Arranged Page 19

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, I guess. But I’m concerned, Anne. I know you’ve been feeling down and lost, but latching on to the first man who comes along isn’t a solution to your problems.”

  Ouch.

  “I know it seems like that’s what I’m doing, Sarah, but it’s really not. Can you just meet him and see? He’s really different from the other men I’ve been with.”

  She looks skeptical. “How so?”

  “For one thing, he doesn’t have black hair and blue eyes.”

  “That’s progress, I guess. Tell me more.”

  “I don’t know. I feel like . . . this is the first time I’ve been with someone I can really be friends with. And I think he feels the same way.”

  “Friends, huh?” she says sarcastically.

  “Yes, friends. He’s a great guy, Sarah. I’m really lucky.” I reach into my pocket and pull out my rings. “Look, he bought these for me.”

  She touches the ring with the blue stone, looking the opposite of how I know I looked when I saw her engagement ring.

  “Are you sure he’s different from the other guys you’ve been with?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. You’ll see.”

  “This is just really hard to accept.”

  “I know. And I love you for being concerned. But can you reserve judgment until you’ve given him a chance?”

  “I’ll try. But tell me. Do you honestly think you love this guy?”

  Jack walks through the front door with Mike right behind him. I feel a rush of warmth when I see his freshly shaved chin above his worn bomber jacket.

  I wave to them both, and they realize on the way to us that they’re coming to the same table. They exchange names and a handshake. The simple greetings of men.

  “Sarah, this is Jack Harmer.”

  She gives him a once-over and frowns. “Hi, Jack.”

  “Nice to meet you, Sarah.” He gives her his widest grin. She softens slightly.

  Jack sits down next to me, and Mike sits next to Sarah. They order beers from the waitress. We all look at one another awkwardly.

  “Mike, Jack and Anne got married in Mexico,” Sarah says into the silence.

  Mike doesn’t know where to look. “Oh.”

  “It’s okay to freak out, Mike,” I say. “Sarah just did.”

  He smiles. “Thanks. I was wondering what the appropriate reaction was.”

  “Shock and awe, I think,” quips Sarah.

  “Not as bad as the bombing of Baghdad, surely?” Jack says.

  “I don’t know about that.” Her frown is back. “It is kind of the conversation ender, isn’t it? I mean, you could stop any conversation in its tracks by saying, ‘I got married to a stranger a few days after we met in Mexico.’ Guaranteed crickets every time.”

  “I’d have thought it was a conversation starter, really. Think of the ink spilled every time a celebrity does it.” Jack gives her his big smile again, but it doesn’t work this time.

  “You and Anne aren’t celebrities.”

  “True. And you aren’t lying unconscious in a pool of your own blood.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “No bombs here. No permanent wounds either.”

  “Touché.” She turns to me. “He has a conditional pass. For now.”

  Mike tips his glass at Jack. “You got off lightly, buddy.”

  Jack takes a long drink from his beer. “Doesn’t feel like it.”

  “You should see what she does to people in court.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “Shall we order?” I ask, my stomach rumbling now that the tension’s dissipated.

  Everyone agrees. We summon the waitress and place our orders.

  “So, Jack. Tell me how you convinced my best friend to marry you.”

  Jack catches my eye across the table. I mouth, “I told you so.”

  A wicked grin plays across his face. “Actually, it was her idea . . .”

  We’re in the bathroom, later, brushing our teeth.

  “One down and three to go,” I say around my toothbrush.

  “Three?”

  “William. My brother. My parents.”

  “Can’t you combine your brother and your parents?”

  “Maybe. What about you? When do you start telling your side?”

  Jack spits into the sink. “No parents to tell, as you know, and my best friend’s on some six-month around-the-world odyssey, and I don’t think this is the kind of news you drop in an email.”

  “What about that guy you were telling me about? Your editor?”

  “We don’t have that kind of relationship.”

  “He sounded to me like a father figure.”

  “Only if father figures come in verbally abusive packages. He’s more like one of those teachers who get excellence out of their students through fear.”

  He rinses his mouth and pulls me toward him. He looks boyish and cute in his white T-shirt and boxers. He starts kissing my neck.

  “Don’t you have any other friends?”

  “Sure I do. Drinking buddies, mostly. I’ll tell them the next time I see them. No big deal.”

  “You think I’m being too melodramatic about all of this?”

  “No, I think you’re being a girl. Girls need to talk things over and analyze them. Nothing wrong with that. It’s just not a guy thing. Take Mike’s reaction tonight. Good guy, by the way. Anyway, his response was ‘Oh.’ That about sums up what I think most of my friends will say.”

  “And the battle of the sexes rages on.”

  “I was hoping for a meeting of the sexes, actually.”

  I touch my nose to his. “Oh, you were, were you?”

  He rubs his nose across mine. “Yes. Yes, I was.”

  Back at work on Monday morning, I go through a week’s worth of email and organize my calendar of deadlines for the week. I get a phone call from Dr. Szwick’s assistant early in the day to schedule our first couples therapy appointment for Friday afternoon. When the Fashion Nazi leaves for a meeting, I call Gilbert.

  “Hola, Cordelia, welcome back,” he says.

  “Hey, Gil.”

  “How was your trip?”

  “Pretty good.”

  “So much detail.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Attend any wild parties?”

  “It wasn’t spring break.”

  “Could’ve fooled me.”

  I toy nervously with the telephone cord. “Listen, Gil, I have some news.”

  “What’s up?”

  “I, um, met someone in Mexico.”

  “And you’re finally coming out of the closet?”

  “Gilbert!”

  “Sorry, sorry. You were saying?”

  “Right, well, I met someone, his name’s Jack, and um, well, wegotmarried.” It comes out all in a rush.

  “Pardon?”

  “We got married.”

  There’s complete silence on the line.

  “Gil? You still there?”

  Gilbert whistles into the phone. “Mom and Dad are going to freak out.”

  “I know.”

  “How did this happen?”

  “How do you think? A guy asked us some questions, and we said ‘yes.’ ”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I don’t know. It’s all a bit of a blur.”

  “Ah, I see. A margarita ceremony.”

  “Something like that.”

  “I know a good guy who can work this out for you.”

  “God, Gil, that’s just what Sarah said. I’m not calling you for that. I’m not getting the marriage annulled. He moved in, and we’re giving it a go.”

  “Relax. Just trying to protect my little sis.”

  “Thanks.”

  “This is crazy.”

  “I know. I want you guys to meet him, though. Will you?”

  “Let me call Cathy and we’ll set something up.”

  “Thanks, Gil.”

  “No proble
mo.”

  “I was wondering if maybe you could do something else for me?”

  “What?”

  “Tell Mom and Dad?”

  He laughs, a deep belly laugh. “No way. Though I absolutely want to be there when you do.”

  “Maybe I’ll just wait until the next major holiday.”

  “Chicken.”

  “Like you’d be so brave if you had to tell them you’d gotten married to someone you met on vacation.”

  “Excuse me?” I look up. William is standing at the edge of my cubicle, two shades lighter than normal.

  “Gil, I’ve gotta go. I’ll call you later to set up dinner.”

  William slumps down in my visitor’s chair and stares at me, round-eyed.

  “I guess you heard my conversation with Gil?”

  He nods slowly.

  “So you heard me say I got married?”

  He nods again.

  “Come on, William. It’s not that surprising, is it?”

  “Define ‘surprising.’ ”

  “Something that’s totally astonishing, astounding, or startling.”

  He makes check marks in the air with his index finger. “Tick, tick, tick.”

  “Interesting to know your friends think it’s impossible for you to do something you have, in fact, done.”

  “How did this happen, Anne? I told you to relax and have fun, but I never dreamed—”

  “I did relax, and I did have fun. I also met a great guy and, well . . . it’s a funny story, if you want to hear it.”

  I fill him in on the agreed-upon details. It feels a little more real each time I say it. William listens without interrupting, likely because he’s too gob-smacked to speak.

  “I still can’t believe it.”

  “It’s true, I assure you.”

  “When do I get to meet him and find out if he’s good enough for you?”

  “He’s good enough.”

  Jack turns the corner to my cubicle. “I hope so,” he says.He’s wearing a pair of jeans that fit him really well, and his hair’s mussed in a good way above a worn blue Oxford shirt.He extends his hand. “You must be William. Nice to meet you.”

  William stands and they shake hands.

  “So you’re the man who convinced little orphan Annie to settle down?”

  “She didn’t need that much convincing, really. Only four or five cocktails.”

  William gives him a hard look. “She does have a weakness for cocktails.”

  “I’ve noticed.”

  “A gentleman wouldn’t take advantage of that weakness.”

  “Are you challenging my honor?”

  “No, defending Anne’s.”

  “All right, then. Will it be pistols or swords?”

  William’s lips start to twitch. “Oh, pistols, I think.”

  “Have you met Sarah, by any chance?”

  “Of course. Lovely woman.”

  “I think you’d give her a run for her money.”

  William’s face breaks into a broad grin. “All right, A.B. Maybe you’ve only gone half mad. I’ll leave you two kids alone.”

  “What brings you by?” I say to Jack after William has gone.

  “I was sitting at home trying to write, and I thought, I haven’t been raked over the coals by one of Anne’s friends yet today.” I stand and take a swat at him, which he ducks. “I thought we might go for lunch.”

  “Sounds great.”

  “Anyone else I should know about before we leave the safety of your lovely cubicle here?”

  “None comes to mind.”

  “Phew.”

  I kiss him on the cheek. “You handled yourself very well.”

  “Thank you, m’lady.”

  Chapter 18

  Good Share

  We spend the rest of the week settling into the routine of living together. I go to work, Jack meets me for lunch, I go back to work, I come home, we order in and spend the night in bed. I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep since I went to Mexico, and I’m starting to feel the effects.

  I’m especially tired this morning. My complete lack of inspiration for the article I’m writing—on a raging city wide debate about whether natural-grass soccer fields should be replaced by artificial turf—isn’t helping.

  My phone rings. I tuck the receiver between my ear and my shoulder. “Yello.”

  “I’ve figured it out.”

  “You figured what out, Sarah?”

  “Why you married Jack.”

  The Fashion Nazi walks by, her four-inch stilettos clipping against her heels. With disdain, she takes in my black dress pants and badly pressed shirt. I give her a fake smile and speak as quietly as I can. “I already told you why I married Jack.”

  She sighs. “Yeah, right, but I think I know what’s really going on.”

  How can she? “Okay . . .”

  “I’ve been mulling it over a lot this week, and I think it might be kind of my fault.”

  “Your fault?”

  “Not my fault exactly, but because I’m getting married, you were feeling left out and jealous, so you went and got married.”

  Her words hit me like a punch to the stomach. “Excuse me?”

  “I know this sounds really self-involved, but I think if you examine your actions since I told you I was getting married, you’ll see I’m right.”

  I try to control my voice. “What actions in particular are you talking about, Sarah?”

  She hesitates. “Just the one, really, but it’s a pretty big one, don’t you think?”

  “Of course it’s a big one. But I really don’t see how it’s connected to you.”

  “You don’t? I get engaged, and within a few months you’ve gone off on some last-minute vacation and married the first man you met there? It’s obvious, isn’t it? He even looks a bit like Mike.”

  “What?”

  “I said he looks a bit like Mike.”

  “Sarah, what the fuck are you talking about?”

  “Shit, you’re mad, right? I knew you’d be mad.”

  “How did you expect me to react? You call me at work to tell me that one of the biggest decisions I’ve made in my life is just some jealous reaction to something going on in your life, and to top it all off, I’m looking for a man exactly like your man. Hey, maybe you even think what I really want is your man.”

  “I’ve never thought that, Anne, not for a minute. That’s not fair.”

  “What’s not fair is being ambushed with this phone call.”

  “I’m sorry, okay? You know I sometimes speak before I think.”

  “No, you don’t. You always mean exactly what you say, and you always think before you say it.”

  “Maybe you’re right, but I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  “Sarah, listen to me carefully. I’m not looking for an explanation for why I did this. I’m not looking for a way out. I’m just looking for some support from my friends—or the people I thought were my friends.”

  “Anne, please. I’m sorry.” She sounds uncharacteristically on the verge of tears, which makes my own eyes start to water.

  I clear my throat. “I can’t do this right now, Sarah. I’ve got a deadline.”

  I hang up before she has a chance to say anything more. I wipe my tears away angrily. Fuck, fuck, fuck! Why’d she have to tell me that? Why can’t she just let me try to be happy, like she is?

  Why does she always have to be so goddamn right?

  I meet Jack later that day in the lobby of the Telephone Tower for our first post-Mexico therapy appointment.

  Jack kisses me on the cheek and gives me a look. “What’s the matter?”

  I blink rapidly to stop my tears. “I just had a big fight with Sarah.”

  “About?”

  “You, me, us.”

  “I thought she backed down the other night.”

  “Nah. She’s just gotten started.”

  “What did she say?”

  “I’ll tell you later.”

&nbs
p; He takes my hand and squeezes it. “I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah, me too. Anyway, we should get up there.”

  We take the elevator to Dr. Szwick’s office. He’s left the curtains open. The room feels less cozy with the March rain streaking against the windows.

  Dr. Szwick turns to a fresh page in his notebook. “So, Jack, Anne, how are you adjusting to married life?”

  “It’s going well, I think. Jack moved his stuff in on the weekend,” I tell him.

  “Ah. The merging of the stuff. Always a tense moment. How did it go?”

  “Pretty well. Jack didn’t bring much except his enormous book collection.”

  “Hey, we both have a lot of books,” Jack says defensively.

  I smile at him to show I was teasing. “We do.”

  “I’m building shelves. I bought the materials today.”

  Dr. Szwick nods at Jack like he’s a good little boy, then turns back to me. “In Mexico, you seemed reluctant to have Jack in your space. Any second thoughts?”

  “I’m adjusting.”

  “What does that mean, Anne?”

  Can’t this guy ever let anything slide?

  “It means it’s an adjustment, but on the whole, I’m happy Jack’s there.”

  “It’s all right if you’re not happy he’s there.”

  “I know.”

  “What about you, Jack? Does it bother you that Anne was reluctant to let you move in?”

  He flattens his palms on his thighs. “No.”

  “Come on, Jack. Not even a little?”

  “I understand where she’s coming from.”

  “Because you feel the same way?”

  “Isn’t it normal to feel a little crowded after moving in with someone?”

  “Of course it is. But that doesn’t answer my question. Do you feel crowded?”

  Jack gives him a tight smile. “Not really. Anne’s gone all day, so I can write. In fact, I’ve set up my own writing corner, a room of my own . . .”

  “We’re not on Oprah, Jack,” Dr. Szwick says.

  “It’s fine, I promise. Cross my heart and hope to die. Can we move on?”

  “All right, but we’ll come back to this. How has telling your family and friends gone? Anne?”

  “My brother took it pretty well. I haven’t told my parents yet, but I’ve told my closest friends.”

  “And?”

  I take a deep breath, trying to quell the sting of Sarah’s words. “My best friend tried to convince me to get an annulment, and today she told me she thought I got married because I was jealous of her.”