“I’m not very hungry,” I lied.
“Stop! It’s Sunday, you can start your stupid diet tomorrow,” Katie reasoned.
“It’s that kind of mentality that got me into this predicament in the first place,” I retorted.
“Where is this waitress?” Andrea asked impatiently, clicking together her French manicured nails. “I’m starving!”
“And I’m hung-over,” Dante yawned.
A few seconds later, a marginally attractive, dirty blonde waitress appeared to take our order. I saw Dante’s eyes light up, his hangover a distant memory.
“Here we go…” I muttered.
“Welcome to Downtown. My name is Stacy!”
“My name is Dante,” he said with a wink.
The rest of us groaned.
“Let the poor girl do her job,” I pleaded.
“No, it’s fine,” Stacy said, waving Katie off. She started giggling nervously while staring deep into our friend’s eyes. Dante had a big smile on his face, his eyes glazed over with lust.
Andrea cleared her throat loudly and picked up her menu. “I’ll give you my order first,” she proclaimed, breaking their love connection. Stacy hurriedly grabbed her pen out of her apron and focused her attention on her other customers. Dante continued to stare at her with his bedroom eyes.
“I’ll have the panca-no, wait a minute,” Andrea said, getting distracted by something else on the menu. I smirked. How did I know she was going to wuss out and order something healthy?
“…I’ll have the stuffed French toast with bananas and strawberries, bacon on the side,” Andrea said with delight. “With a tea, please. Decaffeinated.”
My jaw almost hit the table.
“I’ll have the same thing,” Katie added with a huge grin. “With a Stella.”
“Nothing looks as appetizing on the menu as what’s off the menu,” Dante said to Stacy with a smoldering look. Stacy started playing with her hair and looked as if she was about to lose her composure again. “But for now, I’ll have a Bloody Mary, three scrambled eggs, white toast and sausage.”
I sighed. “I guess that leaves me.”
“Do the right thing, D’Agostino,” Katie warned, as if the balance of the world hung with my brunch order. Andrea stayed silent, probably because she had noticed my weight gain and agreed that I needed to do something about it.
Screw it. I thought. It’s been a rough morning. “I’ll have a Frittata with spinach, feta cheese and sundried tomatoes, rye toast and home fries. And a mimosa.”
Katie smugly crossed her arms in victory. Dante waved to Stacy as she nervously collected all of the menus and walked away.
“So what’s new?” Andrea asked cheerfully.
“Too much of the same old,” I retorted.
“Did you guys get this?” Katie said, reaching into her purse. She pulled out a brown piece of folded paper and placed it in the center of the table. I instantly knew what it was.
“That fucking save-the-date! Get it away from me!” I threatened.
“I got it yesterday. You did such a cute job with them, Katie,” Andrea gushed. Since Katie was class president back in the day, it had been her job to plan this little shindig.
“Thanks!” Katie beamed.
“What is this? I didn’t get it,” Dante said, picking it up. He started reading, “Save the date…”
“Read it to yourself, please!” I begged.
“…June 24th, 2017…” Dante continued louder, smiling.
“No!” I moaned, burying my face in my hands.
“…Honey Creek High School class of 2007’s ten-year reunion. More details to come. Holy shit, it’s been ten years already?” he asked, flinging the invitation back on the table.
“Don’t remind me,” I begged.
“So what are the other details, Katie?” Andrea asked sweetly. I glared at Andrea. Why was she in such a syrupy mood? Did her husband not need Viagra last night?
“Well,” Katie said, inching up to her seat, clearly excited, “I want to recreate our senior prom!”
I groaned.
Katie continued, ignoring me. “So it’s going to be at our school gym, and I’m treating the night as if it’s literally prom 2007 again. Only music from that time will play. I’m also going to do a “now and then” slideshow, and we’re going to have an awards ceremony, like ‘Most Changed in Appearance?’ and ‘Most Likely to Retire by Age 50?’ and of course, Reunion King and Queen. Things like that.”
Andrea and Dante nodded their heads in approval.
“I should get the guys of Dante’s Inferno back together for the night,” Dante eagerly suggested.
“That would be AMAZING!” Katie gasped.
I had to slam on the breaks of this runaway train. “Oh come on; give me a break!”
“What’s wrong?” Andrea asked.
“Well, the whole idea of a ten-year reunion is stupid enough, but to make people come in prom dresses? Superlative awards? Haven’t we matured a little bit in ten years? High school was painful and embarrassing then, let alone now.”
“You don’t have to go,” Andrea said coolly.
“Thanks for that, Andrea,” I replied sarcastically. “I forgot that the Constitution allowed for freedom of choice.”
“She’s right,” Katie said shortly. “If you are going to be negative about it, don’t come.”
An awkward silence fell among the table, broken only by Stacy, who had arrived with our drinks.
“Thank God,” I muttered, chugging down my mimosa as soon as she put it down in front of me. “Another one, please,” I ordered.
Dante, who was transfixed on our waitress the second she reappeared, snapped back to real life once she left. “Carla, you have to come to our reunion,” he said. “It wouldn’t be the same without you.”
“How so?” I asked.
Dante fell silent. “I don’t know, it just…wouldn’t.”
“Yea, my point exactly,” I replied.
“Well, I for one can’t wait to show up in my old prom dress,” Andrea proclaimed.
“Good for you!” I replied wryly.
“But…,” Andrea trailed off, ignoring me. “Before I can even think about my outfit, I have to tell you guys something.” She reached into her purse, pulled out a shiny black and white paper, and proudly held it up. “I’m pregnant!” she squealed, waving around the ultrasound image.
We all looked at her, wide-eyed, and all the frostiness from a few moments before had melted away. “Oh my God!” I exclaimed, reaching over to hug her.
Katie ran to the other side of the table and hugged both of us. “You are going to be a mommy?!” she shrieked.
Dante, obviously overwhelmed by the surge of estrogen, watched the three of us embrace and smiled. “Congratulations, Andrea!” he said warmly.
After a few more moments of hugs and happy tears, Stacy brought our food, and we sat back in our seats. “When are you due?” Katie asked.
“The babies are due in December, so that gives me six months to get back into shape before the reunion,” Andrea said confidently, taking a big bite out of her French toast. “I’m going to be the hottest MILF there!”
“Wait, did you say ‘babies’?” I asked.
She nodded her head “yes,” and she swallowed. “Twins!”
Katie and I put our forks down to rise up, and this time, Dante joined us. We shared more hugs and tears.
“Well,” I said as we settled back into our chairs. “I know the first wedding the Deveroux twins will be in.”
“Whose?” The girls asked.
“Jimmy’s proposing to Gwen. He and my father are out diamond shopping as we speak,” I answered.
“JIMMY’S GETTING…wait,” Andrea said, stopping herself.
“I guess this explains your pissy mood,” Dante added.
“A little bit,” I said, taking a big sip out of my glass for effect.
“Try to be happy for him,” Katie said. “I know how you get with your age
hang-ups. At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter that he’s younger than you and getting married first. Your time will come.”
“Your time will come.” One of the most hated single-girl sympathy phrases, second only to, “Everything happens for a reason.”
“Thanks,” I muttered, not wanting to combat Katie’s words. I had already said enough.
The rest of breakfast breezed by. My early-afternoon buzz stabilized my mood, and for a while I forgot about my problems. We traded stories, witty remarks, and laughs. Andrea showed us the contents of her shopping bags, and for once, none of the designer frocks were for her. Dante, of course, got Stacy’s number.
Two hours later, we bid each other goodbye.
“We’ll see you soon!” Andrea exclaimed, rubbing her belly as she walked to her white BMW.
“Bye girls,” Dante waved as he walked to his apartment.
It was just Katie and I left outside the restaurant. Before I walked to my car, there was something I wanted to say. “Katie, look, I want to apologize for how I reacted towards the reunion. It all honestly sounds great.”
“No need to apologize,” Katie said. “I know you didn’t mean to hurt me; you just hate the idea of the reunion in general.”
“You have no idea,” I whined.
“You think I like it?” Katie asked.
I looked at her quizzically. Katie never cared about the future, she took everything one day at a time.
“I HATE the idea of getting old; I want to be a kid forever. But the difference is that I don’t let these things consume me like you do.”
“I just feel like such a loser,” I moaned, ignoring her poignant mini-speech. “I’m going to show up at that reunion basically the same person I was ten years ago, and I’m going to be surrounded by successful executives and homeowners and married people and mothers!” I sat down on the black bench next to us and hung my head.
Katie was a step behind me. “You are not the same person you were ten years ago. You are better! You have a great job…”
I narrowed my eyes at her.
“Okay, you have a job,” she continued. “You’ve traveled; you’ve learned a lot. Not everyone we went to college with has their shit figured out. Look at Dante!”
I laughed. “Comparing me to Dante is not a way to make me feel better. Can you believe he wants to get Dante’s Inferno together for the reunion?”
“It might be good for him, though,” Katie reasoned.
“I guess,” I shrugged.
“Well, look at the bright side,” Katie said. “I sent out those save-the-dates a year in advance so everyone would have enough notice. Consider yourself on the clock.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Instead of wasting time complaining about everything under the sun, get off your back and do something about it! You have always been your own worst enemy.”
I let the words hang in the warm summer air. There was no use in arguing—she was right.
“Okay, well, I got to go,” Katie said, rising up. “I’m going to get some beers and watch some movies. Come over for burgers later if you want; Mom and I are barbecuing.” We hugged, and I watched her walk away to her car.
Get off your back and do something about it, her words repeated in my mind. “Get off my back,” I muttered to myself. All of a sudden, a light bulb went off. I raced to my car. I had a lot of work to do, and less than 365 days to do it.
3
I couldn’t get home fast enough. I parked my car, ran passed my mother cooking Sunday dinner (while gabbing away on the phone to probably the fiftieth person about Jimmy’s pending engagement) and zoomed upstairs. I locked the door behind me and lunged towards my laptop. I knew what I wanted, but I needed to put those thoughts in writing:
Title: Project: Reunion
I have a little less than a year to turn this embarrassing joke that is my life around into something to be proud of. I’m fed up with this bullshit. Jimmy’s getting married, Andrea’s having kids (TWINS), and I’m going nowhere…until now.
I closed my eyes, and visualized exactly how my reunion night would play out:
I will walk through the Honey Crest High School gymnasium doors an amazing, accomplished woman. I will have a handsome, successful lawyer on my arm, who has just recently proposed with a two karat, platinum Tiffany Novo ring. I’ll have a rock-hard, size 4 body. I’ll have my own sports-talk show on WSPS. My 500+ former classmates will rush to congratulate me on all my achievements (and when I’m not looking, most will talk enviously behind my back). My fiancé, my best friends, and I will merrily drink and dance the night away. At the end of the night, my man and I will retire to our brand new waterfront condo overlooking the New York City skyline, and make passionate love until the sun comes up.
I printed my entry and re-read my words, my body tingling with excitement over the prospect of my sparkling, perfect life. Before I could reach the summit, however, I had to map out a path. In order to be the changed person I wanted to be, I needed to spur into action. I turned the paper over, grabbed a pen, and scribbled the following:
“Project: Reunion” to-do list:
•Re-join the gym.
•Wake up at five a.m. every day and work out for at least an hour.
•Go on a diet…and stick with it! (Except on Sundays. Hey, I need one day to be human!)
•Assert myself with my bosses. I’m a hard worker, but I need to show them my true talents.
•Find a guy…How the hell am I going to find a guy?
I puckered my lips in thought, tapping the pen on the desk. Love is the one thing that has eluded me my whole life. It’s never come easy, and of the very few times I thought I had it, it never felt right. I had no time to dwell on this, though. I did the math—if I was going to be engaged this time next year, I had to start a torrid love affair by September. At our old age, nine months is more than enough time to figure out if that person is The One or not (and in my ex’s case, it apparently only took nine minutes). But how do I find him?
“CARLA!” My mom banged on my door. “JIMMY’S HOME WITH THE RING! COME DOWNSTAIRS!”
This ring I needed to see. I stuffed the paper in my desk and hurried downstairs.
■ ■ ■
There I was, face-to-face with my arch nemesis. I was physically bigger, but her presence towered over me. Her dazzling demeanor blinded her from the fact that I loathed her mere existence. I wanted nothing more than to crush her with my bare hands, but she could not be defeated, for she was made from some of the strongest material on Earth and thus, indestructible. She sat there, taunting me, with her prism of brilliant colors that were magnified by the sun’s rays pouring through the kitchen window.
In other words, the centerpiece to our Sunday family dinner was Jimmy’s three (!!!) karat round-cut solitaire diamond engagement ring for Gwen. At my mother’s insistence, she ordered Jimmy to place the open box in the center of the table so she could bask in its beauty. In turn, it made my penne with homemade tomato sauce taste like sawdust. (That didn’t stop me from eating it, mind you.)
“Look at the engagement ring my son bought!” she would exclaim every five minutes.
Finally, I had enough. “Okay, Mom, we get it!” I snapped.
“What, I can’t be proud of him? He bought a very impressive piece of jewelry with his own money. Have YOU ever bought something that expensive?” she snapped back.
Before I could respond, Jimmy cut in. “Mom, Carla’s right,” he said, reaching over his plate to grab the box. “I’m getting engaged. We know. We don’t need to stare at the ring.”
“Well I want to,” she insisted, grabbing the box out of her son’s hand.
My father said nothing, more interested in his heaping pile of pasta.
My brother and I groaned, but my mother zoned in on me. “Why can’t you be happy for your brother? You haven’t had one nice thing to say about this whole thing,” she said accusingly.
“I AM happy!” I lied. “
But it’s, like, looking at us while we eat! It’s creepy!”
“Well when you have a son who is getting engaged, you can do whatever you want,” she replied smugly. “If I want to look at my ring, I’m going to look at my ring!”
“YOUR ring?” I asked incredulously.
“Well you only have a week until I give it to Gwen, so enjoy your time with it now,” Jimmy said. “I plan on proposing on the Fourth of July.”
“MY SON!” My mother exclaimed, jumping out of her chair to hug him. “I’m so proud of my son!”
My father stopped eating long enough to catch my and Jimmy’s annoyed expressions, and we all rolled our eyes. “Nancy, sit down,” my father barked.
Mom pouted. “You guys are no fun.”
“Anyway,” I said, changing the subject. “Guess who’s pregnant?”
My mother’s expression changed from happiness to fear. “Who?” she shrilled.
I took a dramatic pause, taking pleasure in her distress. She was probably thinking that I was going to reveal that the little pregnancy joke I made earlier that morning was actually no joke at all. “Andrea!” I exclaimed. “With twins!”
“Cool!” Jimmy smiled brightly. Dad, still more interested in his pasta, nodded in approval.
“Oh, wow,” Mom replied. I could tell the winds were taken out of her sails over “her” engagement.
“She’s due in December. I can’t wait to be an aunt!” I gushed.
“I can’t believe she’s having two babies with that old man,” Mom said, shaking her head in disgust, completely ignoring me. If I had a penny for every time my mother took a dig at Andrea for her marital choice, I could literally BUY my dream life scenario. I may not have agreed with it either, but I’d come to terms with it. “Acceptance” was not in my mother’s dictionary, however. Instead of fighting her, I just broke off a piece of Italian bread and concentrated on dipping it into my sauce.
“Jimmy, you will have cute little flower girls or ring bearers for the wedding,” I said absentmindedly. No answer. I turned to Jimmy and saw him deep in thought. “Jimmy, did you hear what I said?”
“Yeah, I did,” he replied. “But I’m trying to think of what I learned in school about babies.”
Ten Years Later Page 3
