by Becky Monson
“I’m good.” I nod my head, smiling.
“And who do you have with you?” He gestures toward Justin.
“Oh, sorry. Yes.” I shake my head slightly, remembering my charade. “This is Justin.” I can’t seem to add “my boyfriend” to that. Not to Frank.
Suddenly this farce is making me feel thoughtless and cheap. I adore this family too much to lie to them. I’m going to figure out a way to tell them the truth. I have to. This whole thing is not me.
The front door opens and in walks Adam. My stomach sinks.
Following right behind him, her hand in his, is Serendipity—or Serene. Whatever they call her. Carla was right; she does look like a witch. If witches are gorgeous supermodels.
Seriously, this girl looks like she stepped straight out of a magazine. Her long, dark hair, smooth and silky, shines in the light of the Tiffany fixture hanging above her, which also adds a glow to her flawless, porcelain skin. She has a perfect, tiny little nose and luxurious pouty lips. And her legs . . . they just keep going. She’s dressed in a very tight little black dress that barely covers her backside.
Suddenly, I feel quite dumpy in the red crewneck cashmere sweater, skinny jeans, and peep-toe black stiletto booties that Ashley and I worked so hard to put together for tonight. This is definitely not going as planned. So much for finding flaws with her to make myself feel better.
Adam smiles at me when he sees me. He guides Serene over to where I’m sitting with Justin, and we both stand up.
“Bridgette.” He wraps his free arm around me, half-hugging me, still holding hands with the supermodel witch. “It’s great to see you.”
“Serene, this is Bridgette.” He gestures to me once we’ve pulled out of the hug.
“Lovely to meet you,” she says, smiling politely, her eyes showing no delight in the introduction. Her voice is sultry, eluding supermodel-ness. Very whore-like, in my just-formed opinion.
“Justin, good to see you again,” Adam says, extending his hand out.
When Justin lets go of Adam’s grip, he uses the same hand to grab mine, intertwining our fingers. Yes, okay, this is good. Good job, Justin. Wait, wasn’t I going to tell them that Justin and I aren’t actually together? I’m thinking that idea may have gone out the door when Serene waltzed in with her stupid, painted-on black dress and endless legs. I thought I hated her when I found out she was dating Adam. Now that I’ve seen her, I more than hate her. I loathe her.
“Adam,” Carla says, coming back into the room from the kitchen, “you’re finally here.” She gives him a little peck on the cheek. “And Serene, lovely to see you as always.” She gives her a little air kiss. Serene gives her a thin smile.
“I can’t get a hold of him, Ma,” F.J. says loudly as he comes down the hall from one of the back bedrooms. “Oh, hey bro, there you are.” He holds his phone up to show he just tried calling him and then slides it into his pants pocket.
“Let’s eat before everything gets cold.” Carla nods toward the dining room.
We all start to move to the dining room, Justin and I following behind Adam and Serene. I see Adam whisper something to Serene, and she nods her head and walks ahead of him as he slows down, allowing Justin and me to catch up with him.
“Justin, mind if I have a minute with Bridge?” he asks politely.
Justin looks to me, and I smile, letting him know it’s okay. He saunters off toward the dining room.
“This is weird, right?” Adam asks, grabbing my hand. His hand feels strange, foreign even. I expected something different.
I let out a small relieving laugh. “Totally,” I nod my head, agreeing.
“I want to stay friends, Bridge. I don’t want it to be weird. My family loves you like you’re their own.” He smiles. I simply nod my head, not sure what to say.
He kisses me on the cheek and then drops my hand and starts walking into the dining room. I follow behind.
The dining room is set up for a lovely dinner party. Carla has always been the best hostess. I wish I could fully appreciate it right now, but I’m feeling a little like I’m in a dream sequence.
That short exchange with Adam, seeing him and Serene together . . . I’ve been a blind fool. This was a mistake. Adam is no longer mine and seeing what he’s got now . . . well, I don’t think he will come running back to me. Ever.
I’m such an idiot. Adam was never going to wake up and suddenly realize he loves me. That stuff only happens in the movies.
I take a seat next to Justin, my eyes tearing up as it all dawns on me, and I’m considering making a run for it, and then Justin puts an arm around me, steadying me. I look at his face, meeting his eyes and he smiles.
“You got this,” he leans in and says softly into my ear, and then kisses me on the cheek.
Okay, so maybe Justin has more emotional intelligence than I’d thought.
Well, I don’t “got” this, but I can fake it. I set my shoulders back and sit up a little straighter, swallowing the lump in my throat and the near-burgeoning tears. I can play nice, and then I can go home and cry about this later. I’m a grown-up for hell’s sake.
We all sit down at the table, and Justin keeps up our dating hoax even when no one can see it, holding my hand under the table. It’s comforting and helps my waning confidence.
Carla brings out the dinner, an Italian feast, as always. An antipasto platter to start, both chicken and eggplant parmesans, baked ziti, salad, and garlic rolls. It looks amazing. I wish I felt like eating it.
Everyone starts to dig in. I get a plate of food, but instead of eating, I just push it around with my fork. Justin is practically shoveling the food into his mouth. It dawns on me that he probably hasn’t had a good, home-cooked meal in a long time.
The conversation between bites is fairly pleasant. It’s mostly Carla trying to tell a story about how she got pulled over by a policeman earlier today. F.J. interjects comments every now and then. The rest of us listen and eat.
I, of course, can’t help but peek over at Adam and Serene, sitting across from us. She’s barely eating either and seems blasé about the conversation. She rarely interjects a smile, or even a nod, to communicate she’s listening. Carla doesn’t seem to notice her aloofness. She barely looks at Serene, actually. It’s almost as if she would rather her not be there.
Watching Adam with Serene, I notice he’s kinder with her than he was with me. Not that he was mean to me, just not as thoughtful. He dishes up food for her, and when she asks for a drink, he quickly grabs her glass and fills it. Maybe I never gave off the vibe that I wanted him to do that stuff for me, so that’s why he never did.
“So, Justin.” Carla, finally done with her story, turns her attention to us. “What do you do for work?” she asks, and then takes a large gulp of wine. She’s had quite a bit of wine, come to think of it.
“Bridgette and I work together. That’s how we met,” he says, putting his arm around the back of my chair, doing an impressive job of keeping up the façade.
“That’s nice. Isn’t that nice, Frank?” She nods at her husband sitting at the other end of the table. “It’s also quite a coincidence. That’s how Adam and Serene met.” She nods over to Adam and Serene. “Serene here works as a receptionist, don’t you Serene? You know, I always warn my boys not to fish off their own dock. It’s quite unprofessional.” She nods, agreeing with herself.
“But—” Adam says, looking appalled. Serene seems unaffected.
“But what? It’s unprofessional.” She looks back and forth between the two of them.
Well, this just got awkward. Everyone shifts uncomfortably in their seats. Everyone but Carla, Adam, and Serene, that is. Justin looks over at me, his eyes wide with amusement. He’s quite enjoying this. I’m not going to lie; I’m not hating it.
“Are you really going to bring this up again, Ma?” Adam leans in, looking ready to pounce. So this wasn’t the first time?
“Well, forgive me for worrying about my boys,” she says loudly, heat
ed.
“Oh, please. That’s not worry. That’s you being controlling.” Adam’s face is getting red. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen him this mad before. It’s not pretty. “I can’t believe you’re going there. Right now, with everyone around.”
“Enough,” interjects Frank, his voice demanding.
“Oh, Frank.” Carla rolls her eyes at him. “You tell them what you said to me this morning. Go on. Tell Adam what you said,” she demands.
“Carla, this isn’t the time or place—”
“He said that he thinks this is a mistake,” she interrupts, pointing her finger back and forth between Adam and Serene.
Adam’s face is so red I think steam might actually start to rise from his forehead. Serene still doesn’t look phased at all. I’m feeling jittery, like I feel when I’m over-caffeinated.
“Well, if you ask me, I think it’s a great idea,” F.J. offers, reaching across the table to grab a roll.
“No one asked you, F.J.,” Carla snaps, disdainfully.
“You think this is a mistake?” Adam looks to his dad, who doesn’t meet his eyes. We all momentarily sit in awkward silence, avoiding eye contact. Justin has grabbed my hand under the table and is squeezing it off and on, as if to communicate through our hands how crazy this all is.
“Well, let me tell you what kind of ‘mistake’ this is,” Adam says, ending the odd silence. He backs his chair up and stands. He grabs the back of Serene’s chair and spins it around effortlessly so she is facing him. He gets down on one knee.
Oh, no. Oh, please no.
“Serendipity Jones, I know we haven’t been together very long, but I don’t care. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I knew from the minute I saw you. You’re the one.” He reaches in his pocket and pulls out a ring. A huge diamond solitaire on a platinum band. “Will you marry me?” He holds the ring out for her to see. I let go of Justin’s hand, grabbing the sides of my seat with both hands, steadying myself.
Serene looks at the ring and then looks at Adam, and suddenly a huge smile spreads across her face. “Yes!” she exclaims. “Yes, I’ll marry you!” He puts the ring on her finger, and they both stand up and begin to kiss and then end with a big, grand hug.
“No!” Carla exclaims, and then puts both her hands to her mouth, covering it in shock. Her eyes well with tears.
“I’m sorry to tell you, Ma, but this is happening,” Adam says, as he pulls out of the hug with Serene, keeping a hand around her waist.
And then all hell breaks loose. All at once, the entire Dubois family starts yelling and screaming at each other. It’s loud and heated, and I’m expecting at any moment that Carla will rend her clothing in protest.
I’m frozen to my seat, and my breathing is thick and slow. This is something like a nightmare. To be present when your ex-boyfriend—one that you dated for two years and thought you would marry—proposes to someone else, the same person he’s only been dating for four weeks . . . well, I’m no expert, but I’m pretty sure this is what hell must be like. I’m in hell.
I unfreeze enough to look over at Justin, who is sitting there, slack-jawed. He’s frozen to his seat, barely blinking. I nudge him with my hand, giving him a questioning look. What should I do?
Justin shakes his head, as if to bring himself back from a trance. He leans over to me and whispers in my ear, “I think it’s time we made an Irish goodbye.” He nods his head toward the front door. Meanwhile, everyone is still screaming at each other, not paying any attention to us.
“Irish goodbye?” I ask, confused.
“It’s where you duck out of a party without saying anything.” He grabs my hand, and we stand up at the same time. We start to walk out of the room.
Feeling awkward for just up-and-leaving, I turn back to the rest of the party and say, “We’ll . . . be right back.”
But no one’s listening. They don’t even hear the front door open as we leave, and we can still hear them fighting as we walk down the hall toward the elevators.
“Okay, I thought that was going to be a disaster, but I had no idea,” Justin says once we’re inside the elevator. He seems elated by that fact, which is super annoying.
I don’t say anything, and as soon as the elevator doors open up to the lobby, I walk as fast as my legs can carry me past the concierge and doorman, and out of the building into the lukewarm evening air.
“Bridgette?” Justin follows behind me, trying to catch up, but I start moving at a speed-walker’s pace, not caring what an idiot I probably look like. I get far enough away from the Dubois’s residence, plop down on the first bench I see, and put my face in my hands. I begin to blubber. I feel Justin take a seat next to me.
“Bridge.” He pats my back impersonally. But he stops after a few times, and then I feel his arm wrap around me from the back. I sit up, tears streaming down my face, and he pulls me into a hug, and I wrap my arms around him, crying on his shoulder.
I’m sure people are watching this scene unfold, tourists mostly. New Yorkers, for the most part, don’t people watch. They’re too caught up in their busy lives to pay attention. But a dramatic scene, such as this, would catch the eye of a few people for sure. They probably imagine I just found out someone died, or I’ve got a deathly disease. The truth would most likely be disappointing: I’ve just witnessed my ex-boyfriend, the man I thought I was still in love with and was meant to be with, propose to another woman. In front of my eyes.
I’m sure if the onlookers heard the truth, most would give a “pshh” and walk away. Some might give me an understanding expression and then move along. I wish I thought so little of what just happened. I wish I could fast forward and get to the part where I’m totally fine with it all. Or rewind and not go to dinner at all.
Ashley is so going to gloat about this one.
I slow down the crying and sniffling and pull back from Justin’s grasp, wiping my nose with the back of my hand. I really wish I had a tissue.
“Here.” Justin reaches into his pocket, pulls out a half-filled travel-size pack of tissues, and hands them to me. “Ashley told me to bring some, just in case.” I start blubbering again. I’m not sure whether to be grateful Ashley knows me so well or ticked because she predicted the night would go this horribly.
“Sorry, Bridge. That had to be rough.” He awkwardly pats me on the shoulder a couple of times.
“Yeah,” I sniffle. “I’m not sure what I was expecting; obviously not that.” My eyes well up again, threatening a waterfall, but I push it back.
“Come on, I’ll treat you to a latte.” He grabs my hand, pulling me up with him as he stands.
“Okay,” I sniffle.
He doesn’t let go of my hand as we walk down the sidewalk. The gesture is sweet and so needed. I never thought I would think this, but thank goodness for Justin.
CHAPTER 11
“Mom, I’ve gotta go. I need to get ready for work,” I say over the phone. I’ve got it balanced on one shoulder, holding it with the side of my head, my neck rapidly developing a cramp, while I organize Gram’s living room, which desperately needed to be done.
We say quick goodbyes and hang up. I’ve just been telling her about the soap opera that is my life and Adam getting engaged. And, of course, she gave me the same Gram speech about how there will be someone else out there for me and all of that other junk people say to try to make you feel better.
What a difference a week can make. Well, okay, ten days. What a difference ten days can make. I was a bit of a wreck for a while. Off and on, at least. But this morning when I woke up, I felt better. Good, even. I hope it lasts. Of course, rehashing the whole story with my mom may have set me back a little. But overall, I’m much better than I was ten days ago. I hate when I do such pathetic, girly things. I annoy even myself. I’m quite sure Justin and Ashley are over it, and Gram, too.
I haven’t heard from Adam, and I honestly didn’t expect to. What could he say? “Gee, Bridgette, I’m sorry I got engaged to my hot new girlfriend i
n front of you. That was weird, right?”
Carla called me that night after Justin and I made our getaway. I didn’t answer. I did call her back the next day, and she was overly apologetic and sounded completely heartbroken about the whole evening. She asked me to go to lunch, and we agreed to meet up soon. I need a little more time before I have to hear more details about Adam and the model-witch.
“Gram, what’s this?” I ask as she walks back into the living room, a cup of tea in her hands. I’m sitting on the floor going through the DVDs, trying to find ones to get rid of. I have to go to Manhattan today for work, so I’m going to bring a box of things to drop off at one of the donation bins on the way to the subway.
“Oh, that.” She bats a hand at the DVD I’m holding. “I saw it in a magazine and thought it would be a cute movie to watch with the girls, but I was wrong.”
“It’s called The Bridge Club Girls,” I say, holding it up for her to see.
“Yes, you know, we play bridge. I thought it would be a fun movie about ladies who play bridge,” she sits down in her chair, propping her feet up on the foot rest.
“Gram, it’s porn.” I stifle a giggle, not wanting to embarrass her.
“Well, yes, I figured that out.” She sets the teacup on the side table next to her chair. “It didn’t take long to figure out. They just jump right into, don’t they?”
“You watched it?” My eyebrows shoot up, eyes widening as far as they can go. I drop the DVD on the floor, as if her watching has contaminated it.
“Well, yes. Not all of it, mind you, just a bit. Horrible acting. Just awful.”
“Gross,” I say, scrunching my face in disgust, “I can’t believe you watched any of it.” I pick up the DVD and drop it in the donation box.
“Well, I’m only seventy-five. I’m not dead yet.” Grams shrugs her shoulders.
Ew. This discussion quickly changed from funny and lighthearted to gag-worthy. And this coming from someone who never allowed me to swear past a damn or a hell. She has such a double standard. I’ve known her my whole life, and the woman never fails to shock me.
