“Sure she is, if I want to give control to the Confederates again.”
Kay just shakes her head. “Your life is just not that bad, Ashley. You’re marrying a surgeon who could be cast on ER. Every family has issues. You’re good at cultural awareness. Try and be aware, will you?”
“You don’t understand, Kay. She wants to have soldiers with swords!”
“What do you care? The wedding is one day. You get Kevin for the rest of your life. Let Emily send him off in her Southern way. There’s probably a great deal about their background that you don’t understand.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
Kay shrugs. “I just don’t think it’s a big deal. No one cares anyway, as long as the band and the food are good.”
“Go away.” I start to walk back to my room, picking up the shreds of paper and beads. Kay doesn’t say a thing about the mess.
“I just don’t see the big deal about one more trip to Taiwan. You can’t spend the next four months doing nothing but planning a wedding. It’s pathetic, actually. Since when did you become a mindless bride?”
I open my mouth to defend myself, but you know, it is pathetic. So what am I going to say? I have a patent to defend, my honor to defend with Seth in the office, my dignity to defend with my future in-laws, and I’m worried about a jaunt to Taiwan. Seems like I have bigger fish to fry.
Kay starts to pick up the rest of Rhett’s bejeweled mess.
“Are you going to be around tonight?” I ask her. “I invited some people over for a movie. I thought you’d have your normal crew, so I took the liberty of—”
“Who did you ask?” She looks at me mortified, as if there is a shred of paper on the floor and she might be seen as the world’s worst housekeeper if not given ample time.
I start to straighten the books on the coffee table. “Emily and a friend.”
“Emily has a friend in California?” Kay asks.
She does now. “She met someone, actually.”
“Where did she meet someone?”
“Outside the coffee shop. Near the bridal boutique.”
Kay shakes her head. “I’ll invite the guys over for protection. We weren’t planning anything, but I’ll tell them I’m cooking.”
Free meal always equals engineers on call.
“You’re incredible, Kay. I owe you.”
“You so owe me. What kind of dress did you decide I’m wearing for your wedding? That was today, right? Am I going to look ridiculous?” She yanks off her Mr. Rogers cardigan and hangs it in the closet. “I’m forty-four now, Ashley. I can’t exactly pull off polka dots or pencil skirts.”
Kay runs three miles a day. She could pull off whatever she wanted to, but fashion has never been her thing. She’d rather create a gourmet meal and spend her money on granite countertops in our recently redesigned kitchen than spend more than $24 for a pair of shoes. She has the body we would all die for and does nothing with it. Talk about your waste of resources.
“Kay, between you, Brea, and the Southern belle, I don’t know how I’ll ever make everyone happy. It’s one day of your life, you know? If I want a pencil skirt, you can suffer.”
“You’ll figure out what is best for all of us, Ashley. If there’s a fashion crisis to be solved, you’ll find the answer. I have no doubt. Why are you home, anyway?”
“Sit down.”
“You didn’t lose your job again? You said you couldn’t afford to. You didn’t lose your job, right?”
“Sit down.”
She does. Kay worries a lot about me losing my job, because I haven’t had the best track record, and hey, I pay half the mortgage. That’s reason enough for her to be concerned, but what it’s really about is her own insecurity. Did she fail by giving me the chance to purchase half her house?
“If this is about buying you out on the house, I’m working on that, Ash.”
I shake my head. “It’s nothing like that. We got a new software director today.”
She looks away—up toward the ceiling, actually.
“Kay, did you know we got a new software director at Gainnet?”
Kay doesn’t look at me. “I gotta call the guys if we’re going to have men here tonight. And get dinner started. I have to get dinner started.”
“How could you! How could you not tell me Seth was taking the job? That’s like Girlhood 101A!”
“I didn’t want you to quit. Seth’s been looking for something new ever since he came back from India. I sorta told him they were looking at Gainnet.”
“Kay! Do you think I want to see my ex every day at work?”
“I didn’t think he’d get the job. Besides, he and Arin are together from what I understand.”
My stomach lurches, and I slowly descend to the couch. “Arin’s not in India?”
Kay just shakes her head. “I really better make those calls.” She walks down the hallway.
Arin got her way. Arin, the size-two missionary, who seems more interested in free travel than actual evangelism. She’s back, and her name is still associated with Seth’s. People move on. I’ve moved on, so of course I don’t expect Seth to sit and pine over me and never go forward. Except, maybe I do just a little bit. Couldn’t he grovel for just a bit? There’s that whole unrequited love thing that should at least give him pause!
4
I work for a few hours on patent materials, and there’s a quiet knock on my bedroom door. I open the door a smidge: the traitor stands there.
“I know you’re mad at me,” Kay says.
I open the door wider and go plop on my bed.
“You’re engaged, top in your field; you have a great home in Palo Alto. Isn’t that enough revenge for you? Seth lost his job over that India relocation, and his church so you would comfortable. Don’t you think he’s paid enough? I felt sorry for him being unemployed. As a Christian, don’t you?”
“Hmmm.” I shake my head. “No, not really.” I smile. “I’m kidding. But you could have warned me. Can you imagine what it was like for me to just hear his name as the new software director?”
She exhales. “Whew. I’m glad to hear you’ve calmed down. I should have warned you, but I didn’t want you to say anything to HR and ruin his chances. He needed a job, Ash. I knew you’d never get in his way, ultimately. You still care about him, I would think.” Kay bites on her thumbnail. “I need your help, Ashley.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “You need my help? Do you have a kitchen patent or something?”
Kay is the epitome of organization. She could star on that HGTV Mission Organization, only she’d probably organize the camera crew too and drive everyone nuts. But I can just see her driving up in her car to the black hole of the day, with loads of baskets and plastic bins—plus the labeler. Kay labels everything! I consider myself fortunate that I don’t have my name taped across my forehead.
“I need fashion help,” Kay blurts.
Well, that goes without saying. “You need fashion help? Why?”
She shifts uncomfortably and looks up toward the ceiling. I’m glad the ceiling is recently painted. It seems to be Kay’s favorite focal point lately. “Do you remember I told you about an old wound?” She pauses and takes a deep breath. “A long time ago? Longer than I care to mention.”
I am definitely intrigued. Kay and a man. This is the story I’ve been waiting for. “The one who seemed to swear you off all men for eternity?”
Kay purses her lips but then says, “Yeah, that’s the one.”
“So you admit it.”
“Admit what?”
“That the guy made you swear off men.”
“Let’s just say he and my father didn’t help my situation.” Kay is rubbing her hands nervously.
“Kay, women dish! There’s nothing wrong with telling someone this. You probably should have done it years ago and freed yourself of the burden. So how is this a fashion emergency anyway?”
“He’s coming by soon. I think to ease his guilty conscience.” She pon
ders this statement a moment. “He should have a guilty conscience.”
“The guy is coming here?” I’m going to meet the man who did this to Kay. With certainty, I realize that I want to hurt him. Badly.
“Listen, it’s nothing like you’re thinking,” Kay says. “There’s no romance. The guy’s a complete fascist. He’s married, he never had any kids because he didn’t want to support them, and he used to be a pastor before he became a full-time missionary. He left his church in New Orleans. It’s a long, tumultuous story.” Kay looks me in the eye.
I look at her in awe. “Still waters run deep.”
“He wasn’t the last man to break my heart, just the first. But I almost fell away from Jesus then, so this one holds a particularly hard memory. It wasn’t romantic, just a letdown from what I expected from fellow Christians.”
Wonders never cease. Kay has a history. “So why are you seeing him then? He sounds like the ultimate loser, the kind of guy I picture in a hunting T-shirt who advertises his complete lack of social graces.”
“Ashley, are you even here with me?”
“What?” I ask.
“I’m allowing him to come because I want him to see me. That he didn’t break me. I want him to see my house, my success, and me. I want to show him I’m not one of his casualties, that Jesus was stronger than what he did, and so am I.”
My mouth is agape. “That doesn’t sound remotely like you.” I abhor my next thought. “It kind of sounds like me, actually.”
“I know, but there it is just the same. Will you help me?”
Will I help her? Kay is a blank canvas I’ve been dying to get my hands on since I met her. “Can we throw away that Michelin down jacket of yours?”
“Let’s not get crazy. It’s just one night.” She walks into my room, toward my closet. “Can you lend me something?”
“Of course I will, but I don’t think you recognize the power of a new outfit. It’s like spinach to Popeye, the super energy pill for Underdog’s ring—”
Kay rolls her eyes. “Can we get on with it?” She thumbs through my clothes and finds the most boring thing in my closet.
I grab it from her. “No. Think red. Scorned woman gets her revenge, only red will do. Remember when Scarlett has to show up at Ashley’s party after the—”
“I don’t want revenge, Ashley. And I don’t want to look like a brazen hussy. I want to look successful. I am successful, but he probably won’t see that since I never married.”
“You are successful, Kay. Remember, the best revenge is looking good.”
“Then you’re right. I do want revenge.”
We both laugh, and I grab her a Ralph Lauren springy wrap dress in silk, with a fabulous pinkish-red bouquet print. “This is an incredible dress!” The tags are still hanging off it, and I try to hide them so Kay doesn’t feel pressure.
“I’m not wearing that, Ashley. Let’s be realistic. One doesn’t go from Melanie to Scarlett in a day.”
“Okay, too froufrou.” I grab a Ralph Lauren silk handkerchief skirt in the same fabric. “I couldn’t make up my mind. I’m going to take one of them back.”
“You had a hard time making a decision on a man too. Maybe you should work on your skills.” She pulls the skirt in front of her and sees its length is appropriate for her comfort level. “What would I wear this with?”
“Short-sleeve silk sweater.” I pull out one in the same red hue. I put it up to her neck. “Oh, it’s your color!” I pause for a minute. “Speaking of color . . .” I finger her hair.
She pulls away in a flinch. “No, I’m not dying my hair.”
“Do you want him to see all this gray and how you’ve aged?” I say as I lift a strand. “Dye is not the enemy, Kay. I can make it look really natural.”
Kay pulls away. “I’m not coloring my hair, Ashley. It is natural.”
I put up a finger. “Wait, I’ve got the perfect thing.” I go into the bathroom, rummage through my closet, and come running back into the bedroom. “Temporary color. No one at work will ever know. We’ll wash it out by Monday. I have this from when Brea and I went as blondes for the All Saints’ Day party. You’d be a great blonde, Kay.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Not a platinum blonde, just a nice light ashy-brown color, see?” With a smile, I hold up the box.
Kay’s still shaking her head. “I knew this was a mistake.”
I’m losing her. She’s slipping into the taupe abyss. Must retreat. “No mistake. We’ll work on the clothes.” The hair can wait.
“What do you have that I can wear that doesn’t say, I want to impress?”
“Hmmm, why would I own that piece of clothing?” Then I say, “Kidding. Just kidding.” I’m still eyeing her hair and thinking chunky highlights. She picks up an old Shelli Segal Laundry dress. “It’s out of style, Kay.”
“I don’t care about style. I just want something that’s more updated than my—”
“Plaid,” I finish for her.
She purses her lips. “I do not wear plaid.”
Kay does, however, wear the fashion equivalent. “Well, maybe not plaid. But flannel!”
“What’s wrong with flannel?”
“If you have to ask, you just need to trust my judgment.” I point to the bed. “Go stand over there. I’ll find you something.” I rifle through my closet looking for the perfect mixture of trendy yet sophisticated. Classic but not too colorful. “I’ve got it.” I pull out a Jones New York dress in red with tiny black polka dots. “This is perfect. It will show off your long legs and toned arms.”
Kay backs away from me. “It’s too bright.”
“Just try it on, no pressure. The black polka dots tone it down,” I say reassuringly. I toss the dress at her and go out into the hallway. Unlike normal women, Kay gets all freaky when she undresses in front of other women. She’d never survive a Loehmann’s sale.
I head to the bathroom and collect my makeup. I may never get this opportunity again, and in my entire time of knowing Kay, I have somehow resisted the urge to attack her with an eye pencil. “The girl needs eyeliner,” I say to myself as I throw it in a basket. And mascara, and just a smidge of lip gloss. I reach for the nail polish but decide not to push my luck.
When I get back into the room, Kay’s back in her velour, short-sleeve sweater and black jeans. “What are you doing?”
“It was too bright. I told you, too bright.”
I rifle through my closet again and find the drabbest thing I own, an olive-green cargo dress with a cinched waist. I must have been depressed that day. “Okay, try this on.”
She takes it and cinches up her nose. “It’s too short.”
“It will go to your knees. Contrary to what you might think, dresses don’t have to be at the ankle anymore.” I wink at her. “Even the petticoat can go.”
Kay laughs and takes the dress. “Fine, I’ll try it on.” She stops and looks at me.
“I’m leaving. No wonder you don’t belong to the gym. If I had your body, I’d be traipsing around everywhere.” I exit and hear the phone ringing. Kay canceled caller ID, so I’m at the mercy of whomever feels the need to dial us up. “Good afternoon, Ashley’s Extreme Makeover.”
“Ashley?” I hear in a stern Southern tone. Uh-oh. Is she mad?
“Hi, Emily. Did you get ahold of your friend?” Uh, the stalker?
“He’s comin’. Keh-vin called awhile ago. He’s goin’ to pick me up on his dinner break and drop me there. Matt’s comin’ to your place at 6:00 p.m.”
“Matt?” So the stalker has a name. “What’s his last name?”
“Matt Callaway,” she says with a heaving sigh. “He’s dreamy, Ashley.”
“I’ll look forward to meeting him,” I say with my finger down my throat.
Emily turns on her business voice. “I’ve been workin’ on the bridesmaid gown drawings while I’ve been here. I’ll have something to show you tonight! So I can go back to Atlanta and get the ball rollin’.”
“It’s completely wrong for the theme. My brothah wouldn’t care for that at all. Too sleek and without shape. It’s far too sophisticated for a bride your age. You need something that announces your presence to Southern society, that lets you appear younger than your advanced years. You’ll look like every othah bride in that dress. That’s why I canceled the order.”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. All I can say is that I’m glad she’s not here, because at the moment my thoughts are less than Christian. I’m thinking about how I’ll have to reorder and avoid whatever hideous thing she’s got going. Most important, my future kids have Mei Ling, Brea, and Kay. What on earth do they need Aunt Emily for? I can’t think of one single thing. At the moment, anyway.
I’m keeping my voice calm, like I would treat a rogue engineer. “Emily. We’ll need to go back down to the shop tomorrow and reorder my dress. That is the dress that I selected, and I am the bride.” Is this stating the obvious or what? “I don’t know what happens in the South, but I’m quite sure it’s universal that the bride selects her gown.”
“Do you want to make my brothah happy? Or shall I call him at work and tell him we’re havin’ trouble with the plannin’?”
Unclenching my teeth now. “We’re not having trouble, Emily. I am the bride. You are the coordinator. Therefore, I dream. You coordinate,” I say, feeling victorious.
“I’ve already ordered you a new dress. I did it months ago, actually. When my brothah announced your nuptials.” She says the last like she bit into a bad olive.
“That’s fine, Emily,” I say like a preschool teacher. “If you cancel my gown, we can cancel your gown before payment is made.”
“Actually, I got started on it before I left Atlanta. It was when I had an epiphany about your day and how to make my brothah happy. When he sees you walk down that aisle, he’s not goin’ to believe his eyes.”
That’s what scares me.
“You know, we’ll just talk about this when you get here. All right?”
“Not a word to my brothah, Ashley. I’ve never done anything that he was proud of, and he’s goin’ to be the picture of pride on your weddin’ day. Beamin’ at both of us. This is the beginning of our sisterhood.”
With This Ring, I'm Confused Page 4
