Chapter Seven
Marty
“He ordered for you? That’s so sweet,” Clara sighed.
“Really? It’s a sweet thing for a guy to assume he knows what you want?” I asked.
“But…that’s what you actually wanted,” Rebecca pointed out. “What would’ve sucked is if he’d ordered you a salad when you really wanted wings.”
“Seriously? Did someone do that to you?”
“Yeah. Greg, on our first date,” she giggled.
“Oh, god. Poor guy. You didn’t deck him too hard, did you?”
“Not too hard,” Rebecca laughed.
Rebecca is the tomboy of the group: sweatpants, baseball hats, and no makeup the majority of the time. At first glance, you’d think she simply didn’t care about keeping up her appearance. What it’s a product of, though, is how she was raised. Little remarks were always made about her weight by her father, and her mother had always been dead set on getting her to wear uber-girly things like ruffles and lace. They’d say things like:
“Maybe you could splash on a bit of makeup for Greg, huh? He’d like that.”
“You sure that dress still fits, honey?”
“Maybe you shouldn’t go back for that second plate of food.”
She didn’t shave when she could get away with it, she didn’t dress up unless Greg took her out, and she never fussed with her hair unless she absolutely needed to. You always knew where you stood with her, and she always held her head high, even if she was grocery shopping braless in the same sweatpants she’d been wearing for two days straight.
“God, I could go for some wings,” Alyssa sighed.
“Marty,” Marianne whispered, “tell them the best part!”
“What best part?” Alyssa asked.
“We’re having dinner tomorrow night,” I smirked.
“Oh, my god! Where’s he taking you?” Alyssa asked. “What are you going to wear?”
“Take a condom.”
“Jesus, Rebecca!” I laughed.
“What? Did you see his body? Take protection.”
“But seriously,” Alyssa said, “where are you guys going?”
“He told me to text him where I wanted to go and where to pick me up.”
“So, he’s not making the decision?” Marianne asked.
“I think it was nice of him to let you choose,” Rebecca said. “The man doesn’t have to make every decision.”
“Thank you!” I said.
“Preach, sister,” Alyssa said as she raised her hand in the air.
“The man doesn’t even have to be the one to work anymore,” Rebecca said as she stood to her feet.
Clara rolled her eyes. “Uh oh, here we go.”
“Women are just as capable of putting as much energy and effort into our careers as men. We’re just as capable of doing everything they can. We don’t have to settle for secretarial work or suck our way to the top, and we have the ability to dominate in the sack just as much as any man our age does.”
“Yeah!” I laughed.
“So, you go where you want to go and you wear what you want to wear,” Rebecca said as she eyed me, “and just remember: no one can take what you’ve done over the years away from you.”
She stepped off her chair and wrapped her arms around me, and it was the first time I’d ever been thankful for one of her lectures. She didn’t give them often, but when she did, they were always centered on the unfair expectations women were held to versus men: shaving versus not, thin versus fat, income inequalities and giving up their lives to have kids.
“So! Are we dipping or splitting?” Clara asked.
“Sounds dirty,” Alyssa smirked.
“Honestly, I kind of like the tie-dyed roses,” Marianne began, “and it would be easier to keep them alive for five days if we did it that way.”
“Aren’t there two dozen other roses coming soon?” Rebecca asked.
And just like clockwork, the doorbell sounded through Marianne’s home.
“Delivery for Marty Leoni?” a gruff voice rang out.
“Sounds like a hot florist,” Alyssa smirked.
“Bachelorette night’s over, ladies,” I said before I got up and headed for the door. “Time to calm yourselves.”
I opened the door and thanked the man for his last-minute delivery before telling him he was a lifesaver, and he tipped his hat before he headed back to his car. I could hear the girls already beginning to split the stems as Marianne commanded what colors went into what vase, and I spun around to take in the sight before me: my best friend, who had been through so much, was getting married to the love of her life and father of her rainbow baby in five days.
And right then and there, I had an idea.
“Marianne, leave one of the roses out and let me dye it one color,” I yelled from the entryway.
“Why?” she asked as I came into the room with the other two dozen white roses.
“Because I’d like to dye it pink and put it in your bouquet.”
I watched her body stop and her eyes slowly panned over to mine. Tears began to cascade onto her cheeks as she cracked a small smile, and I reached out to take her hands in mine before I brought them to my lips and kissed them lightly.
“You know she’d be there if she could, and you know she’s up there watching out for her little brother right now. Let her be a part of your big day.”
And she wrapped her arms around me and hugged me close.