“Oh don’t give me that crap,” I dismiss. I elbow past him again and charge into the office.
“You’re up in arms about everything, Claire. It’s like I don’t even know you anymore.”
“Well sometimes it’s like I don’t know you, either, Conner!”
“It’s this wedding.” He brusquely rubs his hands through his hair. “It’s turning us into monsters. Attacking each other. Fight—”
“I know!” I scream. “Fighting all the time. I’ve heard that already! But what do you want me to do? Just forget about planning it? Forget about the wedding?”
“Sometimes,” he says in a cool and low spoken voice.
My mouth drops. What is he saying? That he…that he doesn’t want to get married?
“Well, okay then,” I manage to say.
“That’s not what I mean,” he corrects.
“No, no! You’ve made yourself clear.” I hastily pick up the mountain of drapes that are still a work-in-progress and heave them to the floor. “You don’t want to get married—”
“That is not what I said.” His voice is hoarse and stern. “I said the wedding. Not the marriage. I want to marry you more than anything, Claire.” His eyes are locked with mine, which I know are welling with tears. And, if I’m not mistaken, he’s getting teary-eyed too.
“I’ve said it already, Claire. I’ll marry you anywhere, any time. It’s you I want and not some crazy wedding that will make us tear each other down.”
“So, what?” I quiver. “Cancel the wedding? Elope?”
He locks and unlocks repeatedly his jaw, before saying, “No. We’ll have a wedding. We’ll get through it.”
“A wedding is not something you get through, Conner.” I can feel the tears now. They’re coming. Closer and closer.
“I just,” he holds up one hand, “I just…we need to calm down and get a hold of ourselves. Neither of us is in a good place right now.”
“So what’s that supposed to mean?”
He presses his lips together firmly and, looking down at the pile of would-be drapes, says, “We just need to cool down.”
That doesn’t tell me anything! What does he mean, “cool down”? I’m so confused. We’re constantly trying to cool down, to relax and get over the problems that cause explosions. Fight, make up. Fight, make up. We’re fighting, and now his solution is, what? Cool down? Make up? Again?
“I don’t get it, Conner,” I say resignedly. “What the hell?”
“We just need some time to chill. Maybe I’ll stay at Chad’s for a few days… I don’t know.”
“Ahh,” I say, knowing that I am being immature. “I see. Run home to LA for a little less Claire time. Pull that stunt again, huh? Go hang out with Chad. Have fun without the nagging girlfriend.” I wag my head. “Fine. Whatever. Run from the problems.”
“It sure as hell beats sticking around for them!” he shoots back, startling me.
I kick at the pile of drapes and scream back, “Fine! You do whatever the hell you need to do to ‘cool down,’ and I’ll just keep on planning this dreeeam wedding.”
“Fine!” He stampedes out of the office and down the hall.
I follow only a few paces, enough to be heard when I say, “When you’re ready to stop being an asshole and talk, then get back to me!”
“You too, Claire,” I hear him say twice, and then I hear the front door slam.
Chapter Twenty-Five
So things are looking pretty bad. It’s been a week—a week!—since Conner and I had that really horrible blowout, and things are not looking up. The house is eerily silent. Schnicker is taken on walks with just Daddy or just Mommy. It’s almost as if we’re separated or divorced and our child is experiencing court-ruled visitation.
We’re not on complete non-speaking terms, Conner and I. But the extent of our conversing is usually in regards to where the TV remote is, when we think we’ll be home from work, or who will take Schnicker out for his evening stroll. There are the frequent eye rolls, the lackluster mumbles of a “yup” or a “nope” in lieu of a real response, and then—the worst!—the effortless and off-putting toss of a wave over the shoulder or the silent dismissal or shirk-off. It’s the worst period of fighting and cold-shouldering that Conner and I have ever experienced together. I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy—not even Superstorm Melissa.
Sometimes I feel like I’m ready to surrender—to ask for forgiveness and tell Conner how sorry I am. Sorry for being a bitch and causing stupid rows over pretty much everything and anything that doesn’t go according to plan.
Other times I feel like we need this silent period. We need this time to keep to ourselves and reflect. Or, as Conner so colorfully put the other day, “We need to figure our shit out.”
The thing with all of this silence and “reflection time” is that, more than anything else, I think it’s really just grudge-holding and brooding. I can’t see any reflection and healing going on, I’ll be honest. But, I don’t want to be the first one to give in. Besides, Conner’s not exactly innocent here. As much as I’ve been a bitch about wedding details, he has been aloof or cavalier about the whole thing.
As the weekend approaches and the mark of an official week of hostility and a practical vow of silence rears its head, I can’t help but wonder when—or if—this awkwardness will ever end. I mean, we are supposed to become husband and wife five weeks from tomorrow! Whatever problem we have, it had better be figured out before then.
I’ve been meaning to remind Conner of his and his groomsmen’s final suit fitting that’s scheduled for tomorrow. See, that was something Conner did really well, and I made sure I complimented him on that feat. I’m pretty sure I did… Hmm…did I? Anyway, he proactively made the appointment himself. The question, though, is will he actually remember it?
I don’t want to be nagging and I certainly don’t want to add kindling to our fire, but what if he misses the appointment? Then he’d be up a creek. He’d be upset, and I’d be furious, to say the least. Then we’d just have another mishap to argue over, and another wedding fail.
No, it’s best to prevent a disaster when it’s so clearly foreseeable, right?
Well, I’ll mention it to him casually. Via a text message. Yeah, that’ll be easy-going. Just a friendly reminder. We’ve become so accustom this past week to simple “yup” or “nope” responses that an answer to my text should be a piece of cake.
That text message, however, that friendly little reminder that I sent followed by XOXOs, was sent like ten hours ago. Now, seated in front of the television, waiting for Conner to come home on this very lonely Friday night, I’m not only beginning to wonder if he ever got the message, I’m beginning to wonder if he’s even planning on coming home.
It’s not like him to stay out at the office so late—especially on a Friday night. He can’t be that sour towards me. I mean, maybe the day after our initial fight last week or something, but not so long afterward. Talk about pent up hostility, if that’s the case!
“Ugh,” I groan loudly, startling Schnicker awake as he lay curled up in a small ball on his large doggy pillow. “Where are you, Conner?”
I consider texting or maybe even calling him to see if he’s on his way. I think better of it, though, worried he won’t pick up or respond. Then I will know for sure that he’s pulling the avoidance card. Ignorance can be bliss…
I pick up my cell phone and speed dial Sophie’s number, instead. She’s recently been on the lookout for an extra set of hands at the café, so maybe she’s found someone and will be able to meet up with me, or swing on by, or something. Something to help a BFF feel less lonely. She’s been so supportive since I ran crying to her after the blowout; and she’s been fielding my calls on a regular basis—at least twice a day, maybe more.
After two rings her chipper voice answers, “Claire. What’s up?”
“He’s not home yet,” I say, getting straight to the point. I pick at the hem of my workout pants. I haven’t bothered to
shower or change since my yoga class today after work.
Unfortunately, the drab outfit is making me feel a little more depressed, especially as I survey the room and realize that it is just me and the pooch…and some drivel on television.
I turn off the TV as Sophie says, “Nuts. Have you called him?”
“I’m kind of…afraid to.” I pull my legs into my chest. “Sounds stupid, huh?”
She says after a pause, “I’ll call Chad. See if he knows.”
“Chad’s not working tonight?”
“He only helps out on rare occasion,” she replies. “He does have a full-time job, you know?” True. I forgot about that.
“I’ll find out and get back to you,” she says. “I’ll call you back in a sec.”
“Thanks.”
“Oh, and Claire?”
“Yeah?”
“Get off the sofa and change out of those workout clothes. It’ll make you feel so much better.”
I smile to myself as we click off the line. Oh how well she knows me…
When Sophie calls back a brief moment later, her news is not what I expected. I thought she’d say that Chad didn’t know—hadn’t seen or heard from Conner today. Or, maybe she’d report that Conner was indeed done with work for the day and was only hanging out down at Chad’s houseboat or something. Fun with the guys before the fitting, maybe? Or at a pub…or still at work…anything but what Conner was actually doing!
“What?” I shriek into the phone.
“Calm down,” Sophie says lowly. “I’ll be over in a dash. Just have to finish closing up here.”
“What the hell?” My mind is racing, my blood is curdling, my thoughts are a total train wreck!!
“Calm down. I’m closing up right now, and I’ll bring sustenance. Just hang tight ’til I get there. Okay? Claire?”
I can’t feel my cheeks, my lips, my tongue. Can I even speak?
“Claire?” Sophie says louder. “Claire? You there?”
“Yeah,” I force myself to mutter. “Yeah. I’ll wait.”
I lifelessly click off the call, letting my cell phone drop beside me on the couch.
I can’t believe it!
I blink long and slow, holding my breath.
I can’t believe this! Conner—he’s with Chad. In Las Vegas!
***
“Boys will be boys,” is what Sophie has said now for the third or fourth time tonight. She’s been over for a few hours already, having brought along with her an overnight bag and a box filled with more than just “sustenance”; she’s brought a plethora of tasty baked goods. “Leftovers” is what she calls them. I call them perks. Perks and comfort food. Just the stuff, along with Sophie’s 911 visit, to help me feel a little better. A little better. I really can’t believe this. It’s too much to digest. Conner and Chad and Las Vegas…Vegas! What the hell?!
“I can’t believe he went to Las Vegas without telling me!” I exclaim loudly. I’m incredulous. How does someone do that? “Las Vegas, Sophie!”
Sophie gives a resigned shrug as she repeats her “boys will be boys” mantra of the evening. She takes a petite bite of her own cupcake.
I stop clenching my jaw and patiently ask, “How long will they be there?”
“They’re coming home on Sunday.” She licks her fingers, then gives me an entreating look. “Left early this morning. I’m really sorry, Claire honey. But I’m sure it’s not as bad as you’re making it out in your head.” Her expression becomes even more entreating.
“It’s Las Vegas, Sophie! Oh God.” I pause. “So he didn’t even go to work today?” I roll my eyes, my bottom lip tucked completely inside my mouth. I can feel the numbness return to my cheeks.
“Apparently not. Chad only texted me, so I don’t know that much, but he did say that Conner didn’t want you to know.”
“Obviously!”
“And that Chad said him telling me where they were was kind of a secret.”
“Wow,” I say with a curt shake of the head. “Actually breaking the brother code? Chad actually telling you against Conner’s will?”
“Anyway.” Sophie stands and takes our one-too-many cupcake wrappers to the trash. “He said Conner wanted a getaway, and so they went to Vegas last minute.”
I follow her into the kitchen. “Love how he just spends this money without talking about it.” I make an exaggerated groan. “It doesn’t nearly irk me as much as his leaving so randomly. You have to admit, Sophie, that it’s pretty rotten.” I look at her with a stony face. “Ugh! And the nerve of Chad spurring this on! I bet he totally encouraged it.”
“Maybe, maybe not,” she says, non-partisan.
“I can’t believe this!” I clap my hands around my head. “And he’s going to miss his suit fitting. Damn him. Damn you, Conner!” I shove aside the small pile of mail that’s resting on the countertop.
“Deal with it when he gets back,” Sophie offers in an upbeat way. “You said there were some things you wanted to get done this weekend, right? Last wedding tidbits?” She takes me by the hand, and we head back into the living room.
“Yeah,” I moan as she withdraws a thick day planner from her handbag.
“Let’s focus on the wedding and try to forget about what you can’t control. All right? When Conner comes home, you can deal with that. For now,” she clicks her pen open, “you need to choose the linens, and the extra, last-minute place settings, right?”
I nod.
“Anything else?”
I think for a minute, trying to pull my attention from Conner and Sin City to the wedding. God, it’s really hard.
I blow a puff of air upward and really try to focus. “Umm…” I cast my eyes about. “Well, I think that should do it. Linens, the extra guests Mom and Dad wedged in…” I take a seat on the floor by the coffee table and rest my chin in my hands, ready to do a bit more nibbling of the sweets. Anything to rub out the wretched image of Conner at some strip club or walking drunkenly down the city’s strip.
“Oh!” I blurt with a mouthful of cupcake. “And finish the drapes!” I give Sophie a half-nod. “For whatever it’s worth.”
Sophie’s writing in her planner, and when she’s finished, she taps the tip of her pen against her lips. “Hmm,” she hums. “If you want, I can go with you tomorrow? To look at the linens and rentals. After three will work for me.”
“That’d be nice.” I give her a weak but heartfelt smile. “Thanks, Sophie. I really appreciate this.”
“What?” she says with a grin. “Helping you with your wedding? You did make me the maid of honor. Isn’t it written in stone somewhere that the maid of honor shalt do whatever the bride needs help with?”
“Still.” I lick the tip of my finger and try to pick up the scattered vanilla cupcake crumbs on the coffee table. “I know I’ve been a stressed mess, but I really appreciate your help. And your friendship. I want you to know that.”
“That’s why I’m helping, Claire.” She sets her pen down triumphantly. “Because we’re friends. Friends when it’s fun wedding-planning time and friends when the groom goes missing in action.”
***
“I’m so glad you finally found some reliable help,” I say while Sophie and I walk up and down the showroom’s floor. We’re at Party Emporium, the rental joint Allison recommended for linens, dinnerware, glasses, etcetera. I’m so happy Sophie’s here with me. I tried to get Mom to come up for another visit before the wedding, but work wouldn’t allow her time off, and she didn’t feel comfortable spending cash that was already tight.
“Gatsby is a really nice guy,” Sophie says, picking up a plate in a robin’s egg shade of blue. “He’s worked as a barista and waiter before, and a ton of other places. A pretty eclectic kind of guy and with plenty of experience.”
She sets the plate down and chooses one in the same style, but in canary yellow.
“I barely had to train him,” she says. “Katie’s lent me some of her temp bakers, too, when I need the help.” She sets the yell
ow plate down and looks up at me. “Slowly but surely my café dreams are really coming true, Claire. It’s a lot of work, but totally worth it.”
“I’ll say.” I pick up the blue plate Sophie had in her hands a second ago and rub a finger along the small, raised dots and swirls that decorate the edges. “Already hiring extra help. Actually getting to step away on a Saturday. Not bad, Sophie. Not bad at all.”
Sophie brings out the pad of paper that she’s been scribbling on since we arrived, astutely taking notes of patterns, lines, and prices. “Here.” She pulls from her handbag one of the color swatches that we’ve brought along for this very reason. “It looks like this blue might be a little too light when you compare it to the bridesmaid dresses.” She points out the difference in shades.
“Might be kind of nice, you know?” I say. I hold out the plate and swatch at arm’s length to better examine.
“You’re the girl with the designer eye,” Sophie says. “All arts and craftsy.” She sets her notepad down and takes the plate and swatch back to examine them more closely, pursing her lips and squinting.
“Could really use Robin right about now,” I say offhandedly. “Speaking of her, I finally swung by to visit, some time ago, actually. I saw Rose’s newly decorated room, too. So adorable!”
“The little family doing well? I’ve been so tied up I haven’t had a good chance to chat.”
“Yup,” I say cheerily. “She seems busy, as always, but doing fabulous. Said she’s really tired lately.” Sophie hands over the swatch and plate. “Her new project manager position is really taking it out of her.”
“But she loves it?”
“Oh, yeah. You know Robin. She steps up to the plate and just does it.” I cock my head to one side, wondering if this shade of blue might actually complement the overall design well, or if I should go for something more neutral, like ivory. “This might be a nice shade, after all,” I say.
Sophie crosses one arm over her waist. “You’ve been making crafts and projects your whole life, Claire. You’ve got an eye for this stuff.”
When Girlfriends Chase Dreams Page 31
