by Hope Lyda
“I know. That’s why this couldn’t wait.”
A flash of worry crosses her mother’s face, but it is replaced by the urge to be hospitable. “Girls, come this way. Margaret, could you get these ladies some cookies and sodas with lime?”
We follow Mrs. Ramirez to the living room. Caitlin checks her watch and gives me a hurry-up look, as if I can control her mother. I decide to take this as my permission to really step up this conversation.
“Mrs. Ramirez, we are here because Caitlin has big news. It’s a bit of a surprise to all of us, but we couldn’t be more excited.”
Caitlin takes her cue. “A total surprise, but it couldn’t be a better move.”
“Move?” Mrs. Ramirez raises her eyebrows and touches her fingers to her pearls.
“New York. I got a great job…”
“Career opportunity, really,” I interject.
“Yes! And I leave right after Sadie’s wedding. Fast, so fast.”
From where we sit on the low chaise lounge, we watch Caitlin’s mom stand up and begin pacing. Back and forth. Back and forth.
“Mom?” Caitlin says barely audibly.
“You know how we feel about New York, Caitlin.”
“Mom, I’ll be working with a woman who designs and buys and sells fashions.”
“You are moving across the country to go into retail? I’m getting your father.”
We are left alone with our nervous energy, a plate of sugar cookies, and two sodas with lime.
“This isn’t going well at all.”
“Did you expect her to react any other way?”
“No.”
“Then it is going as expected. That’s a plus.” I try out optimism for the sake of my friend’s morale. It works momentarily; Caitlin reaches for a sugar cookie and takes a nibble.
Mrs. Ramirez enters the room with her husband. She looks disappointed and he looks weary. “Caitlin,” he says, “is this something you have given careful consideration?”
“Ricardo.” Mrs. Ramirez expresses her unhappiness with his line of questioning.
“Yes, Dad. I’ve been researching ideas for months. Ask Mari. She went to the library with me every weekend.”
“Mari, what do you think?” Mr. Ramirez says with his arms folded across his chest. A psychological power move, no doubt.
I look at the grandfather clock behind him. We have thirty minutes. I talk fast. “It’s solid. Isabel, the woman with the established business, has an excellent reputation in New York. Her roster of vintage fashion clients includes names that we are not even allowed to mention because they are women who had her sign privacy agreements. Politicians, artists, celebrities, and the wealthiest women in the country.” I pause to round up more material. “Look at this great blouse Caitlin chose for me. The girl can do this job.” I point to the sheer, flowing layers and the delicate sequins.
This is not received as a selling point. Caitlin’s parents politely look away and change the subject.
“Politicians. My, that is exciting,” Mrs. Ramirez offers along with the plate of sugar cookies.
“Including a few former first ladies,” I say, jumping back on their preferred train of thought.
They nod to one another. Mrs. Ramirez then sits down across from Caitlin, her hand still to her pearls. “Is there health insurance?”
Caitlin nods and smiles nervously.
“And tell her about the classes,” I prompt.
“Isabel will pay for me to attend a fashion institute in the city—up to three classes a semester. That way I can learn more about the creative and business side of the industry while putting it into practice each day.”
“What is your title?”
“Assistant buyer.”
Mrs. Ramirez leans forward and places her hands on her knees while staying seated. “Well, we knew you would leave eventually. It was always in you to spread your wings and fly. This is too fast for me…”
“But…” Caitlin protests.
Her mom holds up her hand to stop her. “However, Caitlin, I can see it is a good way for you to explore what you love. We’ve always wanted you to commit to something.”
“I’m shocked. I’ve felt….”
I have my arm stretched out on the couch. It is near her hair, so I yank on it.
“Thanks Mom, Dad.” Caitlin jumps up to hug them both, and they pat down her sleek hair with tears in their eyes.
This is a Hallmark moment, which needs to be interrupted. Sadie is a taskmaster and we are going to be late.
“Gosh, look at the time. I guess we will see you at the wedding—day after tomorrow,” I say while standing and starting to walk the gauntlet back to the huge front door.
Margaret wraps up a couple cookies for us to take with us for our long ten-minute drive to the church, and we are off.
Caitlin is stunned that there was not a fight for me to break up or a fire to put out. “What just happened?”
“I think that is called support. That thing that just happened…”
“Unbelievable. I’ve been so worried about this. I’ve fretted for months. I broke out in hives both the times I rehearsed talking to them. I’m confused.”
“Maybe they understand you more than you give them credit for.”
“If I had known they’d be so accepting, I would have thrown in the fact that I’m engaged.” Caitlin reaches for a cookie in the linen cloth and munches away. I stop the car immediately. The light is still yards away. “What!”
She looks over at me innocently. “I told you that Jim asked me.”
“And that you had answered noooo.”
She slaps her knee and licks her lips. “I am so forgetful lately. I did say no. Then we talked, you and I, and I saw that nobody would judge me if I said yes. So when he said he’d wait for me, I told him I would be engaged to be engaged.”
“Like a promise ring?” I say a bit mockingly. Right now I don’t have a lot of faith in such romantic notions.
“Without the ring. He wants me to have this opportunity and then we’ll see. But we are not breaking up. He’s even driving out with me and flying back. Isn’t that sweet?”
“What is it about these men willing to wait? It is some sort of phenomena around here. Peyton, Jim…”
“Beau has waited for you.”
“Beau has gone on with his life in many ways. You wouldn’t believe how much he has left me out of the loop. Do you know that I probably won’t have a job after this year, thanks to patient Beau?”
A guy in a sports car zooms past us and honks.
Caitlin puts her cookie down and points to the road. “Keep driving and keep talking.”
“Before I left for Washington he was so preoccupied with this big project, and all along I kept thinking it was for a good cause and worth the sacrifice. But Beau is willing to sacrifice a lot more than I am.”
“Like what?”
“Like me, apparently.”
I reveal the recent fiasco against my better judgment. Speaking it makes it more true. And spreading words that tarnish Beau’s reputation feels, at first, like a betrayal. But as the words come out, and I start shaping a perspective of the situation, I feel better.
Caitlin is shocked about Beau’s initial report. “He’ll fix it. He has to,” she says with her hands raised in little fists.
“I cannot pin the guy down for a conversation. My lips are moving, but he isn’t hearing me. Meanwhile, he likes the sound of his own voice—he jabbers on and on without mentioning the fight. Or the report, obviously.”
“Which means he is sorry.”
“I guessed denial.”
“The old market is up ahead,” Caitlin says full of nostalgia. “Do you know what you need?”
I shake my head in response because I’m finding it harder to force sound from my constricted throat.
“You need a Coke in one of those old-fashioned bottles and some peanuts.” Caitlin points insistently at the whitewashed market we are approaching on the right.
“We mustn’t be late,” I say, sounding like a schoolmarm.
“Yeah. They will probably cancel the entire wedding. Why not look at it as if we are right on time to get that Coke. Is there a better way to mark our last week together?” Caitlin goads, referring to the year after we graduated when a day of job hunting would leave us both tired, depressed, and in need of a drive out of town. We never got further than the Time Stop Market.
I hit the brakes and the reality of this week hits me—it is more than beginnings and endings. Just like that unbearable and exciting year of job hunting, this is a time to harvest memories and sow dreams. Suddenly I have a thirst that can only be quenched by an icy Coke and a hunger that can only be satiated by salty peanuts.
There is comfort in this market with its huge Coke bottle caps on the walls and slatted wood flooring. It smells of popcorn and cigarettes, which happen to be the diet choices of the pointy-chinned woman who runs the register at all hours.
We walk over to the cooler and pass by some men wearing cowboy hats and boots who are tossing cards into a Yuban coffee tin. The youngest of the males, a spry seventy-ish gentleman, stands politely as we make our return trek to the counter with our bottles of cola and bags of peanuts.
Pointy-chin pops the top of our sodas and hands them back to us. The bottle is cool in my palm. I take a large swig as the screen door opens and a couple of college-aged guys enter. The second holds the door for us and we nod without making eye contact.
“Do you do the Macarena?” He says looking at my shirt.
I start laughing and Caitlin nearly loses Coke out her nose. I tell her that she is not to choose a shirt for me ever again.
My friend checks her normal, pink cotton wrap shirt for soda stains as she gets back into the passenger seat of my car. I sense her lightness of mood. Moments before, mine had felt heavy, dark, and determined to remain there. But the burn of the pop in my mouth and the rebelliousness of arriving fashionably late to the rehearsal in my Macarena shirt is inspiring.
“This actually helped,” I say to my friend, who is pushing the peanuts into her bottle one by one.
“Told ya,” she says, always the optimist. I will miss her.
“Maybe I will confront Beau tonight. Look how smoothly the talk with your parents went. I could be getting all worked up for nothing.”
“Beau is charming, generous, and great. And he loves you.”
“You see how easy it is to oversell the guy?” We pull into the parking lot just as Beau is heading in to the church. I park the car and watch him. “He is all those wonderful characteristics. Am I crazy to focus on this one minor incident?”
“I don’t think being fired by your boyfriend is that minor.”
“He hasn’t fired me.” I roll my eyes.
“He hasn’t protected you, either.”
This sinks in.
We walk into the old, mission-style church. A violinist is warming up, Sadie and Carson are practicing their big kiss at the altar while the minister discusses the service with the parents. The pianist practices the wedding march. Caitlin grabs my arm and we walk, like a couple, down the aisle.
Everyone notices and starts laughing.
Carson points to us. “Mari should be practicing for the real thing.”
Sadie elbows him in the side but keeps her smile intact.
We start to do the Macarena the rest of the way. My shirt shimmies and sparkles. The organist joins in with the song. Sadie and Carson start clapping while Angelica “whoop, whoops” a few times.
I turn to see Beau’s expression—he is speaking into his cell phone and covering the other ear with his free hand.
“I can’t hear myself talk,” Beau barks to a group of surprised friends.
Caitlin looks at me, and Beau looks for the nearest exit.
Up Loading
I always thought you were a minimalist, Caitlin.” Angelica grunts as she pushes another vintage suitcase into the back of Caitlin’s car. Our goal had been to complete this task by sundown. It is now ten o’clock, and we are all a bit loopy.
“Thank goodness we are wearing sweats. I will just roll into bed when we finally finish,” I say.
“Did you forget? You don’t have a bed tonight. I took everything that wouldn’t fit into my car and donated it to the women’s downtown mission. But we have inflatable mattresses, thanks to Sadie.” Caitlin goes over to her tall friend and gives her a squeeze. “Sadie, it means so much to me that you are here, the night before your wedding, helping me load my car. What bride would do this?”
“One afraid to let go of her old life,” Sadie confesses. “Besides, I get to sleep in tomorrow. My mom and sister are going for pedicures, courtesy of Carson, my angel, and I don’t have to be anywhere until noon.”
“I miss my What Would Old Mari Do bracelet that Caitlin made me.” I lament. “I think I need it.”
“Did you flush it?” Angelica asks as if this is a normal assumption.
“No, I lost it somewhere. The last I remember seeing it was on my way to Washington that first trip. I wore it with the charm bracelet you all got me.” I set down a black hatbox and red lines appear where the ribbon handles had dug into my hand. “What on earth is in this?”
Caitlin glances over at my current burden. “It’s my belt buckle collection.”
“But of course,” Sadie says, laughing.
“Could this really be the last piece of luggage?” Angelica comes out of Caitlin’s apartment holding up a white leather makeup case.
“It is, but I need that tomorrow for the wedding.”
“Wait? The last piece of luggage? Don’t tell me we packed my bag in all this mess!” I say.
“Hey. Important life belongings, please,” Caitlin says proudly.
“Is it the one with red ribbon tied to the handle?” Angelica asks, looking back into the empty apartment.
“Yes! Hallelujah. It’s still in there?”
She turns back and deadpans, “No. I think I saw you pack it an hour ago. So it should be somewhere in the middle.”
“Perfect. There’s another hour,” I mutter.
“Maybe you subliminally want to go with me,” Caitlin says gleefully.
“The word is subconsciously,” Sadie corrects gently, and then she claps her hands with a burst of energy. “You all retrieve Mari’s suitcase, and I will get the bag of goodies out of my car.”
“Goody, we get goodies,” Angelica sings.
Suddenly visions of strange, Asian purses dance through my head. I had completely forgotten about our bridesmaid gifts. “Be kind,” I whisper to Angelica while Sadie rummages in her trunk several yards away.
“What?”
“When you see the goodies, just remember that our friend has had a lot of stress and that she hasn’t made consistent fashion selections during this process.”
“Oh, great,” Angelica says, crossing her jean-clad legs and sitting down on the median. “I’m not that good at feigning pleasure when I am tired.”
I stare at her in unbelief. “I’ve never seen you feign pleasure.”
“Remember that orange angled cowl-neck sweater you got me for my twenty-fourth birthday? That expression I gave you when I held it up to my face? That was feigned pleasure.”
“I’ll have you know those were incredibly in at the time. And the sales woman said orange would go with your coloring perfectly. It was the fall fashion color.”
“Well, it was the color of baby food. I don’t wear baby food.”
Sadie comes over carrying a large shopping bag and a smaller grocery sack.
“First, I have your bridesmaid presents. Mari saw these, but hopefully she didn’t give away the secret,” Sadie says, grinning, and I cannot help but smile with her and not at her. She is truly happy.
“Bring it on,” Angelica says, closing her eyes and opening her palms.
Sadie apparently writes this off as normal Angelica behavior and continues smiling as she reaches into the bag and pulls out t
he wrapped packages and gently places them one by one into our hands. We reverently peel back the red tissue paper. I move extra slow so that I am not the first one to react.
“I love this!” Caitlin screams and hugs Sadie with the force of five little waifs.
Angelica looks to me as if to gain strength and inspiration and then she too goes to hug Sadie. I add, “It is even prettier than I remember,” and wrap my arms around my best friends.
We group hug as long as Angelica can handle it, which is all of ten seconds, and then Sadie reaches into her grocery sack. She pulls out a bottle of expensive champagne and four champagne glasses. “This is our last night together as friends who live in the same town.”
“And as all single women,” I say.
“I’ll let the departing dame serve us.” Sadie hands the bottle over to Caitlin, who sets her purse down protectively to avoid any spillage.
Pop.
Angelica turns to me and whispers, “She gave us the gifts in the wrong order. The champagne would have helped the whole feigned pleasure thing.”
Instead of hitting her in the shoulder as I normally would, I link my arm through hers and hold my friend close. She smiles and lets me.
“To friends,” Sadie says holding up her glass.
“To friends,” we echo.
The pace of the night has shifted from hurried to serene. I don’t want to blink and miss a moment of this. I know that I might never feel the melancholy of blessing and sadness as I do right now, in the middle of a parking lot, standing hip to hip in a circle with the most important women in my life…
…saying goodbye.
Wedding Belles
Is this strange or what?” Caitlin asks, spinning around in her empty living room. My suitcase, Elmo’s carrier, and Caitlin’s makeup bag line the space that was once occupied by a retro metal diner table.
“Freedom,” I say, giving the emptiness a spin.
“What?”
“It feels like freedom to me.”
