Confessions of an Ex-Girlfriend

by Lynda Curnyn

  No problem-o, I thought as she skipped away, realizing that if I ever did talk to Derrick again, I had a few things I wanted to say to him, none of which had to do with Rebecca’s sudden windfall of happiness.

  One thing was sure: I knew there was no way I could ever tell Rebecca now that Derrick was irretrievably out of my life. But how to hide this fact while I was busy showering her with gifts and lavishing her with all sorts of bridesmaidlike camaraderie? I would have to do something to get out of this wedding when it happened. Like fake my own death.

  Confession: Dating might just be my only resort.

  By the time I stomped up the stairs to my apartment that night, I found myself with a head full of steam over Rebecca’s presumption that I wanted to participate in her personal bridal hell. I even considered defrosting the Hostess cakes I’d stashed in the freezer for safekeeping, until the soreness of my abdominal muscles reminded me of my last blistering workout and kept me from indulging in the sort of angry binge I was by now certainly entitled to.

  How dare Rebecca ask me to be in her wedding party? Me—a mere co-worker and now all-out competitor! Leave it to Rebecca to be the bigger person and keep office grudges out of the way of the grand friendship she saw between us.

  Needing some perspective, I called Jade. “Rebecca asked me to be in her wedding party.”

  “You’re kidding. I didn’t even know she was engaged.”

  “She’s not—yet. According to her, Nash is going to pop the old question this weekend.”

  “Oh? And how did she figure that out?”

  “Who knows? Everyone at Bridal Best seems to have some kind of radar when it comes to imminent proposals.”

  She was silent for a moment, and I heard her inhale on a cigarette. “I didn’t even know you guys were that close.”

  “We aren’t. At least not in my mind. I’ve been picking apart this situation all afternoon, and I think I have it figured out. Rebecca is an only child. Nash has two brothers, plus he’s still pretty close with many of the guys from his old fraternity. As far as I know, Rebecca has only a few close friends outside the office and very little close family. It basically boils down to a numbers game. She’s got a load of groomsmen and no bridesmaids for them to escort. And you know how unbalanced that makes the photos look.”

  Jade laughed. “That’s pretty shallow, if that’s her reason.”

  “I wouldn’t put this kind of bridesmaid-recruitment maneuver past anyone at Bridal Best. I sometimes think Patricia—our editor-in-chief—picked her groom out of a catalog and just had him show up once she put together her lavish little affair.”

  Jade chuckled gleefully.

  “Now all I want to do is cram down a coffee cake or five and feel sorry for myself, except I’m in deadly fear of getting any fatter than I currently am.” I sighed. “It would serve Rebecca right if I started stuffing my face every night so I’ll be good and round by the time I have to squeeze into whatever taffeta nightmare she selects for me to trail down the aisle in.”

  “You mean you’re actually going to go through with this bridesmaid thing?”

  “How can I get out of it? Then Rebecca will know how much I’ve grown to despise her. I mean, I don’t want to hurt her feelings.”

  “That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard.”

  “You’re right,” I admitted. “I can’t exactly pack on the pounds when I’m about to embark on the cruelest journey known to woman-kind—dating in NYC.”

  “So you’ve decided to join the living once again?”

  “Alyssa’s already got some lawyer guy from Richard’s office lined up for me.”

  “You’re kidding?”

  “No, I’m not. She gave me his number after our little trip to the vet over the weekend. I haven’t called yet, but there’s no turning back now. He’s waiting to hear from me, though I’m not quite sure he knows what he’s in for. You know how kind Alyssa can be when giving descriptions of people. Although I have to say, she didn’t quite prepare me for that hunk of a veterinarian she and Lulu have been spending time with.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “He’s the George Clooney of the four-legged set. Except he’s got blue eyes. Sparkling blue eyes, I might add, with thick, dark lashes.”

  “Hmm. Maybe I should get that pet chinchilla I’ve been thinking about. Where did you say this vet was located?”

  “Jade!” I said, about to reprimand her for moving in on Alyssa’s turf. What was I thinking? Alyssa’s turf was Richard. Richard, Richard, Richard, I repeated silently, though my inner voice sounded like a mere whisper at this point.

  “Don’t tell me that since having made his acquaintance, you haven’t contemplated picking up, say, a guinea pig, at Petland?

  Thank God Jade couldn’t see my face. I think I blushed as I remembered the minischnauzer that had beckoned from the moment I laid eyes on Dr. Jason Carruthers. I decided to change the subject. “So whatever happened to your little Italian import? Enrico, wasn’t it?”

  “Oh, man.”

  “This sounds promising already.”

  “Emma, he’s amazing.”

  “You slept with him already? Where have I been? Details, please.”

  “No, no. We just went out dancing last night. He is the hottest thing. We could not keep our hands off of each other on the dance floor.”

  “And then?”

  “Then nothing. I wasn’t going to take him home and waste all this presex sizzle. Besides, there’s something I’m worried about.”

  “Just use a condom.”

  “No, it’s not that. It’s just that he’s very young.”

  Uh-oh. “How young?” I asked, worried Jade was about to incriminate herself in some sort of sex scandal.

  “Twenty-two.”

  Whew. No jail bait there. “So what’s the problem? You’ve never taken issue with the young ones. What about that acting student you took on for a while? Mark? Wasn’t he just over the legal limit, too?”

  “Yeah, but Mark was different. He had that tough veneer that NYC ingrains in the young, struggling types. I mean, he was only twenty-four, but he’d been around the block a few times. Enrico seems…almost innocent.”

  “Jade, I saw him myself. There was nothing innocent about the way he was eyeballing you while he took our drink orders.”

  “I don’t mean sexually. It was clear to me from the way he was moving on the dance floor last night that he would know his way around a woman’s body.”

  “So what’s the problem?”

  “He just seems so vulnerable somehow. Especially at the end of the night, when he walked me home. He started talking about how much he missed his family back in Italy. Then he gave me this gooey look and made some joke about bringing me back to Italy with him.”

  “Uh-oh. Preejaculatory emotion,” I said, using the phrase Jade and I had developed for the wealth of emotion some men seemed to have just before you slept with them.

  “He just seems like he’s looking for a girlfriend or something. And you know how I feel about the whole relationship thing.”

  Yeah, I knew. And I still wondered if Jade’s attitude was good for her, or whether she was still fending off all those feelings she’d wasted on Michael. “Why don’t you just take one step at a time, and see what happens.”

  “I guess I’ll have to. Because there’s no way I’m letting this one get away without getting him in my bed. Did I mention how promising he felt when he pressed up against me on the dance floor?”

  “So you’re going to have him even at great risk of breaking his boyish heart?”

  “Yeah, well. That’s life in the big city.” Then she sighed. “Maybe I shouldn’t worry so much about his heart anyway. It’s not as if I have any hard-and-fast evidence that he even has one. And you know as well as I do, Emma, though you’re loath to admit it: Most men don’t have any deep feelings for anyone but themselves.”

  I was powerless to argue with her, I realized. And when I found myself sta
ring at my silent telephone after we hung up, I even started to believe her. Apparently Derrick was so wrapped up in his new life as Big Screenwriter, he couldn’t be bothered calling me. I didn’t even exist in his mind anymore. With a sigh, I dug through my pocketbook and pulled out Henry Burke’s phone number, then carefully tucked it into my wallet. I would call him tomorrow. To hell with waiting for the love of my life to realize I was still alive and aching for him. I was moving on.

  Confession: I discover you can’t go home again (at least, not without marriage prospects).

  The following afternoon, I called Henry Burke. His secretary answered, advised me that he was in a meeting and took down my phone number so that he could call me back. I hung up, feeling vaguely titillated. A secretary. I was going on a date with a man who had a secretary. How very adult. I answered the phone all afternoon in my best sexy-yet-unconcerned voice, until he called back just under two hours later. Perfect timing, in my opinion—not long enough to torture me with waiting, but not quickly enough to make me think he was some hard-up geek. The first few awkward minutes of conversation were filled with his bemused commentary on how all his Happily-Coupled-and-Practically-Married friends were always trying to fix him up. Of course, I made some sympathetic response. What else could I do? Admit that I had shamelessly prodded Alyssa to find me some suitable replacement for the man who had torn my heart to pieces?

  After navigating a few more clever quips about single life, I learned that Henry was going to the Hamptons for the holiday weekend. Since I was going to my family’s torture chamber—which I cheerfully described as a barbecue on Long Island—we made plans for the following Thursday. I hung up ecstatic. It was official. I had a date. With a successful lawyer, no less. Gone was the Ex-Girlfriend, replaced by the Woman-in-Demand.

  As I packed a bag for the weekend, carefully folding the kind of flirty combinations that said I was carefree, fun-loving and free as a bird, I banished all thoughts of minischnauzers and lonely late-night TV. Yes, I was still that career woman whom Patricia would one day make her protégée, but I was also a single girl with a Big Date on the agenda. It amazed me how one little promise of drinks had changed my perspective, but I wasn’t about to question my newfound cheerfulness. Even spending Saturday night at home with a video felt like a personal choice, rather than a concession to the fact that I was dateless and all my friends had gone away for the weekend. Jade had invited me out to Fire Island with her, but I’d begged off. After all, now that I’d committed myself, I had to be at the family barbecue on Sunday, and there would be no getting out of the big Memorial Day Bridal Dress Run with my mother on Monday.

  Still, I was in good spirits as I stepped off the train at Garden City on Sunday afternoon and found Clark waiting for me.

  “Ah, the fair Emma has arrived on her trusty steed,” he said as he stood beside his sporty compact car, waiting for me. Leaning over, he planted a kiss on my forehead and declared, “You’ve never looked lovelier, my dear.” Then he took my overnight bag, tossed it in the back seat and held the passenger door open for me. Usually Clark’s habitual chivalry embarrassed me, though today I was somehow able to accept it as my due. Must have been the soft pink sundress I had donned for the big family shindig—the only garment in my closet that could disguise the recent rolls and bulges I’d acquired.

  “So how’s everything, Clark?” I asked, once he had successfully negotiated the vehicle into the traffic.

  “Fine, fine. Your mother is putting the finishing touches on some gelatinous dessert, so I thought I’d make the rounds and gather up her chicks for her.” He smiled at his own joke, dimples forming in his cheeks and bringing a sparkle to his dark eyes. He really was a handsome man, I thought now, eyeing his thick salt-and-pepper hair and wondering if he had managed to avoid baldness at age sixty-three through some sort of technology. He wasn’t really the type to resort to such vanities, but one could never tell with these things.

  “Have Shaun and Tiffany arrived yet?”

  “Oh, yes, yes. Tiffany has already filled us in on her five-year plan, and Shaun has the cocktails flowing. I think he’s whipping up piña coladas as we speak.” Then he winked at me, as if we were sharing some secret about my baby brother and his uptight wife.

  Maybe today wouldn’t be so bad after all, I thought, feeling as if I had Clark in my corner. Suddenly remembering his upcoming nuptials to my mother—as if I could have forgotten them—I congratulated him.

  He positively beamed in response and quoted John Donne: “‘Love these mix’d souls doth mix again and make both one each this and that.’”

  Feeling too much a mixed soul to even begin to ponder that one, I simply nodded, and we fell into a companionable silence for the short trip home. Once we pulled into the driveway and disentangled ourselves from the seat belts, my mother appeared at the front door, waving ecstatically at us.

  “Ah, there she is now, my queen,” Clark said as he ambled toward the door, a broad smile on his face, as if he hadn’t seen her in months, when it couldn’t have been longer than the twenty minutes it took him to get to and from the train station.

  I followed, watching as my mother kissed him sweetly on the lips, then swatted his behind as he walked past. Then she opened her arms to me, her eyes taking me in.

  As her gaze roamed over me, I immediately jumped on the defensive. “I know I’m fat. Don’t you dare say anything.”

  “Oh, Emma!” she cried out as she folded her arms around me and clutched me to her. Releasing me with a playful pinch to my waistline, she said. “More of you to love.” Then she smiled, relenting. “You look beautiful.”

  As I studied her shining eyes, I almost believed her. Then, embarrassed, I excused myself and bounded up the steps to toss my overnight bag in the guest room, knowing that if Shaun and Tiffany decided to stay, I would be banished to the couch, where all the Single and the Sorrowful were doomed to sleep alone.

  By the time I made my way back to the kitchen, my mother was at the stove, putting a cover on whatever she had cooking there. She turned to look at me, beaming as if this were our first get-together in months, when it had only been mere weeks.

  “Where is everyone?” I asked, suddenly afraid to be alone with her. My mother was known to habitually delve into deep emotional territory at the most inopportune times—like right before I was going to face my successful brother and his perfect wife. And as I had just put my Happy-Career-Girl-With-Prospects facade carefully in place, I didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize it.

  “In the yard. Shaun made piña coladas.” Lifting a glass filled with a frothy concoction to her lips, she winked mischievously. Ever since her marriage to my father, my mother could no longer allow herself that daily drink after work others felt entitled to without thinking she was still somehow part and parcel of my father’s particular brand of madness. Now, on those rare occasions when she did indulge in a cocktail, it was always with a sense of a forbidden pleasure. “Let’s join them,” she said, ushering me out the sliding glass door that led to the back patio.

  Seated at a round redwood table laden with a large sampling of every chip and dip known to humankind were my brother, Shaun, looking tanned and relaxed in khaki shorts and a terra-cotta polo shirt probably picked out by Tiffany, and Tiffany herself, looking a bit like a cheese danish—an expensive one, of course—in a cream and yellow short set and matching sandals. Grandma Zizi, so dubbed because as a baby Shaun hadn’t been able to pronounce Zelda, sat off to the side, under a small clump of trees.

  “Hey, Em, what’s up?” Shaun said, lifting his face for a perfunctory kiss as I approached.

  “Hi, Shaun. Hi, Tiffany,” I said, gliding by both their cheeks as we kissed the air. Straightening, I stared at Grandma Zizi off in the near distance. “Why is Grandma sitting all the way over there?”

  “She doesn’t like the sun,” my mother said, seating herself next to Clark with her cocktail in hand.

  “It’s probably all that polyester,” my brothe
r said, his laughter trailing after me as I walked over to Grandma Zizi to say hello.

  “Hey, Grammy!” I said, loud enough for her to hear—she usually kept her hearing aid turned down for some reason.

  She looked up, startled, and stared at me momentarily as if she didn’t recognize me. Then her soft, wrinkled face broke into a wide smile. “Emma!”

  I hugged her, kissing both cheeks and then her lips, which was our tradition ever since I was a little girl. When I leaned back, I saw a look of accusation in her soft brown eyes. “You lost weight.”

  I smiled, wanting desperately to take her comment to heart but knowing that this was an assertion Grandma Zizi made fairly regularly to all the females in the family who suffered from fluctuating waistlines. I think it was her way of being encouraging—the senior equivalent of “You go, girl.”

  “Thanks, Grandma. I’m trying. How are you?”

  “Oh, you know. Old. How are you, dear?” Then, suddenly, as if struck by a memory, she stared over my shoulder, her eyes searching. I knew exactly who she was looking for, though I didn’t offer any assistance as she struggled to come up with the name of my missing better half. Finally she asked, “Where’s Derrick? You’re still seeing him, right?”

  I mentally cringed. Either no one had told her, or she had forgotten. More likely it was the latter, as Grandma Zizi’s memory was not what it used to be. “No, Grandma. Derrick and I broke up.” As her mouth descended into a puzzled frown, I hurried to explain. “He got a job in California. He moved there.”

  “Oh, dear.” Still that perplexed look. Then she looked up at me, her eyes filled with sympathy. A sympathy I could not handle at the moment.

  “Let me get you some more ginger ale,” I said, carefully pulling her half-full glass from her fingers as she gazed sadly at me.

  I made my escape to the cooler, slowly filling her glass with ice and pouring in some soda, in an attempt to give her enough time to lose her train of thought.

  By the time I returned to Grandma Zizi, it was clear all memory of my previous visit moments earlier was erased. “Emma!” she said, leaning in close for our ritual series of kisses.