Dress Rehearsal

by Jennifer O'Connell

  To keep everyone else from feeling left out, several books addressed the special needs of the mothers, fathers, siblings and friends of the bride, as well as all the special events they’d be planning – bridal showers, bachelorette parties, wedding toasts, speeches and, of course, honeymoons. The shelves were also packed with enough planners, calendars, organizers and guides, to make wedding planning seem like a full time job. Which is why I wasn’t surprised to find a book on guerilla weddings.

  And if all this was a little overwhelming for a bride-to-be, there was always Chicken Soup for the Bride’s Soul.

  I flipped through a few of the books that included sections devoted to receptions, and took note of the cakes they featured. It seemed like Vivian knew what she was talking about. Although there were books exploring just about every facet of the wedding, from flowers to hairstyles, I couldn’t find a single book that helped women design a fitting cake, one that reflected the unique characteristics of the couple and their future together. I had my work cut out for me.

  “There’s a lot to know, isn’t there?” A woman kneeled on the floor next to me and reached for a book on vows.

  “There sure is,” I agreed.

  “When’s your wedding?” she asked, flipping the pages of her book.

  “There’s no wedding, I’m just doing some research on wedding cakes. You know wedding cakes were originally a rite of fertility,” I explained, and then glanced over at her. She was probably in her late twenties, with curly black hair that she’d tied back with a scarf. From the diamond solitaire on her finger, it was obvious that she wasn’t just browsing. “When’s your wedding date?”

  “We don’t know yet. I just got engaged last night.” She held up her hand and waved her fingers at me. “It still feels so weird.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “Thanks.” She smiled at me and then looked back down at her finger. “You know, I never thought it really mattered, but the minute Todd got on his knees and asked me to marry him I realized that this is it. This is what I’d been waiting for. You know what I mean?”

  I nodded, but instead of returning her smile I looked down at my own empty hand. “Yes, I think I do.”

  Charlie was waiting by the entrance at one thirty, dressed more casually than I’d ever seen him – if you don’t count being naked. It was the first time we’d seen each other since I left his apartment Friday morning, and all of a sudden spotting him standing by the magazine rack flipping through Time, I was nervous. What if he expected us to wind up in bed again this afternoon? Worse yet, what if he didn’t?

  “Did you figure out how to give Vivian a best seller?” Charlie asked as I approached, his warm smile dissolving any fears I’d had.

  “I’m working on it,” I told him, determined to enjoy our day together without worrying about what came next.

  Charlie suggested we take advantage of the sunny afternoon and walk until we found a place for lunch.

  “How’d Paige and Hugh do?” He asked, reaching for my hand and lacing his fingers between mine.

  Not as good as us, I thought. “So far so good. She’s seeing him again today.”

  “Speaking of seeing someone again, the marathon goes right by my friend’s place in Brookline and he’s having a little party next Monday. A bunch of the guys are going to the Red Sox game that morning, but I thought you could meet me at his place afterward.”

  “I’m not exactly a big runner, but I think I could cheer on those more ambitious than myself. Especially if all it requires is sitting on someone’s porch and clapping occassionally”

  “I promise, the only physical exertion required all day is the ability to stir the celery stalk in your bloody Mary.”

  We turned down Newbury Street and walked past the familiar stores I saw every day. Upscale boutiques with security men placed near the entrances mixed with the staples of contemporary shopping – Gap, Banana Republic, Ann Taylor. Above street level, chic hair salons and designer showrooms overlooked the strolling patrons below.

  A mother and daughter team of shoppers passed us carrying their loot in oversized stiff paper shopping bags.

  “Look at all these people who think shopping on Newbury Street is a special occasion, and for you it’s probably no big deal.”

  “Somehow I always end up here,” I observed, glancing up at the third story bay windows where designer wedding dresses were displayed on headless mannequins. The billowing skirts and beaded sheaths were close enough to seduce you, but just out of reach.

  As we stood on the corner of Dartmouth waiting for the light to change, I recognized the lanky gait coming toward us in thick rubber soled hiking boots and my stomach jumped. Steve was about half a block away when he cut across Newbury Street and ducked into Starbucks.

  Charlie watched my eyes follow Steve into the store.

  “Who was that?”

  “Paige’s ex-fiancé.”

  “Oh.” Even though the light changed, Charlie didn’t make a move to enter the crosswalk.

  “Do you want to go say hi?” he offered.

  I debated what to do. It was totally different from running into Mark. Steve didn’t crush Paige. Robin and I did.

  “Can we just walk by?” I asked Charlie. “Maybe if he sees us I’ll say something.”

  We crossed over to the other side of the street and as we passed the plate glass window I caught sight of Steve sitting at a small round bistro table. I was about to wave, when I noticed he was seated across from a woman with a pony tail poking out the back of her baseball cap. I couldn’t see her face, but I had a clear view of Steve as he reached across the table for her hand.

  I quickly pulled Charlie away from the window.

  “Did you see him?” he asked.

  “It wasn’t Steve.”

  But it was Steve. Steve and another woman sharing a coffee. I’d been right. We’d been right. I didn’t have to feel bad for Steve anymore. Without intending to, Steve had absolved me of my guilt.

  Charlie and I kept walking until we reached the public garden. The warming day had lured parents and their children into the park, where they were playing together on the softening grass. Under the gated arch of the Arlington Street entrance, Charlie stopped and turned me toward him.

  “It’s too bad the swan boats aren’t back yet. We could go for a ride.” He placed his hands on my hips and pulled me closer. “I think they return next week. We’ll have to come back.”

  Charlie leaned down and kissed me, his lips soft and gentle, lacking the urgency of that first kiss on his couch. “So what do you say? A date with the swan boats in two weeks?”

  “Sure, maybe.” More like, maybe not. After Neil left for DC I started to slowly rediscover Boston as a single person, I ventured to the banks of the Charles to read a book and the band shell for the Boston Pops fourth of July concert. But I never reclaimed the swan boats as my own. They seemed reserved for couples and families, and since Neil had taken me on numerous swan rides around the lagoon, I always thought of it as our place. Charlie’s suggestion that we revisit the swan boats together may have sounded romantic, but it was just not going to happen.

  “I have a great idea.” Charlie raised his hand to hail a cab.

  “Where are we going?”

  “If you won’t go to Greece, then I’ll make Greece come to you. We’re going to a Greek restaurant for lunch.”

  At that moment, a black Lincoln Town Car pulled up to the Arlington Street stop light, its dark tinted windows shielding its occupants from our prying eyes. Even though I couldn’t see the people in the back seat, I knew they could see me. And I wondered what they glimpsed when they looked at us standing on the curb waiting for a ride.

  Before the light changed and the car pulled away, I saw two people reflected in the smokey windows, the arch above their heads creating a wrought iron frame for the still life. I saw two people who were possibly on the verge of discovering something special. And I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why that
didn’t seem like enough.

  Chapter 24

  The Boston Marathon is run every Patriot’s Day, a state holiday that’s supposed to commemorate the start of the revolutionary war but really just gives everyone in Boston an excuse to hit an early morning baseball game and then litter the streets along the course to cheer on the 17,000 runners who trained months for this day.

  Most businesses were closed, including the boutique, so I had some time to kill before meeting Charlie in Brookline. Robin was holding an all-day seminar for women desperately in need of an intensive eigh hour workshop, so I decided to drop in on Paige at the new house. Even though the place was a total eyesore and should probably be condemned, Paige was excited to start on the repairs that would bring the place up to code and hopefully transform it into a building that was inhabitable by more than just six legged creatures.

  The front door was open when I arrived, and I could see Paige in the living room sanding down the newly exposed wood floors.

  “So how’d the inspection go?” I yelled above the gritty sound of the sandpaper, startling Paige.

  She hesitated for a minute and then stood up, the knees of her jean overalls powdered with dust. “Not bad. A few things here and there, but nothing I can’t work with. Structurally the place is sound.” Paige wiped a rubber-gloved hand across her forehead and dropped a soggy sponge into the bucket beside her.

  “This is for you.” I handed Paige the potted violets I’d picked up before I hopped on the T. “Sorry about making fun of the house. I hope you have fun with it.”

  “Thanks.” Paige took the plant and placed it on the windowsill where the freshly cleaned glass panes looked transparent in the sunlight. “What are you doing here?”

  “I just needed to get away from the boutique. If I spent one more minute talking about basket weaved buttercream, I was going to scream.”

  Paige picked up an empty bucket and came over to me. “What’s wrong?” she asked, turning the bucket over and using it as an impromptu seat.

  “I don’t know. This thing with Charlie isn’t going anywhere.”

  “That depends on your definition of the destination, doesn’t it?”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “Just that I think you should see where it takes you before you write him off completely.”

  But what if it took me down a long, winding path to nowhere? I remembered how adamant Robin was about proving that she was different from those women we felt sorry for, the ones we imagined surrendering themselves to marriage, the ones who conceded to the idea of marriage as an achievement. Even though she took Mark’s name, in the two years they were married, Robin didn’t share much else. But now, I wondered if maybe Robin hadn’t been so afraid that finding Mark meant losing herself, their marriage would have turned out differently. Even though none of us said anything out loud, there were times when I got the feeling we were all thinking that the traditional roles we fought so hard to avoid sounded awfully appealing – to relinquish some of the control was also to relinquish the responsibility for the outcome.

  “You know what I hate even more than the idea that Charlie never wants to get married? That I care so much when all along I thought it didn’t matter.”

  “If you think it doesn’t matter, just ask Robin,” Paige reminded me.

  “Do you think Charlie will change his mind?” I asked.

  “I don’t think you should ever go into a relationship with the idea that the other person has to change.” Paige didn’t look at me as she offered her advice, and for a minute I wondered if she was talking about Charlie or Steve.

  “Look, I don’t even really know Charlie, but I do know that in the three years you were with Neil I didn’t see you this worked up.”

  “Does Hugh have you worked up?” I asked.

  Paige cleared her throat and got to her feet, taking the bucket with her. “Sure, everything’s going great.”

  “You don’t sound very convincing.”

  Paige picked up a mop and started wiping down the floor. “We’ve only gone out a few times. What do you want me to say, that he’s my soul mate?”

  “Would that be asking too much?”

  “Yeah, it would.”

  Above our heads the ceiling shook with the weight of heavy footsteps.

  “What’s that?” I covered my head as little flakes of plaster floated to the ground.

  “What?” Paige continued mopping, ignoring the banging that had just started on the second floor.

  “Paige,” a man shouted from upstairs in a voice I thought I recognized. “I need you.”

  “Just a minute, Lauren’s just on her way back to work,” she called out, almost intentionally emphasizing my name by stretching it out into two distinct syllables.

  Paige gave me a sheepish look and I immediately understood. “Why didn’t you tell me Hugh was up there?”

  Paige shrugged and started walking toward the door, which she held open until I followed her. “Thanks for the plant.”

  I didn’t even have a chance to say goodbye before the door closed behind me.

  Out on the sidewalk I gazed up at the second floor window, where paper thin shades shielded Paige and Hugh’s shadows from prying eyes. The yellow light in the background elongated their hazy figures, and as they embraced they seemed to combine to form a single thin line framed by the peeling exterior of the house.

  Watching the scene unfold like a silent movie gave me goose bumps, the fine hairs on my neck perking up at the idea that my theory was now more than just a silly notion. There just might be a carrot cake in Paige’s future yet.

  But my voyeuristic spying also left me feeling hollow, as if the small bit of hope I’d carried with me since Charlie made his announcement had finally been worn away watching Paige find what I didn’t even know I was waiting for.

  I caught the green line down to St. Paul street and found Charlie’s friend’s apartment. Marathon spectators were already lining the street, their hands carrying the balloons and clappers and noisemakers that were supposed to provide the encouragement needed to carry the runners along the three miles to the finish line. There was a crowd gathered around the door to the apartment building, but I couldn’t find Charlie. I finally asked someone if they’d seen Charlie, and was told he was tending bar upstairs.

  The apartment was filled with people I didn’t know, so I followed the line and waited until I reached the bar.

  “What can I get you, ma’am?” Charlie asked, tossing a plastic cup up in the air and catching it behind his back. “If this law thing doesn’t work out, I think I’ve got a second career waiting for me. Just don’t ask for anything that requires more than two ingredients.”

  “A bloody Mary is fine,” I told him.

  “A bloody Mary it is, then.” He filled the cup from a pitcher sitting on the counter and stuck a celery stalk between the ice cubes before handing it to me. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  Without even thinking, I smiled back. “Me, too.”

  “Let me get someone to fill in and I’ll meet you over there.” He pointed to the couch.

  I stepped out of the line and walked over to the window to wait for Charlie.

  I’d considered blowing off the party. After seeing Paige and Hugh, the last thing I felt like doing was going to a party with Charlie. I wasn’t exactly feeling celebratory. It wasn’t that I was jealous, I wasn’t .I’d never experienced a twinge of jealousy when Robin married Mark. And when Paige showed me the ring Steve presented to her on Christmas morning, there wasn’t a second that I wasn’t happy for her. It was great. It was wonderful. It was something I wanted for myself, someday, but I didn’t wish I could trade places with either of them. It was like watching your best friend accept the Oscar – it just reminded me that I hadn’t had my moment, but it didn’t mean I wanted to take their moment away from them. I wanted the achievement and recognition, but I didn’t want the parts Robin and Paige played to get it.

  I always hated the stereot
ypes about women smiling through gritted teeth when their friends got a fabulous promotion, or won an exotic trip to some tropical island, or held out a hand donning a sparkly new diamond. And that’s why I hated how I felt watching Paige through that shaded window. It wasn’t envy that filled me when as I watched them. It was longing.

  “How’s that drink?” Charlie asked, coming over to me.

  “Not bad. Were you expecting a tip?”

  “Maybe you can repay me later,” Charlie reached for my hand and led me toward the balcony, where there was just enough room for us and the small gas grill that stood in a corner.

  I leaned over the railing to look at the crowd, while Charlie waited in the doorway. Without even looking I knew he was close behind me, and when I finally turned around we stood face to face. In one fluid movement Charlie placed his lips on mine and parted them with his tongue, the taste of gin and lime awakening my taste buds. I let my hands run along the waist of his jeans until they settled into his back pockets.

  Beneath us, the noise from the crowd of spectators rose up and enclosed us.

  “They just hit Coolidge Corner,” somebody called out from the kitchen. “The runners will be here any minute.”

  Charlie pulled away, “Thanks for coming.”

  The room started emptying out as everyone headed downstairs to watch the race. I turned to leave but Charlie held me back. “We can stay here and watch from the balcony if you want.”

  Why couldn’t my head and my body get on the same page? I should have been running from Charlie, not making out with him.