More than two years after we had become friends and thankfully with the bar and thesis successfully checked off, Clayton and I had found ourselves single at the same time. He had broken things off with his long-term girlfriend, and I was taking a break from online dating after a string of disappointing dates with guys who were only looking for hookups.
It had been easy to slide from friendship into a relationship. Relationships were just friendships with kissing, right? With Clayton, there were none of those half-terminologies and questions that my friends were plagued with—dating but not exclusively, hanging out, hooking up, how many other girls was he talking to on dating apps? In a cute, old-fashioned way, Clayton had asked if I wanted to be his girlfriend.
Our interests aligned, our friends liked each other, and most importantly, our parents approved. Or at least, my parents were Tom Cruise jumping on the couch in front of Oprah. Minus the Scientology.
After the roller coaster that I had been on with Andrew and being burned too many times dating afterwards, it was a relief to be in a no-drama relationship where the guy respected me. We supported each other and enjoyed spending time together, but we also gave each other room. Similarly, I suspected that Clayton liked the steadiness of our relationship and that I was independent, a far cry from his previous relationship.
A few weeks ago, my parents’ dream came true. My perfect boyfriend had replicated our first meeting by taking me on the most perfect sunset cruise around Boston Harbor and had gotten down on his knee. I barely heard Clayton’s question, my eyes mesmerized by the giant diamond glinting in the last of the sunlight. On autopilot, I nodded.
So what if my feelings for Clayton weren’t comparable to what I had once felt for Andrew? I had learned the hard way that too much feelings led to broken hearts. At least with Clayton, my heart was safe. Marrying a Davenport was the pot of gold at the end of the immigrant rainbow. I was convinced that my feelings would grow over time.
Besides, what are you supposed to say when someone that you’ve dated for six months bedazzled you with a giant sparkly ring? I should have been more prepared for his question. Marriage was a logical option for people who had been happily dating for a while. Heck, marriage occurred between people who met each other at the altar—there’s a whole reality show about it if you don’t believe me. Google it. Or better not. Because then you’ll stay up all night getting invested in strangers trying to figure out married life with cameras in their faces, only to find out that some of them had only gotten married to boost their social media following.
Anyways, for someone who spent hours every day creating, writing about, and teaching about data, I had missed the indicators that there could be a second marriage for me.
The first one had been too much.
Yet here I was, preparing for my engagement party. For my second marriage.
“Are you feeling okay?”
Clayton’s voice pulled me back to the golf course where he had led me. I nodded.
His blue eyes probed mine. “I know my mother can be difficult to deal with. Sometimes, it’s just easier to let her have her way. You’d let me know if you were truly uncomfortable or didn’t agree, right?”
“Hmm, sure.” I nodded weakly.
Not looking entirely convinced, he dropped the topic. “I actually have something else I wanted to ask.”
Uh-oh.
What could it be? My heart raced as my mind flew over possibilities. Did he find out about Andrew? Was this dinner a lure before I was cast away? Had the Davenports found a political bigwig with a marriageable daughter and made an alliance? Like back when women still needed a dowry, except without cows and whatever else they traded. What was the offer—we get rid of the fiancée, and in exchange, your daughter brings to the marriage a well-funded PAC?
By the time Clayton stopped somewhere on the golf course, I was fully prepared for the news that I had been thrown over for a blonde virgin from Texas named Sally Sue. A traitorous thought snaked through my brain. What if this is meant to be? If there’s no fiancé, should I give my husband—
No! I figuratively slapped my heart back down. My heart was not the brightest of organs, nor was it good at remembering. I thought I had trained it to listen to my brain, but every now and then, it broke through the restraints of reason.
Shaking myself out of the midst of a mental boxing match, I noticed with surprise that Clayton was starting to kneel. “What are you doing?” I said to the top of his golden hair.
He looked up at me, laughing self-consciously. “I know I surprised you a few weeks ago, but I figured you’d know the second time. When a man gets on his knee, with a ring …” He shrugged adorably.
Gah, I didn’t deserve his goodness. Feeling guilty that I wasn’t more delighted, I plucked at his arm to get him to stand. “Aren’t you forgetting something? We’re already engaged. Remember the party tomorrow—it’s for us.”
Clayton held up the same ring that he had proposed with and slipped it over my third finger. “I got it back yesterday from the jeweler. It should fit better now.”
The ring felt like chains. I was unbearably itchy. There were no visible mosquitos that I could see, but I felt as attacked as if I stood in deep woods in the summertime with honey slathered over me.
Just like last time, I focused on the ring to calm myself. It blinded me with its size and sparkly-ness. This was a statement piece, as clear as if Clayton had branded me. I should have been happy and proud that he wanted me.
And, just like last time, I reminded myself that Clayton and I loved each other. Our love was based on a solid foundation of common interests and goals. That was more sustainable than passion.
Getting up from the manicured grass, Clayton leaned down to kiss me. On autopilot, my head turned at the last second. Pausing for an indecisive breath, Clayton gently kissed my cheek before pulling back quickly.
Even though I couldn’t see his expression, I could tell I had hurt him. However, ever since I had gotten back from that disastrous trip to Chicago, it hadn’t felt right to do anything besides hold his hand or allow him to kiss my cheeks, as if we were fifth graders with chaperones watching. I didn’t know why I had put up this wall, and I needed to figure this out before I screwed up this engagement.
If I still planned to marry Clayton, I had to get over Andrew completely. Because, even with Clayton’s ring on my finger, I couldn’t stop thinking about Andrew. When I closed my eyes, I saw Andrew—his dark hair mussed from my fingers, that crooked smile of his, with a hint of a dimple.
And that made me the worst kind of person.
Chapter Seven
Tia
December 15, 2009 (never sent)
Andrew,
I dreamed of a big white dress and flowers everywhere. Instead, we got married by someone who was ordained online, in some random chapel that smelled like vomit and alcohol. Yet, I was still so happy that day! Because I was getting married to you, and on that day, we were going to ride off on our happily ever after.
That day seems so far away. There are no signs left that we had ever been married. No ring, no photos of the day. Even the physical pain has mostly receded, just like the doctors and nurses promised—the last tangible reminder that we were once together.
I wonder if the mental and emotional pain ever fades away?
Ting
Feeling like an imposter at my own party, I walked around the tables in the Ritz ballroom. There was nothing left for me to do. Judy and the wedding planner she had hired had taken care of everything. So what if I had vaguely mentioned that I’d love something small and casual, maybe in a barn somewhere with twinkly lights? The Ritz ballroom was a close second, with lights twinkling from the hundreds of candles in the centerpieces. Clayton’s mom must have added a zero to the number I had given her for my desired guest list. Thirty, three hundred, what was the difference? Judy was out of my hair, and I had much, much bigger problems to worry about.
“Hey, Tia.” Clayton entered the ba
llroom.
“Hey,” I called back. We had arrived separately tonight, not having talked since the awkwardness of the re-proposal the night before.
“You look beautiful,” he said.
He was the beautiful one, looking out of my league in his tailored, dark blue suit. I looked up at his handsome face. I could never understand why people said they were looking at someone’s eyes. Plural. Maybe I was a defective eye-looker, but with our faces only inches away, it was easier to focus on one of Clayton’s eyes at a time.
Looking into his left eye, I said, “Your mom called me this morning to make sure that I knew to put on something, as she called it, ‘more elegant.’”
Clayton sighed. “She means well.”
“Yes, I agree.” I tried to smile at him, looking at his right eye. “Don’t worry about it. I’m appreciative that she’s throwing this engagement party for us.”
Speaking of the very nice devil, Judy waved us over to where she stood near the doors with Senator Davenport and my parents. “Tia, Clayton, please come over here to welcome the guests. They should be arriving soon.”
Sighing, I plastered a boringly pleasant smile on my face and crossed over. I shook the senator’s hand and greeted Judy with air kisses on her professionally made-up cheeks. Her dress probably cost more than my monthly salary, and I didn’t even have to look down to know that her nails had been buffed and polished more than even her wineglasses at home. And those were meticulously polished daily with silk cloths and steam from filtered water by housekeepers wearing gloves.
She looked me up and down. Unlike the admiring gaze from her son, her gaze felt calculated. “Not a bad dress choice,” Judy said at last. “At least you tried.”
“Mother, Tia looks great,” Clayton interjected. I felt a rush of gratitude toward him.
Ignoring her son’s comment, Mrs. Davenport turned to him. Her smile couldn’t have been warmer, as she gave Clayton her cheeks to kiss. “Don’t you look so handsome, darling! Like a prince.”
My parents smiled at me encouragingly. I was grateful that they hadn’t grasped the undertones in Judy’s comments. My mom had been beside herself since I told her about the engagement, and now, even my dad looked mildly interested. They had flown in this morning from Colorado, and I felt guilty for immediately dumping them off in their hotel room. It was hard to be around them when they were so proud of my engagement.
With greetings complete, we clustered around the entranceway in awkward silence. I wracked my brain trying to think of something to break the ice. To my utter relief, Clayton nodded towards a distinguished couple heading our way. “There’re the Elfas. They’re always the first to arrive.”
An hour later, my face was starting to hurt from the incessant smiling. The constant smiling was simply put, work. Most of the guests were Clayton’s family, friends, or his parents’ friends. I kept my small talk to four topics: the weather, what people were wearing, my ring, and how lucky I felt that I was about to be married to Clayton. Each time I restarted my list of topics, I felt a sense of déjà vu.
Of course, Clayton was his regular charming self. Being around people was his jam. I had seen him in action before, but watching him greet every guest by name as if they were his favorite and dole out personal stories was still impressive. The guests, even our few mutual friends, gave me perfunctory greetings before eagerly clustering around Clayton.
“Hi, lady!”
I turned toward the sound, a genuine smile splitting my face. Leaving behind Mr. Someone-or-Other, I rushed over to hug my best friend, Pippa. She was bedazzled head to toe in a sequined hot pink dress, with four-inch heels that had little spikes on the heels. From the corner of my eyes, I could see Judy glare at her in disapproval. Elegant and understated, Pippa was not. She was new money, as Judy had pointed out before, in a way that left no doubt that new meant tacky.
I must have tacky taste because I thought Pippa looked wonderful.
Voice low, she whispered close to my ear, “Is he here?”
I didn’t have to ask which “he” Pippa meant. As soon as I got to the airport in Chicago, I had called Pippa’s cell, leaving a message that was part hysteria, part … well, okay, all hysteria. Andrew’s visit to my office had garnered another panicked voicemail.
Though Pippa was also Clayton’s friend, she was my friend first. We had met twenty-two years ago at the International School of Beijing, where my parents had enrolled me in preparation for our move to America, and where Pippa’s parents had deposited her while they made a fortune investing in Chinese electronic firms. We had reconnected when we found out that we were going to the same college.
“I haven’t seen him yet,” I whispered back. “He probably won’t show up. It’s so last minute. Why put yourself in that awkward spot?”
“I hope he comes.” Pippa craned her neck around to look at the crowded ballroom. “I didn’t fly all the way home from London to miss the drama.”
I elbowed her gently. “Hey, what about me? It’s your duty as maid of honor to support me.”
Laughing loudly enough to attract eyes, Pippa said, “Yes! I’ll totally support you as Andrew and Clayton battle it out. Preferably with some ripped shirts and howling at the moon. Can you imagine?”
Grinning, I watched as Pippa pretended to fan herself. “Andrew, yes. He was barely civil when I knew him. Clayton, definitely not! He’d probably fold up his shirt first before fighting.”
Our laughter got another disapproving glare from Judy. On the other hand, Senator Davenport smiled broadly at us. Or rather, Pippa. The senator was all politics, all the time, and his spidey senses must have been tripped when Pippa showed up. Whatever his wife thought, Pippa was still the daughter of an obscenely rich family and a valuable connection.
Giving the senator a not-so-subtle wide berth, Pippa pulled me away. My future father-in-law hadn’t survived over thirty years in Washington without knowing when to push. For now, he backed off, returning to the receiving line of guests.
Pippa waved a waiter over. She grabbed the waiter’s entire plate of hors d’oeuvres and champagne, and plunked down at a table in the corner. I followed suit.
Was it weird for the guest of honor to sit in a corner of the room like a wallflower stuffing her face with little bacon-wrapped scallops? Sure, but you know what? I deserved a few moments of peace. It wasn’t as if anyone at the party would miss me. The benefit of having a charming fiancé was that people rarely missed me.
“So tell me, did you jump him in your office?” Pippa asked excitedly.
My hand slammed against her mouth. “Shhh!” Outside of a few curious glances at us, because we were the only lame ones sitting, no one seemed to notice.
Pippa shoved my hand away and continued, “Well? Did you? Was it hawwwt? Did you have some sexy, sexy make-up sex in your office?”
“No!” I yelped. “Hush, Pippa, no one knows about him. I’m engaged.”
One eyebrow rose. “Are you really engaged?”
Shoving my sparkly finger at her, I responded, “Yes, see the ring. See the party.” I waved my hands around the crowded ballroom glowing with lit candles.
“I know that.” Pippa imitated my hand gestures. “Are you sure this is what you want? What you actually want, not just want you think you should want? You haven’t been dating Clayton that long, and just because he shoved some giant heirloom at you doesn’t mean you have to accept. The least he could have done was buy you a new ring, instead of giving you a hand-me-down from a dead relative with no sentimental value either.”
“Yes, I want.” I nodded emphatically even as her words sent my nerves into overdrive. “Now, no more about the other him. Nothing happened in my office.”
Looking disappointed, she said, “Shame. You could have done some kinky role playing in your office. Hot professors exploring each other for the sake of academia. Hot librarian helping a lost soul find the perfect book, only to end up finding each other’s hoohoo.”
“Hoohoo? Get your m
ind out of the gutter,” I said.
“Maybe you should get your mind into the gutter,” Pippa retorted. “I would be rolling in the gutter if I was married to Andrew. That man looks like he wouldn’t mind getting dirty.”
Laughing helplessly, I buried my head in my hands. If only she knew the dirty images teasing my mind ever since the almost-kiss with Andrew. I blushed thinking of how much my body remembered Andrew.
“Seriously, I wish I had known the Andrew from law school and New York was the same Andrew from your past. What a small world,” Pippa said, looking thoughtful.
“What would you have done if you knew?” I asked.
She shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. I think the first thing would be not throwing myself at him for three years during class.”
“You did not. If you did, he would totally have responded.”
“I did too. I don’t know if he noticed anyone at law school. He was just so focused on his studies. That inaccessibility obviously made him hotter. Second, if I knew he was your Andrew, I would have knocked him over the head for his stupidity for ruining things with you,” Pippa said.
I smiled at her loyalty. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I was equally to blame. Hesitant yet too curious not to ask, I probed, “What was he like in law school and at the firm?”
Frowning in thought, Pippa propped her head on one hand. “He’s pretty hard to get to know and kept a distance from most people. I’d wager that you still know him better than anyone else. He married you. Oh shit.”
“What?” I turned around to look at what Pippa was staring at. There, in the middle of the ballroom stood Andrew. Clayton may be eye candy, but Andrew was some weird whole-person candy for me.
I couldn’t take my eyes off Andrew as he approached, his gray eyes zeroing in on mine. There was this odd calmness that I felt around him, as if I had arrived somewhere safe. I was so focused on him that I didn’t even notice that he was closely followed by Clayton, my future in-laws, and my parents. All standing in front of me, looking ready to chew me out.
Give Love a Chai (Common Threads Book 2) Page 5
