With This Ring, I'm Confused

by Kristin Billerbeck

  I clutch the picture of my true wedding gown in my pocket. “Vera Wang, Mei Ling style,” I say aloud. When Mei Ling sees my gown, she’ll see it for the fashion emergency it is. Her sewing machine will become alive with fervor. Besides, I bought Mei Ling’s red Chinese wedding gown for her reception. She owes me.

  I take the key out of my pocket. It glistens under the green glow of the Starbucks sign. The key slides in easily, and I turn on the lights as I enter. I’m like a kid in a candy store: veils and garters and gowns, oh my! The only place I’d rather be at night is in the New York diamond district with my pick of the platinum, putting my careful knowledge of the four Cs into action!

  So I won’t get Hannah into trouble, I lock the door behind me and go straight for my gown. Okay, I’ll finally admit it really is lovely, but it reminds me of something a little girl would play dress-up in, not something a bride would actually wear. Still . . . Hannah said the detail work was exquisite, and there’s something stirring within that says maybe I should give it one more chance when I don’t have such an attentive audience.

  I pull it into the dressing room and try it on. The three-way mirror isn’t nearly as bad when you don’t have anyone staring. I can’t loop the buttons, so I pull the neckline closed with my hand. I stare for a time, then I notice flashing red lights. “What the heck?” I say aloud as I go toward the front of the store. There’s a policeman on his radio. Good thing I’m in here. The last thing I need is to be in the middle of a police action.

  I go back to the mirror when I hear the pounding. “Police! Open up!”

  “Gosh, they are close.” I venture another look out the window.

  “You, the bride! Open this door.”

  My heart is in my throat. “Me?” I say with my hand on my chest.

  “You, princess. Open the door.”

  I am wearing a Scarlett O’Hara gown. It’s like I’ve been awakened from a dream world, only it’s really much more of a nightmare because I’m dressed most inappropriately. I pride myself on being dressed appropriately for all occasions. But answering to a cop, I’m not sure of the proper dress.

  “Open this door!” he shouts again.

  I shuffle the gown toward the door and unlatch the deadbolt. The police officer takes a look at the dress and fights a battle with laughter. Finally, it bursts forth. He covers his face with his hand. He’s handsome, albeit short, and his mustache is twitching. His laughing isn’t doing anything to endear him to me.

  “What’s so funny?” I ask with a hand on my hip. Like I’ve got any space for an attitude.

  “Nothing. Can I ask what you’re doing in here after hours? Dressed like—like that?”

  I swish the skirt around and straighten my shoulders, trying to maintain a sense of dignity. “I’m picking up my wedding gown. It was flown in from Atlanta today,” I say with false pride and authority. “See? I have a key.” But the key is momentarily missing. “Just a minute. I’ll find it.”

  “You may have a key, missy, but you set off the silent alarm. Unless you have the code to turn it off, you’re going to have to come with me.”

  “Just call the owner. I’m sure this is all very easily solved. See, Hannah had a date tonight, and—”

  “Gee, her number isn’t in my PDA.” He’s got his arms crossed.

  “Sarcasm in a police officer is not a positive trait,” I chastise. Of course I don’t have the owner’s number. I don’t even have Hannah’s cell, and she’s out on a date. This is not good.

  “I’m waiting.”

  “This is all a slight misunderstanding. My girlfriend Hannah works here. She lent me her key, and—”

  “I’m sure your story is true, because I can’t believe anyone would break in for dress-up in that gown, but I still have to take you to the station. They’ll check out your story, and I can get back on the street fighting the real bad guys.”

  “The station? No, no. I can’t go to the station. Think of all the paperwork you’ll have. I was arrested last year for assaulting an officer with my Prada, and I’m a lawyer, and—” His jaw has dropped. “I’m not helping my case here, am I?”

  “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be used against you in a court of law.”

  “No, this is not a court case. It’s just a misunderstanding. Look, here’s the key! Hannah must not have told her boss.”

  “Good. Breaking and entering will be left off the charges.” He swipes the key from my hand. “I’ll take that, thank you.”

  “I’ll take the dress off. Just give me a minute—” As I start to wander towards the dressing room in a dizzying fog, he shakes his head and pulls me back by the elbow.

  “You have the right to an attorney present now and during any future questioning. If you cannot afford an attorney—”

  “Stop the Miranda Rights. I’m a lawyer. Why would I break into a wedding shop?”

  “Maybe it’s some fantasy you’ve developed. Who knows what fetishes people have? I’ve seen them all.” He grabs me by the elbow and escorts me to the flashing red lights. The people on the sidewalk outside of Starbucks are having quite the laugh. “Fine, I won’t arrest you until we check out your story, but you’re still coming with me.”

  “Hey, look! Princess Fiona is getting arrested,” I hear one of them shout.

  I am going to the police station. In custody. Dressed like Scarlett O’Hara. And I was worried about a lingerie shower. I’d take a private marabou teddy moment over this any day.

  16

  I’ve been hiking back and forth in the cell for an hour, lest I sit down and destroy this very expensive, albeit enormous gown. Kay is sure taking her sweet time about getting here. At first, the cops couldn’t verify my story because Hannah was unreachable on her date, and the owner was not answering her phone. But they all got their laugh for the evening. Clearly, they weren’t worried about my hardened-criminal background when they invited other inmates in to share the laugh. They are certainly easily entertained.

  I’ve been informed there was a break-in at the shop a year ago, and they’re not taking any chances. I could, after all, be the bridal shop bandit. I’d be free right now if it weren’t for my record. But that arrest wasn’t my fault. I was drunk with jet lag. Duh. You try working straight through for days in Taiwan and then flying back eighteen hours at the end of it. Can anyone really sleep on a plane? Who would be coherent?

  Kay comes in, and she stifles back a chuckle. “I see now why you didn’t call Kevin.”

  “Did you post bail?”

  “You don’t need bail. They know where you live, and you’re not under arrest, just here for questioning. They got hold of Hannah, who verified your story. So you can go; you just need an escort back to your car—and your own clothes. Whose dress is that, anyway?”

  “Vivien Leigh’s.”

  “I think the police just wanted their entertainment for the night. I’ll have to admit, I got mine.”

  I gather up my stuff, sign a few things, and we’re on our way. I think the officers are going to miss me.

  It’s now that I notice Kay is not dressed like her normal self. She’s wearing a darling dress with a swingy, colorful skirt and actual heels. My dress, actually. I nod toward her. “What’s this about?”

  “Saturday night is my big reunion, remember? I was trying on dresses when you called.”

  “Seems as if both of us were having a fashion show with other people’s clothes.”

  “Except I actually had free access to your clothes without breaking and entering.”

  “I did not break and enter. Just take me back to the shop to put this monstrosity back on the hanger and get my car.” I take the crumpled picture out of my bag. “This is the dress I’m actually wearing. I’m hoping Mei Ling can make it for me.”

  Kay peruses the gown and hands back the paper. “It’s beautiful.”

  “That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say?”

  “Forgive me. All I could hear in my head was ‘J
ailhouse Rock.’ It threw me off, I suppose.” Now Kay does throw her head back and laugh. “What should I say, Ashley? Guide me.”

  “It’s much easier to get hauled into the police station than I thought when in law school. You know, you watch Cops, and you think it’s all about shirtless men and living in drive-up motels. But it’s really a lot easier than they show you.”

  Kay rolls her eyes. “No, it really isn’t, Ashley. You live a charmed life there, I guess. Getting hauled in might be your specialty. An interesting opportunity for a young female Christian, I must say.” Kay pulls into the parking lot of the bridal shop. Thankfully, the curious Starbucks crowd has dispersed.

  “All right, Kay, you stand outside the door and be my witness that I am putting this dress back, not stealing anything,” I say as I start to unlock the door again with Hannah’s key.

  It’s then that my life drops a few notches. Kevin is standing in the parking lot and gets a full view of me as Scarlett O’Hara.

  “Ashley?”

  “Kevin, what are you doing here?” I feel naked. No, naked would be an improvement.

  “Kay paged me. The message said, ‘A needs moral support. Come to wedding shop.’ I was going to take thirty minutes to eat anyway, so here I am. The better question is what are you doing here, wearing that? Is that your dress?” Kevin’s striking green eyes are focused on the gown, his fears obvious.

  “This is the gown your sister had made for me.” Can we agree on a structured program for her now?

  A flicker of understanding dawns in his eyes. “You know what, honey? I have to go. Love you!” He comes toward me, kisses my cheek, and looks me over from head to toe, shaking his head and stifling a chuckle. But his eyes are tender. He loves me; he really loves me. “I’ll take care of it, Ash,” he says gently, my own Leopold. Then he’s gone, like the invisible wind on which he blew into my life.

  “Why don’t you just buy another dress?” Kay interrupts my romantic reverie. “I’ve never known you to avoid buying anything you thought would make you feel better.”

  “I’m not sure I’ll have time. Plus, I’m a little short this week. Those bookshelves we put into the living room set me back, then we had the taxes, and there’s all the wedding things I’ve bought.” I turn the knob, hurry into the shop, and change back into my black bow dress with a major sigh of relief. I hang the Civil War–era creation back in its web and head back out the door.

  “Why don’t you get wedding sponsors?” Kay asks as I step outside.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I saw on television this couple had businesses sponsor their wedding, and they got everything paid for. Even their honeymoon,” Kay says with raised eyebrows.

  My mouth falls open. “It’s my wedding. It’s not a commercial endeavor. I’m thinking no on that.”

  Kay shrugs. “Just an idea. It’s a better one than you not paying half the mortgage. But I probably think that’s personal on my part. You could ask Kevin.”

  “I’ll get the money, Kay.”

  “Why can’t you just ask Kevin for the money? What good is it to marry rich if you pretend you’re poor?”

  “Kevin doesn’t have any money, and that means the money would come from his parents. Neither of us wants anything from them. Not to mention announcing my poverty to Emily is beyond what my fragile ego can take at the moment.”

  “Then you’re going to have to decide what’s more important: a wedding at Stanford Chapel with all the trimmings or doing it yourself. This is one place you can’t have your cake and eat it too. Safeway makes a nice wedding cake.”

  As we step into our cars, I look down at my hands and Kevin’s ring. “Safeway?”

  “See, you’re a snob,” she says through the window. “You either want to get married or you want to put on a show. No one would know it came from Safeway.”

  I would! We both pull out of the parking lot and head for home, but I know we’re not through with this conversation. Sure enough, my cell rings. It’s Kay.

  “There you have it: you’re a snob.”

  “Maybe I am,” I say as I adjust my earpiece so I can drive with both hands on the wheel. “I’m poor. I so hate being poor. It’s not in my genetic makeup to be poor. When God cast me in this role, I just know He said nothing about poverty.”

  “Poverty? Oh please, you could sell your half of the house and live in a mansion anywhere else in the country. Besides, there are worse things than being poor, Ashley.”

  “Name one.”

  “Being sick.”

  “Name two.”

  “Not marrying the man of your dreams and spending your days alone. With me and the Reasons, as you call us.”

  “You never married. I thought you said it was a good life.”

  “I never met the man of my dreams. Besides, I’m not talking about me. I’m talking about you, my beloved, man-crazy roommate. I think you’d die of emotional starvation without a boyfriend.”

  “Man-crazy? Granted, I don’t like being alone, but that’s because I feel without direction. You’re such an anomaly to me, Kay. You’re beautiful. You have a body to die for . . . and you can cook. Your being single doesn’t make any sense to me, I have to admit.”

  “Because you see being single as failure. I don’t.”

  She’s got a point. Her life is unacceptable to me, and I can’t imagine where I got this opinion. Maybe it was too many days of Barbie play. Maybe I’m Elaine Novak in my own way, and when I have that scary, surprised skeleton face from too many brow lifts, I’ll finally have clarity. Ohhhh, I see, you mean it wasn’t about taut skin and good shoes? Joke’s on me.

  “Didn’t you ever want to have kids?” I ask her. I figure if Kay’s going to open up, I’m going to pry the doors as wide as possible. How often do I get this opportunity?

  I can hear Kay mulling this over across the satellite waves. “I don’t know about kids. I can’t remember ever wanting them. I guess I always thought I would have them, but once the time passed, it didn’t seem that big of a deal not having them. Life is full of twists and turns. We can’t plot our course. We only think we can, and eventually you become content with what God gives you, or you screw it up further.”

  “That’s good, though, Kay. You have no regrets. Every day my life is filled with remorse because I second-guess everything. Which is why I can’t seem to plan this wedding for the life of me. Why I fall victim to Emily’s pushing. She just seems so sure of herself.”

  “Oh, I have regrets. I made a lot of mistakes I would take back if I had it to do over again. But of course, I can’t, so you move on.”

  “Really? Like what do you regret? Granite instead of Corian in the kitchen? What would you change?”

  She goes deathly quiet for a minute, then says seriously, “I wouldn’t have let Simon ruin me.”

  I squirm uncomfortably. Hearing Kay’s true emotions gets to me. “Simon didn’t ruin you, Kay. Look at your success, not to mention how you care for everyone around you. You’re the singles group mother.”

  “I make fun of you being man-hungry, but you know what you want, Ashley. Maybe you’re confused on how to get there, but you do know what you want. When Seth wouldn’t marry you, you were brave enough to move on and start again. I have to admire that even if I can’t duplicate it.”

  “Like I had options, Kay. Move to Punjab, India, with no wedding ring or commitment, or stay behind and see if he’d come running back. Is that a choice to you?”

  “You had options. You could have sworn off men altogether, like I did.”

  “You regret that?” I can’t hide my shock here.

  “Don’t get me wrong. I don’t regret being single. I like my life. I like being in control of my destiny and my house, but I’m always filled with ‘What if?’ What if I’d not let that harden me? What if my heart was still soft and pliable, and not cold and closed? What if I allowed myself to get hurt again? Would it have happened and crushed me? Or would I have survived and been bigger for the exp
erience? Did God protect me from something worse? Or did I not give Him the opportunity? It’s just something I’ll never know.”

  “So why see Simon again? I can’t say running into Seth at work every day is doing me any favors.”

  “Because facing him is facing the fear. That’s an important part of moving on.”

  “I hope he’s bald,” I say and break into a giggle. “And has hair growing out of his ears. Oh, and back hair. He should definitely have a full rug of back hair.”

  “Ashley, you really ought to work on allowing the thoughts to fester before they come blubbering out. Is there downtime between the idea and the actual speech for you?”

  “Not much, no. That’s why litigation is out for me.”

  “I don’t know if he’ll have back hair or not. I’m not planning on him being shirtless.”

  “All the better. You can just imagine that matty carpet o’ hair on his back. Oh yeah, just try and take him seriously now.”

  “You are so mentally deranged.”

  “I just got taken downtown for dressing like Scarlett O’Hara. What part of deranged were you missing?” I think about Kevin’s quick appearance and quicker exit. I’m glad Kay paged him and that he showed up, but where did he dash off to?

  “Before you moved in with me,” Kay says, and I focus on her again, “I would have thought you were much closer to the edge than you really are. But I see now that your mind works as quickly as your mouth, and therefore what most of us keep to ourselves, you share. Generously. You’re not nearly as crazy as you are open. God should have provided you with a Ziploc closure.”

  “Why’d you let me move in, anyway? We were never exactly close in singles group, and we were clearly polar opposites in life strategies. I mean, remember the clipboard? It was your life, Kay. You took it everywhere, consulted it before you spoke. You were like Linus with a hard baby blanket. Worse yet, Emily with her Coach portfolio.”