Queen of Babble Gets Hitched

• Chapter 4 •

“Wait.” Shari is staring at me over the yellow tabletop in the kitchen. “He asked you to marry him… and you said yes?”

I’ll admit this is not the sort of reaction I was hoping for. In fact, Shari has a lot more in common with her ex-boyfriend Chaz than she’d probably like to know.

“I’m not rushing into anything, Shar,” I say to her. “I swear. I’ve totally thought this through.”

“You have.” Shari is still staring at me. She hasn’t taken her coat off, even though I offered to take it from her. Judging from her body language—arms folded across her chest, head cocked at one angle as she glares at me, legs crossed—I would say she is feeling cranky toward me… maybe even downright hostile. “He got home from France yesterday morning. And he proposed yesterday morning?”

“Yeee-es… ”

“And you said yes as soon as he proposed?”

“Um… yes?”

“So you thought this through… when?”

“Well… since then.” I can tell where this is heading, and I attempt to head it off. “I mean, you’ll notice, Shari, that he’s not living here. I’m not letting him move in. And I’m not moving back in with him. Nuh-uh. I’m not making that mistake again. We’re living in our own separate apartments until the wedding.”

“Which is?” Shari demands.

I stare at her over the cups of tea I’ve made for us. “Which is what?”

“Which is when, Lizzie?” Shari asks. “When is this alleged wedding taking place?”

“Um,” I say, taken aback. “Well. Probably this summer… ”

“Right.” Shari unfolds her arms and uncrosses her legs. “You’re insane. I’m leaving. Good-bye.”

I pull her back down before she can abandon her chair, however.

“Shari, come on,” I say. “Don’t do this. You’re not being fair—”

“I’m not being fair?” Shari cries. “Lizzie, come on! Did you, or did you not, just spend a night on my couch last month because that no-good boyfriend of yours pulled your heart out of your chest and crushed it to bits when he told you he couldn’t see you in his future—something he might have mentioned, by the way, before he asked you to move in? And now for some fucked-up reason—probably because he’s gone for a week without getting laid—he’s decided, Oh, hey, I guess I can see Lizzie in my future after all, throws a diamond ring in your face, and you’re all, Okay, Luke, anything you say, Luke. Well, I’m sorry, but I’m not going to sit here and watch you throw your life away. You deserve better. You deserve a guy who actually loves you, Lizzie.”

I blink at her. The next thing I know, I’m crying.

“How can you say that?” I ask with a sob. “You know Luke’s not like that. You know—”

But that’s all I manage to get out. Because I’m weeping too hard to say anything more.

After a while, tired of listening to me sniffle, Shari gets up, comes around the table, and puts her arm around me.

“Lizzie,” she says in a softer voice than she used before. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I just… I worry that the reason you said yes to Luke is because you wanted to marry him so badly, and then when you found out he didn’t want to marry you, you moved on. And then when he suddenly came back and wanted to marry you after all, you thought you had to say yes because you’d been so adamant that that’s what you wanted all along. But you know, Lizzie, it’s okay to change your mind.”

“I haven’t!” I shout through my tears. “Why would I do that?”

“I don’t know,” Shari says with a shrug. “Because you grew up a little since last month, maybe? I was there, remember? I saw you do it. But look… If you really want to marry Luke, then of course I’ll support you. If you want to marry Luke, then I want you to marry Luke too.”

“No… ” I’m crying too hard to speak clearly. “No, you hate Luke.”

“Now you’re just being irrational. I do not hate Luke. I do think he’s got a lot to learn about being a man. And, frankly, I think you could do better. But I’ll support you no matter who you love, same as you’ve supported me, so long as you don’t stuff me into a lime-green taffeta hoop skirt that matches your sisters’—which you aren’t going to do, are you?” Shari asks suspiciously.

“What?” I force a laugh as I wipe away my tears. “Oh God, no. Are you kidding?”

Except that I’d once picked out a bridesmaid dress for Shari. Dupioni silk… Only for some reason I can’t picture it in my head anymore. It’s kind of funny how, before I’d gotten engaged, all I’d ever done was sit around and planned what my wedding was going to be like.

And now that I’m actually having one, whenever I try to imagine it, my mind just goes blank.

“So, where’s it going to be?” Shari wants to know. “Château Mirac?”

“Um,” I say. “Maybe. My mom wants me to do it in our backyard.”

Shari brightens. “That’d be nice.”

I roll my eyes. “Shari.”

“Well, why not?”

“It would make so much more sense to do it at the château. That place was practically built for weddings. And it’s where we fell in love and all. And there’s the added cost-benefit of its being free, since Luke’s family owns it.”

“Ye-e-ah,” Shari says slowly. “Except it’s far for your family to travel. And there’s your grandmother to consider.”

“What about Gran?” I ask defensively.

“Well,” Shari says as she sits back down in her chair. “She’s getting up there in years. You really think she’s going to make it to the south of France and back for a wedding?”

“Sure,” I say a little hotly. “Why not?”

“I don’t know,” Shari says. “I’m just saying. She’s old. And… ”

“And what?”

“And she suffers from chronic alcoholism, Lizzie. Geez, what’s the matter with you? You’d think being engaged would make you happy. But you’re acting anything but.”

I hang my head. “I’m sorry. It’s just… it’s been a bad day. Monsieur Henri had a heart attack and is having a quadruple bypass and is going to be out for a while and I was on Page Six this morning because of the Jill Higgins wedding and the phones are ringing off the hook and—”

“Oh, so that’s what Tiffany’s doing down there,” Shari says. “I wondered.”

I take a sip of my tea. It’s grown cold in front of me. “I should probably be getting back to work. There are a lot of brides who need wedding gowns restored, apparently.”

“And there are probably a lot of victims of domestic abuse who need help obtaining public support and orders of protection,” Shari says with a sigh.

I look at her from across the table. “How did we end up here?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” Shari says with a shake of her head. “But I like where I am. Do you like where you are?”

“I think so,” I say, looking down at my ring. “It might take some getting used to. I think I might be better at helping other people with their weddings than I am at planning my own. Whenever I think about it, I sort of want to throw up.”

“Okay.” Shari points at me. “That is not a good sign. Remember what I said. It’s okay for you to change your mind.”

I give her a queasy smile. “I know. But… I really do love him.”

“Do you?” Shari asks as she stands to go. “Or do you love the idea of him?”

“God,” I say with a laugh. “What kind of question is that?”

“For you? I think it’s a pertinent question. You have a history of falling in love with guys it turns out you basically didn’t know at all.”

“Yeah, but, Shari, come on. Luke’s not going to turn out to be gay or a gambling addict.” I have made some unfortunate mistakes in the guy department. “I mean, I lived with Luke, for crying out loud. For six months. I think I know him pretty well by now.”

“Yes,” she says. “You’d think that, wouldn’t you? Still, people can surprise you, can’t they? After all, I lived with Chaz for nearly as long as you lived with Luke, and I turned out to be a—”

“Don’t say it.” I fling up a hand to stop her before she can say the word “lesbian.” Not that I mind. It’s just that I try so hard not to remember that night at Kathy Pennebaker’s when we were both sixteen. I’d been lusting after Tim Daly from the television show Wings. Shari and Kathy, it turned out, had been lusting after… well, each other. God, I’d been so blind. Although I suppose it’s just as well they never told me. It would have been all over school in half a second. I’d have tried to keep it a secret, of course, if they’d asked me. But somehow I can never seem to keep my mouth shut, despite my best intentions. “I got it. Look. Don’t worry. At the rate we’re going, it’ll be a long engagement, anyway. Luke’s got school to finish, and his uncle wants him to come work for him in Paris this summer, and I’ve got about five thousand dresses to get through before I’ll ever be able to lift my head to breathe. I’m not rushing to get married any time soon.”

Shari gives me a hug. “That’s my girl,” she says.

It’s as she’s squeezing me that I notice it—this weird splotchy thing on the inside of my right elbow. It looks like a mosquito bite, only it’s flat, not raised. And besides, it’s January in Manhattan. How could I have been bitten by a mosquito?

I don’t think anything of it. Then.

It’s only later that I realize what it really is: Just the beginning of the ruination of the rest of my life. That’s all.