Not Quite A Bride (18 page)

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Authors: Kirsten Sawyer

BOOK: Not Quite A Bride
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36
The Real Cheater
I
'm really riding high now. I am finally into the fun parts of wedding planning, Brad and I have found a place where we can be friends in spite of Claire's restrictions, Justin is nicely filling in as the everyday best friend, and I no longer think about the way Evan dumped me.
Justin has even “officially” moved into the apartment. Obviously he isn't giving up his own place since he can't stay with me after the wedding, but we decided that him moving in was another key element to avoiding suspicion. So, we added his name to the answering machine and the mailbox ... and he went to Pottery Barn and picked up some “straight-guy knickknacks” to add to the apartment. I didn't have the heart to tell him that a) straight guys neither know what knickknacks are nor own them, and b) if they
did
own them, the ones he purchased wouldn't be them.
The Saturday after our engagement party, Justin and I are at D'Agostino together getting ingredients to make a special birthday dinner for Logan. Logan is spending the day relaxing at a spa, compliments of us, and I am following Justin around the store like a hired servant while he tries to figure out how to make lasagna (Logan's favorite) fat-free.
As he examines the fat content of different noodles, he orders me to get thirty ounces of fat-free ricotta cheese and report back to him immediately.
“Aye-aye, Captain,” I salute him before heading to the dairy section.
It takes me a while to figure out what I need because, of course, none of the brands make a thirty-ounce size, so I need to figure out if it's more cost-effective to get smaller ones that add up to thirty or a bigger one and not use all of it. I finally figure it out, add the items to my basket, and turn on my heel to head back to the noodle aisle ... but it doesn't happen quite like that.
I quite literally run headfirst into Evan. Of course, because of my size I run headfirst into his hard chest and don't realize who it is until I look up, up, and straight into his green eyes. We both look like deer caught in headlights. While one part of me is angry and hurt that he never called, the other part holds a shimmer of hope that this reunion is just what we needed to rekindle the spark.
“Um, Molly, hi,” he mumbles at the exact same time that I mumble, “Gee, Evan, hello.” Then we both laugh awkwardly and stare at each other.
“So, um, how are you?” he asks.
“Oh, me—I'm great. You?”
“Great, too.”
The exchange is followed by some awkward nodding. I'm trying to figure out what to say next, but before I do, a third person joins our exchange.
“Honey, did you find my strawberry yogurt?” a voice calls from behind Evan.
His expression of fear increases greatly as he whirls around.
“Got it right here, hon!” he screeches in a frightened tone.
As he says this, the eater of the strawberry yogurt comes up and joins us. She looks at Evan, then at me, and then smiles warmly.
“Hi, I'm Jenny,” she says as she extends a friendly hand toward me.
At this moment, Evan jumps in as if his life depends on it, taking only a split second to regain his composure. “Jenny, this is Molly. Molly is a friend of Maggie, Pete's wife, and we met at their wedding.”
“Oh, that's awesome,” Jenny nods enthusiastically. “I was so sorry to miss their big day.”
Wait ... now I'm confused ... who is this girl? I must be staring at her with some sort of strange expression because she asks me if I'm okay.
“Who are you?” I ask, without trying to sound too accusatory.
She giggles for a second. “I'm Jenny, Evan's fiancée.”
I giggle, too ... then I realize what she said. Evan's fiancée? My giggle abruptly ends and I stare at Jenny and Evan with my mouth hanging slightly open. Jenny is stunning. . . she has a curvy, knockout figure, tan skin, and cascades of dark, curly hair. Next to her, I feel completely mousy. And her voice really is sexy ... not trying and failing to sound sexy. She probably couldn't stop sounding sexy if she wanted to. Just as I realize that I've been staring too long without saying anything, I hear Justin hollering my name—a little too gaily, I might add—from somewhere inside the market.
I close my eyes for a split second and pray that he doesn't find me ... he does, of course. He comes up behind me and slips his arm around my waist, flawlessly transitioning from gay best friend mode and into fiancé mode.
“Hi,” he says to Evan and Jenny, “I'm Justin, Molly's fiancé.”
I look sheepishly at their faces ... Evan's does an exact replica of what mine had done seconds earlier, but he catches himself faster than I did.
“Nice to meet you—I'm Evan. This is my fiancée, Jenny.”
“How do you all know each other?” Justin asks cheerfully.
“Evan is a friend of Maggie's husband, Pete,” I answer quickly.
“Oh, fantastic. Were you both at their wedding?” he asks them.
“Evan was a groomsman,” Jenny explains. “Unfortunately, I was stuck in California that weekend.”
“You were stuck in California that weekend?” I parrot. That means that since the very first time I met Evan he had a fiancée? What a creep!
“Yes ... my job sends me away a lot.”
“That's cool,” Justin continues. “What do you do?” He has no clue.
“Well, I was a sales rep, but with our big day right around the corner, I'm on leave,” Jenny continues chatting with Justin as if they are old friends. “How long have you two been engaged and when's the big day?”
“We've been engaged ... oh, let's see ... since September and we're getting married in June.”
“You're been engaged since
September
?” Evan asks, looking directly at me.
“That's right ... how long have
you
been engaged?”
“
October,
” he emphasizes, clearly trying to make the point that I was engaged before him.
“Well, congratulations,” I say coolly. “Nice meeting you, Jenny. You've got a swell guy here.” I turn and start walking away, feeling like I might throw up, while Justin says his good-byes and nice-to-meet-yous.
Can you believe that? He had a girlfriend all the time?!? That poor thing was probably away on business in California while he was screwing my brains out in a New York hotel room. Sure, I might have been cheating on my fake, gay fiancé. . . but that is totally different from what he did.
I pause for a second so that Justin can catch up with me, and when he does I give his arm a grateful squeeze. I'm so lucky that I have him and don't have to deal with creeps like Evan.
37
Wedding Planning, Shower Planning
A
ccording to Martha (and Marion), six months before the wedding date we should have: finalized the wedding date, reserved ceremony and reception locations, completed the guest list and organized the addresses, chosen attendants, and ordered my dress. I am proud to say that I get checks for all of them!
Unfortunately, she also says that I should have: ordered the wedding cake, booked the caterer, booked the music for the ceremony and reception, booked the photographer and videographer, arranged for wedding-day transportation, ordered invitations and thank-you notes, booked the calligrapher, reserved groom's attire, chosen attendants' attire, purchased lingerie, chosen favors, chosen gifts for the wedding party, reserved accommodations for out-of-town guests, and hired a florist.
She doesn't offer many hints on how to accomplish all this ... especially when you are planning a baby shower at the same time and trying to complete your Christmas shopping. Jamie's shower is less than a week away and I am running around like a chicken with its head cut off.
Somehow, with the help of my mother and Justin, I managed to reserve a private room at one of Jamie's favorite restaurants, Isabella's, and send out invitations to her specific list of forty-two guests. I have neatly recorded the thirty-nine “yes” RSVPs, and that is about all that I have accomplished. In the next seventy-two hours, I need to figure out favors, menu selections, centerpieces, and order a cake. Perhaps I can order the wedding cake and the baby shower cake at the same time and kill two birds with one stone?
On Wednesday, I am on the phone with my mother during lunch, trying to figure out a few of these details. We are going back and forth over which two salads should be offered. I am sticking firmly to Chinese chicken salad and Classic Cobb (Jamie's favorite and mine). Mom is obsessed with providing a vegetarian selection and a pasta choice. I swear, I included her to make things easier for me (and cheaper), but she's made every step of the way more complicated. She
has
made it cost me a lot less, though, so I am forced to deal with her insanity. Finally, after a three-way call to the restaurant (whoever gave mothers access to technology should be shot), we settle on three choices: the Chinese chicken, the Cobb, and a pasta
alla checca
(pasta
and
vegetarian, thank you to Nathan at Isabella's). We are about to do battle over party favors when I am rescued by my lunch bell.
I try not to pull my hair out for the next three hours of book reports, current events, and division with students who are only interested in Santa Claus, menorahs, and ski trips. Finally the last nanny has picked up the only remaining student and I have until 8 A.M. tomorrow to think 100% about Jamie's shower, breaking only to think about my long and incomplete Christmas list.
I bundle myself up to prepare for my short walk home and think about shower favors as I head back to my apartment. Baby-shower favors are trickier than you might think. We all know that Jamie is fussy, and, in typical Jan Brady fashion, she's been very sensitive about getting her fair share of attention since she is pregnant and I'm “just engaged.” I know that if I go with any of the traditional shower-type gifts that she will be disappointed with my lack of creativeness ... but I have severe time and money constraints that could prevent what I know would be her dream favors. Who knew that planning a baby shower would be so stressful?!? Not to mention the fact that my sneaky brain keeps thinking about wedding favors instead of baby-shower favors.
I enter the apartment to find Logan sitting on the couch, reading a book ... which I guess is an improvement over watching TV. While he doesn't seem as down all the time as he did a few months ago, he still hasn't gotten motivated enough to do much besides move the remainder of his belongings from his childhood room at home to the second bedroom of my apartment ... oops,
our
apartment—I've been corrected many times.
“Mom left four messages for you,” he informs me.
That's our mom ... she knows exactly what time school lets out, which is exactly why I turned my phone off for my walk home so that I could think. Poor Logan.
“Thanks, I'll call her back. Any fun ideas for Jamie's baby-shower favors?” I ask him as I head toward my bedroom, peeling off the numerous layers needed to keep from freezing outside.
“Nope.”
Just as I'd expected.
I collapse on my bed and try to quickly think of some good favor suggestions before calling my mom back. Unfortunately, I not only can't think of anything good for Jamie, I can't think of anything good for the wedding, either. Before I have a chance to dial the phone, it rings again and I know it's her.
“Where have you been?” she asks.
“Sorry, walking home from school,” I answer truthfully.
“Your phone wasn't on.”
“The battery died,” I lie seamlessly ... it's truly awful how good at lying I've become in the past four months.
“Do you have the list of things you need to do before Saturday?”
“Yes,” I answer miserably, knowing how hard they will be to accomplish.
“Good, I'm trusting you with the favors, centerpieces, and cake.”
What?!? She's trusting me with all that stuff? My mother, of all people, should know how untrustworthy I am!
“Do you have any favor ideas?”
“Honestly, Molly, I haven't had much time to think about it. I'm trying to plan a wedding, you know. I've gotta run, sweetie ... I was supposed to call Marion fifteen minutes ago, but I was waiting for your call.” CLICK.
Okay, I think we have some obvious problems here. 1) I am the bride ... why does she seem to think that she is the one planning the wedding? And 2) What am I going to do about the stuff for Jamie's shower?!? In a panic, I do what any girl would—I call my fake, gay fiancé.
As always, he is there for me. Well, not here for me this exact second as he is at work, but he promises to come “home” (Justin calls my apartment home now, too ... it's like I run a boardinghouse!) as soon as his shift finishes and to bring restaurant food and favor ideas with him ... salvation is on the way. I look down at my list. The next thing is the centerpieces.
Thankfully, Marion gave me a list of “Plaza Approved” vendors, which includes florists in Manhattan that they believe work to The Plaza's high standards. I flip through the information she gave me and see that one of the florists is only a few blocks from my apartment. My Secret Garden—that's the one for me! I check the clock and think there is a good chance they could still be open, so I put all my outdoor gear back on and head out to take care of the flowers while I'm waiting for Justin to come and save the favor day.
I'm on such a roll ordering flowers for Jamie's shower that I don't even realize how much time has passed until my cell phone rings. It's Justin.
“I'm here with food and you're not,” he says jokingly.
“Oh no! I'm on my way. Keep it warm!”
I explain to the florist that my fiancé is waiting for me ... I get a giddy schoolgirl feeling whenever I use the word “fiancé” in everyday life. I pay her the deposit for the shower flowers and arrange to pick them up and a time to come back to make the final flower selections for the wedding.
“Bring your fiancé,” she instructs me.
“Great idea!” I agree, knowing that Justin's taste in flowers is bound to be as flawless as his taste in everything else is.
I make it home faster than I got there and join the boys, who didn't wait for me, over the seared ahi rolls and Saporos.
“Good news!” I exclaim. “Favors are taken care of (Iris brilliantly suggested making the centerpieces potted roses that guests can keep) ... tonight we can actually relax!”
They cheer as we all dig in.

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