With This Ring, I'm Confused

by Kristin Billerbeck

“He was just here for a little while, Ashley.”

  “Ugh!” I lift my hands to the ceiling. “So not my imagination.”

  “The dog’s in your room. He doesn’t seem to care for Sam.”

  “My shoes!” I rush down the hall to open my door. As I do, several designer, I-paid-for-each-of-those-individually beads come bouncing out toward me. “Rhett!” Gingerly, I bend down and start picking up beads—again. With my financial status, I’m going to be sewing these back on by hand. It was too early to buy shoes without the dress anyway. What was I thinking?

  My answering machine is blinking, and I can’t say I’m ecstatic to answer the red flashing light. Perhaps it’s Kevin trying to cancel our plans for tomorrow or Seth hoping I’ll meet him at the soup house for a late-night apology session. Closing my eyes, I press the button.

  “Ashley, it’s Purvi.” Super. “We missed a filing deadline because you’re too childish to talk to the new director of software. What is going on? There’s just no excuse for this. Your work is getting shoddy. This is not like you—Beeep! ” My machine cuts her off, and I’m wishing I had something built-in so I could just turn off everyone around me at will.

  “Now that would be a nice feature,” I say to Rhett, and we tumble onto the bed.

  “You’re about the only one I didn’t tick off today, Rhett, although you ticked me off royally with your latest shoe feast. How does it feel to be the one person on my fan list? Okay, the one dog on my fan list?”

  Rhett gives me a wet nose on the chin, and the phone rings.

  “Hello.”

  “Ashley, it’s Kevin.” Be still, my heart. His voice still makes me tingle, but here it comes. He’s thought about my behavior or gotten an earful from Emily. The lecture I deserve about not acting like a Christian or basically being a grown-up in general must be on its way. But when someone messes with the wedding dress you’ve drawn since high school, there’s some serious angst wrapped up in the moment.

  “Hi, Kevin. How’s your sister?”

  “She left with Matt. They were going to see the Rocky Horror Picture Show. It’s showing at the retro theater.”

  “Please tell me she didn’t dress up.”

  “Ashley, she has no idea what she’s in for, and I think the costumes will come as a surprise. She thinks she’s going to a scary movie.”

  “And in many ways, she’d be right. Not nearly as scary as the clientele, but won’t she be in for a shock?” The idea of seeing Emily catch her first glimpse of Tim Curry in drag makes me want to throw on my Steve Maddens and run for the real show: the Southern belle unraveling.

  “Emily didn’t even know why Matt had toast in his hands.” Kevin laughs at one of the many inside jokes of the movie, which is even before my time, but lots of the lunatic fringe in high school went. This, I wish I could see. “If she thinks the engineers and Lord of the Rings are odd, she’s in for a night of surprises. She’s going to find out dating someone from a different generation has its drawbacks.”

  “Why didn’t you warn her?” I ask. I mean, even I would have warned her. “The Rocky Horror Picture Show? Is he in some sort of time warp?”

  “Oh, I did try to explain. I told her it was a modern-day melodrama, a cult artwork, if you will. She left thinking they were in for a cultural experience from yesteryear. Performance art of another era. At least, that’s what I thought when she shouted, ‘Keh-vin, I’m quite adept at understanding artistic endeavors.’ She took a couple of art classes before deciding college wasn’t for her.”

  “Did you at least tell her she’s younger than the movie itself?”

  “Emily’s a lot like you. You can’t tell her anything as she enters the cave of doom. She likened it to being able to enjoy Casablanca. Well, she’ll have to figure it out.” He pauses. “You did, eventually. You’re marrying me, right?”

  I must say, I’m thrilled his offer is still good after my own performance art this evening. “I’m sorry tonight went so badly. My mind was in a million different places, and seeing that Coach portfolio . . . Well, there’s no excuse. I snapped.” To think of a quality leather designer product having such a negative effect. I’m telling you, the girl is hurting my psyche.

  “Don’t feel too bad. Emily will forget all about it by tomorrow when you meet.”

  “You mean, when we meet? As in, you, me, and her?”

  He sighs.

  “Kevin?”

  “Remember the patient I was telling you about?”

  “The little girl,” I venture.

  “Holly is her name.”

  It’s here that I realize that I, myself, am toast. I can’t compete with an ill child, and Lord knows, I wouldn’t want to. I want Holly to have the expertise of Dr. Kevin Novak. “Emily and I will handle everything, Kevin. You just worry about Holly. I’ll be praying for her.”

  “Thanks, sweetheart. I’ll make it up to you.”

  “Did you talk to your parents about the house? And that we appreciate the offer, but . . .”

  He’s silent for a moment. “We haven’t really talked about that yet. There’s Philadelphia to consider too.”

  “I checked on the Internet. I’d definitely have to take the two Bar exams again, Kevin. Basically, start from scratch. And I’d have no friends while you worked, ostensibly even more.” Not that I’m brimming to the top with friends at present. But all the more reason I can’t afford to give up what I do have and try for new ones. “Think how long it would take me to train a new barista to have my coffee ready for me when I enter.”

  “That’s certainly going to enter into my equation.” He laughs. “I’ll come over tomorrow night after dropping Emily at the airport, all right? We’ll hash this all out, and there will be no more questions. You’ll be in control, at the helm, once again. Deal?”

  “No, because I don’t want you looking at me with those green eyes when we talk about moving. That Hugh Jackman smile of yours, and my actual thoughts will be history. No thanks.”

  “You’re always saying that. Who on earth is Hugh Jackman?”

  “An actor who looks just like you and gets better-looking women than you do. So just you never mind.”

  “Impossible.”

  “No, he really does look like you.”

  “That he gets better-looking women, Ashley. That’s what’s impossible.”

  “Why? Do you have a nurse on the side?”

  “Trust me, you’re all I can handle. You’re the one who might consider multiple husbands: one to shop with, one to support that spending habit, and one to live with until death. I’ll be the last guy.”

  I start to giggle. “There’s a reason I’m marrying you.”

  “I hope there’s more than one.”

  My fears lift away on an invisible cloud. “There’s more. Your narcolepsy not being one of them. At some point, it will definitely hurt my carefully constructed emotional balance if you’re always falling asleep on me.”

  “Speaking of which, I’m going to sleep now. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

  “I have to go anyway. The Reasons are here, and I want to let Rhett loose to do his business. He’s been locked up all night, and we both deserve a little fun,” I say and laugh. “I’m kidding, although I would be willing to clean up any accidents Rhett might have.”

  As I exit my room, the scent of orange soda and BBQ potato chips assaults my nostrils. This house smells like a bad eighth-grade slumber party. I have the sudden urge to put shaving cream in someone’s palm and tickle their nose. As I venture into the living room, I have to admit my intentions are not good. I turn around before I do something I’ll regret.

  “Ashley?” Kay calls after me. “You can come out. The movie’s over, though.”

  “That’s okay. I’ve seen Shrek 2.” I dated Seth, remember? He’s obsessed with all things green and alien.

  Sam picks up my copy of Bride from the coffee table and thumbs through my sticky notes. “Going to the chapel, Ashley?”

  I rip it from his sausa
gelike fingers. What is it about Sam that pushes my buttons?

  “Ashley’s date is fast approaching.” Kay sounds overly cheery to avoid the fact that Sam and I have a distinct personality conflict.

  “Date with what? Destiny?”

  “Her wedding, silly. To Kevin?” Kay says, and I watch Sam’s expression fall.

  “You didn’t know I was getting married?” I ask. Avoid Cheshire cat smile, I tell myself.

  Jim, Tim, and Jake all stand. “We’d better go,” says Tim.

  “Late night,” offers Jake.

  “Don’t leave!” I implore. “I’m going to my room.” After all, why shouldn’t Sam feel more comfortable in my house than I do? “I’m sure Kay’s got her wonderful midnight snack prepared, and she’s had to smell Fritos all night. It’s the least you can do to eat something healthy she prepared.” I grin, and the men all sit back down. With the exception of Sam, who never thought of leaving in the first place.

  Sam follows me down the hallway. “You’re really getting married? To the pretty-boy doctor?”

  “News flash. There isn’t a thing pretty about Kevin. He’s tough, intellectual, he saves children every day, and he has manners. Not a bad gig if you can get it.”

  Sam steps closer so the guys don’t hear him. “But what about Seth?”

  “Seth is my ex-boyfriend, Sam. Note the ex in that phrase. People date. People decide they’re not right for each other. Even Christians.”

  “But Seth likes you.” Sam nods his head in a figure-eight motion. “He might even love you.”

  Pass the homeroom note. “I’m thirty-two this year, Sam. It’s not enough, really, that he likes me.” Need I mention I’m in love with another man and wearing his ring?

  “You can’t marry Kevin.” It’s the first time I’ve heard any authority in his voice. Okay, except maybe when he orders at Applebee’s.

  “Come August 21, I will marry Kevin. I’m finalizing the location tomorrow. The dress is ordered. Well, that’s a long story, but where have you been, Sam? Didn’t Seth tell you? What do you talk about every night when Star Trek: Voyager is over?”

  He walks in front of me and stops me. “No, I mean you can’t marry Kevin. You and Seth have been an item for what, three years or something?”

  “Ten months, actually. It just felt like three years.”

  “He had a crush on you long before that, and now that Arin’s dating that Indian guy, he’s going to be left with nothing.”

  Arin and what Indian guy? Anyway, cry me a river. “I don’t know what to tell you, Sam. I’m getting married.” I cross my arms in front of me. “Besides, what do you care? You’ve always made your opinion of me quite well known.”

  “I have a good opinion of you, Ashley. I think you’re funny and well dressed, and you really do sing like an angel. I just wanted you to know when you did marry Seth that I would be a fixture for movie nights and stuff. I didn’t want you two to break up. I just didn’t want my buddy and me broken up.”

  Sadly, I’m feeling sorry for him. I didn’t know the emotion was possible with Sam, but there you go. “I appreciate that, Sam. I think Seth is a great guy. I really do. He’s just not the great guy for me. There’s a certain amount of time you devote to something before you give it over to God. And I gave it over, and then Kevin came into my life. He’s the answer to a lot of prayer.”

  I believe . . . I believe I need a list. I say good night to Sam, head into my room, settle in on the floor against my bed, and start writing:

  MOVING FORWARD IN LIFE

  1. Strive for the perfect wedding day by getting along with my future sister-in-law.

  2. Embrace my new family with a godliness worthy of a good, Christian girl. No more Dynasty or Melrose Place catfight fantasies (or realities, for that matter.) No more restaurant soap operas!

  3. Tell Seth with sweetness that I’m thankful for our time together, but we must not beat this dead horse anymore. Be so sweet and grateful that he accepts defeat and looks for a new job, a new girlfriend, and doesn’t live the fantasy of his make-believe angelic Ashley. (Bad cycle for Christian men, to believe they lost “the one.” Powerful excuse for avoiding future commitment.)

  4. Start actively looking for Kay’s new roommate/co-owner. Explain the benefits of five fruit and vegetable servings prepared each day. Not to mention biweekly cleaning with the HEPA filter—very good for allergic people. (Search for someone with hives.)

  5. Find a house for Kevin and me to live in together before his parents plop down a down payment in Philly. (Remember, good real estate and a good handbag are always the answer.)

  6. Ignore said financial crisis, and trust that God will provide. Granted, maybe not designer footwear, but we’ll get past that. Okay, probably not.

  I peruse my list and feel Rhett’s tongue slide up my cheek. “I know! It’s a good list, don’t you think?” I’m so ready for tomorrow. Bring on church. Bring on the Reasons. Bring on my psycho sister-in-law-to-be. “I am Ashley Stockingdale, ready and able. Outta my way, world, I’m moving forward!”

  13

  It’s Sunday morning, and let’s just say the empowered mood I felt when I made my list last night has evaporated like the morning fog. Right now, I’m feeling less than Christian. Yesterday was not one of my better runs as a godly girl. In fact, it was pretty pitiful. My attitude toward Emily has come back to haunt me this morning, and I pray for forgiveness. The funny thing is, I mean it!

  “I promise I’ll be good, Lord.” Granted, He’s heard that from me before, hundreds of times, and if ever there was a reason to question my good intentions, it’s a day spent with Emily. With that little prayer offered up, I feel better. Call me an optimist, but I’m hopeful for the day. I put on my Seven jeans, some magnificent heels, and a Boucle jacket I got on sale at Bloomingdale’s. My look says I am fashion-savvy, completely capable of making solid, en vogue decisions. I am not in need of a wedding dress selector. I am a confident woman, moving forward!

  I’m a confident woman who’s a little late as I hustle into the back row of the high school auditorium where my church is held. The music is loud and washes over me like a steady heartbeat, bringing me into a connection with Jesus. A connection I need so desperately this morning. I let it rain over me and soak in the reminders of His sacrifice for my pettiness. It’s overwhelming, actually. Saved by grace. If that miracle wasn’t created for me, well, I can’t imagine a more perfect candidate.

  After a sermon on loving others as myself, I am ready to face Emily Novak. I pull up to Kevin’s doorstep with my shoulders straightened and my personality tamped down like fine espresso. I visualize myself as Mother Teresa and ring the doorbell. There she is, my Calcutta street urchin: Emily.

  “Is that what you’re wearing?” Emily asks with a tinge of disapproval.

  Good morning to you too, Emily. How are you this fine morning? Only it doesn’t come out quite that way. “Is that what you’re wearing?” I retort, looking at her springtime dress straight out of a matinee showing of Grease. The skirt is only missing the poodle. I want to turn around and show her my Seven label. I want her to get a good look at the Marc Jacobs stilettos. This is fashion, girlfriend. Get out your pork-bun- covered notepad!

  “You’re wearing jeans to hit some of the area’s nicest hotels?” Emily’s brow wrinkles in disgust.

  “I’m wearing Sevens,” I correct as I turn around and thumb the label. “This is California,” I explain. “We like to dress our jeans up, but we’re the casual state, second only to Hawaii or maybe Florida,” I say in an upbeat weather forecaster voice. I even sweep my hand across the sky like it’s a blue screen.

  She puts her palms on her chest. “I am dressed casually as well. But my dress says that I care about appearances and that these meetings are very important to me and my marital future.”

  Peachy. “Okay, well, you’re not the one getting married, and I’m not changing. Let’s go, shall we?” I say, avoiding any further discussion. One small step for Ashle
y Stockingdale, one giant step for false, behind-the-back womanhood.

  We get into my convertible, and I have the top down because it is a gorgeous California day. I can tell this is not going over well with Emily and her hair-sprayed, beribboned ponytail. Without even a com ment, I lift the top and slowly latch it closed. Taking the high road! Are you noticing, Lord?

  “My brothah passed on your feelings about the country club, so we’re heading to the Fairmont Hotel first,” Emily announces while looking at the slightly stained notebook and showing me the blank line next to “Location.” “We have a meeting with the director of catering.”

  “I’d really prefer to decide on the wedding’s location first. San Jose is awfully far for most people, and I’m not sure I’m a Fairmont kind of gal.”

  “What’s wrong with the Fairmont?”

  “Well, nothing, but I’d like to get married outdoors, not in a hotel, since we don’t really have access to the church.” The idea of getting married in the high school auditorium with gum under the seats and teen-angst graffiti is not something I’d find romantic, even if that is my “church.”

  “Y’all can get married by the pool there at the Fairmont. It’s on the foh-th floor and overlooks the park across the street.”

  “Can people swim while we’re getting married, or will they close it off?”

  “Well, they have to keep the pool open for guests, I would think.”

  I shake my head. “Not liking that idea. What if some kid comes and does a cannonball in the middle of the ceremony? Or worse yet, if Pamela Anderson takes a dip while your brother tries not to be too distracted to say, ‘I do’?”

  She scratches out the Fairmont name, putting way too much pressure on her pad. “There, you happy now? You have such a fatalistic attitude, Ashley. How is anyone supposed to make you happy?”

  Can you disappear? Bad Ashley. Sorry, Lord, really trying here. “What’s next?”

  “The Duck Pond in Palo Alto,” she says excitedly.

  “Have you been there?” I ask tentatively.

  “No, but I saw it on the map and it sounds just perfect, right by the Bay, and—”