Not Quite A Bride (7 page)

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Authors: Kirsten Sawyer

BOOK: Not Quite A Bride
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11
Dinner with Lauren and Rob
T
he day is totally unproductive because I am too depressed to function. I even cancel the student I was supposed to tutor at 2:30, which is a pretty stupid thing for a person in my financial situation to do. It's like the pain of being broken up with, but SO much worse. I can't even describe what it's like to be dumped by your best friend.
At 7:30 I realize that Justin will be there to pick me up in, like, half an hour. I drag myself off the couch and into the bathroom where I get the first good look at my face. I look like I've been beaten, seriously. My eyes are practically swollen shut, my nose looks like a cherry, and my mouth is all goopy. I need to cancel the plans with Lauren and Rob.
I reach Justin on his cell phone. “I can't do tonight. I need to cancel.”
“What? No. You can't. You're the one who said how important it is to stick to the ‘courting' schedule.”
“Something awful happened today and I look too terrible to go out in public.”
“What happened?” I am touched to hear genuine concern in Justin's voice. A thought washes over me that maybe I don't need Brad. Maybe Justin will want to be my new best friend and I will be okay. Then reality comes back to me—I realize I'm not in the third grade and that best friends cannot be replaced like Converse sneakers. It's “make new friends and keep the old; one is silver and the other is gold.” No matter what, Justin will be a silver friend and I want my gold friend! I know what you're thinking ... you thought I said I wasn't in third grade, but you forgot I
teach
third grade.
“Brad dumped me. He said we can't be friends anymore.” My bottom lip starts to quiver as I say the words out loud and I finish with a sob.
“Molly, I'll be there in ten minutes. Brew some chamomile tea and put it in the fridge.”
I'm slightly comforted that Justin is coming, but a little perturbed that he is demanding food service from me in my condition.
I fiddle around with the tea and before I know it he's there. He got there faster than ten minutes.
As soon as he enters the apartment he gives me a big hug, then says, “I moved Lauren and Rob to nine, so we have some time here. What happened?”
I admit that I did what he recommended I avoid—tell Brad what I thought of Claire—but he is still shocked when I tell him the outcome.
“That's not what I expected,” he says, and I whimper in agreement. “Molly, there's nothing you can do. You tried your best. Do you want to know what I would do if I were you?”
“Oh-kay,” I sob.
“I would do what he asks. If the only way to be friends with him is to play by her rules, that's what I'd do. It's better to have him with restrictions than not at all, right?”
I nod.
“And sooner or later he's going to see the truth on his own.”
“That's true,” I agree.
“I know you're sad, sweetie. But let's get you ready to go ... it's going to be okay.”
“Oh, no ... I really can't go. Look at me!”
“I already did ... you're a mess, but I can fix you.”
Sometimes he is so gay!
“Go get the chamomile tea,” he orders.
I go to the kitchen and return with two glasses of iced tea ... I assume that's what he wanted since he told me to put the tea in the fridge.
“Where are the tea bags?”
“In the kitchen,” I answer, confused.
“Go get those. They are for your eyes. I didn't want to have a tea party.”
“Oh.” I get it now.
I return with the tea bags and Justin makes me lie down on the couch with the bags on my eyes. I must admit, they feel good. As I'm lying there he smears something on my face that smells suspiciously like yogurt. I take what feels like a very short rest with the snack bar on my face before I am ordered into the shower. The hot water has evidently been on for a while and the room is very steamy. As I stand in the tub, my sinuses start to clear and I can breathe again. When I emerge, Justin has an adorable outfit laid out on my bed.
As we are walking out the door I sneak a look in the hall mirror ... it's hard to believe the transformation. Justin knows what he is doing! We're like a mini version of that show,
Queer Eye for the Straight Guy
, but we would be called,
Gay Boyfriend for the Pathetic Girl.
I silently remind myself that tonight is important and I cannot let my current situation with Brad destroy what Justin and I are working for.
“Eyes on the prize: tiara, cake tasting, bachelorette party,” I say to myself. Okay ... I'm ready.
We stand outside the restaurant and prepare to go in. I can see through the window that Lauren and Rob are already seated. Lauren and I were pledge sisters our freshman year of college. Until eight months ago, when she and Rob got engaged, we were the ever-complaining singletons ... together. But then the second she had a ring on her finger, she forgot our bond completely. At first I was hurt—I mean, Lauren and I had suffered through countless bouquet tosses together—but I realized that she wasn't being insensitive ... she was just so thrilled and excited that she forgot how it felt to be, well, me. Their wedding is now two months away and I'm sure she is bouncing off the walls.
Justin and I look into each other's eyes and clasp hands.
“Ready to be deeply in love, Girlfriend?” he asks.
“Absolutely, Boyfriend. Ready to talk about their wedding all night?” I ask with only the tiniest hint of sarcasm in my voice.
“Be a good sport,” he gently reprimands me. “In a few months it'll be you.”
This reminder cheers me up enormously and we walk in, beaming (as a newly-in-love couple should), and immediately spot Rob (duh, we'd seen him through the window) waving us over.
“Hey, guys! Sorry we're so late,” Justin greets them wholeheartedly.
They promise it's not a problem as we sit down and help ourselves to the already-open bottle of wine on the table.
“So,” Lauren looks at me, “can you believe the big day is only fifty-seven days away?!?”
I steal a quick look at Justin before diving warmly into Lauren's happiness.
“No ... time has just flown by. Tell me what else you have to do.”
Lauren and I talk about dress fittings and wired ribbon versus satin ribbon, Jordan almonds, and mothers' corsages versus mini-bouquets. I realize it's in my best interest to really pay attention to all this stuff now! The boys scoff at our “wedding craziness” and then discuss wedding topics that interest them, like wine, music, and food. It is actually a fantastic evening that is only made better by how much Lauren and Rob clearly like Justin. We even have such a good time (and so much wine) that my heartbreak over Brad is out of my head.
As we walk home, Justin and I are excited to start wedding planning after all the information we got from Lauren and Rob.
“So,” Justin begins, “Rob was telling me about how he and Lauren got engaged, and I realized that we need a really good engagement story.”
This guy is amazing!
This
is why I'm paying him the big bucks.
“You're totally right,” I agree.
“And you're gonna need a ring. What do you want to do about that?”
“I haven't completely figured that out yet ... I thought about it a while back, but I haven't gone ring shopping yet or anything.”
The truth is that it is going to take some budgeting on my end. My inheritance includes plenty of money to throw my dream wedding, but Nana had assumed that my engagement ring would be a gift from my fiancé ... a logical assumption. . . and so the wedding fund doesn't necessarily have enough to cover the rock of my dreams, too. I am hoping that the additional money earned by my father's wise investment strategy could fill this gap. Since I have no knowledge of what wedding rings cost, besides the common saying that it should be three months' salary, some research is probably in order.
“Want to go tomorrow?”
“Absolutely!” I squeal.
Another amazing thing about a rented gay boyfriend: he's so uncommitment phobic that he actually
wants
to go engagement-ring shopping!
“Also,” he adds, “I think I should ask your father for permission. You know, be really traditional about it.”
I get warm tingles all over.
“That is brilliant.”
“I thought you'd like it,” he says proudly, “but don't worry ... not yet ... we'll stick to the same time frame.”
“Absolutely,” I agree, “moving too fast will be suspicious.”
We get to my door and Justin gives me a kiss on the head.
“I'll pick you up at 11:00 tomorrow. We'll get brunch and go to Tiffany's.”
“Tiffany's,” I echo.
I doubt I'll be able to sleep tonight. I've been dreaming about trying on engagement rings at Tiffany's since I realized I had fingers. I even named my cat in its honor!
“I can't wait,” I tell him as I quickly shove a wad of cash, including a little extra for the way he saved me earlier in the evening, into his hand and head inside, giddily running up the stairs to my apartment.
12
Lunch Near Tiffany's
T
he next morning, moments before Justin will be at my apartment, I am in full crisis mode. Tell me, what does one wear to try on engagement rings at Tiffany?!? I am wishing I'd had more notice so I could have had time to get a manicure when the buzzer buzzes. Justin enters my apartment and looks slightly frightened at the sight of my closet emptied onto my bed.
“I have no idea what to wear,” I frantically shout at him.
I start holding up different options.
“Do I go conservative and preppy, like Kristin Davis on
Sex and the City
? Or fashionable and trendy, like Reese Witherspoon in
Sweet Home Alabama
? Help me!”
Justin stands back for a second, eyeing Mount Gap, and then dives in. He tosses a flared pale blue skirt and pale blue tank top at me, then a short-sleeved wraparound coral sweater, and finally flat tan sandals and a tan leather ponytail holder.
“It's Charlotte meets Reese,” he informs me.
“The best of both worlds.”
I am, once again, blissful with the benefits of a gay boyfriend.
Moments later I'm ready to walk out the door and start the first of many upcoming “happiest days of my life.”
We decide that we are way too excited to get to Tiffany to stop for brunch on the way there. Lunch afterward, to discuss what we've seen, is a much better option.
We arrive outside Tiffany on Fifth Avenue at Fifty-seventh Street, and it's like the mother ship calling me home. Justin holds the door open for me, and I swear, I can hear angels singing above the hustle and bustle of Asian tourists and rich Manhattan housewives. Justin takes my hand and leads me through the crowd to the case of engagement rings. After a short wait, which didn't even feel like a wait at all because I am mesmerized by the sparkling diamonds, a salesperson approaches us.
“May I help you?” she asks politely.
Suddenly I am shy and ashamed of what we are doing. I feel worse lying to this helpful Tiffany's employee than to my own mother! I stare at her like a deer caught in headlights. Justin steps in and calmly takes over.
“We'd like to look at some engagement rings, please.”
“Of course,” the woman answers.
She hands me a booklet of engagement-ring information and explains about the different clarity ratings, different sizes, different shapes, and different colors for diamonds and bands. Tiffany has three main styles of engagement rings: the “Tiffany setting,” which is a round diamond with a beveled band, the “Lucida,” which is a square diamond with a wider band (this is the one Reese gets in
Sweet Home Alabama
), and the “Etoile” which is a diamond set down in a band.
I try on EVERYTHING. One carat, two carats, one and a half carats, gold bands, platinum bands ... the truth is, I love them all. In the end, the one I am in love with the most is the traditional “Tiffany setting.” I'm a traditional girl, plus it looks just like the engagement ring my grandmother had. I'm also a normal girl, and the bigger the stone, the more I seem to like it. I'm leaning toward 1.5 ... not too big, not too small, with a platinum band. I look at the price of this ring and lose my breath. Oh my gosh! I never realized engagement rings are so expensive.
Justin has to catch me because my knees get weak and I start to sweat. The previously ultrapolite salesgirl sees my reaction and snatches all the rings off the counter and puts them back into the display.
“Why don't you take some time to think about it,” she says coolly.
“Thank you, we will,” Justin says without noticing the change in her demeanor.
She walks away and I look up into Justin's eyes, afraid that if I look down at the rings again I might cry.
“Come on,” he says, “let's go get some lunch and talk about this.”
Even after we walk a few blocks to find a lunch spot that is up to Justin's picky standards, I'm still pretty speechless.
“Why do you think they say it takes three months' salary?” Justin asks.
I guess in my head I had just considered three months of my salary and failed to put together that the ring of my dreams would require three months of a successful investment banker's salary. I can, however, put together what a ridiculous amount of money that is to spend on myself for a fake engagement.
“It's a ridiculous amount of money,” I begin. “I mean, if I was in love and really getting married until death do us part, that would be one thing ... but for what we're doing it's ridiculous, huh?”
Unfortunately, it doesn't even take me going home and poring over my financials to realize that the amount of money I have in my inheritance doesn't come close to covering a sparkling Tiffany diamond.
Justin looks at me and I can tell that his kind eyes feel sorry for me. I've gotten the feeling more than once during this “process” that he pities me. I try to ignore it, because when it gets down to it, I pity myself.
“Eyes on the prize, Molly,” I tell myself. “Bridal shower, lacy garter, toasting flutes.” I'll get through this.
“I have an idea!” he tells me enthusiastically. “Let's go to Bloomingdale's after lunch and check out the costume jewelry. I bet we can find a cubic zirconium ring that looks the same and nobody will know the difference.”
I smile a small, sad smile; he's trying so hard to cheer me up.
“And we can start looking at what you want to register for,” he adds.
Okay, I'm cheered up. The ring is not what's important. It's the whole experience, I remind myself ... and the registry is an important part of that experience.
I smile a real smile, order a turkey burger, and vow not to let these details get me down anymore.
After we stuff ourselves, we make our way down to Bloomingdale's. I have to stop in my favorite candy store, Dylan's, to get some chocolate-covered pretzels (my favorite candy on earth) before we head into Registry Land.
What feels like forty escalators later (thank goodness I have a snack on hand), we finally arrive in housewares and it's almost as much of a religious experience as Tiffany.
I am in awe of the china, the silver, and the crystal. We see an area designated “Bridal Registry” and Justin suggests we start there.
“No, no, no,” I tell him, “it's too soon to get official. Let's just look and get some ideas. We'll actually register after we are engaged.”
“Okay,” he agrees. “Let's start with china.”
We spend a good part of the afternoon pretending to eat off different dishes, with different silverware, and sip champagne from different crystal flutes. Justin pretends to make omelets in Le Creuset pans and I wrap myself in Egyptian cotton towels. We are like two little kids playing dress-up. It is so much fun!
We completely exhaust ourselves ... we're even too beat to look for the fake, fake engagement ring, so we leave Bloomingdale's. Out on the street, I realize how late it is. We really entertained ourselves for a long time.
“Want to come back to my apartment and order a pizza?” I ask Justin.
There is an awkward pause ... what is it about me that makes people pause, awkwardly?
“Actually, I have a date tonight.”
“Oh,” I say quickly, “that's great,” trying to cover.
“Is it okay? In the beginning you said I could if I was discreet. He asked me out ... I never would have asked ... and I'll cancel if you want.”
“No,” I tell him firmly, and I really do mean it. Justin is above and beyond wonderful to me.
“Are you sure?” he asks.
“Justin, I am positive,” I say as I pay him for the date. “Treat your date to dinner.”
“Heck, no!” he exclaims, shoving the money into his back pocket. “He asked me out.”
He kisses me on the head and we agree to talk in the morning so he can share the details of his evening. I decide to stick with my idea of ordering a pizza and head home to a date with Tiffany.

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