Breathe. Breathe. I feel like I need a paper bag to restore my respiration faculties. Not because I’m so worked up over Seth wanting me to rush back into his arms. Give me a break. Mostly because he still didn’t really offer anything. All my emotion and outrage, and he still doesn’t get it.
Another chance? Another chance at what? Saturday nights with pizza, his buddies, and science-fiction theater? Or maybe he meant going out to dinner with coupon in hand and coming home for a rousing game of PlayStation 2. Either way, it’s not exactly tempting. Yet I feel like he wants me to be grateful for his outburst of emotion. He gave an iota of himself; now I should fall at his feet and hang out for another year.
“Arrgh!” I scream out in frustration.
I glance at my desk, and it’s so covered with files and sticky notes that it makes me think Purvi owns stock in 3M. Schematics and folders are everywhere just gasping for my attention, and where am I? Thinking about Seth and being trapped in this office while he holds court over the hallway. I hate my life some days. I want to call Kevin, but he is dealing with shock victims and critical patients. My crises can never compare, and complaining about my paltry excuse for a past now bleeding copiously into my present is hardly a worthy interruption.
I even question Seth’s motives. Like, did he make this pitiful attempt at my heart to put us on equal footing in the office? So he can be seen as the victim? Poor, forlorn Seth who was left all alone. My anger starts to swell like a pent-up earthquake on the San Andreas Fault. I’m pacing my office like a rabid dog, and one thing becomes clear: I have to make a list.
Of course. A list will help me clarify my priorities, be the strong woman I am, and hey, maybe God will see these thoughtful words and help me out. Granted, this is probably not a biblical way to go about things, but it works for me at the moment. Since I have no Bible handy, it’s going to have to do.
MY VOWS ON HOW TO BE A CONFIDENT WOMAN, AT EASE IN ANY SITUATION
1. I will not let my future sister-in-law hijack my wedding, with her bouncy hair and fashion tips from Victoria.
2. I will not allow Seth to keep me captive in my office. I am the reason for Gainnet’s stock price. I am Patent Guru, and I will act the part. He will be my software slave.
3. I will tell Kay she must get my half of the house sold or rented by my wedding date. (She put up with me. She can certainly find someone to fit her Clean Sweep criteria.)
4. I will tell Kevin that Philadelphia is too big of a change with a new marriage. They have winter there, and I’m not anxious to take two more Bar exams. Spring at Stanford Shopping Center is my future.
5. I will tell my brother to pay me back what he owes me and not let him continue his cycle of freeloading. (No, I really won’t, but it sounds powerful, doesn’t it?)
6. I will tell Kevin his parents will not buy us a house. (I’m thinking mother-in-law unit, and that ain’t pretty.) Remember: better a dump without the in-laws than a mansion paid for by silicone. (I’m sure that’s a proverb, isn’t it?)
There. I’ve put my list in my Blackberry, so it’s official. I feel my confidence growing by the second. It makes me want to strike a Vogue pose and remember this moment. I actually get three patent schematics looked up before there’s a soft knock on my door. Peeking through the side window is Seth, my still-present ex. He’s like Pigpen’s dust cloud!
I sigh aloud, take one more look at my list, and shove it in the desk. “Door’s open.”
Seth has a file in his hand. “Our history aside, I really do need patent help.”
You need help, all right. As in, help getting a clue.
“Fine, but on Monday, okay? I have my brother’s party to get to today, and Kevin’s car is in the lot. He might need it to get to the hospital. You’ll soon find out that everyone needs a patent, so you might as well learn now to get in line.”
“Kevin’s not going to the party with you?”
“Did I say that?” I bark a bit too sharply.
“No, I was just curious,” Seth says. “You said he needed his car. Never mind.”
Software slave. You are nothing but a software slave. “Leave your file on my desk. I’ll get to it first thing Monday, and we can meet in the afternoon. Schedule me in after three.”
“Thanks, Ashley. Hey, I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”
My lips are pursed tightly. I feel like Kay. “No, you didn’t. Nothing to be uncomfortable about. We have a history, it’s over, and here we are working in the same claustrophobic industry. No biggie.” Suddenly a thought occurs to me as I remember his last plea. “Hey, what about Arin?”
“We’re friends,” he says cryptically. Probably the same thing he told people after we’d been dating for ten months. He doesn’t want to limit his options, you understand.
“Uh-huh, well, stunning. I need to get to work. Tell her I said hello.” I scan the file he’s just dropped in front of me, but I can still feel his presence. He’s not leaving. Just like gum on the shoe, I tell you!
Seth closes my office door. Um, you’re on the wrong side of the door, buddy. “I wouldn’t have said anything about us, but Kevin went after you with no regard for my presence. I figured he deserved the same.”
“Ah, yes, the biblical principle of pummeling the other cheek. I know it well. You’ve got nothing to be mad at Kevin about anyway. You left for India. You told me commitment wasn’t something you were ready for. Is any of this ringing a bell? Your own mother wondered what was happening.”
“I made a mistake. But don’t marry the wrong guy because of it.”
Oh, trust me, I’m not. I try to laugh here, but it’s not coming. “Why do you assume Kevin is the wrong guy? I mean, if you need closure, I understand that, but this is definitely the end. I love Kevin. Maybe you’re not buying it, but it doesn’t matter. Because it’s the truth.” Seth’s opinion is null and void in my life.
“You’re going to do what you want, Ashley. I know better than to try and tell you anything. I just wanted to make sure you were sure. If you change your mind . . .” Seth steps out of my office, and I drop my head to the desk. This is like the never-ending relationship. So yesterday. Am I in that movie Groundhog Day?
I lift up my head and see the frames filled with babies: my brother’s baby, Davey, and Brea’s little boys, Miles and Jonathan. I recall a recent article I read about women having too many personal items on their desks. Apparently my career could be fiendishly halted by this ghastly display of human emotion. By all accounts, I should rush to foreign countries and purchase ethnic masks and fertility gods in order to show that I am a worthy candidate to claw my way up the corporate ladder. No estrogen showing here. However, since I begged Gainnet to hire Purvi because I was in over my head, maybe I’m as successful as I want to be. I’m certainly a better patent attorney than a bride.
As I focus on my nephew’s big brown eyes and toothless smile, it only reminds me I’m not like normal people. People seem to meet, get married, and have children without incident. With me, just trying to make it to the altar is a lesson in perseverance. Why does everything I touch turn to green Jell-O?
Comparably, Kay’s single life boasts a nice granite kitchen and garage organizers and is becoming more appealing with every passing second. By remaining single, I could avoid this confusion. And everything I own would be labeled by Kay for perfect storage opportunities. That’s what I need: a labeler, with emotional titles to remind me to avoid toxic people. I’ll thrust these labels on their foreheads (with the footnotes, of course):
LABELS
Seth: COMMITMENT-PHOBE
Unless someone else is interested.
Emily: OBSESSIVE-COMPULSIVE STEEL MAGNOLIA
Chaos is us.
Purvi: WIRED WORKAHOLIC
Motto: You handle this stress, instead of me.
Mrs. Novak: TAUT, TONED, AND TERRIFYING
My brain is the only thing left with wrinkles, but it has lots of them!
Kay: CALM, COOL, COLLECTED, AND DISCONNECTED
If Tupperware comes in human form, I’m it—with the airtight lid.
My office phone rings and takes me away from these very important musings. I look up to see it’s my private line. Considering how much work I’m getting done, I’m up for a phone call. It’s Kevin.
“Hi, Kevin,” I say, so relieved to hear his voice. I want to wrap myself up in his words.
“Ashley Stockingdale, did you steal my car?” There’s this morning grogginess in his voice, and it’s unbearably sexy.
“I did steal your car.”
“Did you steal it so I’d be forced to attend this red egg and ginger party?”
He knows me too well. “That depends. Did it work?”
He laughs with a sleepy growl. “I told you if I got enough sleep, I wouldn’t miss it. And I don’t lie. Especially to the woman of my dreams, no matter how manipulative she might be.”
“Don’t forget you promised the woman of your dreams and your sister that you’d finalize the location for the wedding tomorrow. Leave it up to me, and you could be getting married in the Nordstrom Café for easy shopping access afterwards.”
“I thought we decided on the country club.”
“No, that was your mom and your sister who decided on that. We can’t really afford the country club on our budget, Kevin. I don’t want to go into debt for one day of our lives. It’s more important that the money go into my gown so I can look good for the pictures. And I want to be able to afford a hairstylist. Sheesh, priorities! Must I constantly remind you? Like I care if these people eat. It’s all about me, baby.”
Kevin laughs. “Well, be that as it may, you want enough people to see you in your gown to make it worthwhile, don’t you?”
“Oooh, you’re good.”
“We’re paying for the wedding together, Ashley. My parents will pay for the location, especially if they want the club. It’s nothing to them, and you should buy the dress you want. This is our day.”
Yeah, tell that to Emily and her fill-in-the-blanks Martha wedding guide.
“But the money is something to me, Kevin. You’re marrying into a blue-collar family, and while we may not have a country club mem- bership, we still have a strong work ethic. I want the wedding we can afford. I worked hard for my stuff, and I’m proud of my ownership of half a house, even though no one warned me what sinking half a million into a 1920s piece of rubble costs in additional sweat equity. But I do have pride of ownership, and I want to own my wedding day.” And I definitely don’t want your parents and Emily to own it.
“Ashley, I can’t believe you’re worried about this. I want you to have the wedding day you’ve dreamed about. What about the fancy shrimp and elegant waiters I’ve heard about? Blue-collar and your wedding just don’t fit.”
“A mortgage has cured me of my dreams quick enough.” How do I tell him that my current poverty has cured me? “This wedding is going to be affordable chic because I don’t want to fret after it over buying a pair of Cole Haan’s on sale.”
“Ashley Stockingdale, you’re sounding positively practical. Cut it out. You’re scaring me. I’m not marrying Kay.”
But I’m not deterred. The last thing I want is to owe Kevin’s family. “Your resident’s pay is less than mine, and with both of us having Silicon Valley mortgages now . . . Besides, you have an uncanny knack for getting called away when the bill appears. Beeper, my foot.”
“Are you calling me cheap?”
“I’m saying you have impeccable timing. Did your sister get home?” I ask, changing the subject and hoping that Matt the Stalker isn’t really one.
“No, but she called. She’s having lunch with Matt. They went for a walk this morning, and she’s going to attend the party tonight with us.”
Peachy.
“That’s good,” I say with forced enthusiasm. “I need to talk with her about my gown.”
“She says it’s gorgeous, Ashley. It’s due to the dressmaker on Monday. She’s been working on it for months, designed it just for you, she says. I haven’t seen her really get excited about something before. I think she’s found her niche. She won’t let me even peek at the drawings. I can’t thank you enough for helping her through this. What if this is her true calling?”
I feel my teeth clench. “Funny. She won’t let me peek at the dress either. Actually, Kevin, that dress is not my dress. Women generally pick out their own gowns. While I want to keep the wedding affordable, I do want to select—”
“Shoot. My beeper’s going off,” Kevin says amid a high-pitched beep. “I’ll call you right back.” Kevin clicks away, and I decide venting is good and continue my conversation without him.
“That’s right, Kevin. Actually, my wedding dress is Vera Wang, not Scarlett O’Hara. But the issue here is not really the dress. It’s that your sister is running free in society. Emily’s a crazed control freak who should probably be checked back into the hospital with pale green walls and extensive lawns. The one where they talk softly and give her many puzzles to assemble.”
I’m not liking myself much at this point. One thing I’ve noticed about living in God’s will: just when you think you have something mastered, like how to get along with difficult people, He will test you to the very limits to knock down that pride of yours. He’s an expert in pointing out you how far you have to go, not how far you’ve come. I hate that.
With a tinge of depression, I dial Brea. She’s not nearly the fun she used to be. Brea and I are like two ships passing in the night lately. She’s on a different time schedule with her babies, and my wedding is hardly her priority. I don’t blame her, but it’s not anyone’s priority other than Emily’s, and there’s something infinitely sad about that fact. It’s not personal; it’s just that Silicon Valley is not exactly the most connected place on earth. Need something done? Hire out, because your friends have to schedule you in. Heck, my mother has to pencil me in.
“Hello,” Brea answers, sounding winded.
“Brea, it’s me. Is this a bad time?”
She lets out a long sigh. “Did you know that Duplos clog toilets?”
“No, actually, that’s a new one on me. What’s a Duplo?”
“Never mind. What’s up?” she asks amid lots of squealing and banging in the background.
“Nothing much. Just called to see what’s happening. Get a little calm voice of reason.”
“You called the wrong place then. I have a clogged toilet, two dogs caged and barking, and a dirty diaper that I’ll spare you the details of.”
“I won’t keep you,” I say, but I’m bummed, really bummed. “I just wanted to let you know Emily ordered this wedding gown for me awhile ago. Kevin says the dress shop should have it on Monday. I was wondering if you could use your skills to help me with Hannah at the dress shop. You’re better friends with her, and I just have to get rid of that dress! I have to get my own ordered again before it’s too late. And I’m afraid I don’t really have the money to reorder at the moment.”
“Didn’t they credit you the first down payment?” Brea asks, her voice perfectly smooth, though the background noise at her house makes it sound like she’s watching an old World War II movie.
The credit. Of course, if they canceled my order, I forgot they would have credited the account! Emily couldn’t charge on my account. “Brea, you’re a genius!”
“I know. Now I’m off to tweezer a Duplo from the toilet. Pray for me.”