Dress Rehearsal

by Jennifer O'Connell

  I folded my t- shirt and placed it on the tasting table. “So when did you decide to run off the Vegas?”

  Paige stared at the t-shirt and absentmindedly toyed with the heart hanging from her charm bracelet. “It wasn’t as sudden as it sounds. Steve and I started talking again, on the phone at first, and then we started going out – not having sex or anything, but just hanging out together again without the cloud of the wedding hanging over us.” Paige let go of the charm and turned to me. “Remember that night when you told me that if I was asked where I’d be in ten or twenty years, I’d be able to give you an answer right away? Well, when I thought about it, really thought about it, the only place I wanted to be in twenty years was with Steve.”

  “Well then I’m glad you decided not to listen to us. I’m not so sure that cakes should be used to determine the fortitude of a relationship,” I admitted. “So what did your parents say when you told them you were given away by Colonel Parker?” I asked.

  “Steve and I decided to have a small reception in the city in a few weeks, mostly so our parents don’t think we’ve completely excluded them. Of course, we’d still love a cake, but something a little simpler this time around.”

  “Like cupcakes?”

  Paige rolled her eyes. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.”

  “I’d be honored to make you guys a cake, but maybe there’s another gift I can give you as well.”

  I walked into the kitchen and opened up the desk drawer filled with catalogs. I slipped out the listing Paige brought to me the night of her non-date and headed back into the gallery.

  “Here,” I handed the sheet to Paige. “Since you’ve forfeited all those fancy wedding gifts, maybe a hefty commission check will come in handy.”

  “This is the unit on Comm Ave,” Paige told Robin, showing her the picture of the brownstone.

  “Yep. But if there are others you think I’d like, I’m willing to look at them, too.”

  Paige started clapping. “Oh, this is so great! I have tons I can show you. Are you still hell bent on Beacon Street or have you decided to expand your definition of what’s perfect?”

  “Among other things.”

  “Super. When I get home I’ll see what I’ve got and we can start on Monday – or even tomorrow if you want.”

  “Monday is fine,” I assured her, afraid she’d immediately drag me out of the boutique and on a tour of all the available units in the Back Bay.

  “Well,” Robin folded her t-shirt and tucked it under her arm. “I’m going to head home and let all this sink in.”

  “I’ll drive you,” Paige offered, before exclaiming “This is all so exciting!”

  I couldn’t stop grinning. It was exciting.

  After they’d gone, I headed straight for the kitchen.

  My gift to Paige was as much a wedding present as a gift to myself – permission to stop waiting and do all the things I’d been saving for someday.

  As I sorted through my Rolodex for Charlie’s phone number, Maria watched me from the sink. “I sure hope you’re calling who I think you’re calling.”

  Neil had been my safety net, and after he moved to DC, I made my way off the platform and ventured out onto the tight rope, oblivious to the fact that I could fall. But his reappearance made me look down, and only then did I realize how precariously I was balanced. But while Neil may have offered me safety from a devastating fall, Charlie had urged me to enjoy the view.

  Although I didn’t know exactly what I planned to say when I got him on the phone, I was still disappointed when his familiar recorded message answered instead. It had been over a month since we last spoke and for a brief minute I considered hanging up. But I could feel Maria’s eyes on me, and so I left a message for Charlie to meet me at 75 Chestnut at eight o’clock. I wasn’t even sure we’d be able to get a table, but at least we could have a drink at the bar, and maybe share a little dessert.

  “Now what are you doing?” Maria asked.

  I removed the stack of glossy pages and placed them on my desk. “I think it’s time I cleaned out this drawer.”

  I picked up the Pottery Barn catalog, took my Visa card out of my wallet and flipped open to the first dog-eared page.

  The Bordeaux dining table had been merely a decision and a dial-tone away. With its curved cabriole legs that were at once elegant and rustic, I was about to find liberation in a 72” x 38” piece of mahogany. I wanted that table; I wanted to sit around that table on the plush slipcovered velvet of a Megan chair under the muted lighting of the Brittany chandelier’s thirty faceted glass teardrops. I was ready to take the plunge.

  It would all arrive within seven business days, which meant I had to find a place soon or else I’d be sharing my 800 square foot apartment with 2,000 square feet of furniture. But it wasn’t just furniture, it was emancipation from everyone’s expectations, especially my own. And it had all been available in a catalog, a mail-order life.

  While I waited on hold I decided to ask Maria what she thought. After all, she hadn’t done so bad for herself.

  “Hey, Maria, do you think you can have your cake and eat it, too?”

  Maria put down the spatula in her hand and paused just long enough to give me her two cents. “Who knows, but I bet you have a hell of a better chance if you’re the one doing the baking.”

  The customer service representative came on the line. “Sorry to keep you waiting. Are you ready to begin?”

  I answered with a resounding, “Yes.”