by Dee Ernst
Were Rebecca and Julian going to Massachusetts again this year? She hadn’t given me a definite answer yet. They usually spent time in Amherst with Rebecca’s old friends, involved in some Wiccan celebration that sounded way more fun than stockings on the chimney and a ham.
Thank God I didn’t have to worry about Lily. She was booked for Aruba. And that meant no Carmella. Gee, what a loss. Although Trev and his cooking would be missed.
Frankly, the idea of being out on an island somewhere sounded good. Lying quietly on a hot sandy beach. Listening to the gentle sound of the waves. Alone. Except for someone to bring me food and pineapple-flavored drinks. Maybe that was what I really needed to figure out: why I didn’t want to commit to spending the rest of my life with the best person I knew. Although my brain was so muddled now, I didn’t think there were enough pineapple-flavored drinks in the world for me to find the answer to that question.
Maybe I could let Vinnie and his clan take over my house, and I’d go to Aruba.
Then Ben called. When I saw his name on my caller ID, I may have screamed out loud. I know that Fred lifted his head, and at least one cat jumped in the air.
“Listen, I know between Christmas and this wedding you’re probably too busy to even breathe, but are you free tomorrow night? I thought maybe we could have a nice quiet dinner.”
“It would have to be fairly early,” I said. I was grinning so broadly I was sure he could see it through the phone.
“Six thirty? I’ll pick you up.”
Pick me up? Like a date? “Lovely.”
“Good. See you then.” He hung up, and I stared at the phone in my hand as if it were about to lay golden eggs. I looked around. I was alone. But I needed to tell at least forty-three people that Ben and I had a dinner date tomorrow night, and I needed at least half of those forty-three people to help me pick out what to wear.
I closed my eyes and breathed deeply. I needed perspective. This wasn’t a first date with some exotic stranger. This was Ben, who knew me and loved me. Who didn’t just know me, but who had known me at my worst—naked, with wet hair, suffering from the flu—as well as at my best. Ben was my friend.
However…this was him and me having dinner. Just the two of us. And he’d asked me. This could be a chance to mend some fences and get us back on track.
I decided I would not go crazy. I would not worry about what to wear or what to do with my hair. Hell, I wasn’t even going to shave my legs.
Besides, I didn’t have the time. I looked down at my to-do list.
I normally wouldn’t even have a to-do list, but I had noticed that in the past few years I had trouble keeping track of things. Not forgetting, exactly—more like delayed remembering. So I had started writing things down. My current list was disheartening.
I needed to buy Christmas gifts. For everyone. That was a separate list that was so long it needed its own notebook.
I had to approve the first three of my backlist titles that were finished with editing and had gotten new covers. Anthony had the formatter scheduled, and the announcement had been made on my website that they would be put on sale after the New Year on January fourth.
I had two industry-related parties to attend in the next ten days, both in New York City, both requiring an amazing new outfit that could not be culled from my California wardrobe. No decent East Coast writer would be caught dead in a gauze maxi dress with a statement necklace and a “pop of color” cardi.
Miranda was driving down for the weekend to clean out part of her closet, make the final decision about flowers, choose music for the ceremony, and find shoes and a headpiece.
Lauren and Jessica would both be finished with finals and would be coming home—they were also in need of wedding shoes and possibly something for their hair.
I needed a haircut, a manicure, and to take Joan to the vet—again—for her digestive issues. The car was making a noise and belonged in the shop. I had to make a Costco run, but without a plan for Christmas dinner I’d be buying blindly, never a good thing in Costco, where I could spend several hundred dollars with a list.
Lana jumped up onto the stool beside me and purred. She allowed me to scratch under her throat while I thought about what to do next. I held up my list.
“What should I do first?”
She arched her back in utter disdain.
“Really? That’s it? I need help here.”
She turned around and gave me her other end. I scratched her special spot, right at the base of her tail.
“I scratch your butt, you scratch mine?”
She jumped down. Of course.
I called Patricia. “I have three thousand, five hundred, and forty-seven things on my to-do list, and Ben wants to take me to dinner tomorrow night,” I told her.
“I could book you into my spa tomorrow morning. You’ll come out looking and feeling ten years younger.”
“Thanks, Patricia, but what about my list?”
“It will still be there, won’t it?”
“Yes, but it won’t be any shorter.”
She sighed. “Mona. What could possibly be more important than having dinner with Ben?”
I ran down the list. “And I’ve got two parties in Manhattan and nothing to wear.”
“Nothing to wear? Oh, dear.”
“Exactly. I need to prioritize.”
“Yes, you do. I’ll book you extra early. Eight o’clock. You can go straight to Nordstrom afterward for a few outfits and all the shoes you’ll ever need. I’ll book a personal shopper for you.”
“Don’t you have to wait weeks for one of those? Especially around Christmas?”
“Not when you pay the kind of credit card bills I do.”
“That would be a huge help, Patricia, but I haven’t bought a single gift.”
“Then bring your laptop. You can do all your shopping online while you’re getting your toes done. You do know that Amazon will also wrap for you, right?”
“Right.”
“Once the girls are back, use Jessica’s car while yours is getting fixed. Have Lauren do whatever with the cat. Send them all out together for shoes and hats. You don’t need to be there, because they wouldn’t listen to you anyway. Spend that time with Anthony and get those books ready. Then call that caterer of yours and tell him you want a Christmas dinner for four to twenty people.”
“Oh.”
“Anything else?”
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is what a best friend is for.
I must admit, when Ben picked me up, I felt pretty spectacular. Not only had I been massaged, waxed, shellacked, and moisturized to within an inch of my life, I had managed to get free shipping on all my presents.
I slid into the front seat of his truck and gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek. I felt absurdly nervous. Come on—this was Ben. But was this date going to be the brush-off? The you’re-right-we-don’t-need-to-get-married conversation? He looked at me very seriously.
“Please don’t take what I’m about to say too personally,” he said.
I sat up straighter. “All right.”
“What exactly are you wearing under your coat?”
I laughed. “Basic black pants from the Gap and a sweater.”
He pulled away from the curb. “Good.”
We ate in town, a great little place that normally would have been half empty during the week. But because of the holiday, we were told there was a wait and pushed toward the bar.
“Martini?” Ben asked. I nodded and tried to find a spot at the bar where we could at least stand together. I saw Ben make his way to the other side, where the (female) bartender immediately dropped six different things to take his order. He stood there, patiently waiting, and when his eyes met mine, he flashed a smile that made my heart tighten.
Why didn’t I want to marry this guy again?
He got our drinks and made his way back to me. I had managed to capture about eleven inches of bar space, and although we couldn’t stand side by side, if I put my
back against the bar, Ben could stand in front of me so we could have a very cozy conversation space.
“Here,” he said, handing me my drink. We clinked our glasses. “Here’s to a great rest of the year.”
I smiled, took a deep gulp, felt the kick in the back of my throat, then took a breath.
“So,” Ben said, sipping his beer. “I thought the groom’s family was supposed to do the rehearsal dinner.”
Oh, so this was a business meeting? “Well, technically, yes, but since the kids insist on paying for the wedding themselves, which is usually what the bride’s parents do, I thought it only right that I do something else, you know?”
He nodded. “I get it. But now what about me?”
“Didn’t you just give them a brand-new kitchen?”
He shrugged. “That was a wedding present. Dominique is throwing the shower; is there anything left?”
“Bachelor party?”
Ben grinned. “David already talked about that. He wants the entire wedding party to go on the sunset cruise around Manhattan. No wild strippers or drunken debauchery.”
“What a lovely idea! So pay for that.”
Ben shook his head. “Too late. His old roommate from Yale, his best man, has already claimed dibs.”
“Those Yale boys do all right for themselves.”
Ben chuckled. “Yes.”
Someone pushed Ben, causing him to bump me. We were very close. I could count the chest hairs peeking out from his open shirt collar. He smelled faintly of musk. This may have been a business meeting, but I still rated a bit of primping. I took another gulp of martini.
“Did you do something to your hair?” he asked.
I fluffed it carelessly. “Just a trim.” And new color. And highlights. Then a deep protein conditioning treatment, followed by a meticulous blowout and restyle.
“Looks good. How about cars?”
“You want to buy them a car?”
“No. Limos and stuff. Who pays for that?”
“Don’t know. You should probably ask Carmella if she has that taken care of.” Wait, did I really just say that?
“I imagine she has. She’s very efficient.”
I kept my voice very casual. “Yes, I’m sure she is. Too bad she won’t be around for Christmas.”
“She actually has a Christmas eve wedding. She won’t be in Aruba with her family after all. Maybe you could invite—”
“No,” I yelped. I cleared my throat. I figured he was probably teasing, but I wasn’t taking any chances. “No, Ben, I don’t think so.”
He threw back his head and laughed. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Should I be?”
He ignored my question. “Do you know what she said about you?”
“About me? When were you two talking about me?”
He was grinning. “Chester, of course. And I must say, you’ve really held your tongue on that.”
I ignored the dig. “Oh, yeah, Chester. So, what did she say?”
“That you were a formidable competitor.”
“Oh? And what exactly are the two of us competing for?” I asked, keeping my face straight with a great deal of difficulty.
“Do you know what kind of a woman Carmella is?” he asked.
“Beautiful? Successful? Driven?”
He shook his head. “No. I mean, yes, but…” He sipped his beer. “She’s the kind of woman who has never not gotten what she wanted. Between her father and his money, her own drive, and, well, her personal mission statement, she doesn’t know what it means to go after something and not get it.”
I tilted my head up so I could look directly into his eyes. “And she wants you.”
“Yes.”
“Can she get you?” My voice cracked. I couldn’t help it.
He leaned in closer. “I’ve been in love with you for as long as I’ve known you.”
I nodded. “Yes. But that really doesn’t answer the question, does it?”
He straightened. “I keep waiting for some sort of compromise to present itself.”
“Like me suddenly deciding I want to run off to Vegas and get hitched by Elvis?”
He shrugged. “That would work.”
“That’s not a compromise,” I said.
“No, it’s not.”
My throat felt dry.
“Cutler, party of two. Cutler, party of two.”
We made our way into the dining room, sat down, then opened menus. I had my drink clenched in my hand, and I downed what was left. Ben was still nursing his first beer.
“Did you and David get suits?” It was time to lighten the conversation.
Ben followed my lead. He knew me well enough to know that sometimes, in the middle of a serious discussion, I needed space to regroup. “Yes. And I dragged Ethan, who could not understand why he couldn’t be an usher in cargo pants and a hoodie. Are the girls all set?”
I nodded. “Now it’s all about the shoes.”
Ben lowered the menu. “Shoes? Damn. We need shoes?”
“Don’t you own anything besides work boots and loafers?”
He made a face. “Why would I need anything besides work boots and loafers?”
I smiled, the knot between my eyes starting to relax. “You can always rent them.”
“Seriously? They rent shoes?”
“They rent everything”
Ben shook his head. “Unbelievable.”
Our waitress hurried over. “Can I get you refills?” she asked Ben rather breathlessly.
He drained his glass. “Sure. Sam Adams. Mona?”
I nodded. The waitress turned to me with a slight scowl. “And you?”
“Vodka martini. Grey Goose. Straight up with an olive.”
She scurried off.
This part of the restaurant was surprisingly quiet compared to the bar. The walls were dark paneled, with framed hunting scenes and brass wall sconces on the walls. There were candles on white tablecloths and classical music played in the background.
“Carmella had an interesting thought,” Ben said slowly.
“Again with Carmella?” I snapped. “What was she talking about this time?”
“You.”
I squirmed. “I wish Carmella would spend less time thinking about me, Ben. Why on earth would she find me so interesting?”
He was looking at the menu again. “She said you may have connected with somebody in LA, and that’s why you were so, well, distant.”
I could feel a burning right behind my eyes, one that had almost gone away, start back up again. “Oh? She said that, did she? What would she know about it anyway? Did you tell her how often you came out to see me?” I blew out loudly in disgust. “I met lots of somebodies in L.A., and I didn’t even like any of them.”
He kept his eyes on the menu and shrugged. I took a deep breath but was interrupted by a martini, plunked down very ungraciously in front of me.
“Have you folks decided?”
“Yes,” Ben said.
“No,” I snapped.
Ben raised his eyebrows.
“Wait, sorry, I’m ready,” I mumbled. “Pork chops. Baked potato. Bleu cheese.”
The waitress scribbled, then turned to Ben, her expression of one about to receive a precious gift wrapped in starlight.
“Sounds good. I’ll have the same.”
She looked slightly disappointed, took our menus, then left.
“I have not,” I said slowly, “been distant.”
He reached for his beer, took a long drink, then shrugged.
“In fact,” I said, gaining a bit of steam, “I spent a great deal of time and money on amazingly sexy black undergarments, specifically for your benefit.”
His mouth twitched. “True.”
“Just because I am conflicted about the idea of marriage, that does not mean I am conflicted about you. I love you. I want to be with you. In fact, if it were at all possible, I’d be with you right now on top of this table.”
<
br /> He laughed. “I see.” He was silent for a moment. “How do you feel about the kids getting married now, after seeing them together? You have to admit they looked like two people heading in the right direction.”
I had to think about that for a second. “Yes, they seem very happy together. And they…think alike. I mean, they seem to be working together for the same things. Miranda has changed. For the better, but…she could always turn on a dime into a spoiled brat, and she has managed to put that part of her aside. I don’t know if that will last. Once this flush of true love wears away and it’s just the day-to-day hard work of being married, she might not find it as easy to stop wanting everything she sees. And I worry about David—sure, he’s perfect for her now, but maybe there’s something in him that he’s changed for her, and once she finds out…” I shook my head. “Which is why I wanted them to wait to get to know each other better. We always put our best faces forward in the beginning. Sometimes that’s a bad thing.”
“Has anything about me changed?” he asked cautiously. He seemed almost afraid of my answer. “Anything you didn’t know about before?”
I looked at him steadily. “I never knew you believed in love at first sight. I always imagined you as more…practical.”
“And I guess I always thought you were just as big a romantic as Maura Van Whalen. I had no idea you had such a cynical side.”
“I am not,” I said loudly, “cynical.” I glanced around and lowered my voice. “I didn’t realize you thought of me that way. I’ve always considered myself a realist.”
“Based on your experience, Mona.”
