by Mia Ford
“I don’t know,” I said again, tucking the fabric back on the rack before Heather could swoop in and demand that I try it on. “I’m just not really feeling this today.”
“We have to keep trying,” Heather said. “Come on, Beth. This isn’t that bad – just a little more, okay?”
I nodded mechanically. “Whatever,” I mumbled. “I know I should be excited. I think I just have cold feet, or something like that.”
Heather smiled encouragingly. “I’m sure that’s it,” she said slowly. “Come on, let’s go over here. They might have cuter stuff in the junior’s section.”
I rolled my eyes but eventually, I turned on my heel and followed Heather through the bright fluorescent lighting of the mall. Shopping in a mall felt so dated – almost like I was back in high school. The faux-marble tile hadn’t been changed, and the silvery metal clothing racks looked as foreign and austere as they had before, when I’d been younger. Maybe shopping had been more fun then. But now, it just seemed like a chore that I couldn’t wait to get out of the way.
“This is the way to live,” Heather declared. I wrinkled my nose – it was almost like she was reading my mind, and then choosing to ignore how I felt.
“I disagree,” I said, shaking my head. “I hate this, it always makes me feel so uncomfortable! Besides, isn’t lingerie one of those things that’s really more for the bride than for the groom?”
Heather grinned wickedly. “Andy doesn’t think that way,” she said snootily. She flipped through the racks, squealing and pulling out a matching purple silk bra-and-panty set. “He’d love this on me,” she said, holding the material against her shirt. “Don’t you think this would be hot?”
I shrugged. “Lingerie is one of those things that always makes me feel more naked than actually being naked,” I said. “I always feel so awkward.”
“You are so boring,” Heather said, rolling her eyes. “I swear, I bet you and Michael only do it in the dark!”
Inwardly, I groaned. Heather was right – exactly, one-hundred-percent right – but I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of knowing that. Michael and I had only been together four years, but we already acted like an elderly couple in the bedroom…a sterile elderly couple.
When Michael and I had first had sex, it had been exciting. Not because it had been good – I wasn’t sure that I’d ever had anything I could label as “good sex.” But rather because I was finally doing it, I was finally doing the thing that seemed to drive both men and women of every age group. It had felt naughty to take my clothes off and lie beneath a man who was also naked, rubbing his body against mine. It had hurt, too, but that was beside the point – when I lost my virginity, I finally felt like a woman.
And Michael wasn’t exactly bad, although for someone with more experience than me, I often wondered just what exactly I was supposed to be taking away from the experience. He’d had a few girlfriends before we got together – it made sense, he was six years older than me – but I never got the impression that sex was something that really drove him. It was more like a conquest – like something he demanded from me because I was his girlfriend. And then his fiancée.
And soon, I’d be his wife. I’d be Mrs. Michael Bennett, one of the richest women in New York. The money was appealing to me – it would be a blatant lie to say otherwise. But mostly, if I was being honest with myself, I’d accepted Michael’s proposal because I didn’t know what else I was supposed to do. We’d been together three years at that point, a time which Heather eloquently referred to as “shit or get off the pot.”
And then that pot came, in the form of a boring diamond solitaire from Tiffany’s, I felt absolutely obligated to say yes. After all, if I said no, wouldn’t that mean that I’d strung Michael along?
We’d met when I was twenty-two, and fresh out of undergrad. I’d attended an open house at Columbia, thinking about grad school. Michael had been there – he’d actually been with another girl, playing the part of a patient boyfriend while his girlfriend listened earnestly to the drone of the presenter. But as soon as she’d gone to get a glass of water, he’d walked over to me and handed me his business card. He’d been all of twenty-eight, and that had seemed exotic to me at the time. He was like, a real adult: someone with bills to pay and a car to drive and his own condo, that he made payments on.
At least, that’s what I’d thought at the time. Michael had been dressed sloppily, and aside from the sterling silver Frank Lloyd Wright card case he’d been carrying, I hadn’t really thought anything about an obvious display of wealth. I’d thought he was just like everyone else. I was so naïve I didn’t even recognize his last name – Bennett – and tie him to one of the wealthiest families in New York.
Michael had called every day for a week. I’d never picked up – I’d immediately regretted giving my number to a guy with a girlfriend, like I’d violated some ironclad rule of the female sisterhood. But finally, he left a message on my voicemail.
“Beth, this is the last time I’m calling. I broke up with Tania – I know she wouldn’t be the kind of girl I want to be serious about in the future. You’re that kind of a girl, and I know it because you’re too classy to think about dating a guy with a girlfriend. I like you, Beth, and I want to explore this. So you’ve got a little time. Call me back, but I won’t be calling ever again.”
The message hadn’t exactly been flattering – was he only interested in me because I’d turned him down? But it had struck an odd chord with me, and I’d found myself thinking about him day after day in the next few days. Finally, I’d had a shot of vodka and then called him. Michael had asked me to dinner the next day, and the next week I was officially his girlfriend. I lost my virginity in a suite at the Plaza Hotel.
Whenever I was alone with Michael, our relationship seemed normal. We talked about our days, we talked about the kinds of things we wanted for the future. We could settle in a peaceful silence and it wasn’t bad – it was comfortable, the kind of thing that made me feel like I could spend the rest of my life with him.
But whenever I was with Heather and her endless rotating cycle of boyfriends, or any of my other friends, or hell – even just another couple, I felt weird. I realized that they all had things in common that Michael and I had never even come close to. Heather and her boyfriends always had inside jokes. They would whisper something close to one another’s ear, leaning in until they were the only ones privy. They’d throw their heads back in synchronized laughter. They’d touch each other, resting a hand casually on the other’s thigh, or wrapping an arm around the other’s shoulders.
It had made me feel like something was really missing from my relationship. I’d made up my mind to talk to Michael about it immediately, but once I’d sat down with him, I completely lost my nerve. He was so quiet and so austere that I couldn’t think of how I could possibly approach a topic like this.
Finally, I screwed up my courage and asked.
“Michael, why aren’t we like other couples?”
He stared at me. “What are you talking about, Beth? We’re just like other couples.” Michael smiled, but somehow it only set me more on edge.
I frowned. “We’re not,” I said slowly. “We’re not the kind of couple who touches each other, or hugs. You don’t even kiss me good-bye when I leave.”
Michael snickered. “Normally, because you leave in the morning,” he said. “Your breath stinks, Beth. I won’t kiss you until you brush.”
“But don’t you love me?”
“Of course I do,” Michael said impatiently. “If I didn’t care about you, I wouldn’t be with you.”
“I’m not just talking about caring about me,” I said slowly. “I mean, like, do you really love me? Are you in love with me?”
Michael shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t really know the difference. To me, they’re all the same thing.”
It had come as a blow. But when I’d talked to Heather about it, she said that I was just overreacting.
“Yo
u guys are fine,” she said. “I mean, not everyone is really affectionate. Come on, you’d probably get tired of someone pawing at you all the time. Sometimes I just need personal space, but it’s like guys can’t ever take their hands off me.”
“But what’s wrong with me?” I asked softly, glancing down at my hands in my lap.
“Nothing!” Heather laughed. “You have to relax, babe. I promise – everything’s fine. Just trust me, Michael is a reserved guy. He loves you, though.”
“I don’t know,” I said bleakly. “He admitted that he doesn’t think there’s a difference between caring for someone and loving them.”
Heather sighed. “Didn’t he just buy you a new car this year?”
I nodded.
“Well, would you buy a car for someone you don’t love?”
I looked at her blankly. “What does that have to do with anything?”
Heather burst out laughing. “I wouldn’t even buy a car for someone I do love,” she said, throwing her head back in laughter. “I mean, come on, Beth! You’re being silly!”
But I couldn’t shake the idea that Michael didn’t really love me. As time went on, I tried to ignore those feelings. He was good to me – whenever I needed something, he took care of it immediately and never asked me to pay him back. In fact, the few times I tried, he refused to accept the money. He said it was his priority to treat me right. I wished I could have told him that all the money in the world didn’t matter…I just wanted him to pick me up in his arms and give me a big kiss and tell me that I was the best thing that had ever happened to him.
That wouldn’t happen, though. Michael was too pragmatic. And until we’d gotten together, I’d thought of myself as the same way.
Now it was hard to believe that I was shopping for our honeymoon. I looked at lingerie with Heather for another twenty minutes, finally picking a plain cotton chemise that was sheer at the front. I thought it was sexy, in kind of a classic way, even if Heather called it boring. At least it’s comfortable, I thought. And I won’t feel like a circus performer wearing it.
Heather sighed. “You done shopping?”
I nodded.
“But that’s the only thing you got,” she said, pointing down at the white bag. I cringed. It was labeled ‘Bride’ in fancy, flowing font. I’d asked for the regular bag, but the sales associate had scowled at me and I’d decided that I was too tired to try fighting this obviously useless battle.
“I didn’t want anything else,” I said flatly.
Heather sighed, blowing her bangs sky-high into the air. “You want frozen yogurt?”
I nodded happily. “Always,” I said. “I’m starving.”
“You’re going to need to stop eating everything in sight if you want to fit into your gown,” Heather said with a smirk.
I rolled my eyes. “I haven’t even gotten it in yet,” I said. “I think they could probably let out the seams.”
“Oh my god, you’re getting married like, so soon,” Heather said. “Don’t you care? Aren’t you excited?”
I shrugged. “I think I just have cold feet,” I said softly. “It all seems like it’s happening in a dream, or like someone else is in control of my body and I’m just going through the motions.”
Heather squealed in excitement. “Just wait,” she said, bubbly and happy. “You’re going to be one of the hottest socialites in New York!”
“As if,” I said. I rolled my eyes. “I don’t think I’ll be doing anything like that.”
“But you have to,” Heather protested. “Who’s going to go with Michael to charity dinners? Things like that? How are you going to stay inside when you’re expected everywhere?”
I sighed. “I’ll just hire a proxy,” I said. “I don’t really know what else to do.”
Heather narrowed her eyes. “You’re the strangest bride I ever saw,” she said thoughtfully. “You sure you want this?”
I shrugged. “I don’t really have a choice,” I said. “Do I?”
Heather wrinkled her nose. “The wedding is two months away,” she said slowly. “So no, not really.”
I gave her a dark look. “That’s exactly what I thought.”
Beth
When I left the mall, my belly was full of frozen yogurt and my head was full of doubts. I’d thrown the bag containing the fateful lingerie into the backseat, like it was a piece of trash, but even that didn’t help me feel better. I had no idea what I was going to do – wasn’t it normal to feel like this?
Suddenly, I wished I had a mother I could call and ask for advice. My mom had died when I was a little kid. She’d gotten pneumonia and had an allergic reaction to the medication. It had been horrible and unexpected. My dad had mourned her for years, but I was never allowed to talk about her. Looking back, I knew that couldn’t have been healthy. But what was I supposed to do? Walk up to my dad and tell him that I needed help?
I talked to my mom in my head all the time, even though I wasn’t sure she was listening. When I’d been younger, I’d been a big believer in God and the afterlife. But now I wasn’t so sure. Sometimes, life just seemed so unfair, like some kind of horrible punishment meant only to affect those who deserved it the least. My dad had been a perfect example of someone who suffered without ever deserving it – he’d been a selfless, kind man. When he’d remarried, eight years after my mother passed, his wife had cheated on him with someone younger and tried to divorce him and rob him blind not a year after the wedding. Dad had won the court case, but his lawyer had taken his retirement savings. Now, at fifty-two, he worked long weeks in the hopes of making enough money to retire by seventy-five.
It broke my heart. And it also made me feel like I couldn’t talk to Dad about anything – I had the feeling that because he worked so hard, all of the problems I had by comparison weren’t really anything to sneeze at. I felt like if I called him and said, Daddy, I’m really struggling, he probably wouldn’t even know what to say. Dad and I were kind of close, especially for an adult woman and her father, but we’d never been comfortable talking about intimacy of relationships. He approved of Michael, of course, because Michael was rich and never mistreated me.
So I had no idea how to begin talking about my relationship. Daddy would probably just tell me to button up and deal with it – he’d tell some anecdote about not being sure about my mother before their wedding, probably, but knowing that everything would be okay in the end. Dad was a big saying of things like that – he wasn’t very confrontational, and he liked to avoid as many problems as possible.
Sometimes, I wished that I was more like him.
By the time I got home, I was in a really black mood. I threw the bag with the lingerie in the back of my closet, not even caring whether or not Michael saw. Would he be happy that I was getting ready for our wedding?
Or would he be upset that I hadn’t bought more?
I sighed as I walked downstairs and jogged into the kitchen. It was getting late, and despite the fact that I’d eaten a giant size of frozen yogurt at the mall, I was starving. I glanced in the fridge and saw that we had some leftover marinara sauce, along with hot Italian sausages and some pasta.
I hummed under my breath as I started the water to boil. Soon, the kitchen smelled starchy and delicious. I could barely wait for Michael to come home – it was tempting to dip a spoon in the pot and lick everything up myself.
When the door banged, I forced myself to smile. I ran into the foyer and threw my arms around my fiancé. Michael was tall, with thinning blonde hair and a ruddy face from years of being in the sun. He smiled, just barely – the corners of his mouth lifting up for a second. After four years, I was used to his lack of warmth. But it was starting to bother me more and more with each passing day.
“Hi babe,” I said politely, extracting myself from around Michael’s neck. “How was your day?”
Michael sighed. He worked at Magnate Shipping, his father Douglas’s company. The company was Michael’s inheritance, and he spent more than fifty hour
s a week slaving away in the offices with his father. I knew Douglas and Michael had a cordial but strained relationship. Douglas was a complete workaholic, and I had a sinking suspicion he was always disappointed because Michael valued his time off, as well as his time alone.
“It was long,” Michael said after a pause. “How was your day?”
I squirmed uncomfortably, reluctant to admit that I’d spent practically the whole day doing nothing with my best friend.
“I cleaned the living room,” I said, lying only slightly. Before I’d left for the mall, I’d dusted and rearranged the bookshelves…but I hadn’t done any of the deep cleaning Michael had asked for, such as dusting the baseboards.
“And?” Michael raised his eyebrows, glancing around. “Surely this didn’t take you all day?”
I shook my head. “I went out with Heather, shopping for the honeymoon,” I said.
“I hope you spent a lot of money,” Michael said lightly. He smiled – this time, it was genuine. “I can’t wait to get a break from work,” he added.
I smiled too. “It’ll be so nice to spend some quality time with you,” I said. “I can’t remember the last time you spent a weekend at home.”
Michael nodded seriously. “I can’t wait to catch up on my sleep, and get some sun,” he said, yawning and stretching his arms into the air. He wasn’t particularly tall, only a few inches taller than me, but moments like this reminded me of how small I was. I’d always been short for my weight, and I felt it.
“Yeah, it’ll be great to relax with you,” I replied. There was a slight pang of hurt in my heart – why couldn’t he just say he was excited to spend time with me, instead of catching up on his sleep? You know it’s because he’s so reserved, I thought as I took Michael’s coat and hung it up in the hall closet. It’s not exactly like you ever expected to come home with flowers and gifts. He’s just not that kind of guy.
“What’s that smell?” Michael wrinkled his nose. “Is something burning?”
“Oh, shit,” I mumbled, pushing past my fiancé and running into the kitchen. Sure enough, smoke was billowing in clouds from the oven. Coughing and covering my nose and mouth, I grabbed a hot mitt and yanked the door open. The Italian sausage lay burnt and shriveled on a cookie sheet.
