With This Ring, I'm Confused

by Kristin Billerbeck

  Rather than coming home filled with joy that he’s saved a life, he has fears that he might not be able to save one the next day. I think he picked me because I expected so little of him.

  “Ka la?” The girl wakes me from my reverie as she rinses off the gritty film o’ peppermint.

  I shake my head. What on earth?

  “Ka la? Pik ka la?”

  “Color,” I say with recognition. “Yes, right here,” I say as I hand her a pearly pink. She looks me straight in the eye and takes the color with that look of disapproval. I think it’s the only thing that gives pedicurists a sense of power, being disgusted by the color you select.

  Life is not fair. I don’t know why people think life is fair. It should be, I’ll grant you that. If you commit a crime, you should do the time, not be “saved” by a superstar attorney who couldn’t care less if you’re guilty or not, since he just wants to show off his fancy legal maneuvering and make a few million. But here again, life is not fair. I could have been a manicurist answering to the nail hawker at the door, instead of a lawyer answering to Purvi.

  I could take the bus (heaven forbid with my brother driving) instead of driving my Audi. I could be marrying a garbageman instead of a surgeon. In most ways, I really come out with the long end of the stick in life.

  My phone trills, and it’s my best friend. “Hi, Brea.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Getting a pedicure and wondering if I am supposed to marry a garbageman.”

  “You’re so weird. Listen, your mom’s calling me about a lingerie shower?” Brea has a distinct, questioning lilt, crossed with a dash of disgust.

  “I’m sorry, Brea. I told my mom no lingerie shower.”

  “She so needs to get a grip, Ash. Can you see your aunts showing up with—never mind, I can’t even go there. So what do you want me to say to her? They think they’re rescuing you from a life of divorce statistics with this shower. You do realize that?”

  “Let’s tell her that I went with Arin to the wilds of Costa Rica and was eaten by the South American crocodile, may I rest in peace, and don’t you dare put ‘She never got married’ on my tombstone.”

  “Are you done?” Brea pauses. “Do they have crocodiles in Costa Rica?”

  “I don’t know. What am I, National Geographic? Ouch!” I look down at my foot, which has a touch of blood oozing from the big toe. “I’ve had a pedicure incident! There’s blood.” The pedicure is not going well. The gal is frantically trying to pat my toe and pretend it didn’t happen, all while wearing gloves for her own safety. What a world we live in.

  “They’ll clean it up,” Brea says without concern. “Quit being such a baby. Your mother said that all brides have this type of shower now, and she made the mistake once with Mei Ling and wouldn’t do it with you.”

  “Dave.” I just drop my head. “I told her it wasn’t appropriate, so there’s only one answer to this equation.”

  “That’s what I was thinking too,” Brea confirms. “Your brother’s sense of humor has not expanded since the second grade, Ashley!”

  Now my brother is a Christian. He is a fabulous husband and father, but he loves a good practical joke. I can just see him in all seriousness, telling my mother the great-aunts are correct. Ashley should have, must have a lingerie shower. That it simply isn’t done to get married without virtual strangers buying intimate apparel. Considering my mom chose a den over financing my wedding, I figure she probably sees it as a way to make it up to me. Ugh.

  “I’ll put it to bed once and for all, Brea. Excuse the bad pun.”

  “That’s not the only reason I called, though I have to admit, your family is far too interested in your underwear choices. I just had to explain why most lingerie today has thongs. Explaining thongs to another generation is just not right. I should tell them about the big ol’ granny pants you do wear. Sheesh, you’re worse than my mother. You could iron those things like a sheet.”

  “I like comfortable underwear,” I say, and the pedicurist looks up at me. Clearly, she understood that. “I’m getting married,” I add in a whisper. Like this is related to my underwear talk.

  “I’m actually calling because I got a call from Emily.”

  “My Emily?”

  “Please don’t take credit for her. She’s a freak of nature; let her remain unclaimed. Or as part of the O’Hara clan, shall we?”

  “What did she want?”

  “She’s coming back into town next month, thinks you need more help. And she’s bringing me a prototype for the maid of honor’s dress. The dress I think you distinctly told her I was not wearing. You did tell her that?”

  “I did. Really! Right before I stole the Scarlett gown.”

  “Does Kay know she’s being expected to wear ruffles? Because I can’t see Kay in a dress, much less ruffles.”

  “No one is wearing ruffles. I’ll handle it.”

  “Like you handled the patent for Purvi the other day? By shopping and downing an espresso double shot? Or getting thrown in the slammer for handling the wedding gown problem? And what about making your best friend explain the growth of the thong’s popularity to your mother? Manic Ashley is not going to fix this problem.”

  “I’ll handle it,” I say in a clipped tone and shut my phone.

  “You gettin’ mawried?” the pedicurist asks.

  “I am.”

  “You old to get mawried.”

  “Thank you.” Kiss your tip good-bye.

  “He old too?”

  “Ancient.”

  She finishes painting my toes, and I get out cash. I leave her a hefty tip, even though I could have done without the reminder that I’m old to get married. Which by all American statistics, I am not. But tell that to my mother.

  My cell phone trills again. “You popla,” the manicurist says, and all of them laugh at me while I exit.

  “Hello, darlin’.” Kevin’s voice fills my senses.

  “Is it true Emily is coming back into town in three weeks?” I ask, trying to keep my tone nonchalant.

  “That’s what I called about. She’s coming in, and I’m going out.”

  “Out where?”

  “Out of town. I’m going to interview for the Philly job. I know we didn’t get a chance to discuss it, but I just want to get it out of my system. Confirmation that I’m in the right place here at Stanford.”

  “Kevin!”

  “I’m just talking to them, that’s all. I’ll spend as much time with you as I can until then. Then you’ll be busy with my mom and Emily while I’m gone. You have the practice meal and cake testing.”

  “Your mom?”

  “She’ll be in town too. She’s coming with Emily. I told her your mom hasn’t been that involved, and I think she wanted to help.”

  “Of course she did.”

  “Don’t worry. They’re staying at my place, and they have plenty to work on. They’re looking for a quartet, I guess. And they’ve set up our cake tastings.”

  “Our cake tastings. Can you taste from Philadelphia?”

  “It’s sugar and flour, Ashley. How different can they taste? I’m assuming you’ll choose chocolate regardless of my thought process on this.”

  “Do you even want to get married, Kevin?”

  “More than you know. Maybe we should have waited until the residency was finished, but, Ashley, I want to be married, not engaged.”

  It’s what I want too, but we sure are going about it oddly.

  “We didn’t really discuss Philly, Kevin. And I’m not getting a quartet. I’m not Marie Antoinette.”

  “Ashley, you can have whatever your heart desires. Just tell my mother and Emily. I’ve talked to Emily and told her your feelings on the theme, and she’ll be much more amenable now. When I saw you in that Scarlett dress, I knew I had to do something. I want to see the package I’m getting on my wedding day, not volumes of antique-looking fabric.” He laughs at this.

  “I just got off the phone with Brea whining about
ruffles! Your sister will be amenable when she’s forced down and hog-tied!”

  “Ashley, my love, you’re so funny.”

  “No, really, I’m not.”

  “I’ll back you in everything with my family. Just tell them what you want, Ashley. Since when do you wait around for someone to run your life? I’ve got to get this out of my system. What if God wants me to do neonatal surgery, and I don’t follow that directive?”

  I sigh aloud. “Tell them. That’s your answer. You act like they will actually listen, your mother and sister. Do they listen to you?’

  He’s silent for a moment. “No.”

  “So you think they’ll listen to me because?”

  “You’re a lawyer. You should know how to talk to people. If you can deal with Seth Greenwood reasonably, my sister has nothing on you.”

  “Kevin.”

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

  “What if I wanted to move to Taiwan?”

  “I’d know you’d been drinking. You hate Taiwan.”

  “I don’t drink.”

  “Ashley, you’re being difficult.”

  “I’m not leaving you with in-laws and going on a nice hiatus from work and wedding stress. What if I told you you’d be here for a week with my mother?”

  “It’s in three weeks, Ash. And I’m going to supervise a neonatal surgery. It’s not a walk in the park.”

  “Oh sure, how do I fight that? Bring on the guilt, why don’t you? That’s playing fair, to bring on the sick baby issue.”

  “I know you don’t want to go to Philadelphia, and I don’t want to move either. Don’t you think I’ll miss the weather and the culture here? But I want this senior residence position in neonatal work with all my soul. And I won’t shake it by denying the desire is there. We’ve got to at least consider the option for our future, don’t you agree?”

  “So what you’re telling me is let me eat cake.” With your sister, who will probably throw it up when she’s finished.

  “I’m not skipping town or expecting you to follow me without your input. I’m checking out a possible future that I can’t afford to ignore. That doesn’t mean that I will make this decision alone—without God’s and your input. Oh, and I told my dad to hold off on the house. We’d let him know where we’re going.”

  “Why do you always have to say the right thing? Can’t you just be a jerk for five minutes? A jerk who wants to move where it snows. It snows there, right?”

  “Look at the good side. You’ll get to add to that huge coat collection of yours, and they’ll actually be necessary. I’ll even throw a cashmere scarf into the deal.”

  “Please.” But I’ll admit, this gives me a feeling of warmth in my tummy. I love coats!

  “Hire the swing band you want. Buy the cake. Take care of all the stuff that matters to you, all right?”

  “All right,” I say with the pout apparent in my voice. “The Southern belles will receive Southern hospitality, sir. Minus grits.”

  “That’s my girl. I love you, and we have a lifetime together, correct? What’s one weekend?”

  I open my mouth to give the litany of reasons, but I’m silenced by the thought of a baby in the womb having surgery. Face it, I’ve got nothing on that.

  “Look in your car’s ashtray.”

  “What?” I say as I unlock the door.

  “The ashtray.”

  I open the compartment, which is filled with loose change, and see a tiny box. Opening it, there’s a pair of diamond earrings, ideal cut. “Kevin, what did you do?”

  “It’s my peace offering to make up for my mom and sister. I got them at Gleim Jewelers while you were finishing up on dish towels Saturday. I hoped you’d find them by accident.”

  Looking into the sparkling gems, my words betray me. “I’d move to Alaska for you.”

  “They have terrible shopping there. See, I’m not asking you to sacrifice everything.”

  Looking at the earrings, my heart fills with love. I don’t deserve Kevin. Emily, I probably do deserve, but I’m counting on God to help me through that one. “I love you, Kev. Call me later.”

  “Bye, Ashley.”

  20

  Okay, I’ve spent two weeks hiding behind my desk, trying to concentrate on patent schematics and squeeze in a little time with Kevin, and mostly dreading the reappearance of Emily, this time with Elaine in tow, next week. So I’ve made a list.

  REASONS MY FUTURE MOTHER-IN-LAW WILL LOVE ME

  1. I am smart. Sometimes. I was valedictorian. That counts, right?

  2. I am Botox-free at thirty-two and counting! No botulism brain here! (Although that may be a negative in this family.)

  3. I let her daughter coordinate my wedding! (Sort of. And before I knew about the mental condition.)

  4. I’m not going to make her purchase my home. (Will fight it tooth and nail actually, but think of the $$$ saved.)

  5. I can make spaghetti, and I do not need a cook to help me! (Emeril would be proud. Bam! A little garlic to kick it up a notch!)

  “There.” I show Rhett my list. “This is to bolster my confidence scale. Remember my ‘I am a confident woman’ list?”

  The dog whines and sets his chin on my lap. My legs are folded up in yoga position when the doorbell rings. “We’ve got company, Rhett.”

  I jump up to answer the door, thinking perhaps my book order has arrived, or maybe a wedding gift! But it’s Saturday, and my hopes quickly fade with the thought of a door-to-door cult evangelist.

  Opening the door, I see a short man, nearly bald, with Santa Claus sideburns and puffy, ruddy cheeks. A nondescript woman is standing next to him. “Hello.” He clears his throat. “I’m Simon Jameston, and this is my wife, Ruth.”

  A thousand thoughts rush into my mind. This is the man who ‘ruined Kay’s life,’ according to her. But this man doesn’t look like he could ruin a kitten’s life. He’s stocky and genuine looking. His wife is mousy and smiles when she speaks. They look like they just stepped off the Bible bus.

  “Please excuse us for interrupting you, but my husband and I need to see Kay Harding. Perhaps she doesn’t want to see us, but it’s important she does. We love her and want to tell her again.”

  This is a couple who looks like they’re running the church flea market. There’s nothing in them that says I should be fearful, and I feel the Holy Spirit around them. Something tells me they’re just good people, but I know Kay is not the hysterical type. That title would be reserved for me. My hackles raise as I think about Kay’s struggle to create a perfect life for herself. And these people, no matter how they seem, are at the root of that issue.

  “I’m sorry to be rude, but Kay doesn’t want to see you. I think it’s important we respect her wishes. And I really have no power to make her do otherwise.” I start to close the door, even though I’m dying to know the truth. I no longer think Kay could have had some torrid affair with this guy. He’s like your grandpa. And ewww.

  “Please,” Ruth pleads, and I’ll admit I’m an easy mark. “We won’t take up much of her time.”

  “She isn’t here.”

  “Do you know when she’ll be back?”

  “I really don’t. I’ll be happy to give her a message.” Now run along.

  They both nod and turn toward their Buick parked out front. Not a nice Buick, an old dilapidated model with ripped seats from the extensive sun in the back window. No garage, I think to myself. There’s dog slime all over the inside of the windows, and a small black dog rising and falling in the passenger window with a chirpy bark every time he appears.

  I feel like dirt turning them away, but I do shut the door slowly and watch them walk down the front path. Sometimes being a friend is a hard business. Besides not wanting to see these people, we’d have to deal with the distinct fact that they showed up without an appointment. A genuine no-no for Kay, who likes everything just so when guests arrive. She always has gourmet snacks and refreshing drinks at the ready. Sometimes when I think how
hard others are on her, I know it’s nothing next to her own demons. She’s her own worst critic.

  Rhett’s at my side, and it’s at this moment that I realize he never barked once while the strangers were at the door. “Some watchdog you are.”

  Now he barks.

  I crumple up the list of why my future MIL will love me. She’ll hate me. I’m not a debutante. I’m not a Confederate. I’m not even capable of throwing a quaint dinner party. Well, not without Kay cooking for it, anyway.

  The doorbell rings again, and I huff. These people do not take no for an answer! I walk to the door and get ready to let the nice little couple in the Buick have it, when I see it’s Matt. What is this: “I’ve wronged Kay” day? It’s a national holiday or something. I know she has no decorative tchotchkes for this occasion.

  “Emily went back to Atlanta,” I tell him without greeting, and Rhett growls fiercely. Good dog.

  “I’m here to see Kay.”

  “Get in line. She’s not here. And you don’t have a cell phone? What’s with the personal visit? Kay hates that.”

  “I didn’t think she’d take my call.”

  “And you’d probably be right. You should try your luck on Jeopardy with that kind of extrasensory perception.”

  “Look, I know I am not your favorite person, but that’s not of the utmost important to me. Kay and I really clicked. I’d like to speak with her again, and since you’re not her keeper—”

  “Even if you knew my future sister-in-law was coming back into town next week? Would you still want to see Kay?”

  He pauses. For too long, quite frankly.

  “I’d still want to see Kay. How about if we let her make up her own mind about me?”

  How about if we don’t and say we did?

  “I’d like to take her out for her birthday.”

  Shoot. “It’s her birthday?” Good one, narcissistic Ashley; you forgot your roommate’s birthday.

  “Just tell her, will you?”

  I shrug. “No skin off my nose. I’ll leave her a message,” I say as I slam the door. Sheesh, and I thought I was only going to get your run-of-the-mill cult salesman. Now I have to shop and get a present. Not just any present, a perfect present for my roommate who thrives on perfection.