CHAPTER 3
I WAVED TO GRETCHEN as I exited the building. “Hello, spring!” she called.
“Not quite,” I said, crossing my arms into myself.
“Where’s Lucy? Is she meeting us here?”
“She said she had to run an errand and would meet us at the restaurant.” I shrugged.
“Come on.” She squeezed her hand through the crook of my arm. “It’s Monday, and it’s happy hour. Let’s get toasty.”
We made our way down the street, and it reminded me of my first year in Chicago. The three of us would meet at our apartment after work, change quickly and end up staying out until the early hours of the morning without even realizing it. It was a time when responsibility was just another word in the dictionary. Where had the time gone? Things were different now, there was no doubt. But something in particular felt amiss. With the onset of the new season, I had that ominous feeling of impending change, although I couldn’t identify what or why that might be.
The man from the theater’s presence was static cling on my skin. I still could not recall the exact details of his face, or even the way he was dressed. But those eyes, that warmth, that inexplicable feeling. They were the things I couldn’t seem to shake. Had he felt it too? And what had he seen in my eyes?
“Dirty martini,” Gretchen’s voice cut into my thoughts.
“And for you?” the bartender asked. “Wait, let me guess . . . Pomegranate margarita, on the rocks, no salt.”
“What makes you say that?” I asked with a small smile. Gretchen and I had encountered a flirtatious bartender or two in our time.
“Pretty girls always want pomegranate.”
Gretchen’s huff did not go unnoticed by either of us. I leaned off the bar, suddenly embarrassed by his forwardness. “I’ll have a Guinness.”
He raised his eyebrows at me and nodded.
“And make mine extra dirty,” Gretchen hissed. I stifled a laugh and went to find a table.
“John has a new girlfriend,” Gretchen divulged once we had our drinks. I rolled my eyes and pressed her for more information. “Don’t be jealous,” she prefaced, referring to the playful crush her brother had harbored for me since we were kids. “She’s the new receptionist at his office so it’s totally under-wraps. John’s typical type: blonde, young and one crayon short of a box.”
“Why?” I laughed loudly. “John is so sweet and obviously a total catch . . . . How come he gets hung up on these bimbos?”
“I’m sure a short therapy session would reveal that it’s got a little something to do with the divorce. When my mom left, he never really forgave her for it. If your parents - ”
“Cheers!” I cut her off, raising my glass. “It’s happy hour, Gretch, not depressed wallowing hour.”
“Oh,” she said, grabbing her drink. “Cheers!”
I welcomed the bitter alcohol as it slid down my throat.
“By the way . . . Guinness?” she asked. “Never once, since we started drinking in high school, have I seen you drink that.”
I shrugged. “I panicked. I was going to order pomegranate.”
Between laughs, she pointed at the table. “Your phone.”
Apr 2, 2012 6:17 PM
Where are you?
The curtness of Bill’s text message wasn’t lost on me. I told him Lucy had called a last minute happy hour.
Apr 2, 2012 6:21 PM
Didn’t we just see them?
Quickly, I tapped out a response.
Apr 2, 2012 6:22 PM
She said it’s 911. Won’t be long.
I looked up to find Gretchen also expertly navigating her smartphone.
“Where is that girl?” I asked. “She’s usually the early one.” As if on cue, Lucy appeared through the doorway. She spotted us right away and rushed over, almost breaking into a run. When she reached the high top, she took a deep breath, sat down calmly and grabbed the plastic happy hour menu from the table. Her face turned many shades of red as she sat unmoving, letting us gawk at her.
“What is it?” I pressed. Lucy held the menu up to her face, wiggled her left hand and then peered at us with smiling eyes. My mouth dropped. “Andrew proposed?” I asked, staring at the conspicuous ring.
“Yes. Yes! Last night!” Lucy squealed.
“What?” we exclaimed in unison.
“You’ve withheld this all day?” Gretchen was indignant.
“Well I wasn’t going to tell you over the phone!”
“How did it happen?” Gretchen demanded.
“So Sunday is our day, right? He was acting strange all afternoon, and then he asked if I wanted to go see a movie. Normally we stay in on Sundays, but he said he really wanted to see some action movie that everyone had been talking about at work. I said no, but he promised to take me for ice cream afterward, so I agreed.
“Well, we go out of the way to this small theater in Lincoln Square, that’s totally not our regular place, and when we arrive, he waltzes right in without paying or anything. I’m like, ‘Andrew, what is going on?’ but he won’t tell me. We enter an empty theater where there’s an attendant holding a tray of two bubbling champagne flutes. Instantly, the screen lights up, and I recognize the first bars of “Moon River.” It is, of course, Breakfast at Tiffany’s, my favorite movie. We take the drinks and follow the man to the middle of the theater. There, resting on my seat, is that famous little blue bag. Of course, I begin to cry right away. Andrew pulls out the box, tells me how much he loves me, and asks me to marry him.”
“Wow,” Gretchen said, grinning from ear to ear.
“That is amazing,” I agreed. It was a Lucy-tailored proposal, and I found comfort in the fact that Andrew knew her so well. Gretchen and I prattled accordingly, gushing over the ring: three oval cut diamonds, centered on a smooth platinum band.
I was hit with a fleeting pang of envy; not over the ring or Andrew’s elaborate proposal, but because he’d planned it just for her. Bill’s proposal had been sincere, like everything else he did for me, but we’d had an audience. All of my friends and family looked on as he bent on one knee, and all I remembered thinking was that he needed new pants, that they were too short. Everyone was looking, watching my every move, waiting for me to say that one magical word.
I glanced down at my own gold and diamond solitaire stone, an heirloom that he had inherited from his grandmother. It was so thoughtful, that I hadn’t had the heart to tell Bill it wasn’t my taste.
For the next hour, we passed the news around like a hot potato, jumping from detail to detail. Lucy straightened her back as she envisioned out loud the wedding of her dreams.
“And of course there is the matter of the bridal party,” she said, pursing her lips. Gretchen and I broke into large smiles and nodded our heads in anticipation of the question.
“Gretchen Harper, Olivia Germaine,” she started. “Please do me the honor of being the bridesmaids in my wedding! I’ve asked my sister to be the maid of honor, and that’s it. My three girls.” We agreed immediately, having discussed this moment many times before. “I can’t believe you never took Bill’s last name,” Lucy added. “I can’t wait! Lucille Marie Greene.”
I twisted my mouth at her. “It’s a lot more hassle than you realize,” I said. “Tons of paperwork.” They gave me the same exact look of skepticism as I gulped my water. “What? It’s not that I don’t want to, I just never got around to it.”
“Poor Bill,” Gretchen said with a shake of her head.
I sighed. “Well, maybe that will be my project for the summer. I know it would make him happy. It’s just that . . . Wilson? It’s so . . .” I made a face. “I don’t feel like a Wilson.”
“Are you telling me this whole time you’ve been putting it off because you don’t like it?” They giggled in unison and I shrugged.
“Maybe. Speaking of Mr. Wilson,” I said, pulling out my phone to text him. “I wonder if I can get him to pick me up.”
“I have to take off too,” Lucy said. “I’m all booked up tomorrow.”
“Good girl! How is it that you get to shop for a living?” asked Gretchen. “That makes me jealous.”
“Don’t be. You try reasoning with a sixty-year-old woman who only wants to wear ivory to her daughter’s wedding. She insists it’s not the same as wearing white.”
“What’s wrong with that?” I asked, chewing on a piece of ice. “Just kidding,” I said, recoiling at Lucy’s horrified look. “I promise, no white for your wedding. Or ivory.”
“You’ll be wearing whichever color I choose, bridesmaid, so tread carefully. Personally, I think you’d look lovely in lilac, Liv.” I made a choking sound and we dissolved into laughter.
“Okay seriously, first order of business as a bridesmaid,” I said to the table, producing my agenda. “Don’t plan anything for the Saturday two weeks away.” I looked at Gretchen pointedly who opened her mouth to object. “Engagement party!” I cut in.
Gretchen stopped short and nodded excitedly. Whatever date or party she has can surely wait, I thought.
Lucy agreed readily – she’d been waiting for this moment her entire life and was ready to go the distance. She listed off some ideas, all of which I’d heard before, but I took notes anyway. “Come over this weekend,” I said, turning my attention to Gretchen. “We can work on invitations as we plan. Gretchen and Olivia’s Party Planning Service.”
“I’ll bring muffins,” Gretchen agreed.
“And Luce, send over Andrew’s contacts,” I added, realizing that I barely knew any of Andrew’s non-mutual friends.
Right then, my phone pinged with Bill’s response.
Apr 2, 2012 8:20 PM
Out front
“Ride’s here,” I said. “Gotta run. You guys need a lift?”
“I’m meeting up with people.”
“K. Luce?” She shook her head. I leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “Congratulations,” I said into her hair.
A cool blast hit me as I stepped outside. Bill’s silhouette leaned over the seat to open the door, and I was greeted with Robert Smith’s melancholy voice. His mood could usually be determined by his choice of music. The Cure meant brooding in our house.
“Babe?” I asked.
“If you’re going out, why can’t you get the train home?” he asked.
“You could’ve said no,” I pointed out. I thought about how he used to love driving me around, because it meant a little extra time together. I glanced over in the darkness and wondered if he was remembering the same thing. “Next time I’ll take the ‘L’.”
“These brakes are done,” he muttered. “I have to take the car in again.”
“We could get a new one,” I suggested for the third time since January. “Maybe my dad’s Shelby?”
“Why? This one runs fine.”
“It’s old, Bill. It’s not like we can’t afford a new one.”
“We can’t afford - ”
“All right, maybe not the Shelby, but something else. Just because it works – like your mother’s couch – doesn’t mean it’s the best option.”
“Liv, we don’t need the Shelby. It’s not practical.” He grunted and after a moment, slammed his fists into the steering wheel. “Come on! This isn’t goddamn rush hour, what is the hold up?”
Ignoring his outburst, I excitedly told him about Lucy and Andrew’s engagement. His shoulders relaxed slightly, and I knew his resolve was beginning to chip. “That’s great,” he said. “They make a great couple.”
“They really do,” I agreed, looking out the window. Yellow street lamps and dark shadows blurred together as we picked up pace.