A Previous Engagement

by Stephanie Haddad

  “She’s nice,” Kendra analyzed over the Cheer-Up Cheesecake she brought me one Tuesday. She did these things for Christian and me when she thought we could use a boost. She always seemed to know when to pull out that baking pan. “I really like her teeth.”

  “What?”

  “She has really white, straight teeth. It’s impressive,” she scooped a forkful of cheesecake into her mouth, then kept talking around it. “Must’ve cost her parents a fortune.”

  “Perfect dental work aside,” I swallowed my own mouthful. “What do you think of her? You know, now that you’ve had a chance to get to know her. It’s hard for me to judge because I already knew her before they started dating.”

  “Well, at least she’s not Marcy.”

  “Her eyebrows aren’t that perfect.”

  “No one’s are. Nor should they be,” Kendra proclaimed, another forkful aimed at her mouth.

  Also unlike Marcy, Savannah actually seemed to enjoy spending time with us. She wasn’t threatened by me either, which was an overwhelming plus even if it did irk me, and she absolutely adored little Riley. Any day now, I was going to get bumped as Christian’s official babysitting partner. Let Christian and Savannah play house all they want. I’ve got too much work on my plate to be worried about these things right now. Besides, no matter how many times Riley asked Savannah to play “gucks” with him, she couldn’t replace me as his godmother—at least I still had that going for me.

  We finished our slices of cheesecake in a handful of bites and I kicked back the end of my coffee. When our plates were scraped clean and loaded into the dishwasher, Kendra gave me a hug. “Feel better now?”

  “Yeah, I do,” I lied, smiling from ear to ear.

  “No you don’t,” she shook her head, wrapping up the leftovers to store in my fridge. “But thank you for pretending. What’s gotten in to you lately, anyway? Is work as bad as Savannah says?”

  Savannah had been regaling them all with tales about Marty and the office that I normally would have told. I should have been irritated that she took over my territory, but I was actually glad to be spared reliving my workday for an audience. As she talked, I tuned out, watching Christian’s every response to her and the way Grant squeezed Kendra’s hand in wordless affection.

  Being with two couples all the time got my brain thinking strange things as I sat in my solo-occupancy armchair and watched them interact. At the end of the day, I guess a job can’t give you a hug or ask how your day was. It certainly didn’t cuddle with you when you watched a movie or take care of you when you were ill. Jobs were great when you were at work, but left much to be desired once you stepped out of the office.

  “It’s all right,” I grimaced. “It’ll get better soon. Once this publication is off and running, my workload will lessen and I’ll have an actual staff to run it. For now, most of the work rests snuggly on my shoulders. But what about you? You’ve been a little weird yourself.”

  It hadn’t been lost on me that Kendra was acting a bit odd. Excusing herself to the bathroom at her dinner a month ago, falling asleep on every couch she saw, and passing on any and all alcoholic beverages, even at Birch’s after hours.

  “Oh, you know, just lots of stuff going on.”

  “Like a baby growing inside of you? That kind of stuff?”

  For a moment, she looked at me, stunned. Then she shrugged. “Let’s just say I have no comment on the topic.” I couldn’t blame her for being so discreet about it, given that she’d suffered two miscarriages before Riley. Waiting three months to make the announcement was a practical choice, except where I was involved.

  I tried to play it cool, even though I wanted to jump up and down cheering. “Well,” I said as calmly as possible under the circumstances. “When you’re ready, lay it on me. Until then, I’ll be secretly rooting for you both.”

  We hugged, she left beaming, and I smiled back at her. I straightened the cushions on the couch, ran the vacuum over the immaculate carpet, cleaned out the fridge, and ran the empty Tupperware through the dishwasher. I scrubbed the counters down and microwaved my Lean Cuisine Swedish Meatballs dinner for one. It wasn’t gourmet, but it was good enough. Honestly, I was just happy it didn’t catch on fire. I fell into my nightly routine easily, my thoughts drifting away from Christian’s new romance or Kendra’s new baby on the way. No, that night, my thoughts stayed strictly on myself and the life choices I’d made.

  Back before life at Prime, I’d boasted my own fair share of dates. Technically, I counted Rich Cusack as my first “real” boyfriend, during my junior year of high school. He was a senior with a reputation for roaming hands, one he quickly lived up to at the end of our first date. After a brief three dates with Rich, I moved on to date other types of guys, nerds and jocks alike. I was never really sure what I expected from a guy, or from a relationship. Although some of my relationships were more passionate than others, they were all marked by their brevity. Once I decided a guy wasn’t right for me, I ended it and kept the drama to a minimum.

  As I started to advance into the more complicated levels of my business courses and discovered my love for marketing, I started dating less and less. I replaced my fervor for finding the right companion with a passion for consumer behavior, focus groups, and marketing analytics. The closer I got to my career, the farther I got from my personal life.

  I’d never really thought about it from this perspective before. In the thick of things, I couldn’t see the subtle progressions. Nearly ten years out of school, I wondered if everyone thought I’d just given up on my love life and changed directions to avoid it. Working at Prime was never about avoiding what I didn’t want, it was about going after what I thought I did.

  Sinking into my leather couch, with nothing left recorded on my DVR, I flipped through the channels to see what was on. Baby shows, wedding shows, homebuying shows, and a Who’s the Boss marathon. Also, an infomercial for the Bow Flex. It was like the television gods—or high-powered marketing execs—were trying to send me a message: have babies, get married, buy a house, and exercise. And oh yeah, the quality of your life would be vastly improved with a daily dose of Tony Danza.

  A few more clicks of the remote and I located an old episode of The Bachelor. The season’s bachelor—some tall, dark and handsome guy with a dimple—doled out roses to his remaining prospective girlfriends. He called a name, handed her a rose, and kissed her cheek. These girls lined up to get picked to maybe be with this guy for the long-term. They’d reached a point in their lives where a single rose was enough to fuel the fires for a few days, keep their hope of love and happily-ever-after alive.

  It made me really, really sad for them. But it also made me feel really, really lonely… because even that half-wilted rose was much more than I had.

  ****

  I’d just about slept off all that lonely when it was time to go to work, throw myself back into a project that was slowly killing me, and prepare for another Coffee Wednesday with my now-taken friend. I wasn’t in the mood for any of it.

  Marty was already in my office when I got there. He’d taken it upon himself to lounge comfortably in my wing chair, one fat ankle propped on the opposite fat knee. There weren’t any papers or anything in his lap, so I deduced this was either a checkin call or a social call. I considered just turning around and walking out, but what was there to walk out to? This job was my life, for better or for worse. Marty, to clarify, was pretty much the ‘worse.’

  “Monroe, good morning,” he smiled, his beady eyes twinkling. “How is everything?”

  “Fine, Marty. Nice to see you.” I nodded to him, trying to go about my usual morning routine as normally as possible. I hung my jacket on the hook on the back of my door, placed my purse under my desk, and sat down. My message light was blinking, my email inbox was full, and a huge stack of layout suggestions needed to get down to the printer in, oh, twenty minutes. But all of that had to wait so I could kiss Marty’s ass a little more.

  “You, too. I wanted
to check in on your progress. We’re presenting to the panel next week, so it’s especially important that everything be prepared as soon as possible.”

  “Well, we’re just about ready to finalize the test copy of the first issue. I think you’ll be really pleased with the design and the youthful feel we’ve accomplished. It’s fun and fresh, but also informative. I think it’s exactly what we’re looking for to reach this key demographic,” I rattled off all the right words, almost without thinking about them. At the end of the day, isn’t it always the same garbage over and over again?

  God, what’s gotten into me? If Marty hadn’t been sitting across from me, hanging on my every word, I would’ve slapped myself across the face. Wake up, Tessa.

  “That’s great to hear,” he looked genuinely pleased. “The board presentation is next Thursday, so I’m hoping that maybe we can get together Wednesday and go over everything together. Does that work for you?”

  I pulled out my planner and scanned the open time slots for next Wednesday. “Sure, I’m free any time after one.”

  “Great, how about seven?”

  “Seven?” I asked, unable to hide my surprise.

  “For dinner.”

  “A business dinner?” Clarification, I’d learned, was important around Marty.

  “Yes, right. Business dinner,” he took my hostile tone in stride. “To discuss this business matter.”

  Oh God, oh God. This couldn’t possibly go well for me, no matter what I did. “Yes, that sounds good.” I mustered a tight-lipped smile. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, Marty. I really have to get back to—”

  “Yes, of course.” He stood up and took a step toward me, but caught himself. There was a great big desk in between us. He made an awkward half-bow, half-curtsy movement around all his belly fat and then turned for the door. Once he was out of sight, I breathed for the first time in minutes.

  I had too many errands to run and messages to return to be bothered with this. I’d have to deal with it in a week’s time. For now, there were too many layout designs to approve.

  ****

  As though I hadn’t filled my awkward quotient for one day, my best friend was acting weird at Coffee Wednesday. I wanted to tell him about all the doubt I’d been experiencing as of late, but I just couldn’t find the right words to express my feelings. How could I define something I’d never felt before? So instead, I tried to stay quiet and let him do all the talking. It only took him about seven or eight minutes to catch on.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Huh?” The quick break in a steady stream of words shook me from my daytime reverie. I straightened up, lifting my chin from my palm, and met his eyes for the first time since we sat down together. “What?”

  “Where are you right now?”

  “What do you mean?” I could feel my cheeks redden. It was bad enough that I’d tuned out his conversation, worse still that I’d gotten caught. “I’m sitting in Tosca’s, talking to you.”

  “Sure, physically that’s where you are. But my Tessie is miles away.”

  I sighed, considering an admittance of defeat. “It’s nothing,” I said instead. “I just have a lot going on. I guess it’s tough to concentrate.”

  “Sorry to bore you.” His voice was flat, almost hurt.

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “What did you mean?”

  I slid back in my chair, thinking of all the places I’d rather be than here, having this conversation. “I just meant that I’m tired and my brain is overworked and I’ve got no room left for normal things.”

  “For your friends?” He tilted his head, studying me.

  “Of course not.”

  “But you weren’t listening to me just now.”

  “Yes, I was.” I poured more milk into my coffee, watching the white swirls cut through the blackness and spread outwards.

  “What did I say?”

  “You were talking about Savannah.” Usually Kendra was the one doing the cross-examining. “Why are you being like this?”

  “Because I’m trying to ask for your advice about this and you haven’t heard a word I’ve said. Are you thinking about work again?” His gaze narrowed and I sunk back into my chair, away from him. “I know you’re under a lot of pressure right now, but I’m worried about you, Tessie. Ever since that day.”

  “What day?” A fleeting moment of sadness cut across his features. Once he’d regained control, his expression was unreadable. “I’m not really sure what’s going on right now.”

  “Apparently.” He pushed back his chair, dropped a five dollar bill on the table, and kissed my cheek. Stunned, I let him walk away, leaving me with a half-filled pot of coffee and a very confused Mr. Antonio.

  But no one was as confused as I was.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Dinner at my parents’ house was never a pleasant occasion. Since there was no way to celebrate my sister Lucy’s twenty-fifth birthday without them, I bucked up and went. I was careful, as always, that my hair was neat, my makeup impeccable, and my clothes neatly ironed. I picked out something semi-casual that flattered my good points and hid my not-so-good ones. If I absolutely had to see my mother, the least I could do was disarm her big grenades. Yet even with less ammunition, she’d still find a way to fire at me. She always did.

  “Tessa!” she shrieked at the door. “Where have you been?”

  “Mom?” I faltered. I could never get used to her abrasiveness. “Hello to you too.”

  “You’re late.”

  “I’m always late.” I hugged and kissed her. Struggling to hold onto Lucy’s birthday gift, I squeezed past Mom into the hallway. Sometimes the best thing to do was avoid her, not take the bait. “Happy Birthday, Luce!”

  My sister was standing in the living room, a drink in one hand and a frown on her face. “I said no gifts, T-bag.” I shoved the box into her arms anyway and instructed her to open it. She pulled of the pink bow and stuck it on top of the dog’s head. My mother’s teacup Chihuahua Geronimo didn’t seem too displeased as he circled Lucy’s feet and barked ferociously at the crinkling paper.

  “Gerry, hush!” my mother tried, in vain, to calm the little beast. I honestly can’t understand how one dog could bark as much as Geronimo, how my father put up with it, and what on earth my mother saw in the squidgy little rat-beast. In my opinion, dogs had all the bad qualities of small children with only one good one as consolation: they were cute. And Geronimo was lacking any and all cute genes. My mother scooped her dog off the floor, cradling him against her cheek and saying, “Who’s a good boy? Who’s a good boy?” over and over again. It was more affection than she’d shown my sister or me since birth.

  Lucy tore the last of the wrapping paper from her gift and turned it over. “A blender?”

  “To replace the one I broke last summer.” That was an interesting day of margaritas and mayhem, one easy to imagine given my history with kitchens. “So there, it’s not really a gift.”

  My mother shook her head at me. It was a well-known head shake, the one that said How disappointing that my daughter explodes kitchens, as if she’d ever cooked a meal in her life. Luckily for us, my dad was a pretty good cook so we didn’t starve as kids. It seemed I’d gotten my mother’s genes in that area since many nights spent with Emeril, Barefoot Contessa, and sometimes Rachel Ray—but only when I’m drunk—did absolutely nothing to improve my culinary skills. I still couldn’t pick up a spatula without injuring myself.

  My mother ushered Geronimo out the back door to pee on his special patch of grass, and Lucy dodged out the front door under the pretense of putting the blender in her car. I knew she was sneaking a cigarette and I half wanted to join her. Instead, I found my dad in the kitchen, happily manning a pot of tomato sauce on the stove. He stirred gently, inhaling the spices that opened up to his skilled touch. The whole house was filled with the delectable fragrance, but I didn’t realize how hungry I was until I was actually faced with the source of the smell. At least dinner wou
ld make the conversation—and the unpleasant company—more tolerable.

  “Hey Daddy,” I greeted him with a hug and a kiss, and he smiled at me.

  “You look beautiful, Tessa. Are you ready to eat?”

  “Starved!”

  “It’s just about done.” He tapped the spoon on the side of the big stainless steel pot and turned to me, concern in his eyes. “How are you?”

  “Good. I’m fine,” I mustered my grin, trying to look natural.

  “What’s bothering you?” It was no use against my father, who often regarded me with clarity far superior to even Christian’s. I looked right into his eyes, willing him to leave me be for the night, but he seemed unmoved. I’d been told all my life how much I looked like my father, but our stubbornness was as identical as our eyes.

  “I don’t really want to talk about it now.”

  “Nonsense,” he said, putting his arm around my shoulders. “I’m your father, I’m here to help.”

  “But Mom—”

  “Forget your mother. She loves you girls, she’s just not good at expressing it,” he squeezed me to him. This was a speech I memorized by about age nine. “So tell me what’s going on. Is this about a boy?”

  Bless my father, he still considered me young enough to date ‘boys.’ I didn’t want to break the news to him that I was knocking on thirty’s door, pretty hard too. So I just shook my head. His face changed a little as he took in my pained expression.

  “Well, let’s eat then.”

  When my mother returned, a new issue occupied her mind. “No friends tonight?”

  As my best friends, and favorites of both my parents, Kendra and Christian were the blessed beneficiaries of an “open-door” policy. If they wanted to come to dinner, at any time, they were always welcome. Helping me to cultivate strong friendships in my youth was one good thing my parents had done for me. As critical as my mother was, and as soft-spoken as my father often behaved, they believed in real love, healthy friendships, and good familial relations. Growing up, dinners together were a mandatory practice every night, no matter who had dance rehearsal or soccer practice or a budget meeting. More often than not, my friends would also be seated at their places at the table.