“You already make me feel like a wimp for sleeping while you were out running in the freezing weather. How do you do it?”
“She’s a masochist,” Marcia said, coming in with freshly blow-dried hair, but still in her robe. “And a sadist. Don’t let her talk you into one of her detoxes—you’ll die a miserable death, or wish you had.”
“And then resurrect feeling tons better afterward, and you know it.” I checked the water temperature—perfect, as the old gas burner made it easy to ease up on it. I’d miss that with Brad’s electric appliances. I added my loose-leaf tea blend to the steeper and poured the water over. Setting the timer for that, I poured the espresso from the press into a mug for Damien. “That’s where my work ends—adulterate at will from there.”
“Thanks.” Damien left off cuddling Marcia and went to the fridge. “Want milk, luv?”
“I’d better not.” Marcia puffed out her cheeks. “My ass won’t thank me.”
“Your ass is perfect,” he replied with a grin, smacking said body part as he returned, and my tea timer went off.
“My cue to leave,” I announced, putting the steeper on my lovely Nambé teapot and letting it drain. Once it was done, I poured myself and Marcia a cup, then set the pot on the warmer. “I’m for the shower. You can have the rest, luv.”
“Thank you, darling Amy.” Marcia blew me a kiss. “Don’t go yet. Tell us about last night—didn’t you have your thing?”
“The Wildwood Academy holiday reunion, yeah.”
“Wow.” Damien raised his pierced brow, busily mixing way too much sugar into his espresso. Men and their metabolisms. “You went there? Fancy. Didn’t know you came from money.”
“Why—is it expensive?” Marcia asked.
“Only the priciest and most exclusive private high school in the state, maybe even in the country,” Damien replied. “Dad wanted me to go there, but I said no fucking way.”
“Really—why?” I checked my phone for the time. I needed to get in the shower, but I had a few minutes. “It’s the best school. You should’ve gone—major leg-up for life success and all.”
“Because it’s full of pompous pricks, is why,” he replied, then oofed when Marcia elbowed him. “Not you, of course.”
Though he was right, there had been plenty of pompous types, male and female. “I was a scholarship student,” I said, as I’d explained to so many people over the years. A polite euphemism to gloss over what it had been like, being the low-class charity student with no manners, standing out painfully among her betters. Until I’d at least taught myself to dress the part. A lesson Jon could stand to learn. Among many others.
“Ah.” Damien nodded. “You’re smart, then.”
I gave him a thin smile. Nobody ever expected a fashion designer to have brains. As if thinking about clothes somehow depleted our neurons. “And from a sufficiently pitiful demographic.”
He cocked his head slightly, glancing at Marcia. “I didn’t mean to give offense.”
“You didn’t.” I waved that off, since I’d sounded overly terse, then pulled the band from my ponytail and shook out my hair. That helped relieve the pressure. The run hadn’t sweated out as much of last night’s irritation as I’d hoped. “Gotta fly!”
~ 5 ~
Charley called me as I was leaving work for happy hour. Unusual because she usually texted, then doubly unusual because she should be getting ready for a show, it being a weekend night during the busy theater season. I still had my earbuds in from work, so I pressed the button to connect.
“Hey Cherry Bomb. What’s up? I’m running late.”
“Me too, so I won’t yell at you for calling me that. Are you meeting Brad?”
“Yes, and he has fits when I’m late.” I rolled my eyes, even though Charley couldn’t see it. A guy passing me on the sidewalk caught the expression and grinned at me, so I laughed. Right? It wasn’t as if I was dawdling over window shopping or anything. I couldn’t always just walk out of work at the exact moment I wanted to. Not like he could, working for Daddy. Some things Brad just didn’t get about regular working life.
“Listen—I think he has a surprise planned for you.”
“He does?” That stopped me in my tracks, my gut clenching. The person behind me did not grin in amusement. The fucking surprise. With all the Jon drama, I’d actually forgotten.
“Maybe. Does he know how much you hate surprises?”
“I’ve told him, but…”
“Yeah. No one ever listens when you tell them that,” Charley sympathized.
“What do you know?” My head had started to ache in anticipation. My nerves jittering. My Fitbit showed my heart rate climbing right up. Soon I’d hit cardio levels just standing there. Someone brushed past me and I nearly shrieked. I started walking again, to bleed off the incipient panic. And to keep warm. My work coat is a lovely boiled wool, but it’s not lined and not nearly warm enough for Chicago winters, not unless I kept moving.
“Well…” Uncharacteristically, Charley hesitated. “I really angsted over whether to call you, because it might be really cool and romantic—and I’m only guessing from some passing comments—but I thought it better to warn you, so you won’t freak out. Knowing you.”
The walking helped, loosened up those nerves that had tightened at just the word surprise. “Just tell me what it is.”
“I don’t actually know. Some of the kids from the show got hired by a guy named Brad to do a thing by the Crown Fountain in Millennium Park across from Cindy’s. Isn’t that where you usually meet him for drinks?”
“Yessss.” I let the word trail into a thoughtful hiss. “And where I’m meeting him”—I pulled out my phone to look—“ten minutes ago.”
“Do you need me to be there? I’m in makeup, but I have time before call.”
I wanted to say no, I’d be okay, but something told me I might need a friend. “Can you?”
“Yep. I’m on my way. Wait for me?”
“No, I’ll go ahead. I’m braced, so thank you. I’ll text if it’s all fine and you can head back.”
“Sure thing, honey. See you in a mo’.”
I clicked off, then took out my earbuds and stuffed them in my purse. Then I ducked out of the sidewalk stream and checked my lipstick in the phone camera. Still crisp, as I’d fixed it in the elevator on my way out, but I looked tired, the headache showing in the lines between my eyes—which stood out blue and startled in my pale face. I looked scared.
So scared, I nearly turned and went the other direction. I made myself keep going. This might be the proposal. Not how I’d pictured it, but that was okay, too. Breathe. You don’t have to control everything. And now I was prepared. I could get through this, and then I’d have my ring.
Don’t freak. Some surprises are good ones. Don’t freak.
Making it into a chant, I forced my feet forward. I scanned the area around the fountain as I reached it. I always liked to cross through there, to watch the changing faces on the glass block tower. In warmer weather, I’d met Brad there to enjoy the evening. Nothing looked out of place. I stepped into the halo of Christmas lights.
Then the piped in Christmas carols cut off, replaced by bell-like notes I recognized. Two girls who’d been sitting on the long bench jumped up, moving into pretty dance steps, hair flying and smiles bright. Spotlights dimmed the Christmas decorations, illuminating the girls as they danced to Bruno Mars’s “I Think I Wanna Marry You.”
My temples throbbed and acid burned up my throat. I made myself stay there. No running.
People around me turned to watch, some pulling out phones to video it. More dancers joined the girls, spinning out of the apparent passersby, increasing their ranks and angling toward me. Across the square I spotted two bigger video cameras—professional quality—one circling for the best angle on the flash mob dance, the other squarely focused on my face. Complete with spotlight. Some people pointed at me, then focused more phone cameras on me.
I likely looked shocked
and horrified. I pasted on a smile, hoping it looked pleased, though tears pricked the corners of my eyes. Who knew—maybe people would think they were happy tears. I resisted checking my Fitbit for my heart rate. The way my head had gone light and my heart thudded, I’d zoomed well into the cardio zone. Confirming it would change nothing.
I had a death grip on the shoulder strap of my Kate Spade bag—a sample I’d nabbed through work—and my other hand clenched in the pocket of my too-thin coat, and fixed my smile in place from gritted teeth out. In the online videos of this kind of thing, the girls always clapped their hands over their mouths and I would not do that. It always made me wonder if they were trying to keep the puke in.
How long was this fucking song? Three minutes at least.
And there was Brad, dancing out from behind the tower. The dancers parted, giving him center stage, and he danced flamboyantly, waving to the crowd and gesturing for them to amp up the cheers and applause. The video camera on the dancers focused in on him. He was hyped to the gills, soaking up the attention.
Do you love him? Ugh. Maybe there really was a fine line between love and hate because at that moment I loathed everything about him.
Thank God Charley had warned me, or I might have lost it by now. As it was, my head had gone dangerously light.
The music faded back, the dancers vamping a less obtrusive step, and Brad bounded up to me, going down on one knee. His camera followed him, moving behind me, while mine moved in, staring me down like a one-eyed monster from a few feet away, the light nearly blinding me.
“Amanda Elizabeth Taylor,” Brad panted. Then stopped to catch his breath. He’d affixed his phone to his coat pocket, that lens, too, pointed at me. He pulled a Tiffany-blue velvet box out of his pocket, popped it open. The diamond ring stared back at me. Flashy in the spotlights. Icily beautiful in its perfection. Exactly the one I’d wanted.
Until this moment.
“Will you marry me?”
Some people cheered. A flock of teenage girls in their uniform of artfully distressed jeans and holiday-themed, midriff-baring tops—coats open to show them off even in the cold—flanked us, their phones a forest of glittery cases. Brad grinned up at me, teeth as bright and expensive as the diamond he offered, waiting for my happy agreement. “Good surprise, right, Ames?” Brad prompted. “Speak up already. Say yes.”
“No,” I said.
And promptly fainted.
* * *
At least, so I’m told.
The weird thing about fainting is you don’t really know you’re going to. Beyond the warning signs, that is. The actual losing consciousness happens outside of thought. The screen abruptly cuts out and you wake up confused about why you’re lying on the ground with people peering at you, asking questions you can’t answer because they know more than you do at that point. People, many with phones in front of their faces, crowded around me. The big spotlights had gone off, but many phone lights lit up the area for their video records, a glinting forest of concerned rubbernecking.
“What happened?”
“Are you okay, lady?”
“Is she pregnant?”
“Everyone back off!” Charley’s voice cut through, along with a flash of flaming hair as she pushed through the crowd, using her excellent voice projection. “You, too, Brad. You should’ve known better, you fucker.”
Brad. I caught a glimpse of his face as he backed away from me, then turned to speak to someone.
“Shit,” I said, and then Charley was kneeling beside me on the icy stones, the change from the glare she’d leveled at Brad astonishing as she smiled gently at me. She smoothed a hand over my forehead. “Hey honey. Take a moment. No,” she snarled, lifting her head again, “she does not need an ambulance. She fainted. People faint. Get over yourselves!”
I had to laugh. “You’ll scare them all. I’m okay.”
“You sure? Don’t rush it.”
“No, I can do it. And the sooner I rally, the less likely someone is going to call 911.”
“If they haven’t already,” Charley agreed. “Sit first.”
She’d been there before, when I fainted from a fraternity prank in college. And another time when a fire alarm had gone off while we were studying at the library. She helped me sit up and I put a hand to my head, doing a quick assessment. It didn’t feel like I’d hurt myself when I fell.
Charley passed me a holiday-patterned Starbucks cup. “Drink. I had someone run and grab it for you. Holiday spice—the works.” She gave me an encouraging grin that didn’t make up for the concern in her eyes.
I sipped, the hot caffeine, fat, and sugar exploding on my tongue and into my watery bloodstream, making me moan in gratitude.
“You fell really well,” Charley was saying, sitting cross-legged in her loose-limbed dancer’s way. “I caught it just as I hit the square. Totally graceful. Just kind of crumpled.”
“Great,” I muttered. “I’m sure that will look good on the videos.”
Her face chilled and her green eyes hardened. “Fucking Brad.”
As if summoned, Brad pushed his way back through the people still standing around, throwing a glare at Charley, transforming it into his little-boy wounded face for me. “What the hell, Ames?”
“Can’t you just—” Charley started, but I stopped her.
“Help me up.” I could not deal with Brad looming over me like that. Pressing her lavishly painted crimson lips together, Charley did without further comment, taking the cup from me so I could hold on to her, just in case—we’d learned that lesson—and then handing it back when I was sure I was reasonably stable.
“I’ll be right over here,” she said. Then looked meaningfully at Brad. “In case you need me.”
I took a bolstering gulp of the latte, wrapping my hands around it. Then faced Brad. Who looked offended, hurt, and outraged, all at once. “What the hell happened?” he demanded. “That setup was perfect for a viral video. People eat up those flash mob proposals and you ruined it. Nobody says no!”
“I…” What the hell had happened? “I don’t handle surprises well.”
Charley stood out of eavesdropping distance, talking on her cell, her gaze firmly fixed on me. Utterly pissed on my behalf. Probably talking to Ice or one of the others. They would have my back, no matter what. That helped, too, to solidify the ground under my feet.
“Is that supposed to be an explanation?” Brad’s face had gone an unattractive puce, shades deeper—and muddier—than the accent cashmere scarf he wore over his tailored top coat. “You turned me down. On camera.”
I straightened my spine, though I really wished I could be sitting on the ground again. “I don’t know why I said what I said—I didn’t feel well.” But I had said no. I remembered that clearly. “I just… I need a minute, okay?”
“She doesn’t know why she rejected me.” Brad waved his hands in utter frustration. “We discussed this. I got the exact fucking ring you picked out. We had a plan.”
“It was the surprise and—” I replied feeling frantic. “Can we just go somewhere and sit. Talk about it?”
“Talk? You want to talk, Ames? Do you know how many girls would kill to be in your shoes right now—to get that ring? And you said no. In public. You humiliated me. What kind of future wife does that? How can I even trust you now?”
“I …” I didn’t know.
“Exactly.” Brad said it triumphantly. Almost pleased in an odd way, as if I’d proved his point. “I’m only glad I found out how fickle and uncaring you are before I married you. I’m done.”
“What?” The fog of the panic attack, the dead faint, all those people still crowding around, staring, ate away at my balance and I swayed on my feet. Brad was breaking up with me. Or I had with him, because I’d said no. But I hadn’t meant no no. If he loved me enough to want to marry me, then shouldn’t he love me enough to work through this? I reached for him, but he yanked his coat sleeve out of my reach.
“Brad, please! I said no to the
proposal right this minute, not to us, forever. I just need…” I didn’t know what. “We don’t have to break up entirely,” I added, trying to think of the right plea. If only I hadn’t freaked out.
Renewed panic blew through me. I’d torched my future. There went my perfect ring, my fabulous holiday season, and my autumn wedding. I’d have to cancel the New Year’s Eve reservations I’d had since August. One part of me—a part speaking in Jon’s voice—stood back and said, ‘Really—you’re worried about the reservations?’
Brad’s anger contorted his face, and he laughed, also ugly. “Fuck you, Amy. You think I’d still date you after you pulled this shit?” He waved a hand at the crowd. “They’ll have me under the proposal humiliations hashtag for the rest of my life.”
“At last, your viral video,” I retorted without thinking, abruptly pissed.
He clenched his fists. “Oh yeah, laugh, if you think it’s so fucking funny. I was willing to marry you. I would’ve given you everything. And look at you—you gave me less than nothing. Good riddance.”
Turning his back, he strode off, scarf snapping in the wind tunneling through the skyscrapers, the two camera guys hustling after him.
Leaving me entirely numb.
~ 6 ~
An arm snugged around my waist, Charley leaning into me. “C’mon. Time for those drinks.”
My brain caught up. “You have a show. You can’t do drinks.”
“Family emergency. Passed it to my understudy. Good for her. The others are meeting us. Let’s go.”
I followed along, ushered by her bracing arm. People still thronged the square, talking excitedly, telling each other the story. Some pointed their phones at me, taking videos or pictures. If only I’d worn a hoodie, I could have pulled it over my face.
“Head held high,” Charley muttered, then laughed, loudly and vivaciously, tipping her head against mine as if I’d said the wittiest thing. “You did a bold thing—don’t diminish it by looking like you regret it now.”
I managed to laugh back, shaking my head and fluffing my hair with my free hand. Then took another bracing sip of the fully leaded sugar missile. Regret. Had I just made the biggest mistake of my life, on the impulse of a moment?
Missed Connections Box Set Page 28
