially excited for this month's breakfast because for the first time ever, I won't be the lone single girl! I am certain that Lauren will be bouncing off the walls since her wedding is now a few weeks away, but now that I am also engaged, I don't feel the jealous pangs I used to. I'm excited to hear all of her details because I need to start planning some of my own. Plus, Maggie was just married a couple of months ago, so she should also be a wealth of information.
I'm out the door before the boys even stir and am the first one to arrive at the café, so I put our name in. It's become a popular and trendy breakfast spot over the years, which we credit ourselves with, but since we've been coming for so long, people know us and our wait is generally much less than the average two hours that so many New Yorkers are willing to wait for a cup of coffee and an omelet.
By the time the other three girls arrive, our table is being set and we are led in, followed by grumbles of “We got here before them,” and “I thought this place didn't take reservations.” I love the VIP feeling as we sit down and four mugs of coffee are immediately set in front of us. The reaching and grabbing for whole milk, cream, half-and-half, nonfat milk, sugar, raw sugar, and Sweet 'n Low—not Equal—begins and ends before Alex finally cries out, “Let us see your ring!”
I flash a beaming smile as I hold my hand over the table and try to look modest. I can tell by their reactions that they really do love the ring. This isn't a crowd to sugarcoat things. If they didn't like it, I would know.
“It's stunning,” Alex declares authoritatively.
“Thank you,” I gush as I replace my hand in my lap.
“So,” Maggie pipes in, “how do you like being engaged so far?”
“So far it's been wonderful ... it's only been a week.”
“I thought being engaged was the greatest thing ever,” Alex admits.
“Me, too,” Maggie agrees.
“Same here,” Lauren adds. “I'm starting to feel disappointed that it's almost over.”
The girls laugh and giggle about all the wonders and romance of being engaged. They talk about the princesslike experiences of their showers and dress fittings and champagne tasting; I listen carefully to every detail, and my excitement grows that I will finally be experiencing all this wonder.
“And engaged sex is the best sex!” Alex bursts out.
I'm a little shocked, but the other three girls immediately jump in with their agreement.
“I've only had sex nine times since I got married,” Maggie confesses, “and five of those were on the honeymoon.”
“Ugh,” Alex agrees, “and when you do have sex it's like, ‘Quick, hon ... SportsCenter's on a commercial.'”
“But when you're engaged,” Lauren gushes with a glow about her, “it's all about romance and being together. It's even better now than it was in the very beginning!”
“Don't you think, Molly?” Maggie asks me.
“Oh, absolutely.” I try to gush like Lauren had, terrified that they are seeing right through me.
“Yours must be amazing,” Lauren adds, “because you got engaged so quickly. So it's new sex
and
engaged sex in one. And obviously Justin is romantic to fall so head over heels and get engaged so quickly.”
“Definitely,” I agree lamely, “Justin is so romantic, it's just wonderful, every day of the week.”
“EVERY DAY?!?” they all gasp in unison, jaws hanging open.
“Sometimes twice a day!” I lay it on thick.
They respond with shocked-and jealous-sounding gurgles and chokes.
“Well, it's like you said ... new sex and engaged sex.”
While I realize I may have taken things a little far with the details of my fake sex life, part of me is rather pleased ... my fake sex life is better than their real ones!
Ha
, I think to myself, and I feel pretty smug about the situation. Having sex with a hot guy twice a day might be a fantasy for me, but that's what my whole fake wedding is about—living out my fantasy ... I might as well live it up.
After a while, the girls move on to other engagement topics. Lauren tells us about the last-minute fires she's putting out. Stuff like welcome bags for out-of-town guests, pedicure polish color decisions, and seating chart assignments. I take a million mental notes on everything the three girls say, but I must admit, I feel a little overwhelmed.
“You okay, little one?” Alex says to me.
“Yes, definitely ... just trying to take it all in. There's so much.”
The three experienced girls giggle.
“Don't worry,” Maggie explains. You just need to get a guide book—it lays out for you what needs to happen. You go by that schedule, and you're in good shape.”
“A guide book,” I say, nodding in understanding. That does make sense.
“Exactly,” Lauren joins in. “I'm using Martha Stewart's list, 'cause you know how much I love her, insider trading or not.”
“Oh yeah,” I agree. “I adore her, too. Where do I get her list?”
“Her book, her Web site, her magazine ... silly Molly,” Maggie laughs at me.
I'm starting to wish I'd brought a notepad to this brunch! By the time we leave we've had way too many cups of coffee, too many eggs, too much toast, and an ungodly amount of potatoes ... not to mention too many waiting patrons giving us stink-eye for taking our time. We walk out onto the sidewalk and give our hugs and kisses good-bye. Then we each go our separate direction—that's another good thing about this nostalgic breakfast location: it is also pretty central for all of us who live spread across the city now.
My head is kind of spinning from all the information I've gathered in the last two and a half hours. I wander up the street a few blocks and come across a newspaper stand. It is there that I purchase my first wedding magazine, as recommended for the list,
Martha Stewart Wedding.

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