Not Quite A Bride (6 page)

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Authors: Kirsten Sawyer

BOOK: Not Quite A Bride
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By the end of the evening, I'm quite tipsy. I kiss my family and friends good-bye, Justin kisses all the girls (on the cheek, of course), and shakes hands with all the men. It is clear that he has won everyone over ... even my dad! I go to say good-bye to Brad while Justin makes plans to get together with everyone over the next couple weeks. I finally find Brad, totally hammered, at the bar.
“Hey, we're leaving.”
“NO! Don't go. Don't leave me.”
“You're smashed, my friend. When can you get outta here?”
“I dunno.” His chin drops down to his chest. “I hate this shit.”
“What?”
“These fake events, all these fake people.”
I feel my cheeks flush as he emphasizes “fake.” Little does he know, I am quickly becoming the queen of it.
“You'd better get used to it—it's preparation for the wedding.”
He looks up, into my eyes, “I love you, Molly.”
“I love you, too, Bradley. Drink lots of water tonight, okay? I'll call you tomorrow.”
“No, Molly ... wait.”
I giggle for a second at his drunken slurring. “It was a lovely engagement party,” I lie through my teeth.
For a second I think Brad looks crestfallen ... I swear, that woman is squashing his spirit. I kiss him on the head and head toward the door.
“Molly!” he calls after me and I turn around, “Just be careful.”
“Don't worry, silly.”
I turn back and Justin is waiting for me at the door, waving at Brad. Brad gives him a kind of drunken wave/send-off and Justin and I leave the party, holding hands.
In the cab on the way home, Justin can't stop talking about how great everyone is. And he has made plans for us to go out with just about everyone in the coming weeks! He bonded with my mom over dancing, Jamie over teaching prenatal yoga, and even Bryan over eating paste in third grade! I can't help but beam at him.
I've never had a straight boyfriend that my family loved so much!
We laugh and recount all the funny anecdotes of the evening all the way back to my apartment. When the cab pulls to the curb, Justin asks the driver to wait a minute and I get the cold reminder that he isn't a real boyfriend and that I have to go upstairs alone. He walks me to the door and gives me a warm but purely friendly hug. Then he stands back and looks at me with a slightly uncomfortable face. It takes a second for me to realize what it is ... duh ... he wants to get paid. I open my purse and hand him the money.
“Thanks,” I say, “you were perfect.”
“I think we're in great shape, Molly. After all the plans we have made to see your family and friends, I don't think anyone will object to our quick engagement.”
I smile at him and agree, then give a little wave as I make my way through the door and he heads back to the cab.
Upstairs, alone in my apartment ... well, alone except for my loyal Tiffany, I start to feel really sad, but I'm really surprised at what I am sad about. Not being reduced to hiring a fake fiancé, not lying to my beloved friends and family, but sad that I am losing Brad. Seeing him miserable and wasted at his own engagement party had more of an effect than I realized while I was in the cloud of excitement over Justin's success.
Brad and I have shared everything for over a decade, and now I see that I won't have him. I mean, I assume Claire will allow us to remain friends ... at least acquaintances ... I hope, but there won't be any more middle-of-the-night calls, or watching
Survivor
over the phone, or going out for pancakes for dinner. This isn't right! It's an injustice!! I bawl myself to sleep and vow to try to rescue Brad in the morning.
9
Rescuing Brad, Part One
W
hen I wake up I have a plan. Don't worry! It's not another crazy scheme ... I won't be hiring anyone I saw advertised in the paper. I am going to be mature and adult ... and convince Brad to see the truth about Claire and call off the wedding. I call his apartment and immediately a glitch is thrown into my strategy when Claire answers his phone.
“Jeez, Molly. It's the morning after our first engagement party. Can't you give us some privacy?” CLICK.
“What the fuck?!?” I ask Tiffany.
Did that seriously happen? Number one: they aren't married yet ... should she be answering his phone? Number two: their
first
engagement party? How many do you get? Seriously ... how many? (Mental Side Note: I must look into how many engagement parties a couple gets ... I'm not completely objecting to more than one.) And number three: who is rude enough to hang up like that on someone? Answer to number three is: Claire. Number two I'll have to do some research about. Number one baffles me. So, I call Justin.
“Good morning, Girlfriend,” he greets me ... calling each other Boyfriend and Girlfriend is kind of an inside joke that also happens to increase the validity of our romance, since people in love tend to invent stupid pet names and call each other stuff like that.
“Hey there, Boyfriend. What are you up to today?”
“I was going to call and see if you wanted to meet for a low-fat muffin at ‘our place.'”
We also started calling Starbucks “our place,” which follows the same strategy I explained above.
“I can be there in twenty minutes looking crappy or one hour looking fabulous. Which will it be?”
“I'll see you in twenty.” CLICK.
See, I'm not totally sensitive to people hanging up on me. “'Bye” isn't always necessary—this hang-up didn't bother me one bit.
I throw on sweats and head over to Starbucks. When I walk in, Justin is waiting at “our table” with my nonfat latte in hand.
“You are the best,” I inform him.
We spend a good part of the morning sitting in Starbucks people-watching and outfit-critiquing. It's always been one of my favorite things to do, and it turns out Justin loves to as well.
Then we decide to “exercise.” AKA: go for a walk through the park.
“So,” I say, “I had a Claire run-in this morning.”
I tell him about my decision the night before to try and break them up and my phone call to Brad's apartment and her rude hang-up. I expect Justin to share my shock and disdain and help me think of a way to get to Brad without having to go through Claire, but he railroads me!
“Molly, I think breaking them up is a bad idea.”
“What?”
“I think it's too late ... he's gotta figure it out on his own. He's in too deep.”
“But he can't see the evilness!”
“I know ... don't get me wrong—I completely agree that he shouldn't marry her, but at this point it's too risky that you'll ruin your own friendship.”
“But with Claire in the picture the friendship is ruined anyway.”
“Yeah, I guess that's true. You're kind of stuck between a rock and a hard place.”
“Figures. What do you think I should do?”
He really isn't any help at all. We hmmm and haaa over the situation until Justin needs to go home and get ready for work.
“I'm working late tonight, so I'll just call you tomorrow.”
“Okay, have a good night at work,” I say as I hand him a smaller payment. Big events like the engagement party last night cost more than quick coffee runs. He silently takes the money and nods a thank-you ... it's more comfortable than making a big deal out of it, even though it always feels a little weird. I have to fight this urge to look over each shoulder before handing him money, as though I am doing something illegal.
We part ways and I wander around the park a while longer, thinking about how to handle the Brad situation. Justin's comment that Brad is “in too deep” keeps replaying in my head. Does that mean I should help him get out or it's too late?!? I keep going back and forth. Believe it or not, dusk starts to fall and I am still not sure.
I start to head home and realize how starving I am. A low-fat cranberry peach muffin can only hold a girl so long. I stop for a slice of pizza at a favorite place that just happens to be on my way home ... if I walk three blocks out of my way. It's worth the extra six blocks (round trip), I confirm, as I make my way home with the pizza grease disintegrating the paper bag I am clutching as if it were my firstborn.
When I get home, I am excited to see the light blinking on my answering machine. Why is it that a message is so exciting? I'm really hoping it's Brad, but I'm not totally disappointed that it's my mom ... mostly because of what the message says.
“Good Golly Miss Molly! It's your mother. I have wonderful news. Your brother is coming home ... at last. Logan just called to tell us that he's ready to come back to Connecticut and he's booked a flight for next week.”
“HOORAY!” I screech at Tiffany who looks up, confused and annoyed at the disturbance in her busy napping schedule. I am so excited to have my baby brother back on this continent that I am dancing around my apartment. So much commotion gets the cat going and she realizes her starvation and starts howling for some kibble. I abide while I pick up the phone to share my excitement with—.
In the past I would have called Brad. He knows how close I am to my family and how much I love Logan and he would have understood and been happy. But after my exchange with Claire this morning, I feel uncomfortable calling my best friend. Damn that bitch! She is taking the joy out of everything in my life. I could call my sister, but I want to share the news as in tell it, not share it with someone who already knows, and if she doesn't know yet, that'll be a whole other conversation that I don't feel like having. Neither Alex nor Lauren would really care that much. They don't know Logan and they aren't super close to their families. . . in fact, Alex is an only child. I guess Justin is a good option, but he's at work. Darn!! I decide to bite the bullet and call Brad. He's a free man ... he can decide who he wants to talk to. I dial his cell phone (okay, I'm still sort of a chicken) and it goes to voice mail. Would you like to take a guess whose voice is on his greeting?
Brad's voice mail used to say, “I'm not taking your call because I'm in the bathroom taking care of my scorching case of genital herpes. Leave a message; if you're lucky, I'll give it to you.”
I know, it's vulgar, it's gross, it's immature ... but it's funny. You can't help but see the humor ... and it's not like he ever really had herpes. Well, apparently someone didn't think it was so humorous, though. Claire's voice now leaves a greeting so cold it's really not a greeting at all.
“You have reached the cell phone of Bradley Lawson. Press one to leave a message after the beep or two to leave a page.” BEEP.
Not even a hello?
“Brad,” I whisper to his voice mail ... like if I'm quiet she won't hear me, “call Molly.” CLICK.
I look around the empty apartment and spy my cat sitting on the kitchen counter, cleaning her foot. Super sanitary, I know.
“Tiffany!” She looks up, annoyed at the distraction. “Your Uncle Logan is coming home!”
10
Rescuing Brad, Part Two
T
he next morning I sleep late ... although I don't realize it's late. I awake to the phone ringing and am really annoyed that someone would be so rude as to call so early. I make my way out of bed and find the phone.
“Hello?” I answer in a grumpy and groggy voice.
“Good Golly Miss Molly!” my mother cheers through the phone. She is, and always has been, a morning person ... a perfect trait for a schoolteacher. I am a morning person, too, usually, but as summer vacation drags on, so does my sleep.
“What time is it?”
“It's 10:30 ... I didn't wake you up, did I?”
“No,” I lie. Now that I realize how late it is, I'm completely ashamed that I am such a lazy bum.
“Good, I didn't think I would. Listen, Molly, your brother will be home on Thursday morning, so that evening we are having a welcome-home dinner for him and we would like you to bring Justin.”
“Really? Wow ... that's wonderful. Thank you. I'm sure he would love to. Let me just check to make sure he doesn't have to work.”
WOW! My family must have really adored Justin to be including him in family dinners. Things are going so well!
“Okay, let me know as soon as you can.”
“I will, Mom. Love you.”
“I love you, too, Molly.” CLICK.
The way my mother says she loves me causes a momentary surge of guilt for the enormous lie I am concocting. Only for a moment, though ...
“Eyes on the prize,” I tell myself. “White dress, tall cake, bone china.”
Okay, I'm good. I pick up the phone to call Justin.
“Hello?” he groggily answers the phone.
“You kick ass!” I tell him, ignoring the fact that I have definitely woken him up.
“What did I do?”
“You got yourself invited to a Harrigan family dinner! Few non-Harrigans have gone where you will be going. Please tell me you don't have to work Thursday night.”
“Even if I'm on the schedule, I'll get someone to cover my shift. This is awesome!” he says, trying to fake enthusiasm through his sleepiness.
“And you wanna know the best part?”
“That isn't the best part?”
“Nope. It's Logan. You are finally going to get to meet Logan!”
“Ah, the infamous Baby Harrigan.”
“I can't wait for you to meet him.”
“Me neither!”
“So, I'll see you for dinner tonight with Lauren and Rob, right?”
We have yet another dinner with my friends scheduled by Justin during Brad and Claire's engagement party. I swear, he is a social butterfly.
“Definitely. Want me to pick you up?” I offer.
“Puh-leeze, Girlfriend. I will pick
you
up at eight ... and don't be late.”
“See you then.” CLICK.
I bask in the glory of the success of my plan thus far while enjoying a snapping, crackling, popping bowl of knockoff Rice Krispies before remembering my true problem at hand. Operation: Save Brad.
I check my answering machine just to make sure I didn't somehow sleep through his callback. No blinking light—darn. Then I check my cell phone voice mail ... just to cover my bases. Needless to say, he hasn't called me back. It's almost 11 A.M. on a Tuesday, and even though Brad is rarely in the office (he's usually out on assignment scouting people doing insanely dangerous, sports-related stunts), I decide to take a chance on catching him. I'm positive Claire won't be around there ... she doesn't understand places of employment or why people go to them. I have to look the number up since I never dial it, and as I'm waiting for it to go to voice mail, a crazy thing happens—Brad answers.
“Brad?!?” I can't believe it.
“Molly? Are you okay?”
“I've been trying to reach you. Are
you
okay?”
“Yes, of course. What's going on?”
“I really want to get together. When can I see you?”
He pauses for a minute. Looking over his schedule, maybe?
“I think we're free tonight. Claire's friend Andrea had to cancel because of some problem with her Botox injection. Do you want to meet us somewhere halfway?”
Huh?
US?
“No, Brad, just you and me.”
He pauses again, but this one is awkward.
“Actually, Molly, Claire doesn't want me seeing you when she's not around. She says it's inappropriate.”
Now my end of the line is the one with the pause. I am utterly speechless. I manage to get out the words, “Are you kidding?”
“I'm sorry,” he says lamely.
“Brad. We have been best friends for twelve years. We've never even kissed. Okay, well, we kissed that one time our junior year, but we haven't kissed in ten years.”
“I know—it's just her thing. Let's get together, all of us.”
“Brad, this is ridiculous. I thought it was just coincidence that she answers your apartment phone and answers your cell phone, but it's all to keep me away from you, isn't it?”
More awkward silence.
“Look, Brad,” I say, “I really need to talk to you ... in person. Is there any way?”
After a pause that is so long I worry the line has disconnected, he asks if I am home right now. I say I am, and he says he will be right over.
Time for some courage ... it's definitely now or never.
I pace back and forth across my apartment for what feels like about thirty seconds, but according to the clock it has been more like fifteen minutes, and even though I am expecting Brad, I jump a mile when the buzzer buzzes. I push the button to let him up without even talking through the intercom. A few seconds later, he's standing at the door of my apartment, looking as nervous as I feel.
Okay, here we go.
“Okay, Molly. Are you all right? Is it that Justin guy?”
“What? Huh? No. I'm fine. I'm worried about you.”
“Me?!? What for?”
Wow, this is going really swell so far. I take a deep breath and realize that my hopes that this could be easy were a dream.
“Brad, I'm worried about you marrying Claire.”
He takes a breath, but a calm breath, and I relax a little. Maybe he just needed someone, a close friend, to tell him it's okay to call this off. He looks at me with eyes so full of sadness I reach out to hug him ... but he puts his arms up and blocks me.
“Molly, no. Claire was afraid this was going to happen.”
Excuse me?!? What's going on?
“That's why she didn't want me to be alone with you,” Brad continues. “She had a feeling that you were secretly in love with me and would realize your jealousy as our wedding got closer and try to destroy our happiness,” he answers, eyes glazed over, as if he really has been brainwashed to repeat this rhetoric.
I am speechless. I am such a combination of confusion and repulsion and hate (for Claire, of course) that I have lost the ability to form words. Finally something comes to me.
“You are insane! And so is your stupid girlfriend!”
Okay, not exactly the calm, cool, and collected approach I was planning to take. I feel tears welling up in my eyes and sting my cheeks as they fall down my face.
“I am not secretly or otherwise in love with you,” I yell at Brad as he looks at me with eyes full of pity. “I am worried that you are marrying a woman who trusts you so little that she has forbidden you from seeing your best friend! She has you wrapped around her finger and you don't even care!”
Brad stiffens slightly. “I like being wrapped around her finger, Molly. This is exactly what she said you would say. She does trust me—she just saw what we've been avoiding all these years.”
“And what's that?” I yell.
“How inappropriate our relationship was.”
Again ... words are escaping me.
“What was inappropriate about our relationship?!? We have never been anything but best friends!” I manage to blurt out.
“But Claire pointed out to me that it's unrealistic for a man and woman to be best friends because one of them is always thinking about sex.”
“I NEVER thought about sex with you!” This is a
slight
lie ... that one night in college that we kissed I did think about sex with Brad ... and about changing our friendship, but it wasn't worth the risk and I completely put the thought out of my head and hadn't thought about it since (even though he was a good kisser).
“Look, Molly, we can still be friends. We just can't be in that place where we were treating each other like boyfriend and girlfriend.”
I am shocked and appalled and I can't go on anymore. I realize that my fight is futile ... I've already lost. The game is over, the fat lady has sung.
“Brad, you're making a huge mistake,” I say sadly as I open the door for him to leave.
He steps through the door and looks back at me and for a split second I can see that he is as heartbroken as I am. I watch him walk down the hall and then close the door and sink down to the floor, sobbing.

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