During dinner, I admired Mack and Davena’s easy interaction. They touched often, as if Mack was reassuring her of his presence. Once, when he thought we weren’t looking, Mack leaned in and kissed her between bites. She rolled her eyes playfully and I smiled at Bill, but he was looking at his phone.
When we’d settled the check, Mack said, “Don’t worry too much about your mother. Leanore’s always been able to take care of herself. Just remember that she may need emotional support more than she needs money.” He patted me on the back. His words rang true, but unfortunately, emotional support had never been my strong suit. “And if we can be of any service with the house hunt, just call. I’d love to help.”
“Deal,” I agreed.
“Have a great trip,” Bill said as we stepped out onto the sidewalk. He draped his arm over my shoulder and waved as they walked away. “Hey,” he said, ruffling my hair. “Bad news. I have to go back to the office.”
“What?” I asked, looking up at him. “It’s Friday night.”
“I know, it’s ridiculous. I’m so sorry. I’ll make it up to you this weekend.”
“It’s all right,” I said, running my hand down his long forearm. “I just don’t want you to burn out.”
“It’ll all pay off when we buy our new home. Just think, you, me, peace and quiet . . . . It’ll be so nice to get out of the city.”
I opened my mouth to object and closed it again. I reminded myself that Bill worked hard and deserved what he wanted, which was a spacious home in a calm neighborhood. It would be hard for me to adjust to that life after five years in Chicago, but I knew I would eventually adjust. “You’re right. It will pay off then.”
“So you’re good to take the train?” he asked. “I might be late so don’t wait up.”
~
I woke early but left Bill in bed to sleep. He hadn’t come home until well past two in the morning, and I frowned to think of how hard he’d been working. I threw on my rattiest t-shirt and black spandex pants before raking my hair back into a ponytail. As I was grabbing my tennis shoes, Bill turned, muttered something and hugged my pillow to him.
I started out the day with some Madonna and bounced down the street, taking a right, then a left, all the while humming along to Papa Don’t Preach. A few songs in, I yanked the headphones from my ears and pushed into the building. Telltale sounds of a bustling animal shelter pierced the air; high-pitched meows punctured low, deep barks. I’d been volunteering at the shelter twice a month since Bill and I had moved to the area, more if I could manage.
On my way to the back, I stopped at a floor cage to peer inside. “Well you’re new,” I cooed to a miniature-sized black and caramel mutt. His big eyes blinked up at me as he sat motionless. “Don’t worry, you’re in good hands.” I righted myself and came face to face with George.
“Morning, Liv.”
“Hi, George. How are things?”
His smiled waned. I knew the answer. Life at the animal shelter could be a lot of things: fun, rewarding, messy, sweet – and quite often, heartbreaking. Though there were no-kill shelters in the area, they got more volunteers than the ones that weren’t. And that wasn’t the fault of the animals. They needed exercise, food and love too, even if they might not last until the end of the week.
“So put me to work then. What’s top of the list today?”
“Eureka needs a walk,” he said, making a face. “She’s been bouncing off the walls all morning, and no one else wants to take her.”
I laughed. “That’s why I’ve got my tennies,” I said, curling my leg up. “Bring it on.”
Once I heard the emphatic clicking of four sets of toenails against the concrete, I braced myself. Eureka came flying through the door and stopped short just as she got to me, straining against her leash.
“She’s all yours,” George called over her barking. As I took the leash, she jumped up to lick my face, and then excitedly sniffed my shoes, working her way up to my crotch.
“All right girl, that’s enough,” I said, laughing as I pushed her snout away.
I mustered all the enthusiasm I had and ran her down to Lakefront Trail while fending off her overzealous attempts to french my face. Once we hit the path, we slowed to a walk, and I kept her close as we passed laughing children, zooming cyclists and fellow dogs. When she’d calmed down a bit, we sat to people watch. She excitedly wagged her tail at everyone who looked our way.
“Hey, Liv right?” I heard.
“Hi,” I said, trying to place the man standing over me.
“Rick, from the ballet.”
“Oh, of course, Rick,” I said, recognizing him as Gretchen’s would-be suitor. “What are you up to?”
“Just finishing up a run. Is this your dog?”
“No, no, she’s from the shelter, we’re just getting her some fresh air.”
“Oh. So you volunteer there then?”
“You got it.”
“Well, she’s a cutie.”
“She is, but she has a lot of energy,” I said, waving my hand for emphasis. Just then, Eureka stood up and sniffed Rick’s leg. She sat back and watched him, panting and waiting patiently for him to pet her.
“You know, I had a Pit Bull growing up. I think she might be half,” he commented, examining her. “How old is she?”
“She’s only a year. She should calm down soon, she just has that puppy energy right now.” I watched him stroke her fur and murmur softly. “She also has all her shots,” I added, arching an eyebrow at him.
He looked up and smiled. “I know what you’re getting at. To tell you the truth, getting a dog has crossed my mind, I just worry that I don’t have the time.”
“I can put you in touch with dog walkers, a lot of city dwellers use them. And on the weekends you’d have a running partner.”
He crouched down then and took her face in his hands, rubbing her head. “What’s her name?”
“Eureka.”
“Eureka! That’s great,” he said, laughing. “She is most definitely an Eureka. Well Liv, I’ll give it some thought.”
“That would be great,” I said. “But really think about it. It’s best for everyone if you’re sure.”
“I understand. Where can I find her?”
“Here, give me your information,” I said, handing him my cell phone. “I’ll text you the info. One thing though . . . Eureka has been at the shelter for a few weeks now, and I don’t know how much longer she’ll be around.”
“That’s a good thing right?”
“No,” I said, shaking my head slowly.
“Oh,” he said, running his hand over his chin. “Shit.”
“I know. I’m sorry, no pressure.”
“Eureka, huh,” he said, patting her head.
“You’re single, right?” I asked.
“Yes, in fact I took Gretchen out last week. She’s great, very independent though. So independent that I can’t get her to return my phone calls.”
“She is,” I said with a chuckle. “I’m sorry.”
He waved me off. “Well it was nice talking to you. Text me that info tonight if you can.”
“Will do. Nice to see you, Rick.”
I stood and watched him run off, clasping my hands in hopes that he would come through. Sometimes things were just meant to be, and Rick hitting on Gretchen at the ballet seemed like one of those things. When I looked down, Eureka had wound herself between my legs, ensnaring me in a certified leash trap.
“What are you doing?” I sang, trying to detangle myself. Just then, a small dog across the way started barking and Eureka bolted for her, knocking me on my back. “Eureka!” I screamed, restraining her with every ounce of muscle I had, which apparently, was just enough.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” I heard a man’s voice call as he ran over and rounded her up. “Now there’s an expression I haven’t heard in quite some time,” he said, bending over me. Bleached blond locks hung from his handsome, tanned face.
“I’m sorry?”
/> “Eureka.”
“Oh.” I grinned, taking his outstretched hands and noting how his toned arms flexed from his cut-off tank as he pulled me up. “No, that’s her name.”
“Ah, of course, that makes more sense,” he said with a friendly smile. “Are you all right?”
“I am, just a little embarrassed, thanks.”
“Don’t be, it was a very graceful fall, all things considered.” I blushed and shook my head, noticing his furtive glance at my left hand. “Well, I should take off before I lose my heart rate. Try to be more careful, Eureka!” he called as he ran off.
“We’d better get you back before you kill me or someone else,” I told the dog. We ran all the way back to the shelter, where I gathered her information to send to Rick.
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.
Come Undone Page 3
