Dress Rehearsal

by Jennifer O'Connell

  “That sounds easy enough, doesn’t it? But how do you get over the fact that someone can fall out of love with you? How do you forget that someone can love you and then decide one day that he doesn’t anymore? I’ve tried to understand, I have really – I’ve been like a God damned post-nuptial Quincy practicing the art of marital forensics, and I still can’t come up with an answer.”

  “I don’t know if you’ll ever find the answer, Robin.”

  “But he wasted six years of my life, Lauren.”

  “And you’ve wasted two years trying to piece together where it all went wrong. He didn’t take those years away from you. You gave them to him.”

  “Let’s call him,” Paige suggested, finishing her second glass of wine.

  “Mark?” Robin held her flopping pizza slice mid-bite. “You want to call Mark?”

  “Yep. Let’s call him and get you the answers you need, if that’s what it will take.”

  “I’m not calling Mark. I don’t even know his phone number,” Robin lied. Of course she knew his number. She’d had two dozen anchovy pizzas delivered to his apartment every day for a week when he first moved out – a delivery that required providing his phone number to the pizzeria.

  “Fine, I’ll call information.” Paige stood up and steadied herself against the coffee table. “I’d like to tell him exactly what I’ve always thought - he never deserved you.”

  “No.” I stood up and joined Paige. If this is what Robin needed, then Paige and I would give it to her. “We’ll all call. And we’ll tell him to go fuck himself.”

  We watched Robin consider Paige’s offer. Instead of wondering, Robin could finally get her answer straight from Mark. But even if we did call, and even if Mark didn’t hang up on us the minute he realized why we were calling, I doubt it would have made a difference. Because as Robin stared at the phone and contemplated dialing Mark’s number, I could tell that she knew the answer, that she’d known all along but kept hoping it could be found in Mark’s direction and not her own.

  Paige and I watched Robin replay her own words in her head – Mark’s fiancé was ready to be married, I was ready to get married. And at that moment, when Robin acknowledged to herself that by blaming Mark she’d been able to keep him in her life, and that he wasn’t the only one who contributed to the demise of their marriage, I knew that Robin didn’t need to pick up the phone.

  “Sit down, we’re not calling anyone.” Robin finished taking the bite of her pizza and slowly shook her head before laughing at herself. “Oh my God, you must think I’ve been truly insane.”

  Paige nodded. “We knew you were off your rocker, but that’s what friends are for, to listen to all the insane thoughts that funnel through your brain every day but can’t say out loud because everyone else would think you were nuts.”

  “You want insane? Do you know how many times I’ve imagined that I’m out for drinks or dinner, looking absolutely gorgeous, of course, and I bump into Mark and he realizes that he made the biggest mistake of his life. We end up going back to my place together where I rock his world in bed and when it’s over he wants to go to sleep. But instead I kick his ass out of bed, out of my apartment, and out of my life for good because from then on I’d be the one who did the dumping and he’d be the one left behind.”

  Paige let out a long whistle. “Wow. You’ve spent a lot of time thinking about that one, huh?”

  Robin took our paper plates and tossed them into the empty pizza box. “Way too much time.”

  “What insane thoughts do you have?” Robin asked Paige.

  Paige became serious. “I think about spending my life with a man I’ve known for less time than my dry cleaner.”

  Paige’s confession hung in the air, and Robin shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

  “And you?” Robin asked, waiting for my contribution to this purging of insanities.

  “That if I’m patient and I wait, one day I’ll have everything I want.”

  Robin was less forgiving of my admission. “Waiting doesn’t require patience, Lauren, just the ability to ignore what you need and watch while the rest of the world passes you by.”

  “How can you say that you don’t have what you want? You have a great business and fabulous friends, right?” Paige looked over at Robin, who held her wine glass up in agreement. “What don’t you have?”

  I remained silent.

  “Look at us!” Robin demanded, jumping up. She grabbed our hands and pulled us in front of the fireplace, turning us all toward the mirror above her mantle. Robin, Paige and I stared at our own reflections. “This is so pathetic. Why do we still need a relationship to feel anchored in our lives? What’s so bad about swimming by yourself and going where the current takes you?”

  “The fear of drowning?” I ventured, watching my lips move as I spoke.

  “The sharks?” Paige added.

  Robin shrugged. “Haven’t we made any progress?”

  “I’m so sick of hearing about progress. What’s so great about progress? Progress would imply that we always need to be moving toward something. Why can’t we just be happy where we are?” Paige asked the three women in the mirror, as if they’d have the answer. “Why are we stronger by following our heads? As if intellectualizing love or trying to reduce it to some mathematical equation, or a proof that can be solved is any better – if x then y. But there is no right answer, is there?”

  If there was, none of us had it.

  The woman who looked just like me spoke first. “Why must marriage be the goal we all aspire to? Why can’t I aspire to create the perfect flourless chocolate cake?”

  Robin’s reflection answered. “Because diamond companies are telling us we need right hand rings when what we need is to stop saving our left hand and start decorating any fucking finger we want.”

  The three women in the mirror laughed, and Robin seemed to enjoy entertaining them.

  “Are we all hopeless?” I asked.

  “I think we’re all hopeful,” Paige replied.

  Robin turned away from the mirror and we followed. “Okay, so now we know we’re all insane.”

  I held up my glass for a toast. “And doesn’t it feel great?”

  Chapter 30

  Although Robin seemed to be in better shape than when we’d arrived, Paige and I decided to spend the night anyway. Just to be sure.

  Paige slept in Robin’s guest room and I crashed on the couch, which would explain why the next morning Paige and Robin were well rested and chipper and I kept rubbing my neck.

  We decided to go out for breakfast to a diner around the corner from Robin’s apartment.

  After the waitress brought our cheese omelets and Paige’s bowl of Special K, Robin told us she’d changed her mind. “I’ve decided not to go ahead with the insemination.”

  “But I was looking forward to shopping in Baby Gap,” Paige teased. “Now I’ll never be an aunt.”

  “Maybe someday, but not right now. I think I need to let all this settle in.” She turned to me and paused. “Just please promise me one thing – if they come to you for a cake, please don’t do it.”

  “I think I can handle that.”

  At least she didn’t ask me to lace it with arsenic. I saw that as a promising sign.

  The rest of our breakfast was uneventful compared to the past twenty four hours. I didn’t even bother telling them about Neil, it all seemed so silly compared to what Robin had just gone through. Instead we talked about our plans for the day, which seemed a lot safer than trying to plan well into the future.

  We’d all been afraid to surrender – our independence, our identity, our idea that by being in control we’d get exactly what we wanted. I wasn’t sure we’d exorcised all our demons, but maybe we were just learning to peacefully coexist with them instead.

  After breakfast Paige went home to change for work and I took a cab to the boutique. Amanda was waiting for me at the tasting table when I got to there.

  “I hope you don’t mind, Mar
ia let me in. I wanted to stop by and show you the flowers we picked out.” She laid Polaroid photos on the tasting table, each one a picture of a different flower. “After much debate, we settled on peonies, poppies, lilacs and sweet peas in white, pinks and purples. What do you think?”

  “They’re gorgeous. Will you both be carrying identical bouquets?”

  “Nope. I’ll have the pinks and whites, and Allison will have the purples.”

  I thought for a minute, trying to picture the cake they’d selected. “Then we’ll make the topper a combination of both.”

  “Exactly.” Amanda collected the photos and slipped them back in her purse.

  I walked her to the front door. “So I guess Hugh and Paige hit it off.”

  “Really?” Amanda looked surprised. “I knew they went out that one time, but I thought that was it. As far as I know, Hugh really liked her, but she said she wasn’t ready for a relationship.”

  “But he was at her new house the other day helping to fix it up.”

  Amanda shook her head. “Not Hugh. He hasn’t seen Paige since Julio’s. It’s too bad, because she seemed nice.”

  Why would Paige lie to us? And who the hell was upstairs kissing Paige?

  “I hope Hugh doesn’t give up on women all together.”

  Amanda grinned. “I didn’t, why should he?”

  I was still dressed in last night’s clothes, which, by the way Maria looked me over when I entered the kitchen, didn’t go unnoticed. I was ready for a sarcastic comment about my attire. Instead she surprised me.

  “So was Neil the one?” Maria asked, stooping in front of the wall shelves that held all the dry ingredients.

  “How’d you know I saw Neil?”

  “Who do you think you’re fooling? I know you better than you know yourself.”

  “I met him by the swan boats,” I admitted, taking a seat at my desk. “We talked and then he left to meet Julie.”

  Maria stood up and came over to me.

  “So it didn’t pan out for you and Neil after all.”

  I shrugged, and didn’t bother to point out that it hadn’t worked for Paige and Hugh either. I was oh for two.

  “Wake up, Lauren. You’re saving experiences the way we used to save sex, hesitating to use up all the things you want to do before you meet someone to share them with.”

  “I’m not doing that.”

  “Oh, please. Life ain’t a dress rehearsal, Lauren, and the sooner you figure that out, the better.” Maria leaned against the wall and crossed her arms. “You’re cake theory crapped out.”

  And so did my blockbuster book.

  What was I going to tell Vivian? She’d coordinated a press conference and announced that I’d reveal my secrets – which had then been repeated in newspaper articles and talk radio and other outlets that only served to increase my pending public humiliation. Now the only secret I’d have to reveal is my total lack of judgment.

  I had no valid theory. No relationship guarantee. A book deal hanging by a thread. I couldn’t even call Charlie and have him crack a joke that would make my situation seem bearable. And, for some reason, that depressed me as much as anything else.

  Maria went back to the shelves while I let her words sink in. I sat there watching her organize the ingredient bins, a small round woman in a red bandanna who, after seven years, had decided it was time to set me straight.

  “What happened to Paige and Steve?” she asked, never one to miss an opportunity to twist the blade.

  I had two choices: lie or tell the truth. Nothing had actually happened between Paige and Steve. They were both stressed out about the wedding, but there was never a huge argument or defining moment where they decided it wasn’t worth it. Even after the intervention Paige never admitted she really didn’t think they’d work out, or that she didn’t love him. The outcome of the intervention really didn’t have anything to do with Paige and Steve as a couple as much as it did what I thought about their cake.

  At this point I didn’t have much else to lose by telling the truth. Besides, Maria’s well of witticisms and snide remarks had to run dry sooner or later, didn’t it?

  “I told Paige about my cake theory.”

  “And she listened to you? I thought Paige had more sense that that.”

  “But I’ve always been right.”

  “Really?” It was a simple word, but Maria’s sarcasm was biting. “And that’s why you and Neil are living happily ever now?”

  Neil was, but I didn’t feel like telling that to Maria. She obviously had an endless supply of unpleasant comments to fling my way.

  When the bins were put away and the deck ovens turned off, Maria untied the strings of her apron and turned toward me. “I’m taking a break.”

  “What do mean, you’re taking a break?”

  “Effective immediately, I’m on vacation.”

  “You can’t do that, we have cakes to make – we have six weddings next Saturday.”

  “Then you better get baking, chef Gallagher.” Maria handed me her apron, grabbed her coat off the hook, and walked out the door.

  Chapter 31

  Three hours later I realized that Maria really wasn’t coming back, and I called a meeting with the staff to tell them about her impromptu vacation. To say they looked scared is an understatement.

  “But what about the orders?” Benita wanted to know.

  “Who’ll manage the baking?” Hector demanded. “We can’t fall behind.”

  “Can’t she come in a few hours a day?” Georgina asked, biting her lip.

  “Okay, look,” I held up my hands and waited for them to calm down. “We’re a team and we can do this if we work together,” I assured them.

  Dominique’s eyes welled up. “Can’t you just call her?” she practically squeaked.

  All four were quiet as they waited for me to give in and call Maria. But I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. This was Lauren’s Luscious Licks, not Maria’s.

  All the cakes for the day’s orders were already completed and ready for delivery. I could handle a few days in the kitchen, after all, with Saturday’s orders out of the way, I had a few days before I had to worry about the next weekend’s cakes. Maria had trained her staff well, and I could get back into the swing of things. I had to.

  “No. We’re doing this on our own,” I told them firmly. I had everything under control.

  By Tuesday, however, I was starting to get nervous.

  Three days after she left, I got the feeling that my idea of a little break was different from Maria’s. I hadn’t heard from her since she’d walked out, not even a phone call checking in on the weekend’s orders. Every time the phone rang I was torn between jumping for it in case Maria was on the other end, and letting it go to voice mail so I wouldn’t have to talk to Vivian again.

  It didn’t help that Vivian was calling every day asking if I’d thought about the copy that was going to accompany Pietro’s photographs.

  “The proofs are amazing,” she’d told me breathlessly. “The cakes look like works of art.”

  I couldn’t bring myself to tell her that the whole concept behind the book had gone bust. Even if we left out the theory Vivian would just suggest we go back to her original ideal – a big glossy book with pictures. But the whole point of telling Vivian about my theory was to make it more than a pretty cake book, to make it something that readers could learn from. I needed to come up with a new idea. Fast.

  I finally decided to get an answer. I called my afternoon appointments, rescheduled their tastings, and left Benita and Hector in charge of the kitchen. I ran out of the boutique and caught a cab to the North End.

  I’d never been to Maria’s home before, in fact the only reason I knew her address was that I had it in the accounting system. It wasn’t like she’d ever invited me over for Thanksgiving dinner. She’d never even offered to grab me a bottle of water from the boutique’s refrigerator – and they were free.

  I hadn’t been to the North End in years, since Pai
ge dragged me to the festival for Saint Agrippina di Mineo – one of the many street fairs that took place during the summer. I remember several muscled men hoisting a one-ton statue of the saint on their shoulders, the statue adorned with dollar bills according to some sort of tradition. Paige said it reminded her of a bachelor party, except instead of stuffing money down a woman’s g-string they taped the dollar bills to carved stone.

  The cab wound through the narrow curving streets of neighborhoods that seemed to be put together piece meal, compared to the planned organization of the Back Bay. The improvised neighborhoods were a hodgepodge of buildings. Square, squat, nondescript structures that once acted as tenements for European immigrants sat next to brick three flats with bay windows and stained glass. I caught quick glimpses of hidden courtyards as we passed.

  When the taxi stopped in front of Maria’s address, I was surprised by the old world charm of her building. I’d expected a building like Maria, something cold and a little forbidding, but the black iron fire escape that zig zagged up the front of the building like a zipper was covered with blooming flowers potted in terra cotta planters.

  Just as I was about to press the buzzer next to Maria’s last name, the front door swung open and three little kids practically knocked me down as they ran by screaming something about being chased by a big bear. I grabbed the door and held it open, but before I could step into the black and white tiled foyer, the big bear appeared, yelling for the kids to wait for her to catch up.