Whose Wedding Is It Anyway? (15 page)

Yes. No. Yes. No. Yes. No.

I don’t know.

I groaned again. “One day I’m so sure that he’s it, the absolute one, and I’m so happy about getting married. And then I get the heartburning doubts.”

“Cold feet,” Jane said.

“Jitters,” Amanda offered.

“But how do I know they’re not
more
than that?” I asked. “How do I know I don’t have a case of ‘Your body is trying to tell you
not
to marry this guy. He’s
not
the one.
Run!’”

Jane laughed. “Because Noah
is
the one.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I’ve never seen you like this, Eloise,” Jane said. “I’ve known you for eight years, and I’ve never seen you so yourself.”

“Myself? What are you talking about? I’ve never felt so
not
myself.”

“I know what she means, Eloise,” Amanda said. “And I think I know what you mean, too. Noah’s changed you. You do love him and he is the one, so you’ve been forced to—I don’t know, deal with stuff, lose the defense mechanisms, that kind of thing. You’ve dated all these guys who couldn’t possibly be the one. And then you met Noah and he fit like a glove, and all your defense mechanisms went blickety-black.”

“Blickety-black?” I asked.

“Kapooey,” Jane defined.

Amanda whipped her long blond hair forward over one shoulder and braided it, then whipped it back. “Case in point, Eloise—you met Noah, and two years later you’re looking for your father—with your brother, no less.”

“Before you were engaged, we didn’t even know about your father,” Jane said gently.

“Now, you’re the you-est you’ve ever been,” Amanda said. “No, you’re on your way to being your you-est. It’s like you’ve been blown wide open.”

“Great, so Noah’s blown me wide open. When he leaves, I’ll be like Humpty Dumpty—all the king’s horses and all the king’s men won’t be able to put me back together again.”

“You’re not broken, Eloise,” Jane said. She wasn’t one to mix metaphors. “Broken and blown wide open are two very different things. Broken, bad and sad. Open, good and gooder. And besides, where’s Noah going?”

“When it’s over,” I clarified.

“When what’s over?” Amanda asked.

“Us, me and Noah.”

“Eloise, why would it ever be over?” Jane asked. “You’re getting married.”

“Do you think there’s a class at the Learn It Center in remedial relationships?” I asked. “I’d like to sign up for a double session.”

Jane laughed. “I’m not saying life comes with guarantees, Eloise. God knows, we both know it doesn’t. But just because ‘this and that’ doesn’t mean Noah’s going to just walk out on you one day.”

Then why do I check the closet every morning to make sure his at-the-ready bag is still there instead of a note? And when he’s away on a trip, why do I look at the spot where the bag should be and cry and worry that he won’t come home?

“Because you’re scared out of your mind about losing him,” Jane said.

I stared up at her.

Jane squeezed my hand. “No, you didn’t say it aloud, but I know what you were thinking.”

It was what I was always thinking.

I kissed her hand. “Why can’t I just marry you?”

Jane and Amanda laughed.

“To lesbians,” Amanda said, holding up her mug. “They get to marry the women they love—well, in some places, anyway.”

We clinked.

In addition to my and Philippa’s
Why I Said Yes!
columns, Astrid was running two additional
Why I Said Yes!
pieces so that readers wouldn’t feel cheated of their regular monthly features. According to Astrid’s warped view, because Philippa and I were getting free dream weddings, readers would consider us on a par with celebrities; therefore, she still wanted the “common bride’s” perspective for her “common readership.”

One of the “common bride’s” columns was in my in-box for an accompanying graphic. It was so stupid and offensive that I understood immediately why Astrid had chosen it. “Provocative points of view ensure that our readers will rant and rave to their friends, to online wedding-discussion groups and in letters to the magazine,” Astrid had announced a hundred times when a staffer ranted and raved about how offensive an article or column was. “It’s instant publicity. It gets
Wow
on daytime talk shows.”

I wouldn’t be surprised to find Astrid and June’s common bride, Julie G., twenty-seven, of Atlanta, Georgia, on
The View,
defending her misguided perspective. In one thousand wasted words, Julie described how she had said yes because she’d finally reached her goal of losing eleven pounds (eleven instead of ten just so she’d be able to enjoy a single M&M without panicking) and was now, at five feet six inches tall, a svelte size four and one hundred ten pounds.

“And I owe it all to Jim. Thanks to him gently calling me Tubby and wagging his finger when I reached for the cookie jar and letting me know in no uncertain terms that no weight loss equaled no marriage proposal, I’m now going to be Mrs. Skinny Bride!”

That was a direct quote, I kid you not. And it would
jump out, literally, because it was exactly the quote Astrid wanted highlighted for bolded quote that captured the spirit of the column.

Instead of designing a graphic to accompany Mrs. Skinny Bride’s column, I clicked on Word and typed
Why I Said Yes! by Eloise Manfred.

I said yes because Noah is home.
Figuratively speaking, of course.

And that was true. Noah
was
home. He
did
feel like family. I
was
completely comfortable. But, argument or no argument, I
didn’t
know that Noah would be there in the morning.

Which was the problem. Noah
wasn’t
home. In the literal sense.

“Eloise, did you ever stop to think that you chose Noah
because
he’s never home?” Jane had asked last night at the coffee lounge.

“I chose him because he’s not home?” I repeated. “Huh?”

Jane had leaned forward. “Eloise, you chose a guy who travels for business every weekend and at least once during the week. You chose a guy who’s around a few days a week.”

“I
chose?
” I repeated again. “Like I knew he was Mr. Jet Plane when I met him?”

“You yourself said you liked Noah so much immediately that you threw up during your first date,” Amanda put in.

“And then the less he was around,” Jane said, “the more comfortable you were.”

“That’s ridic—” True, I amended.

During our first date, when I excused myself to the ladies’ room to refresh my lipstick and catch my breath and
assure myself that you couldn’t possibly fall in love with a guy you’d known for an hour and a half, I looked at myself in the mirror and smiled like an idiot and threw up.

When I returned to the table, Noah had ordered a surprise dessert and another round of margaritas, and he told me that I looked absolutely beautiful.

But I just barfed my brains out in the bathroom,
I thought.
And now I’ll have to go back because you’re even more perfect than you were when I threw up the first time
.

Turned out I didn’t have to, because over fried ice cream and mango margaritas, Noah told me that he couldn’t wait to go out with me again but that he’d have to because he was going away for the next two weekends. “I travel a lot,” he’d told me. “Constantly, really.”

My nausea disappeared.

The less he was around, the more comfortable you got…

Until he proposed.

Get back to work,
I yelled at myself.

For Julie G.’s graphic, I decided on a balding, potbellied cartoon man wagging a finger at an emaciated woman in lingerie, a thought-bubble over his head that said: “No sex for you until you lose that one pound! I saw you sneak that M&M, you Tubby!”

Today’s Modern Bride couldn’t get fired, could she?

T
he moment I let Astrid know that Emmett was interested, after all, in being the “young, hip father” for the Grooms-and-Fathers-To-Be feature, she buzzed her assistant.

“Carol, call Perfect People and cancel the young, hip male for tomorrow’s G&F To-Be shoot.” She glanced up at me. “Gold star, Eloise.”

Three days later, Emmett arrived on time at the studio. Astrid and Devlin looked him up and down, down and up, and nodded.

“Perfection,” Astrid said, taking in his faded The Cure T-shirt, black leather jacket and huge black boots. “Gold star, Eloise.”

“Is she for real?” Emmett whispered.

“’Fraid so,” I said.

“If I could just add a tiny drop of hair gel,” Devlin said, squeezing a tube of Dippity-Do at Emmett.

“No way,” Emmett protested, holding up his hands.

“Devlin, please don’t upset the talent,” Astrid intervened.

“Fine, whatever,” Devlin muttered. “I won’t upset the talent.”

“Waaah. Waah! Waaaaaaaaaah!”

“What is that earsplitting noise?” Emmett asked. “It sounds like someone stepped on a seal.”

“It’s a
baby.
”

We whirled around. Coming toward us with a baby in a Baby Bjorn strapped to her chest was Brianna Harris,
Wow
’s cranky managing editor.

I kissed her on the cheek and oohed and aahed over the baby, who was beautiful but loud. “Brianna, I thought you were still on maternity leave!”

“Yeah, me too,” she muttered in my ear. “But Astrid insisted I drag in the baby for a shoot. She said she was desperate for an infant because a real-lifer backed out of a shoot at the last minute.”

Who was I to tell her that the last minute was actually last week, and Astrid just wanted to save money. Infant models weren’t cheap. Except when they were free. Translation: the newborn of your terrified-of-you employee.

“The talent should practice holding the baby,” Devlin said to Emmett.

“The talent has a name,” Emmett snapped.

“The talent has an attitude,” Devlin whispered loudly.

“The talent is a
teenager,
” Brianna said, eyeing Emmett. “No way is he holding Caitlin.”

“I happen to be twenty-nine,” Emmett said.

“Have you ever held a baby?” Brianna asked.

“I’ve held a puppy,” he told her.

“Oh, that’s really the same,” she muttered.

“Brianna, since you were kind enough to come in on your maternity leave, why don’t you show Emmett how to hold the baby,” Astrid suggested. She had her
as my second in command, I would think you could have thought of that yourself
expression.

Hey, guess what, Astrid, Brianna shouldn’t even be here!

“You have to be really careful,” Brianna told Emmett, taking tiny Caitlin out of the Baby Bjorn, which hardly seemed possible to do yourself. “If you don’t support her neck, you’ll break it.”

Emmett backed away.

Uh-oh. When Emmett had turned up this morning, on time, no less, I’d sneaked away for a moment to call Charla and let her know that Emmett hadn’t freaked out on the way. She was sure that the moment Emmett laid eyes on a baby, a sweet, baby-powder-smelling, cooing, gurgling baby, he would either turn to mush or turn to the nearest airport for a one-way ticket to Anywhere Else.

At this rate, it was Destination Airport.

“It’s okay, Emmett,” I told him. “You just slip your hand under her neck, like this—” I took the baby from Brianna. “And another hand under her bottom. And she’ll be just fine. Won’t you, little baby girl?”

“How do you know how to do that?” he asked.

“Friend of mine has a baby,” I told him. “Just takes doing it a few times and then you feel totally comfortable.”

“I don’t know,” Emmett said. “I thought I could do this, but—Can’t I hold a baby doll?”

“Baby dolls tend to look like
baby dolls
in photographs,” Devlin pointed out with a
did this guy graduate from elementary school?
expression.

I glared at Devlin. “Ready?” I asked Emmett.

He stared at the baby, her big blue trusting eyes staring back. “Uh, I guess so.”

“Guessing so isn’t good enough,” Brianna yelped. “You’re either ready or you’re not.”

Emmett looked to me for help. “I don’t know.”

“Five hundred bucks,” I singsonged in his ear.

“I’m ready,” he said. “Tell me when to start smiling. I just slip my hand under her neck…” He did so, carefully, practically biting his lower lip. “And then I slip this hand under her bottom.”

Voilà,
he was holding the baby.

Baby Caitlin’s little rosy-red mouth twitched, and Emmett’s entire expression changed. His eyes widened, his features relaxed and he smiled.

“She smells good,” he said. “I expected her to smell like—”

“Shit?” I asked.

He laughed. “Yeah. But she smells like baby powder. Hi, baby,” he cooed.

“You can sway a little, back and forth,” Brianna said. “Babies really like that.”

Emmett swayed. The rosy-red mouth twitched.

“She’s so light,” Emmett whispered. “She weights next to nothing.”

“Eleven pounds, to be exact,” Brianna said.

Emmett touched a finger to Caitlin’s face. “Is it okay if I touch her face?” he asked Brianna.

“You get points for asking,” Brianna said. “But you really shouldn’t, not until she’s had her immunizations.”

“Babies are pretty delicate,” I said.

“I can’t touch you until you’ve had your shots,” Emmett whispered to Caitlin. “Otherwise, I would give you a little kiss on your nose.”

Okay, where did my brother go? And who was this mad impostor?

I couldn’t wait to call Charla.

“I can’t believe I’m really holding a baby,” Emmett cooed to Caitlin.

“Okay, people, that’s a wrap,” Devlin said, putting away his camera.

Startled, Emmett and I both glanced at Devlin. He was putting away his equipment.

“But Devlin, we didn’t even start yet,” I said.

“Are you kidding? I shot six rolls of film,” Devlin responded. “The talent’s got talent, after all. He’s a natural at modeling—and at fatherhood too.”

“I’m not a model,” Emmett growled.

I waited for him to add,
Or a father.

But he didn’t.

I sneaked off to call Charla.

The next day, Devlin dropped off the proofs from Emmett’s shoot. “Tell your brother to sign with an agency,” he said, tossing the folder onto my desk. “When the June issue comes out, everyone’s going to want him.”

“Emmett’s sort of antimodeling,” I explained.

“Yeah, that’s why I have six rolls of him modeling,” Devlin snorted. “Trust me, I know the type. Mr. Antiestablishment until the Establishment calls and offers a boatload of money.”

“Sometimes it’s not a matter of principle—it’s a matter of necessity,” I said, surprised I was defending Emmett.

“Well, whatever you want to call it, it’s worth a lot of money. He’s got it.”

“Thanks. I’ll let him know.”

Devlin finally clicked down the hall, and I slid out the
contact sheet. Three of the shots were blown up, eight and a half by eleven. One in black and white and two in color.

Was Emmett really this good-looking? I knew he was, but he really did
look
like a model in the photos, like a professional, million-dollar-an-hour model. He was all angles and too-cool-for-words, but dimpled and sweet.

In my favorite of the three, he held little Caitlin so carefully, the pink swaddling blanket at such contrast with Emmett’s rock-concert T-shirt and black leather jacket. The baby slept peacefully while Rebel Who Now Had A Cause To Stop Rebelling held her against his chest.

After work, I took the subway downtown to Charla’s apartment to drop off the photos. Charla hadn’t called last night to marvel at what a changed man Emmett was from the photo shoot, which might mean he went from awestruck to dumbstruck and stayed there. The photos just might bring him back to awestruck.

Emmett wasn’t home, but Charla was. She was watching a prenatal yoga tape and contorting herself into strange positions on the living-room floor. While she let out an occasional “om,” I sat on the sofa and leafed through the magazine on the coffee table. It was
Power Pregnancy,
one of the magazines owned by
Wow
’s parent company.

I flipped through it.
What’s Going On Inside Your Womb Today? How To Hire a Nanny. How To Feel Sexy When You’re Due Any Day!
And a quiz, “Are You Really Ready For Parenthood?”, which Charla had taken.

She’d scored twelve out of a hundred. That couldn’t be good.

Score: 0–12: Parenthood is more than chromosomes. Here’s a list of some excellent books, Web sites and government and community resources to educate you about parenthood….

“Charla?”

No answer.

“Charla, don’t worry about this stupid quiz, okay?”

No answer. Her palms were on her knees and her eyes were closed.

“Charla, these quizzes are written by temps who have no idea what they’re talking about. They’re as meaningful as horoscopes. Trust me, I—”

“Huh?” she asked. “I didn’t take that qui—” She raced to the couch and grabbed the magazine. “Oh no!”

“Emmett?”

She nodded.

Question 3:
Your baby has diaper rash. You:

A) Apply ointment to baby’s bottom

B) Apply ointment to the diaper—after all, it’s
diaper
rash.

C) Rash? Ewwww!

Emmett circled B
and
C.

Charla groaned. “No wonder he was so quiet this morning and then suddenly wanted to take a long walk. How much do you want to bet that Emmett will call and say he’s staying at a friend’s tonight?”

“A lifetime supply of Pampers?”

“And Desitin,” she added before dropping down on the sofa with a sigh.

“It’s just a stupid quiz,” I said.

But I had no doubt that it had scared Emmett right back into his shell.

“Look at these,” I told her, sliding out the photos. “He might not be ready for parenthood in terms of knowing which end of a diaper is up, but he’s ready in other ways.”

She looked at the photos and tears came to her eyes. “I’m not even sure he should see these. Now that he’s so freaked about his parenting know-how, the reality of himself with a newborn might really send him to some mountain.”

“Ah, but you can learn where diaper rash ointment goes, but you can’t learn to make that expression.”

She smiled and traced over the photo with her finger. “Maybe he was able to be so touched because it’s not his kid.”

I squeezed her hand. “Or maybe he’ll be even more awestruck when it is.”