Keep Calm and Carry a Big Drink

by Kim Gruenenfelder

  I turn to Nic. “Am I?” I retort. Then I put my focus back on Seema’s table. “Nic, you have great hearing. What are they saying?”

  Nic squints at me. “I have good hearing, not bionic hearing.” She turns to Jason. “Honey, I’m so big, getting out of this chair is going to require a forklift. Can you go to the bar and get us a bottle of champagne?”

  Jason smiles warmly at the mother-to-be. “Of course.” He rubs her belly, gives her a quick kiss, and heads out to hunt down bubbly.

  “Is it okay to drink champagne when you’re pregnant?” I ask Nic delicately.

  “Of course not. It’s for you.”

  “I’ve already had champagne.”

  “And I’ve already had sex. What’s your point?”

  “Wait,” I say, surprised. “Today?”

  “You’re not the only one dating a hottie.”

  “Speaking of hotties.” Jeff motions to a group of men, all in suits, sitting three tables down. “What about him? Do any of us know him?”

  Our entire table makes a show of looking toward that table. “The one who looks like he was an extra in The Godfather?” Nic asks, lifting her upper lip in disgust like Lucille Ball in I Love Lucy.

  “Okay, if it was him, it’s not anymore,” Jeff says. “No. The distinguished gentleman with the slightly graying hair.”

  “Oh!” I recognize the guy immediately. “That’s Seema’s boss. Reese.”

  “Hellllooooo, Reese!” Jeff practically purrs. “Gay, right?”

  I nod. “Good eye.”

  “Fab. So what do we know? Married? Serious relationship?”

  Nic shakes her head. “I know he used to date this guy named Kevin.”

  “They broke up,” I tell Nic.

  “Awwww…,” Nic says, her shoulders drooping. “That’s a shame. I liked him. They made such a nice couple.”

  “Not to me they didn’t,” Jeff snaps at Nic, glaring at her. “Whose side are you on?”

  Nic puts out the palms of her hands in surrender. Then Jeff turns to me. “How long were they dating?”

  “I don’t know,” I say, trying to remember. “At least a few years.”

  “Excellent. When did they break up?”

  I look up to the ceiling, trying to recall. “Maybe a month ago?”

  Jeff nods. “All right. I can be rebound guy.”

  “Or was it six months?” I say to myself, still trying to remember.

  “Even better. I can be fiancée guy.” Jeff turns to Jason, now walking back to us with a bottle of Moët, which he places right in front of me. “Jason—wingman me?”

  Jason turns to survey the room. “Sure. Which one?”

  “Graying hair in the Prada.”

  A clearly confused Jason looks over to Nic for clarification.

  She smiles. “The expensive black suit and ridiculously overpriced purple tie,” she translates.

  “Oh.” Jason checks out the table. “Yeah, all right. Think any of them are into basketball?”

  “God, I hope so,” Jeff says as he grabs his beer and jumps out of his seat. “That way I won’t have any competition.”

  “How come you’re allowed to stereotype, but I’m not?” Nic asks.

  Jeff’s already halfway to Reese’s table as he turns to her and quips, “For the same reason you can make blond jokes and I can’t. Wish me luck.”

  For a moment Nic and I watch in silence as the boys flirt with the other boys. Then I turn back to obsess over Jay and Seema, who are now talking with both parents at the table. I manage to make eye contact with Jay for a brief second. He smiles and winks at me.

  “What do you think of Jay?” I ask Nic as I pour myself a glass of champagne.

  “What do you think of Jay?”

  “You’re a reporter, not a psychiatrist.”

  “Both ask a lot of questions,” Nic assures me. “And both know when their subject’s avoiding answering a question.”

  I look back over at Jay and feel a slight tightening of my gut. “I have had a crush on him for over ten years. I’d give anything to be able to throw caution to the wind and love him totally and completely without worrying about getting hurt. But I know I can’t.”

  Nic lets out a deep breath of relief. “Oh my God, I’m so glad you said that.”

  I am a little flummoxed by her reaction. “You know, it’s kind of insulting to hear my best friend happy that I won’t go after my dreams.”

  “No, no … I swear that’s not what I meant at all. But come on, your job’s here, your friends are here. What are you going to do, buy a one-way ticket to Paris and just cross your fingers and hope for the best?”

  It takes me a minute to respond to that. What I want to say is, You quit your job to be with the man you’re in love with. The man whose baby you’re about to have. And here I was thinking I was admitting to being a putz who never throws caution to the wind. But, apparently, I am just a putz. Because I have found someone who I’ve wanted forever, who is available, who seems to like me, and who is inviting me to Paris to be with him. That doesn’t happen to a lot of women—and certainly not at our age! And I’m tired of being an also-ran. I’m going!

  Instead, I sheepishly look at the tablecloth and say, “Yeah.”

  Nic’s attempt to backtrack is so obvious, you could hear a truck beep in warning. “I mean, you know what an amazing life you have here. And you know that in the real world, people get hurt in relationships all the time. Relationships end every day. You know in your gut that you could be setting yourself up for a big fall.”

  I cross my arms, refuse to look at her, and instead look over at Jay. Once again, I’ve got a doozy of a comeback in my head: To hell with it! I’ve got two months until my job starts again—if it starts again. I’m gonna take my silver cake charm with me and go find a money tree in Paris.

  Then out of my mouth comes “So you don’t think there’s even a chance Jay’s the one?”

  “You’re upset.”

  “No,” I insist, shaking my head and acting as if her observation were absurd. “I was just asking your opinion.”

  “My opinion isn’t important. Do you think he is?”

  I know if I answer anything in the affirmative, she’ll think I’m an idiot, so I slowly and begrudgingly I shake my head no.

  Just then, Scott, Seema, and Jay stand up to take their leave, with Seema’s parents staying seated at their table to talk to other relatives. As the three head toward our table, I see Seema and Jay are both carrying manila envelopes. Jay is his usual suave, unruffled self, Scott is suppressing a laugh, and Seema looks as if she were about to have a stroke. As they get to the table, Seema seethes at her brother, “Seriously, how can you say nothing the entire time?”

  “There’s a time to throw yourself on the sword, and a time to let things go,” Jay responds calmly. “Check your watch.”

  “Oh, my watch?” she snaps at him sarcastically, “Maybe I’ll have a nice mother-encrusted watch to check.”

  Scott bursts out laughing. Seema points to him. “You think that’s funny? Maybe we should go over to your parents’ table and see what they—”

  Scott waves his hands back and forth horizontally as he snorts one more time. “No, no. I’ll stop,” he promises.

  “What were you guys talking about?” I ask nervously as I look over at their mother. “She hates me, doesn’t she?” I ask Jay. Then I turn to Seema. “It was about my being a slut, wasn’t it?”

  “It had nothing to do with you,” Jay assures me, sitting down next to me and rubbing my knee warmly.

  “What’s a mother-encrusted watch?” Nic asks Seema.

  Seema slams her manila envelope into Nic’s chest and shakes her head as she sits down. “Seriously, how are brides expected to get through a weekend of current family and future in-laws without the generous and constant application of booze?”

  Nic pulls a thick, pink, eight-and-a-half-by-eleven-inch piece of paper from the envelope while asking, “Which brides do we know who
do that?”

  Seema shrugs. Jay says to me, “Our mother gave us each a diamond, and Seema is a bit unenthused.”

  “Is it encased in an ugly setting?” I ask Seema knowingly (she has a bunch of those).

  “You could say that,” Seema says, turning to Nic. “Read.”

  Nic reads from the pink piece of paper, “‘This certificate entitles the bearer to a one-half-carat diamond made of the loved one’s ashes.” She looks up at Seema. “I don’t understand.”

  Jay smiles. “After they’re cremated, Mom is going to have some of both her ashes and my dad’s turned into diamonds, which we get to keep for eternity.”

  “She wants me to turn mine into a necklace,” Seema says, stealing my champagne flute and taking a healthy swig. “I don’t want my mother around my neck forever!”

  Jay turns to me. “I’m thinking of having mine turned into a dog collar.”

  “If you make a joke about two bitches getting Mom around their necks, I will bite you,” Seema threatens. She flags down a waiter for more champagne. He appears with a tray full of flutes, which Seema quickly places two by two on our table. “Honestly, I’m not sure this wedding can get any more stressful.”

  “Scott, dear,” Scott’s mother says from behind them, “I’ve just talked to your aunt Debbie, and she wants to sing at the real wedding.”

  Real wedding?

  “We’re thinking ‘You Light Up My Life’ by Debby Boone,” Scott’s mother informs him, beaming at the brilliance of her suggestion.

  Scott’s eyes widen, but he smiles pleasantly and says nothing. Instead, without looking at Seema, he instinctually grabs her arm as she tries to lift her glass to down more bubbly.

  Note to self: during one’s wedding weekend, never dare the Gods by asking if the wedding can get more stressful.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Around midnight, Jay and I retire to my bedroom, where we start making out, begin the dance of shedding our clothes, and try not to listen to Seema and Scott fight in the next room.

  “Why didn’t you just tell her your aunt is not singing?” Seema asks him loudly.

  “Because it’s not that big of a deal,” Scott insists. “It’s three minutes out of your life. We’ll get through it.”

  “We’ll get through it?! When did it get to the point where we had to get through this wedding?”

  “Um … the minute we told our parents?” Scott responds as though the answer were brutally obvious.

  I stop kissing Jay and whisper, “Should we go do something?”

  “Nah, this is normal,” he whispers back. “I went through this the night before I was supposed to get married.”

  He leans in to kiss me again, but I jut my head back away from him. “I’m sorry. Say what, now?”

  Scott opens my door without knocking, causing both of us to cover ourselves up. “Guys, don’t get too comfortable. We’re going to Vegas.”

  “The wedding’s tomorrow. We can’t go to Vegas,” Seema tells him, also appearing uninvited in our doorway.

  “Why not?” Scott asks her.

  “Why not?” Seema repeats as if it were the stupidest question she’s ever heard. “How about because hundreds of people have already driven in, flown in, booked hotel rooms, and bought presents. We have a responsibility to them.”

  I turn to Jay and whisper, “Now when exactly did you get married?”

  “Oh, I didn’t,” he whispers back.

  “So we have to go through an entire day of wedding craziness just for our guests?” Scott asks Seema.

  “Yes.”

  “But we can’t go through three extra minutes for my aging aunt?”

  Seema is about to respond, but she realizes she’s been outdebated. She sighs, then apologetically says, “You’re right. You’re absolutely right.”

  Scott smiles and opens his arms. She walks into his hug, then asks, “When is this not going to seem so awful anymore?”

  “Sunday, after brunch, when we stop being Seema and Scott and start being the Jameses.”

  Seema smiles. “Mrs. Seema James. I do like the sound of that.”

  Scott smiles back, takes her hand, and gently kisses it. “Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

  She’s almost blushing as she grins wider and nods her head. Scott turns to us. “Sorry for the intrusion. As you were.” Then he silently pulls my door shut.

  “No problem,” I yell through the door.

  A few seconds later, once we know the coast is clear, Jay and I begin kissing again.

  Okay, as hot as he is, there’s no way I can let this go for more than thirty seconds. I pull away from him abruptly to ask, “When did you not get married?”

  “Oh, Seema never told you about that?”

  I shake my head.

  “Huh. I swore her to secrecy, but mostly I meant don’t tell Mom and Dad. Remember when Seema came out to Paris to see me two falls ago? I was eloping. She was going to be my best woman.”

  I’m stunned. Seema traveled halfway around the world to secretly support her brother, and she never even told her best friends? I mean, wow—that’s loyalty. But I’m a little hurt that even when I started dating her brother, she didn’t give me a heads-up.

  “So what happened?”

  “She left me at the altar,” Jay says a little uncomfortably.

  I wonder if, in the dark, he can see my eyes bug out and my jaw drop. I quickly sit up. “What idiot would leave you at the altar?”

  Jay seems uncharacteristically ruffled. “Um … well, her name was Tatiana, she was Italian … she realized she loved another guy, and that was it.”

  “How long were you dating?”

  “Not long. Almost six months. When he found out she was engaged, that motivated him to declare his undying love, blah, blah, blah…” Jay’s voice just got a little shaky there.

  I shake my head in disbelief. “What an idiot!”

  He seems surprised by my outburst. “I know. We got engaged pretty early on. But I really wanted to get married and become a dad and—”

  “Not you! Her! Who leaves the best-looking man on the planet? The best kisser on the planet! Jeez, the rest of us are fighting over hamburger, and she’s throwing away filet mignon. It’s appalling!”

  That was probably a stupid way to say it. But Jay just looks at me with amusement and smiles.

  “What?” I ask insecurely.

  “Nothing. You’re just very sweet.” He takes my chin in his hand and kisses me lightly on the lips. “Where did you come from?”

  “Um, Arizona?”

  We kiss for a bit before I ask my next question. “So, has what she’s done totally soured you to marriage, or do you still think about it?”

  “Not at all. I’m dying to get married. I mean, I’m not getting any younger. And I want kids, so…” He shrugs. “I don’t know.” He puts his hand on my bra. “Do we have to talk about this now?”

  I look down at his hand over my lingerie. “Well, when you put it that way…”

  Once again, everything is amazing. A girl could get used to this.

  But the best part is afterward, after he falls asleep, as I lay in his arms and listen to his gentle breathing. For the first time in a long time, I’m not in clingy phase. Or desperately-looking phase. Or wondering-if-I’ll-ever-get-married phase, or wondering-where-this-is-leading phase.

  Nope. For the first time in years, I am at peace and not worried about what is next.

  What a wedding gift.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  The following morning is not so peaceful. First, Jay and I are awakened rather brutally as Seema bursts into my room at six to gleefully scream, “Wake up! Wake up! Wake up! I’m getting married today!”

  The next few hours are a blur. The four of us pack up our various wedding attires for the day and take a limousine to downtown, where Seema and I are dropped off at one five-star hotel, then Jay goes with Scott to the five-star hotel down the street. Nic meets up with us, sending Jason to Scott, and the thre
e of us spend the next few hours getting ready in the sumptuous honeymoon suite. Seema’s mother and aunts take at least an hour to help Seema into her sari, a sumptuous red silk dress dripping in sparkling beads, lush gold embroidery, and Swarovski crystals, while Nic and I easily change into our lehengas and cholis (gold silk with gold embroidery for her, royal-blue silk with silver embroidery for me) and nosh on room-service pastries. Then hair and makeup people come to work on all of us until they make us glow.

  About five minutes before the baraat is set to begin, Seema asks her mom and her family to go down to the lobby and tell everyone that we will meet them down there in a few minutes.

  The moment Seema shuts the door behind them, she slouches over, instantly changing from a statuesque model into a camel with five too many straws on her back. “God, this dress weighs a ton. I need to lay down for a second,” Seema says as she nearly falls into the plush white sofa next to her.

  “Are you all right?” I ask, a little alarmed.

  “I’m fine, just physically worn-out already. Seriously, with all of the crystals and beads on this thing, you might as well spend your day sporting a suit of armor. Why has no bride ever mentioned that?”

  “It’s probably like telling pregnant women what’s really going to happen,” Nic guesses. “Why ruin the dream?”

  Seema doesn’t move from the couch. “I have something for you guys. Mel, can you go to my suitcase and check the left front pocket? There should be two black velvet boxes in there.”

  I walk over to the suitcase and unzip the pouch. Inside are two black velvet, rectangular boxes. I pull them out and hold them up. “These?”

  “Yup,” Seema says as she struggles to sit up.

  Nic grimaces a little. “Is the dress really that heavy?”

  “Honestly, I don’t know how Miss America contestants wear stuff like this.” Seema’s face lights up as I hand her the boxes. “Thank you.” She flips each one open, confirms what’s inside, then shuts them, handing each of us a specific box. “You’re either going to think this is really cool, or really stupid. Okay, so last year, when Nic was getting married, we did that cake pull. And I got the shovel, which I thought meant a lifetime of hard work. But it actually meant nurturing and caring. And then Scott got the heart charm accidentally, and the rest, as they say, is magic.”