This guy is amazing! This is why I’m paying him the big bucks.
“You’re totally right,” I agree.
“And you’re gonna need a ring. What do you want to do about that?”
“I haven’t completely figured that out yet ... I thought about it a while back, but I haven’t gone ring shopping yet or anything.”
The truth is that it is going to take some budgeting on my end. My inheritance includes plenty of money to throw my dream wedding, but Nana had assumed that my engagement ring would be a gift from my fiancé ... a logical assumption. . . and so the wedding fund doesn’t necessarily have enough to cover the rock of my dreams, too. I am hoping that the additional money earned by my father’s wise investment strategy could fill this gap. Since I have no knowledge of what wedding rings cost, besides the common saying that it should be three months’ salary, some research is probably in order.
“Want to go tomorrow?”
“Absolutely!” I squeal.
Another amazing thing about a rented gay boyfriend: he’s so uncommitment phobic that he actually wants to go engagement-ring shopping!
“Also,” he adds, “I think I should ask your father for permission. You know, be really traditional about it.”
I get warm tingles all over.
“That is brilliant.”
“I thought you’d like it,” he says proudly, “but don’t worry ... not yet ... we’ll stick to the same time frame.”
“Absolutely,” I agree, “moving too fast will be suspicious.”
We get to my door and Justin gives me a kiss on the head.
“I’ll pick you up at 11:00 tomorrow. We’ll get brunch and go to Tiffany’s.”
“Tiffany’s,” I echo.
I doubt I’ll be able to sleep tonight. I’ve been dreaming about trying on engagement rings at Tiffany’s since I realized I had fingers. I even named my cat in its honor!
“I can’t wait,” I tell him as I quickly shove a wad of cash, including a little extra for the way he saved me earlier in the evening, into his hand and head inside, giddily running up the stairs to my apartment.
12
Lunch Near Tiffany’s
The next morning, moments before Justin will be at my apartment, I am in full crisis mode. Tell me, what does one wear to try on engagement rings at Tiffany?!? I am wishing I’d had more notice so I could have had time to get a manicure when the buzzer buzzes. Justin enters my apartment and looks slightly frightened at the sight of my closet emptied onto my bed.
“I have no idea what to wear,” I frantically shout at him.
I start holding up different options.
“Do I go conservative and preppy, like Kristin Davis on Sex and the City? Or fashionable and trendy, like Reese Witherspoon in Sweet Home Alabama? Help me!”
Justin stands back for a second, eyeing Mount Gap, and then dives in. He tosses a flared pale blue skirt and pale blue tank top at me, then a short-sleeved wraparound coral sweater, and finally flat tan sandals and a tan leather ponytail holder.
“It’s Charlotte meets Reese,” he informs me.
“The best of both worlds.”
I am, once again, blissful with the benefits of a gay boyfriend.
Moments later I’m ready to walk out the door and start the first of many upcoming “happiest days of my life.”
We decide that we are way too excited to get to Tiffany to stop for brunch on the way there. Lunch afterward, to discuss what we’ve seen, is a much better option.
We arrive outside Tiffany on Fifth Avenue at Fifty-seventh Street, and it’s like the mother ship calling me home. Justin holds the door open for me, and I swear, I can hear angels singing above the hustle and bustle of Asian tourists and rich Manhattan housewives. Justin takes my hand and leads me through the crowd to the case of engagement rings. After a short wait, which didn’t even feel like a wait at all because I am mesmerized by the sparkling diamonds, a salesperson approaches us.
“May I help you?” she asks politely.
Suddenly I am shy and ashamed of what we are doing. I feel worse lying to this helpful Tiffany’s employee than to my own mother! I stare at her like a deer caught in headlights. Justin steps in and calmly takes over.
“We’d like to look at some engagement rings, please.”
“Of course,” the woman answers.
She hands me a booklet of engagement-ring information and explains about the different clarity ratings, different sizes, different shapes, and different colors for diamonds and bands. Tiffany has three main styles of engagement rings: the “Tiffany setting,” which is a round diamond with a beveled band, the “Lucida,” which is a square diamond with a wider band (this is the one Reese gets in Sweet Home Alabama), and the “Etoile” which is a diamond set down in a band.
I try on EVERYTHING. One carat, two carats, one and a half carats, gold bands, platinum bands ... the truth is, I love them all. In the end, the one I am in love with the most is the traditional “Tiffany setting.” I’m a traditional girl, plus it looks just like the engagement ring my grandmother had. I’m also a normal girl, and the bigger the stone, the more I seem to like it. I’m leaning toward 1.5 ... not too big, not too small, with a platinum band. I look at the price of this ring and lose my breath. Oh my gosh! I never realized engagement rings are so expensive.
Justin has to catch me because my knees get weak and I start to sweat. The previously ultrapolite salesgirl sees my reaction and snatches all the rings off the counter and puts them back into the display.
“Why don’t you take some time to think about it,” she says coolly.
“Thank you, we will,” Justin says without noticing the change in her demeanor.
She walks away and I look up into Justin’s eyes, afraid that if I look down at the rings again I might cry.
“Come on,” he says, “let’s go get some lunch and talk about this.”
Even after we walk a few blocks to find a lunch spot that is up to Justin’s picky standards, I’m still pretty speechless.
“Why do you think they say it takes three months’ salary?” Justin asks.
I guess in my head I had just considered three months of my salary and failed to put together that the ring of my dreams would require three months of a successful investment banker’s salary. I can, however, put together what a ridiculous amount of money that is to spend on myself for a fake engagement.
“It’s a ridiculous amount of money,” I begin. “I mean, if I was in love and really getting married until death do us part, that would be one thing ... but for what we’re doing it’s ridiculous, huh?”
Unfortunately, it doesn’t even take me going home and poring over my financials to realize that the amount of money I have in my inheritance doesn’t come close to covering a sparkling Tiffany diamond.
Justin looks at me and I can tell that his kind eyes feel sorry for me. I’ve gotten the feeling more than once during this “process” that he pities me. I try to ignore it, because when it gets down to it, I pity myself.
“Eyes on the prize, Molly,” I tell myself. “Bridal shower, lacy garter, toasting flutes.” I’ll get through this.
“I have an idea!” he tells me enthusiastically. “Let’s go to Bloomingdale’s after lunch and check out the costume jewelry. I bet we can find a cubic zirconium ring that looks the same and nobody will know the difference.”
I smile a small, sad smile; he’s trying so hard to cheer me up.
“And we can start looking at what you want to register for,” he adds.
Okay, I’m cheered up. The ring is not what’s important. It’s the whole experience, I remind myself ... and the registry is an important part of that experience.
I smile a real smile, order a turkey burger, and vow not to let these details get me down anymore.
After we stuff ourselves, we make our way down to Bloomingdale’s. I have to stop in my favorite candy store, Dylan’s, to get some chocolate-covered pretzels (my favorite candy on earth) before we h
ead into Registry Land.
What feels like forty escalators later (thank goodness I have a snack on hand), we finally arrive in housewares and it’s almost as much of a religious experience as Tiffany.
I am in awe of the china, the silver, and the crystal. We see an area designated “Bridal Registry” and Justin suggests we start there.
“No, no, no,” I tell him, “it’s too soon to get official. Let’s just look and get some ideas. We’ll actually register after we are engaged.”
“Okay,” he agrees. “Let’s start with china.”
We spend a good part of the afternoon pretending to eat off different dishes, with different silverware, and sip champagne from different crystal flutes. Justin pretends to make omelets in Le Creuset pans and I wrap myself in Egyptian cotton towels. We are like two little kids playing dress-up. It is so much fun!
We completely exhaust ourselves ... we’re even too beat to look for the fake, fake engagement ring, so we leave Bloomingdale’s. Out on the street, I realize how late it is. We really entertained ourselves for a long time.
“Want to come back to my apartment and order a pizza?” I ask Justin.
There is an awkward pause ... what is it about me that makes people pause, awkwardly?
“Actually, I have a date tonight.”
“Oh,” I say quickly, “that’s great,” trying to cover.
“Is it okay? In the beginning you said I could if I was discreet. He asked me out ... I never would have asked ... and I’ll cancel if you want.”
“No,” I tell him firmly, and I really do mean it. Justin is above and beyond wonderful to me.
“Are you sure?” he asks.
“Justin, I am positive,” I say as I pay him for the date. “Treat your date to dinner.”
“Heck, no!” he exclaims, shoving the money into his back pocket. “He asked me out.”
He kisses me on the head and we agree to talk in the morning so he can share the details of his evening. I decide to stick with my idea of ordering a pizza and head home to a date with Tiffany.
13
The Linchpin
I wake up the next morning with a good feeling. Despite being involved in the biggest lie I’ve ever told and losing my best friend, I have an overwhelming sense that all is right in the world. I roll over and look at the clock: 9:27. I smile to myself. Logan’s plane landed seven minutes ago. I’m positive it landed safely and on-time because if it had been thirty seconds late my mother would have called, hysterical. She is a complete wreck if any of her children are not on the ground.
I am a complete bundle of nerves, energy, and excitement. I actually can’t believe I slept as late as I did ... I think teachers’ bodies know that they have to sleep in throughout the summer to make up for the lack of sleep during the school year.
Tonight’s family dinner is really the linchpin of my whirlwind romance with Justin. My parents, Jamie, and Logan really have to love him completely tonight because we will be getting engaged very soon. It’s hard to believe how fast time is flying.
I’m not worried about my mom—I had her at “kind soul.” And I’m definitely not worried about my sister— Justin had her at “hello,” and we probably could have gotten her blessing to marry right there on the spot when he agreed to teach her prenatal yoga to make the delivery easier. I swear, Jamie is always looking out for herself.
I feel like my dad and Logan will be a bit trickier. My dad is a typical dad ... overprotective of his firstborn. Plus, he and Justin don’t really have that much in common. My dad loves sports and his family. Justin isn’t too into sports, and as far as Dad knows, could be doing things to me that he wouldn’t approve of. It does give me hope that Dad learned to like Bryan, though ... they have absolutely nothing in common. Bryan’s whole life (besides Jamie and the baby on the way) is computers and Dad is convinced computers will be responsible for the end of human interaction. I don’t admit it in front of Bryan, but sometimes I have the same fear. And at least I know that Justin and Bryan can bond over their fear of Dad. Logan is the wildest wild card. I haven’t seen him in months and I’m kind of afraid that he’ll have animosity toward Justin simply because he doesn’t want to share my attention on his homecoming night. I guess there is nothing I can do ... just hope for the best.
I spend the day trying to distract myself and make the clock move until it’s time to head home for the dinner. I do an exercise DVD ... well, part of it—the fun parts. I clean and collect enough fluffy white cat hair to make Tiffany a mini sidekick a la Mini Me in Austin Powers. It’s gross. I paint my toenails and wear a face mask. I try to organize my underwear drawer ... I give up after a while and watch my soap opera.
It’s a little embarrassing, but I adore soap operas. I’m not so addicted that during the school year I TiVo them or anything (okay, sometimes I do), but they are definitely one of my summer vacation indulgences. I mean, where else do you see a girl’s father get shot to death at her own wedding, then her husband gets killed by his drug-lord mother, and then a year later the girl finds out that the murdered father wasn’t her real father when she is an exact rare-blood match to save her true biological father’s life? It’s pure entertainment and it really helps the day fly by.
Plus I have one student to tutor in the afternoon, so that should help the day move along, too. The school I teach at is highly competitive, which leads parents to go to insane lengths to get their children admitted to the kindergarten. They even hire teachers, like me, to tutor their five-year-olds for the entrance exam ... which includes things like bouncing a ball, drawing pictures of your family, and tying your shoes. It’s crazy, but it is definitely good money.
In the afternoon, Logan calls to tell me he’s home, napped, fed (thanks to Mom), and eager to see me. I tell him that I am more excited and we argue over who is the most excited until I hear Mom in the background summoning him for another meal. Our mom loves to feed her offspring. Lucky for her, she got kids with never-ending bellies.
Then I call Jamie to tell her that Logan is home, napped, fed, and eager to see us. Then Jamie and I argue over who is more excited to see Logan. We’re a close family and it was hard having an ocean separate us from our baby brother for so long.
The day moves surprisingly fast and before I know it, it’s time to get ready. I’d laid my outfit on my bed first thing this morning after I made it. Yes, I’m one of those people who a) makes her bed every day, and b) lays out outfits.
Right on time (he’s so awesome), Justin gets to my apartment. He looks great in khaki pants and leather flip-flop sandals with a short-sleeved, button-front shirt. It’s so nice to have a boyfriend who isn’t totally clueless about what to wear. I’m probably his worst nightmare because I have a clothing crisis practically every time I leave the house.
I am so excited to see Logan that I don’t waste time with my usual “Oh my God I have to change three times before we go” routine, and Justin hardly steps foot in the apartment before we step out to pick up Jamie and Bryan. They don’t live that far from me, so we walk to their apartment. As I’m hauling ass down the street, I hear Justin flip-flop-flipping and having a hell of a time keeping up with me. We finally get to Jamie and Bryan’s, in record time with Justin slightly out of breath, and find them waiting outside.
“Hi, Molly,” Bryan says. “What time did you tell Jamie you would be here?”
“Five o’clock, on the dot,” I tell him.
“And what time is it now?”
I look at my watch: “4:59.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“So, what’s the problem?” I ask.
“I’m just wondering why I needed to stand out here on the street for fifteen minutes.”
I shrug and look at Jamie.
“In case she was early!” Jamie explains, “Come on ... let’s go!”
Jamie might actually be more excited than I am. She’s late more often than I am, and I don’t think I’ve EVER known her to wait outside somewhere for anyon
e. If she’s meeting you for coffee and you aren’t there when she gets there, she’ll go to a bookstore and browse long enough to be sure you get to the coffeehouse first.
The four of us hail a cab and pile in. Jamie takes the front since she claims to take up more room now (never mind that Justin is over six feet tall and Bryan isn’t short, either, and she is just starting to show). It actually looks adorable, and, as I knew she would, she has the cutest maternity clothes.
We get dropped off at Grand Central Station just in time to jump on the train that heads up to our family home. Our parents bought our house when I was five and Jamie was two. It was a wonderful home to grow up in and a perfect place to come back and visit. It’s only a short train ride out of the city, but once you get there it feels like it’s thousands of miles away. The houses are spread out and there is foliage like you wouldn’t believe. As I stare out the window, I watch the view change from city to country and I start to feel homesick. It’s a funny thing—when I’m in the city, I never feel homesick for my parents or my childhood home, but when I’m on the train going home, I cannot wait. I am yearning to walk through the big front door and smell my mother’s cooking. And having Logan there waiting for me is just icing on the cake.
I steal a glance at Jamie and I can tell by the way she’s glued to her window that she feels the same way I do.
When the train finally pulls into the station we are like two little girls. We fly out of the train, leaving the men behind, and run down the platform and into our daddy’s arms. Even though it hasn’t been that long since we saw him at Brad and Claire’s engagement party, there is something different about seeing him on home turf. His arms feel so good and he smells so familiar. Bryan and Justin make their way through the crowd that Jamie and I avoided by pushing to the front to be the first people off the train and they both shake hands, warmly, with Dad. We all pile into Dad’s forest green Explorer and head the few miles to our house.
Jamie is, of course, in the front. I swear, she is hardly showing ... by the time she is nine months she’s going to insist on having whole city blocks to herself. I’m in the back, sitting bitch between Justin and Bryan. I’m trying to point out things of interest to Justin as we speed along.
Not Quite A Bride Page 7
