by Mazy Morris
dropped, there wasn’t a peep in his direction about us making it official. Don’t get me wrong, I love Daniel like a house on fire, and I’m pretty sure he feels the same way about me, it’s just that I’d like to look down at my left hand and see a ring on my finger.
Claire has one—a ring on her finger, I mean. It took Daniel’s brother James only three months to come to the conclusion he wanted to spend the rest of his life with Claire. Claire felt the same way. They got married a couple of months ago. And she’s already pregnant. Not that I want to be pregnant, too. Totally not ready for that. Still. I feel like I’m falling behind way on the grownup-activities front. It’s not like I want to rush into anything, but I think a year is long enough to know for sure if somebody is The One.
“You could always propose to him,” Sam said.
“There’s no reason why not,” Claire chimed in.
“Don’t think I haven’t thought about it.”
I had. For about three minutes. Then I’d abandoned the idea. It would be too shameless, what with all the hints I’d been dropping lately.
“Oh, well,” I said. “I shouldn’t complain. Daniel and I are happy just as we are. I shouldn’t ruin it by wanting something more.”
“Go ahead,” said Sam. “Keep telling yourself that.”
Since she and Gordon have gotten back together, Sam’s gotten pretty smug. Sometimes, I think I liked her better when she was a grouchy cynic.
“Time to get going,” Claire said. “We don’t want Gordon to worry you’ve changed your mind.”
“I never considered changing my mind,” Sam said. “Believe me. I know exactly what I’m getting in to.”
Maybe that’s the cure for pre-wedding jitters? Marry someone you’ve been married to before.
If Sam had been having brides’ maids or a maid-of-honor or anything, Claire and I would have been wearing matching dresses with bows on the butt, but she wasn’t. She wasn’t even doing the walk-down-the-aisle thing. She and Gordon were walking in at the same time. He was waiting in the tiny vestibule. They would walk in together. I thought that was kind of lacking in the symbolism that the occasion called for, but Sam didn’t. “Think of it more as a renewal of vows,” she suggested. That helped. A little.
There were very few guests. That was on purpose. Sam and Gordon could have had thousands of guests, some of whom would have undoubtedly come just to see Gordon—he’s famous enough now to have collected a few rather rabid fans—so Sam and Gordon had decided on a very small ceremony. Only family and their very closest friends.
The thing Sam seemed most worried about was a paparazzo getting in somehow and unauthorized photos being leaked to the press. I guess that’s one of the perils of remarrying someone famous. There’s always the danger of a tabloid running photos of your first and second wedding side-by-side accompanied by uncharitable comments about how ungracefully you’ve aged in the intervening years. Sam had a point. I wouldn’t want that happening to me, either. Not that Sam actually had anything to worry about. She looked great. I thought she looked even better than when she’d married Gordon the first time.
Claire and I slipped into the sanctuary. Daniel and James were sitting in the front row.
Daniel smiled at me as I sat down beside him. He took my hand.
“Call me a hopeless romantic—“ he whispered, “But I couldn’t be happier for these two.”
Hopeless romantic, my honeyed hiney! I came perilously close to snorting in derision, but the guitarist up front had started to play the acoustic rock balled that was standing in for the wedding march, so I restrained myself.
It was a beautiful ceremony. I didn’t even have to be a hopeless romantic to see that. Sam cried a little. I heard Daniel sniffing. I looked over. There was actually a tear running down his cheek.
I couldn’t believe it. Why couldn’t he channel some of that soppy sentimentalism into proposing to me? I wanted to kick him in the shin, but I stifled the urge. Just.
After the ceremony, we went to Gordon’s house—correction: Sam and Gordon’s house—for dinner. They’d moved all the furniture out of the lower-story to make room for tables and a dance floor. There was plenty of room for that. It’s more of a mansion than a house.
There were lots more people there than had been at the ceremony—so many that I lost track of Daniel once we’d made it through the buffet line. I waited around for him for a few minutes, but when I couldn’t spot him, I went and sat down next to Claire.
“I’ve just about had it with Daniel,” I said.
Claire looked startled. And slightly alarmed.
“What do you mean?”
“He was crying during the ceremony. Real tears.”
“What’s so terrible about that?” Claire asked. She was staring around like she was looking for someone. That’s totally unlike her. She usually gives the person she’s talking to her complete and undivided attention.
“There’s nothing so terrible about it. I like that he’s sensitive. I just wish he’d be more sensitive about me.”
“What did he do that was so insensitive?” Claire asked. She was actually craning her neck now.
“It’s more what he didn’t do,” I said. “Whenever I bring up the subject of long-term commitment, he just kind of hems and haws. I’d be happy if he just suggested we move in together, but I can’t even get that much out of him.”
“I’m sure he—“ Claire wasn’t paying any attention to what I was saying—at least, she didn’t look like she was. Usually, she’s super sympathetic.
An unsympathetic Claire was the last straw.
“I’m going home,” I said.
“You can’t do that!” Claire protested. She grabbed my arm and held onto it, as if I was going to slip away immediately.
“Why not?”
“Uh—“ Claire was still looking frantically around. It entered my mind that years of working with mental patients might have finally take their toll, and she was going quietly crackers.
“They haven’t cut the cake. You can’t leave until they cut the cake.”
“There isn’t any cake,” I said. “Everything’s already out on the desert table. You know Sam hates cake. They didn’t even have a cake at their first wedding.”
“You won’t be here to throw rice—“ Claire protested, “—you know, when they go away.”
“There isn’t going to be any rice. This is their house. They both have to be back at work tomorrow. They’re aren’t going anywhere. The rest of us are the ones who are leaving—”
Claire was looking positively frantic. She tightened her grip on my arm.
“I’m feeling terribly sick,” she said. She didn’t look sick, but you can hardly question a pregnant woman who claims she’s feeling sick. “Can you get me a glass of water?” she pleaded. “Please.”
I picked up her water glass from off the table.
“Here,” I said.
She took a sip and make what sounded suspiciously like fake retching sounds. “Water isn’t working. I think there’s some ginger ale at the bar.”
I went to the bar and got some ginger ale. I still hadn’t spotted Daniel. If he’d been a different sort of man I’d have been afraid he was off in some corner with another woman, but he’s not that sort of man—at least I’d never thought so up until now. I was pretty sure he was just deliberately avoiding me, and I couldn’t figure out why. We hadn’t been fighting or anything.
I came back and handed Claire the ginger ale. She took several sips.
“Feeling better?”
“A little.”
James came up to the table.
“Oh good,” I said. “You’re here. Claire’s feeling sick, but you can take care of her, now. I’m going home. If you see Daniel—“
“No!” James said. “You can’t go home!”
James, too? Why was my presence suddenly so indispensable? Maybe I was wrong. Maybe Daniel was cheating on me. Maybe they didn’t want me to leave because Daniel was in t
he back seat of my car—I’d driven us here—with Sam’s cute cousin. Or maybe he was making out with Gordon’s pretty assistant in the shrubbery at the front of the house. Or maybe—this was ridiculous. It wasn’t rational to be suspicious.
“I think my water just broke!” Claire said.
She was barely even showing yet. Did she think I had absolutely no knowledge of human reproduction?
“Really?” I said. “That’s the best you’ve got? You’re three months pregnant, and your water just broke?”
“Just sit down!” said James. “You won’t be sorry you stayed. I promise.”
So I sat down. I ate my way through my first plate and went back for a second. Stress makes some people lose their appetites. Not me. If I could only be so lucky.
Still no Daniel, and now James had disappeared again, too.
People were already out on the dance floor. Then, about the time I was ready to visit the dessert table, the dance floor mysteriously cleared. I picked out a dish of flan and a piece of strawberry something-or-other and headed back to Claire. Two deserts might seem slightly piggish, but I didn’t care. It wasn’t like I was going to have to fit into a wedding dress anytime soon or anything.
“Oh, good!” said Claire. “You’re back!”
“Daniel hasn’t turned up yet, has he?”
“Just be quiet and eat your flan,” Claire ordered. It was very unlike her to order anyone to do anything, so I sat down, shut up and took my first bite.
During my third bite, the lights dimmed, and a spot light shone on the middle of the dance floor.
I looked over at Claire. She refused to
