A Previous Engagement

by Stephanie Haddad

  ****

  My afternoon workload seemed dull in light of Christian’s strange behavior. Things were going unsaid between us, something that only ever led to trouble. If he was hurting and trying to cover it up, I wanted to get to the bottom of it. If there was something else at play, I wouldn’t rest until I found out what it was. My logical brain was running laps by lunchtime.

  When I’m thinking too much, I call Kendra for a reality check. After lunch, I tried the restaurant to see if she was working. She was, and she wasn’t happy about it.

  “What do you want?” she answered when the hostess connected me to the kitchen.

  “Just wanted to see if you need me to bring something Friday,” I said sweetly, the only way to combat Kendra’s grouchiness.

  “And let you ruin another one of my kitchens? No, thanks.”

  “Cut it out. I fully intend to bring pre-packaged contributions. Like, Shaw’s A La Carte or something.”

  “How dare you even suggest pre-made food? Besides, you won’t have time if you’re working till seven as usual. Don’t worry about it. Just get here, okay?” Despite her sharp words, Kendra’s grumpy edge softened.

  “I’ll leave early,” I said, manufacturing confidence in my voice. The stack of papers on my desk said otherwise. “I’ll have plenty of time to swing by the store on the way.”

  “You always say that, but you never do it,” Kendra sighed, probably shaking that red head at me. So I loved my job, so sue me. “If you make it out early, pick up some fresh fruit, okay?”

  “Done,” I smiled, happy with an assignment both useful and easy to produce. “Are you working the lunch shift Friday?”

  “Of course I am. Who else is going to fix the mess these people make in my kitchen?” Her voice rose to a quiet yell, undoubtedly meant to catch the attention of her four-person kitchen staff.

  “Be nice to them. You only pay them minimum wage, and still they put up with your mood swings. If anything, they deserve a raise for that alone.”

  “You hush,” she said. “I pay them what the law tells me.”

  “And not a penny more, you stingy brat,” I stopped on the very words Christian used against me earlier, affectionate words exchanged often among our trio. With the memory, a fresh wave of confusion hit me. “Hey, have you talked to Christian since the party that never was?”

  “Yeah,” she said, chewing her gum loudly into the receiver. She must’ve been counting inventory or something, because Kendra always chews with her mouth open while preoccupied with a mundane task. “He babysat Riley last night. Grant had this big deadline and I filled in for Raoul—again—so people could actually eat in my restaurant. Christian came over to put Riley to bed. He’s such a life saver sometimes. Why do you ask?”

  “No reason.” She had enough on her mind without worrying about Christian too. “I was just wondering what your thoughts were on a party for his thirtieth next month. Do you think he’ll want one?”

  “We’ll keep it small, I guess. Do something here?”

  “That works,” I twirled the phone cord around my finger. “He probably won’t want to make a big deal out of it after… you know. Do you think he’s okay?”

  “He’ll pull through, I’m sure. But I think you should talk to him,” Kendra said between gum chomps. “He needs you right now.”

  “Me? Why?”

  “Because,” Kendra’s patience waned. “You’re his friend, dumb ass. And he just got his heart crushed by the recipient of this year’s Alien Fashion Award.”

  “Ooh. Good one.”

  “Thanks. The point remains: Christian’s heart was broken by yet another girl. What do we do when that happens?”

  “Set him up with someone else?”

  “Eventually, sure. But first, we help him through it. Just be there for him, okay?”

  I took a deep breath. She was right; my only job was to be his friend right now. I couldn’t explain why I’d gotten so rattled over something stupid like eye contact. I’d looked into Christian’s eyes so many times I could draw every colorful fleck of them. They’re just eyes. He’s got them. I’ve got them. Everyone’s got them. Eyes, plain and simple.

  For now, I decided to help Christian get over a breakup, which was precisely the moment Savannah Livingston walked into my office.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Savannah wanted to borrow a stapler, not acquire a new boyfriend, so I kept things casual and handed over my Swingline. No big deal. I wanted to invite her to dinner at Kendra’s that Friday, but knew it was too obvious and much too soon. Christian needed more than six days’ cushion time between girlfriends. Two weeks at least. Plus, I could see that Kendra was right: be his friend first, play Chuck Woolery later. Today, Savannah got a stapler; but in a couple of weeks, who knew what could happen?

  I needed time to get to know her better anyway. After all, one does not set up one’s best friend with a girl based on appearance alone. I was already acutely aware of Savannah’s good looks—chestnut brown hair that was salon-perfect every day, long legs she liked to show off with short but tasteful skirts, and a body that was clearly not accidental. Savannah was neat and clean, cared about how she looked, and always had something nice to say. Last week, she complimented me on my brand new teal sweater when no one else even noticed how well it brought out my eyes.

  As her boss, it was almost my job to pay more attention to her, which I used to my advantage. A quick visual sweep of her cubicle on my way out the door one evening revealed many things: a Cool Cats wall calendar (she’s a cat person); a schedule of regular yoga classes (she’s athletic); and a coffee mug reading “Hard work never killed anybody, but why take the chance?” (she’s funny, too!) All good things perfectly suited to Christian—an athletic guy who loved animals and had a great sense of humor. If Hallmark could make love a business, so could Tessa Monroe.

  When I sat next to Savannah at Friday’s staff meeting, I swear it was just a lucky coincidence…and I don’t speak any French, so the meaning of “reconnaissance” is lost on me. Thus, it was with purely professional intent that I proceeded to cross-examine Savannah in the few minutes before the meeting began. Really.

  “So did you catch the game last night?” A risky move. Not a follower of any sports team—nothing short of a crime here in Boston—I held my breath and prayed there had been a game, any game.

  “Oh, the Sox game?” Savannah’s eyes lit up. This would be good news for Christian, who often threatened to sell his first born child for tickets to Opening Day at Fenway. The box office clerks never took him up on the deal, but a scalper once seemed interested.

  I kept my answer to a nod, afraid to commit any further. If she wanted to talk about the game, I was so screwed. Why couldn’t I have opened with something I actually knew about? “Hey did you catch that Lifetime movie last night? No? Oh, it was a good one! Teen pregnancy again, but this time, the father was an illegal immigrant. She needed to marry him or he’d get deported, but her parents would give their permission!” I didn’t know anything about teenaged, unwed mothers impregnated with the children of illegal aliens, but I knew Lifetime. You had to go with baseball, didn’t you, Tess?

  “That Pedroia homer in the ninth was wild!” Her smile broadened. I racked my brain for a Pedroia. “Dan was complaining the game was over by the fifth, but I wouldn’t give up on my Sox. I told him, Pedroia’s a clutch hitter. He always works it out, just give him some time, you know?”

  In all of that sports jargon, my brain clung to one word only: Dan. I suspected he may be a potential roadblock, so I put on my best girl-talk voice and resolved to find out more.

  “Dan, huh? Is that your boyfriend?” I sounded like my mother.

  “Oh, God, no!” she laughed. “Dan’s my little brother. He’s visiting from Maryland to look at colleges. No boyfriend here.”

  Jackpot. This “reconnaissance” stuff wasn’t as impossibly French as previously thought.

  “Are you from Maryland?”

  “Yeah
,” she hesitated, flipping open her portfolio pad to a fresh page. “I know what you’re thinking: a Sox fan from Maryland?” That wasn’t at all what I was thinking, but I let her continue. “My family is from this area originally, but we moved just outside of Baltimore when I was twelve. I couldn’t give up my Sox, you know? Not for the Orioles.” She scoffed as though switching teams was a capital offense. Was it? “Have you ever been to Baltimore?”

  Cha-ching! “Actually, yeah,” I smiled. “My friend Christian went to Johns Hopkins, so I visited all the time. It’s a great city. After he graduated and moved back here to finish photography school, I missed the trips.”

  “Wow! Photography school? Good for him.” Savannah rooted in her purse, extracting a package of Luden’s cough drops—another one of Christian’s favorite things. A trail of destiny’s bread crumbs lay between them; I just needed to follow it. “I always wanted to be a photographer.” She tossed a cherry cough drop back and forth in her mouth. “I worked as an assistant for a while. Never worked up the guts to go for it though.”

  “Why not?” I shifted to the edge of my seat, overcome by the eerie perfection of it all.

  “My parents wanted me to get a four-year degree. I thought I’d just go to photography school after I got my business degree, then open up my own studio, you know?” She shrugged. “But one thing led to another, now here I am. I never had the time to try it out. I really admire your friend. Christian, right?”

  Setting them up was going to be a cakewalk.

  ****

  I was late for dinner. Twenty-two minutes late to be exact. It wasn’t my fault that one of my interns missed her deadline by nearly forty-five minutes. It also wasn’t my fault that two grocery stores were completely sold out of strawberries. It especially wasn’t my fault that there was traffic because some cat was stuck up in a tree in the town common. Stupid cat.

  When Kendra opened the front door, I flinched. I really hated when she yelled, so it helped to be prepared.

  Instead, she smiled. “Oh good, you’re right on time. Early, actually.”

  My eyebrows pulled together in confusion. “Huh?”

  “I planned dinner for seven-thirty, but told you seven. It’s Tess Time.” She scurried back to work as I stood in the doorway.

  “Tess Time? Seriously?”

  She turned to me, grinning sheepishly. “It’s kinda this thing we do to get you to show up on time.”

  “Super.”

  I stepped in their home, just blocks from the neighborhood where we grew up. Every inch of the Peterson’s house was so utterly suburban and perfectly Kendra it sometimes terrified me. Red checkered curtains in the kitchen, oak wood dining room table always covered with a hand-sewn tablecloth, soft suede couches positioned in the living room. Each and every room was a Williams-Sonoma showplace. Except for Riley’s nursery, which was more like a Pottery Barn Kids store with its coordinating lamp, throw rug, bed spread, and special-edition wall hangings. All this hominess was background noise now, since the Peterson residence was my second home. What I noticed this time, instead of the rooster-themed potholders, was the total absence of male dinner attendees.

  “Where’s Grant?”

  “Giving Riley a bath,” Kendra said over her shoulder, stirring a large stockpot filled with her famous beef stew. The smell filled my lungs and traveled to my digestive system. My stomach growled at it. “My darling baby boy decided to experiment with diaper cream today. He gave himself a Mohawk.”

  “Delightful.”

  “Is that Tessie?” Christian’s voice drifted in from the living room, just over the sound of some kind of sports broadcast.

  “Hi,” I called back. To Kendra, I shot an impatient look. “I thought you said I was on time or early. Clearly, I’m the last one here.”

  “Well, he came early to help out with Riley while I cooked. Grant took over when his work was finished, so I banished Christian to the Sox game in there. What’s the score?” she yelled to him.

  “Two nothing, Sox lead the Yanks.”

  Satisfied, Kendra went back to her cooking.

  “So let me get this straight,” I frowned, folding my jacket over my arm and unwinding the scarf from my neck. “You invited me early because you knew I’d be late, but I was late for the time you gave me, early for the real time. But since I’m the last one here, it looks like I’m late anyway. I can’t win, can I?”

  “Let me put it to you this way: You’re always going to be late.” Kendra crossed her expansive kitchen to give me a hug. “You can try and try all you want, but you’re always the last one through the door. The last one to buy the latest technology. The last one to get a joke. Or abandon a fashion trend, it seems.” She pinched my sweater between two fingers and chuckled playfully. “This is so last season’s colors, little girl.” I swatted her hand away.

  “We all know this about you and love you anyway,” Kendra continued. “You should just accept it and give yourself a break.”

  “Um, great. Thanks.”

  “Anytime,” she jumped back into her work without skipping a beat. “Here, bring this bowl of bread to the table. Don’t break anything, okay?”

  We sat down to an incredible spread: beef stew, spinach salad with fresh goat cheese and walnuts, homemade bread, and stuffed peppers. I was in heaven and, from the look on his face, so was Christian. Neither one of us could cook, so we really looked forward to Kendra’s rotation in our monthly dinner tradition.

  She truly had a gift, one her father recognized early on. After her graduation from Johnson and Wales, he relinquished control of Birch’s Restaurant and retired early to Florida. With Kendra in the kitchen, I suddenly liked stuff on the menu I’d once despised, like lobster ravioli and roasted lamb chops. She could literally make anything, a theory I once tested while drunk. The three of us were recent college grads, living together to cut expenses, and too poor and lazy to visit a grocery store. That night, I opened the fridge and demanded dinner from an egg, a wilted head of lettuce, two strips of bacon, a mango, and a block of cheese. She called it Tessa-is-a-Jerk salad and it was damn delicious.

  Consequently, that was the first dinner in our long-standing tradition. Every week we planned a menu, shared the cooking chores, and then ate until we were completely stuffed. After the three of us split up to live on our own, we settled on a monthly rotation to share hosting duties. Dinners at Christian’s were usually pizza and a movie. Dinners at my place were a worthy effort, though burnt and inedible. At Kendra’s, the food was art.

  Based on the “garnished” mud pies she was making at age four, Kendra’s gift for cooking was less of a surprise to Christian and me than her personal life. Fifteen years ago, Kendra seemed least likely to be married with a baby before thirty. She was our wild child, our daredevil; that friend who climbed the swing set to walk the crossbar like a tightrope or tossed toys into a tree then raced to get them down. She was always covered in mud and dirt and always causing trouble. Before she was motherly, diplomatic, and a master chef, Kendra was the mischief-making ringleader.

  I suppose I changed too, from the shy girl in the back row of the classroom to the confident assistant vice president at the front of the boardroom. Some days, that surprised no one more than me. Did that change my friend’s perception of me? I looked across the table at Kendra and wondered if I was stronger in her eyes. And Christian, sitting next to me, his elbow touching mine. How did he see things?

  As though he could hear me thinking his name, Christian looked up with a half-smile playing on his lips. “I bought myself some gloves yesterday. Tried to wear them to an outdoor photo shoot but I nearly dropped my camera into the Atlantic.”

  “What photo shoot?” Kendra grabbed a roll. She handed half of it to Riley, who nodded happily and then chomped down on it.

  “Another engagement,” he said, selecting his own roll. Grant, Kendra, and I collectively held our breath, waiting for a reaction from the man who had just broken off an engagement of his own. He looked at
me blankly, chewing away on the warm, buttery bread. “High school sweethearts who absolutely had to have their picture taken on the football field together. He was the quarterback or something.”

  “So what were you doing near the ocean?” I asked.

  “They’re sailors too, so we had to go down to the harbor and do another set of pictures. She couldn’t make up her mind because she was afraid the wind at the dock would blow her hair around too much.” He rolled his eyes. “At least they’re paying for all of them, I guess.”

  “And no cameras were hurt in the making of this engagement shoot?” Grant asked.

  “Happily, no,” Christian smiled. “That would have doubled their bill, at least.”

  “Speaking of weddings,” said Kendra, careful to keep her eyes on Riley while she spoke. “Are you free to photograph one, sometime in late May? I think it’s the twenty-seventh or somewhere around there.”

  “Am I free at the end of May, she asks,” Christian laughed. Nonetheless, he was checking the date on his Smartphone in seconds. “That Saturday?”

  “Mm-Hmm.”

  “Actually, I am,” he said, truly surprised. “Who’s wedding?”

  “A friend of a friend. I’m doing their cake, but the photographer canceled on them last week. They’ll pay you for the eight-hour day and for an assistant, plus a bonus for the short notice. I’d really appreciate it if you could help them out.”

  Christian typed the date into his Smartphone. “It’s in the calendar so it’s happening.”

  Kendra smiled across the table. I noticed for the first time that she looked tired. Run down. As a mom with a demanding restaurant job, Kendra’s life wasn’t exactly easy but the craziness had never gotten to her like this before. I often wondered if adding a second baby to the mix was a wise goal for someone so divided already. She looked exhausted and possibly a bit ill. Suddenly, she stood up from the table, her chair clattering to the floor behind her. “I’ll be right back.”