The Road to Amazing (19 page)

"Well, we're glad you did," I said.
"Really glad."

"Me too," Ruby said. She took a sip
from her beer bottle. "It's hard for me, being around people I
don't know."

"Don't take this the wrong way," I
said, "but that surprises me. You seem like one of the most
confident people I've ever met."

She smiled. "That's what
everyone thinks. But I was always the shyest kid in my class. I
hated recess so bad, because you had to talk to people. I hated
lunch, because you had to find a table to sit at. Whenever we had
to give a presentation in class, I got so sick I couldn't go to
school. At the end of the eighth grade, the class did one of those
end of the year lists, where the whole class votes: Most Likely to
Succeed, Cutest Smile, Best-Looking, things like that. It was the
eighth grade, so the teacher said there had to be enough categories
for everyone — everyone had to be picked for
something
. One of the categories was
Shyest Girl, and I remember thinking how unfair that was. All the
other categories were something positive — Best Personality, Best
Dressed. But being shy wasn't positive, and it was the
only
category that
wasn't something positive. Anyway, everyone voted, and the end of
the year came, and they passed out the list, and there I was,
expecting and dreading that I'd be named the Shyest Girl in
class."

"And?" Min asked.

"They forgot me completely!" Ruby
said. "They'd voted Marguerite Dunn as Shyest Girl. I was so shy
that people didn't even remember I was there! I didn't say
anything, and the teacher never noticed either."

Min reached over and took Ruby's hand,
holding it tight.

"At one point, my parents brought me
to a psychologist," Ruby went on. "She said I had extreme social
anxiety. They tried therapy and medication and hypnosis, but
nothing worked. The worst part was I could tell how disappointed my
parents were. They weren't these big social butterflies — none of
my family was — but they had no idea what to do with me, which made
me feel even worse, made it all even more of a
clusterfuck."

"What changed?" Vernie
asked.

"One day when I was about fifteen, I
woke up, and I just felt...different. I was tired of being
invisible. It wasn't a conscious decision, like I woke up and said,
'From this point on, people will not ignore me! I will never get
anxious in crowds again!' It was more like something in my brain
had changed. I think it did. I went to school that day, and I felt
like a different person. I looked people in the eye, I talked to
them. And the thing about being so shy before, so invisible, was
that it was almost like I was a new student. People had ignored me
so much that they didn't really have an opinion of me. So when I
started talking to people, it was like a fresh start. And in a
couple of months, I had a whole circle of friends."

"Fascinating," Vernie said. "And you
never felt shy or anxious again?"

"No," Ruby said. "It wasn't like that.
I definitely get nervous. I still don't like parties, and I almost
never go out to clubs or bars. But it feels more 'normal' now.
Honestly, when I think back on myself, it really does seem like I
was a different person. I don't judge her though, and I don't judge
other people like that. I've never thought, 'She was so stupid, she
wasted all that time!' She did the best she could. I feel sad for
her more than anything. Like I said, it doesn't feel like I made a
choice or did anything at all. I woke up one day feeling different.
I guess that's the other thing that's sort of interesting. After a
few weeks, I didn't worry that I'd turn back into that other girl,
and I still don't, because like I said, it doesn't feel like it was
me. It feels like someone else."

We all fell silent. It was a pretty
great story, but I wasn't sure what to make of it.

Finally, Vernie said, "I wasn't sure I
wanted to come either. I didn't think I'd fit in."

Part of me wanted to object, to say,
"Vernie! Of course you would!" But something kept me quiet. It
seemed like the evening had entered its Total Honesty phase, so I
decided to let her talk.

"It really stinks getting
old," she went on. "But sometimes I think the aches and pains, the
physical stuff, are the least of it. It's the way people treat you.
Or maybe it's not that at all — maybe it's the way you start to see
yourself. Like most of your life is over. Which it is. You ask
yourself, 'Are the
best
parts over? Have I already done the most
important and interesting things I'm ever going to do?' And you can
lie to yourself and say, 'No! Jessica Tandy won an Oscar when she
was eighty years old!' Or you can be honest with yourself and admit
that, yeah, the best part probably
is
in the past."

Now I wanted to reach over and take
Vernie's hand, the way Min had done with Ruby. But she wasn't
sitting next to me and I didn't want to make too big a show of
it.

"I met my husband at a
friend's wedding," Vernie said. "I was twenty-two years old. He was
a friend of a friend of a friend, and I thought he was so handsome.
We talked and laughed, and he lit a match from a box of matches
using only one hand. The wedding ended, but the night did not. We
went out drinking and dancing, and we broke into the Japanese
garden and drew our names in the sand, but the night still wasn't
over. It wasn't the first time I'd had sex, but it felt like the
first time I'd
chosen
to have sex. I felt like a woman for the first time in my
life — no, I felt like Wonder Woman, strong and beautiful and
invulnerable, like there was nothing in the universe that could
stop me." She looked at Ruby. "It was a little like what you said.
I went to bed one person and I woke up someone else, someone I
liked a lot better than the person who had gone to bed."

We all nodded, but no one smiled a
knowing or dreamy smile. It was something about the bittersweet
note in Vernie's voice. We knew something bad was
coming.

"I got pregnant, of
course," Vernie said. "From that very first night. And Fritz and I
got married, after knowing each other all of three months. I knew
in my heart it was a terrible idea, but everyone told me it was the
right thing to do — that it was all my fault to begin with, and it
was the best thing I could do for the child. But it
was
a terrible idea.
Fritz and I were nothing alike. The only thing we really shared was
that single night — and a desperate loneliness and a feeling of
wanting more. I didn't feel like Wonder Woman after that. I felt
trapped and angry and resentful, not just at Fritz, but at the
whole universe, one that had played such a cruel trick on me,
making me feel so good, giving me a taste of freedom, then
snatching the goblet away again."

We all listened to Vernie's story,
breathless.

"I was depressed for years," Vernie
went on. "Forget feeling like Wonder Woman, I didn't even feel like
a woman, like a person. I felt like a cloud of dust wafting around
the house, only visible in the sunlight. But then I found something
that changed everything."

"Writing," I said.

Vernie nodded. "It saved my life.
Writing finally made me a person again, it made me whole. It also
ruined the lives of my children, but that's a whole other story.
Anyway, this is all another reason why I didn't want to come this
weekend. When I think of weddings, I think of that wedding where
Fritz and I met all those years ago, and then our own pathetic
wedding a few months later. To tell the truth, I haven't been to a
wedding in more than thirty years. Can you believe it? But I'm so
glad I came to this one. Because now I finally get to see how
weddings can really be, what they're really all about. So I guess I
was wrong before when I said that the best was all behind me.
Because this is one of the best weekends of my life."

Yup, there was a lump in my throat.
But I didn't go over to hug her or anything, and it wasn't just
because I'm not a hugger. Somehow I didn't want to disturb the
moment.

All I said was, "Thanks,
Vernie."

I looked over at Kevin, but the
shadows from the candles were weird, and I couldn't get a good read
on his face, whether all these stories had distracted him from
worrying about the wedding.

"I want to get married," Otto said
quietly. "One day, I mean."

Once again everyone
stopped rustling in their chairs, listening. I liked this, all our
friends together, telling their stories — their
real
stories, not the bullshit ones
we tell to make ourselves and everyone else feel better.

"I used to think I'd never meet
anyone," Otto said. "But recently I met this guy."

"
What?
" I said, sitting upright in my
seat. "And you're just telling me this
now
?"

Everyone laughed, and I was glad I'd
read the moment right — that the room needed a little livening
up.

"We only started dating," Otto said.
"Like, three weeks ago. We're not even 'dating.' We've met up three
times. That's why I didn't say anything."

"Where did you meet him?" Kevin
asked.

"Well, Zachary Quinto set me up on
this blind date," he said.

The room was quiet, but somehow the
silence bulged like a balloon.

"You got set up on a date
by
Zachary Quinto
?" I said. Before Otto could say anything, I cut him off.
"Yeah, yeah, you barely know him!"

"Actually, I know Zachary Quinto
pretty well. We did this charity event together this summer, and we
ended up spending almost the whole day together. He's a really nice
person."

"I'm sure he is!" I said.

"Tell us about this guy," Min
said.

Otto thought for a second. "I didn't
want to go on the date. I mean, a blind date? Me? Are you kidding?
But Zachary talked me into it."

"I'm sure he
did
," I
muttered.

"Anyway, we met at the restaurant, and
he seemed really great. He didn't stare at me, or act weird or
anything, and I thought, 'Okay, maybe I was wrong, and Zachary
Quinto was right.' We got our table and got to talking. And then he
proceeded to reveal that he was a raging asshole. Stupid, bitchy,
racist — the whole gay trifecta."

We all laughed.

"So what happened?" Min
said.

"The waiter overheard our date, what a
jerk this guy was," Otto said, "and as I was leaving the
restaurant, he gave me his number."

"Sounds like the plot to a romantic
comedy," Vernie said.

"It does. Anyway, I met him for drinks
the next day. It turns out he'd recognized me from my
show."

"Is that bad?" Min asked.

"Well, there's always a question: does
this person want to be with me because I'm on TV? I know how that
sounds, but for me, it's a lot like how it used to be. I always
used to wonder if guys were going out with me out of pity. Now I
wonder if they're going out with me because I'm on TV. Not that I
really have time to go out anyway. This is, like, the first time
I've gone out with a guy since the show debuted."

"Well, sure," I said, "because you're
too busy going out with Jennifer Lawrence and Zachary
Quinto!"

Otto and everyone laughed, and I was
glad, because I was worried I'd finally pushed the joke too
far.

"Right before I left to come up here,
Spencer and I — that's his name, Spencer — were hanging out,
sitting on his couch watching TV, and a bee flew by inside the
house. We sat upright, panicking a little, both of us scared about
getting stung. We knew we needed to get rid of it, but then we both
said at exactly the same time, 'But don't kill it!' And we looked
at each other, and there was this moment, you know? This
connection. I thought, 'This is the kind of gentle, open-hearted
guy I could spend my whole life with. He's exactly the opposite of
that asshole Zachary Quinto set me up with.' Oh, and by the way?
Zachary Quinto apologized for setting me up with that other guy. He
was a friend of a friend, but he didn't know him as well as he
thought he did."

"That's so sweet," I said. "Bonding
over bees."

"Honey bee or wasp?" Ruby
asked.

"Bumblebee, actually,"
Otto said. "But it would have been the same even if it
had
been a wasp. Circle
of life and all that."

"Oh, the world always needs bees," I
said. I knew Gunnar was crazy for bees, so I looked around the room
for him. "Isn't that right, Gunnar?"

No one said anything.

"Gunnar?" I said, still
searching.

He wasn't there.

"Where's Gunnar?" I asked the
group.

"Must be in the bathroom," Kevin
said.

I didn't remember Gunnar leaving the
room. I thought back: when was the last time he'd said anything? I
remembered him saying that it wasn't just him who had planned the
bachelor party, that everyone had helped. Had he snuck out after
that?