Deliver Me from Annoyance
I wake up on Saturday morning in New York in pain. No, not mother-in-law pains. Severe hangover pain. Feel sick. So. Goddamn. Unfair.
I stagger into the bathroom, gobble down a handful of Tylenols and climb back under my covers. My FreshDirect order, however, arrives at ten, ruining my plan to die in bed.
Not that I entirely mind. All these fresh ingredients look yummy. I don’t need Alice to cook for me. So there. I can cook all by myself, thank you very much. After I organize my side of the fridge, I collect my dirty laundry and send it out. Except for the hangovers, isn’t New York life wonderful? If it weren’t for work, I would never even have to leave the apartment.
Now what should I do? I need to start doing some research for wedding locations in Arizona, but surely that can wait until I’m back there. I hear Heather in the shower and decide to prepare brunch with all my new ingredients.
Ten minutes later, she peers over my shoulder. “Smells delicious. What are you cooking?”
“I’m making us omelets.” Trying to anyway.
“You are so sweet!” She dances over to the fridge and pours herself a glass of juice. “So what did you think of last night?”
“Your friends seem nice.”
“They’re not. But what did you think about Brad? Isn’t he adorable?”
I was hoping she’d forget about Brad. I drop the egg yolks into the pan, pretending to be deeply involved in my cooking so I don’t have to look her in the eye. “He’s all right.”
“Just all right! You shall not speak ill about my future husband.”
How could she not have sensed that he wasn’t interested?
I’ve never seen her in such a good mood. I’ve also never seen her butt look so good. She’s wearing a pair of low-slung tight black pants. She has the best clothes.
“We had fun together at Jeff and Mindy’s wedding. I knew we could have something together, but he’s not into long distance.”
Aha. “The drunken one-night wedding stand.”
“I didn’t sleep with him. We just had a connection. I could sense it. Couldn’t you feel the electricity last night?”
Sure. Except he was plugged in to me. I admit I felt a little spark, but I’m no potential-boyfriend stealer. Just an ambitious heartbreaker. “I was exhausted. I wasn’t paying too much attention.” Like I’m not now. I put all my energy into attempting to grate the cheddar. This isn’t as easy as you would imagine. I think I just grated my finger.
“He couldn’t take his eyes off me.”
“Yeah?” Maybe because you wouldn’t get off his lap.
“I know he’s going to call.”
I sprinkle the cheese into the pan. My eggs aren’t looking so good. “I hope so.”
“But I’m not sure I want a long-distance relationship. It’s tough. Isn’t that why you broke up with your guy back home?”
Her allusion to Cam catches me off guard and I almost drop the spatula. “It’s more complicated than that.”
“It always is,” she says, and steals a piece of cheese.
When I wake up Saturday morning, in Arizona, first thing I do is straddle Cam.
“And good morning to you,” he says. After a quickie, I roll over and he disappears to the shower.
“What are you going to do today?” he calls.
“Relax.”
“We relaxed yesterday. Today, I have to go to work.”
“Ca-am,” I whine. “It’s Saturday.”
“But I have a big case. Don’t you have wedding stuff to do?”
“No,” I lie. I don’t feel like researching hotels. Boring. Although I am concerned that if I show up to Alice’s meeting on Tuesday empty-handed, she’ll say we have no choice but to have it at the house.
“Do you think you can do the laundry then? I’ve run out of boxers. And maybe clean the bathroom. We need some Drāno—your hair seriously clogs up the drain. I just showered in a pool of water. And it would be great if you could pick up some groceries.”
“No problem,” I say, wishing I could order food online and send out our laundry.
After showering in a pool of water (I do need to get some Drāno), I do two loads of laundry, go to the grocery store and clean the apartment, all the while not answering the ringing phone.
She. Is. Out. Of. Control.
I need someone to talk to about this. Jessica and Leslie seemed sympathetic to my plight and I’m sure they have their own mother-in-law stories, but I don’t fully trust them yet. I call Lila and invite her out for lunch. Also, I want to ask her to be my maid of honor before Alice asks Blair.
“I’m working,” Lila says. “How is almost-married life?”
“Good. Come on. It’s Saturday. And I have to ask you something important.”
“Sounds mysterious. Okay, for you I’ll ditch work. Where do you want to meet?”
“The Mexican place on Mill.”
“Gabby, there are two thousand Mexican restaurants on Mill.”
“The new one near the bookstore.”
“Fine. See you in twenty.”
Twenty minutes later, she’s begging, “Let me see the ring again.”
I chomp on a tortilla chip, then wave my adorned hand under her nose.
“So gorgeous. Can I try it on?”
“Of course,” I say and slip it off.
She admires her new look. “Wish I was marrying a guy like Cam. Lucky bitch.”
“I know.” I finish chewing and say, “Big question coming up. Will you be my maid of honor?”
Her eyes widen. “Really?”
“Of course. You’ve been like a sister to me.” As I say it, I wonder if it’s true. A sister? Really? If we were that close wouldn’t I have called her at least once from New York? I should so e-mail her from there. Anyway, even if she’s not a sister, she’s still my best friend. We’ve done everything together since freshman year.
“I’d be honored,” she says. “Wow. Thank you. It’s a big job.”
I chomp some more. “It shouldn’t take too much time.”
She takes a big sip of her water. “Perfect. Did you set a date?”
“May sixth.”
She coughs her water. “Are you kidding?”
“No, why? Is there something else that day I’ve forgotten about?”
“No, but it’s so soon. You can’t plan a wedding in six months!” She peers at me closely. “Are you pregnant?”
“God, no.”
“So what’s the rush?”
“It’s Alice. She insisted.”
“Whose wedding is it, exactly?”
Good question. “An excellent lead-in to the second subject I want to discuss with you. My crazy future mother-in-law.”
After I relay my wedding struggles, Lila says, “She sounds horrendous. At least Cam’s worth it.”
“He is,” I say uncertainly. “He is.”
Since I now have two bridesmaids and one maid of honor, I figure I might as well ask the others and go for the whole circus. I call Blair first. She gives me a courtly thank you and then makes a lame-ass excuse to hang up. I mean come on, water her cactus?
Next, I search through my Palm for Melanie Diamond’s number.
“Hi,” she says in her extra-breathy voice. “How have you been?”
“I’ve been getting engaged.” I wriggle into Cam’s un-comfy couch, trying to make myself comfortable. “And I’m not moving.”
“No way—congratulations! I’m so happy for you.”
“Thanks. How have you been?”
“Oh, all right. I’d be better if the tabloids stopped running that horrendous ugly picture of me—”
“You don’t look ugly.” Granted, it doesn’t capture how gorgeous she actually is, but she definitely doesn’t look unattractive. It’s very difficult to make Melanie look unattractive. You’d have to draw a mustache over her lip or something.
“Anyway, I’m thinking about writing a tell-all book.”
“Oh God, no.”
“Why not? You only live once.”
Or twice. “I suppose…”
“I might as well take some risks.”
Maybe I should learn to take more risks. Without keeping a back-up life as a safety net. “Listen, I want to ask you a question. Will you be a bridesmaid?”
“Me?” She sounds surprised.
“Yes. I know we’ve only known each other a few months but…okay, this is going to sound cheesy—”
“You feel like we’ve been friends since high school?”
“Exactly.”
“Well, then I’d be pleased to. Awesome. Sounds like fun.”
I smile into the phone. “It’ll probably be a pain, actually, but thanks.”
“What do I get to wear?”
“Not sure yet. Something pink and horrible.”
“Super.”
“I’ll make sure to take a picture for the tabloids.” The call-waiting beeps and I excuse myself. “Hello?”
“Hey, it’s me,” says Cam. “Come outside!”
“Now? Why?”
“It’s a surprise.”
I stuff my bare feet into my flip-flops and hurry outside. And see Cam. Driving my Jetta. He honks twice and then backs into a parking spot. I can tell it’s mine since it has the scrape on the fender from last year’s parking-lot incident. I run over to him, clapping my hands. “Hurrah! How did you get it back?”
“I’m Superman,” he says, stepping out of the car and smiling broadly.
I plant a kiss on his lips. “Seriously. How?”
“I reasoned with him.”
“That’s it?”
“I’m a very good reasoner. And I know how much you loved this car.”
“I see that. I guess law school was good for something.” I throw my arms around his waist as we walk back to the apartment.
“Love you,” I say.
“Love you, too,” he says, kissing me on the forehead.
I spend Sunday afternoon in New York brainstorming stories. I spend Sunday afternoon in Arizona brainstorming hotels.
At Sunday night dinner, Alice asks me how my research is coming and gazes longingly at her backyard. I do my best to ignore her.
Monday in New York is tough and exhausting but still fun. I keep my eyes open for Nate aka Elevator Boy, but don’t see him anywhere. I pick up sushi for Heather and myself on my way home from a place called Sushi on Third. Not too many places in Arizona where you can get good sushi. Mexican, yes. Japanese? Not so much.
When I get back to the apartment, I see that Heather has uncorked a bottle of wine and set the table with wine-glasses, two sets of chopsticks, two plates and two…steak knives? I did tell her we were having sushi.
“What’s the deal with the knives?” I ask, opening the plastic container and digging in.
“Huh?” She takes the steak knife and slices her California roll in half.
“I’ve never seen anyone cut sushi before.”
“I have lockjaw,” she says. “I have to be very careful with my mouth. If I open it too much, it hurts.”
The way she can go on and on, life must be a constant source of pain. “I see. Can’t you stretch the muscle?” I make wide-mouth expressions, partly kidding.
“It’s not a joke. It’s a medical condition. I can’t give blow jobs.”
Not quite ideal dinner conversation. “Interesting,” I say, pick up a full roll with my chopsticks and insert it into my mouth.
“Guys understand. I tell them the truth. It’s a condition.”
A condition as in disease, or a condition to their relationship?
We polish off the bottle of wine. After dinner, I decide I need a long, hot shower. I wish I could take a bath, but the bath here isn’t deep enough for a baby. I’m pretty sure if I sat down in it, my boobs would pop over the top and they’re not even that big. Tomorrow I’m definitely taking a bath in Arizona.
As I rinse, I notice a brown-and-blue bruise on my upper thigh. What is that? I notice another one on my calf, and then another one on my elbow. What is wrong with me? Did I have some sort of accident and not even know it? Maybe jumping realities is causing physical damage.
When I’m done, I wrap myself in a fuzzy towel (brand new and recently ordered online) and open the door. And walk straight into a pissed-off-looking Heather.
“What’s wrong?” I ask her.
“Nothing,” she snaps.
“Okay.” I try to step around her, but she blocks me as if she’s a quarterback.
“Oh, there is one thing. Brad just called. He wants you to phone him back.”
Pow. Brad? Called me? Ouch. I imagine the look on Heather’s face when Brad asked to speak to me. Glad I was in the shower for that. “Shit, Heather, I’m sorry.”
“Why? He likes you. Nothing to be sorry about. You should go out with him.”
“I don’t want to go out with him.” I mean he is cute. And a date or two would certainly help me get over my fear of new men. But he’s not worth sacrificing my relationship with my still-new roommate.
She crosses her arms. “You think you’re better than me?”
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I don’t want to go out with him,” she mocks, using a squeaky voice. “You think you’re better than me.”
“I do not think I’m better than you.”
“Oh, I think you do. The guy I like isn’t good enough for you. Well, fuck you. I think he’s good enough for you. I think he’s too good for you. I don’t want any of your pathetic pity. You will go out with him. Or else. You will go out with him!”
I cling to my towel in alarm. She’s gone crazy. My first instincts were right. My roommate is a nut job. Totally psycho. “Heather, I’m not dating the guy you like.”
She wags her finger at me. “You will. You’ll either go out with him or move out. Capisce?”
What, is she channeling the Sopranos now? I hope she’s put away those steak knives. “Heather—”
“Here’s his number.” She hands me a sticky memo, the number written on it and underlined multiple times. “Call him back. Tonight.”
I grab it from her, stomp into my room and slam the door. I think I need to get a lock for my room. I put on my sleep T-shirt and hang my towel on the edge of the bed. I am so not leaving my room tonight. Or ever.
I don’t want to call back Brad, but I don’t think I have a choice. I have to tell him I can’t go out with him. I’ll tell Heather—what? That the reason he’d called in the first place was business-related? Come to think of it, he never did tell me what he did for a living. I crawl under my covers with my (new) cordless phone (this one has a longer battery life than my cordless in Arizona), squint to see the underlined number in the dark, and I dial.
“Hello!” he shouts into the phone. He sounds like he’s at a bar. Do people in Manhattan ever sleep?
“Brad?” I whisper. No need for Psycho to hear me.
“Hello!” he shouts again. “Anyone there?”
I raise my voice slightly. “Brad?”
“Anyone there? I don’t think anyone is there,” he says to someone else.
Crap. “Hi, Brad, it’s Gabby.”
“Hey! Good to hear from you.”
“You, too.” Please don’t ask me out.
“It was great meeting you last night.”
“You, too.” Pretty please don’t ask me out. If you don’t ask me out, then I can tell Heather you didn’t ask me out and she won’t have to kill me. Sorry, Heather, I called him back, but he didn’t ask me out. No, he’s taking a trip to Phoenix and wanted to know what to pack.
“Wanna see a movie on Saturday?”
“Um…” Now what? Was Heather testing me? Am I supposed to say no? Or will she really kick me out? It’s getting seriously hot under the covers. I have to wrap up this conversation before I suffocate.
You know what—screw her. I don’t need mind games. He’s cute. I’m single. She told me to go out with him. I’m going to do it. “Sure.”
“Cool!” he shouts. “My friend Jono offered me tickets to a some artsy premiere at the Angelika.”
Funky. My first date, and it’s a cool New York event. “Sounds good.”
“I’ll come by and pick you up. Where do you live?”
I give him our address and insist that I meet him downstairs. No need to risk him and Heather coming into contact again. I also make him promise that from now on he’ll only call me on my cell. After I hang up, I sneak out from under the covers and stare at the ceiling. I think I’m excited. Am I excited?
There’s a knock on my door. You’ve got to be kidding.
“Gabby.”
I don’t answer. Maybe she’ll think I’m asleep.
“Gabby,” she says sweetly. “I want to come in.”
Hmm. Perhaps she wants to apologize for being crazy. Should I let her know I’m awake?
Suddenly, she throws open the door. I’m too shocked to fake sleep. The light from the hallway illuminates her silhouette, and she looks as if she’s surrounded by a ring of fire. Heather might be the devil.
“Ha!” she shrieks. “I knew you were awake. Faker. Tell me you’re going out with him.”
Gulp. One of her hands is hidden behind her. She could so have the steak knife back there.
Oh, God. I’m going to die. At least I’ll still be alive in my other life. Maybe. Sure, I’ll have the full-time mother-in-law from hell, but it beats being dead. I think.
I contemplate lying to Psycho, but then remember that she asked for it. “Kind of. He invited me to some movie thing.”
“And…”
Please don’t kill me. “I said yes.”
“When are you going out?”
“Saturday night.”
“Bullshit. He asked you out for a weekend?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Guys don’t ask women out on weekends for their first dates.”
I hug my pillow into my chest as a protective shield. “Apparently, some do.”
Silence. “Fine. Whatever.” She slams my door.
I need to find a new apartment pronto.
Once I hear Heather settle in her own room, I try to convince my heart rate to slow down, but it won’t listen. I have a date. What will I wear? I need something fabulous. I guess asking Heather to borrow her good-butt pants is out of the question.
“Don’t get mad,” my mother says into my cell phone. It’s Tuesday in Arizona and I’m on my way to Alice’s to discuss locations.
“About what?” I ask, making a left into Alice’s cul-de-sac.
“I’m in Florida.”
She’s got to be kidding. “Mom! You’re supposed to be at Alice’s in ten minutes!”
“I know, but I couldn’t—”
A loud honk drowns her words as I almost cut off a green Taurus. “Couldn’t what?”
“Couldn’t stand being around Alice?”
“Thanks for your support.”
“I’m sorry, all right? I sent over a surprise to make your life easier.”
I turn into Alice’s driveway. “What, exactly?” I ask warily.
“You’ll see.”
I kill the ignition and bang my head against the steering wheel. I’m going to kill her. How am I supposed to battle Alice on my own? As I step out of the car, a white Mercedes convertible pulls in front of the house and then stops. The driver, a petite blonde in a fitted mauve Chanel suit picks up a briefcase from the back seat and strolls toward the house.
Does this have something to do with my surprise? I catch up to her before she gets to the door. “Hi, can I help you?”
She gives me a big, toothy smile. “You must be Gabby. I’m Tricia, your new wedding planner.”
“You could have told me,” I growl into the phone. I’m in the restroom at the Marriott, biting my now-raw fingers. Talk about plush. Even the sinks are marble. The way I’m feeling right now, I don’t care if we decide to have the wedding in the bathroom.
“It was a surprise,” my mom answers. “What’s she like?”
I glance at my watch. I don’t want to be gone for too long in case Tricia and Alice begin World War Three. “Organized. Blond. Chirpy. Has lots of folders and schedules.”
“Good! She’s the best in the business, you know. I asked around.”
“But you shouldn’t have hired her without talking to us.”
“I had no choice. I need her there to protect my—and your—interests.”
“How much does she charge?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“I have to worry about it! That’s coming out of the fifteen thousand you promised!”
“It’s my fifteen thousand, and I can spend it any way I want.”
I want to hurl the cell phone into one of the fancy-shmancy, tushy-plushy toilets. “Goodbye, Mom. I have to get back. This is the fourth hotel we’ve seen, and Alice isn’t liking any of them.”
“Don’t let her boss you around,” she says, with no trace of irony. “Wait, just tell me. What did Alice say when she met Tricia?”
I sigh. “She slammed the door.”
“No, she didn’t!”
“Yes, she did. I had to call from outside, apologize for you and explain.”
“You did not!”
“Yes, I did. Mom, you hired a wedding planner without talking to her. Or me.”
“So? She chose a date without talking to me.”
I shake my head. “I have to get back. I’ll speak to you soon.”
I square my shoulders and return to the ballroom. Alice isn’t happy about the new hire, but there’s nothing she can do, as my mother already signed a contract and made a deposit. It goes without saying, the mood at Alice’s when we all met was definitely hostile. Tricia had set up appointments for this afternoon, so now we’re a hostile team on the go. Alice insisted on driving, and the three of us, wedding binders and brochures in hand, set off to see hotels. Alice dismissed the first one with “It’s too small,” the second one with “It’s too big.” When she nixed the third one with “It’s too hot,” Tricia muttered something about Goldilocks, except she didn’t use language appropriate for a children’s story.
Alice is sitting on a velvet couch in the corner of the ballroom, her arms crossed, a sour expression on her face.
I clap my hands. “So? Just right?”
“Too dark,” Alice says.
I catch Tricia snarling. “Next,” she says, and motions us back to the car.
My, what big teeth she has. Except this is no fairy tale—this is a nightmare.
Back in New York, on Wednesday, I’m watching the news after work when Heather waltzes in. I consider bolting to my room to avoid another psycho confrontation, but I know she’s seen me.
“Hellllllo!” she sings. “How are you, sweetie?”
Sweetie? Heather might have multiple personalities. “Fine. You?”
“I had the best day. The best. I met the cutest guy in the library.”
Ah. I see that her moods depend entirely on men. I hope she didn’t come on to Library Lad as strong as she did with Brad. Otherwise, her happy mood is going to be very short-lived.
“I’m starving,” she says, and disappears into the kitchen.
“Take some of my food,” I offer. I think I might have over-ordered. I bought all this fresh stuff, but on my way home from work, I realized I was too tired to cook and picked up more sushi. Next time, I’m only ordering nonperishables.
She plops onto the couch with one of my apples, my block of blue cheese and her favorite utensil, the steak knife.
I whip my legs into the lotus position. If I’m not careful, she’ll not-so-accidentally drop the knife and take a pinkie toe with her.
Heather slices the apple into small cubes, and asks, “When was the last time you had sex?”
Hello, dinner conversation. “Excuse me?”
“Come on, you can tell me. We’re roomies.”
“I…um…” Last night with Cam when he got back from work? Not sure she’ll understand. “Before I left Arizona.”
She layers a cube with a piece of cheese and pops it in her mouth. “With your boyfriend. Cam.”
“Yes.”
“Why’d you not want to try long distance?” She steals the remote from behind my leg and changes the channel to Comedy Central. “Don’t you get bored of watching news all the time?”
“I don’t get bored, it’s my job. And Cam and I are complicated. He proposed. I said no.”
She waves the knife in the air. “Why?”
Still in a lotus, I wriggle my body farther down the couch. “Because I wanted to move to New York.”
“Did he have a ring and everything?”
“Yup.”
“And you said no? What was wrong with him?”
“He wouldn’t move here, for one thing. And he sometimes tried to be controlling…and he’s a bit of a mama’s boy.”
“Then why’d you stay with him for so long?”
“Because he’s smart. And loving. And gorgeous.”
“And he proposed. I don’t know. Maybe there’s something wrong with you.”
I wonder. “Maybe.”
“Don’t you want to know the last time I had sex?”
Not really. “If you want to tell me.”
She pops another apple-cheese combo into her mouth. “When I was twenty-three.”
“What?” I give her a closer look. Maybe she’s only twenty-four? No way. I see a few lines around those eyes.
“Yup. Four years ago.”
“You haven’t had sex in four years?”
“Nope.”
“Why?”
“I’m not sure if that’s any of your business,” she huffs, and turns back to the TV.
What? Then why did she bring it up? I sigh and shake my head. “I’m going to take a shower.” At least the bathroom door has a lock.
When I’m out of the shower, there are two steaming mugs on the coffee table. “I made us herbal tea,” Heather sings.
I think she might need to be medicated.
“All right,” I say. “Let me just get dressed.”
Perhaps this is just her way of saying sorry. She can’t actually say the words, so instead she apologizes with hot beverages. Hopefully this means that I don’t have to look for a new apartment just yet. Just in case, I BlackBerry my mom: In case I die tonight, Heather poisoned me. Love you!
I’m still mad at my mom for the disappearing act she pulled in Arizona, but I can’t hold her accountable here. Anyway, I’m secretly pleased to have Tricia around. She was just as annoyed as I was by Alice, after Alice rejected seven, yes seven, different hotels. “More to see on Thursday,” Tricia chirped, trying to keep my spirits up.
Over tea, neither Heather nor I bring up her sexual history. Or Brad. We talk about Cam. Funny how she maneuvered the conversation back to him. Or maybe it was me who did the maneuvering. After tea, I climb into bed and think. Not about whether I should be looking for a new apartment (haven’t turned blue from the tea, but I did get a nervous e-mail from my mother), but about Cam. And what he’s doing now. I wonder if he’s thinking of me.
I pick up the phone and dial his number. My number when I’m in Arizona. His number here.
He answers on the first ring. “Hello?”
“Hey,” I say.
“Gabby?” his voice sounds scratchy and familiar.
“It’s me.” I draw my comforter up to my chin, so I have something to cuddle.
“How’s New York?”
“All right.” There’s a deep silence. “How are you?”
He laughs. Bitterly. “I’ve been better.”
“Oh, Cam. I’m so sorry.”
I used to tell Cam that he had a horseshoe up his ass. Everything came so easily to him and nothing traumatic had ever shaken his world. No death. No move. No divorce. Secretly I wondered if some traumatic event in his past would have done him more good than harm. Made him more sensitive. Perceptive. Reflective. Now, I can’t help but wonder if me leaving him is the trauma in his life, the trauma that will make him into the ideal husband for someone else.
“Sorry enough to come home?” he asks.
Sadness swells up in my chest like a balloon. “This is my new life.”
“Then why are you calling?”
“I still care about you. I want to make sure you’re okay. You know. Moving on.”
“Gimme a break. It’s only been a week and a half.”
I feel a wave of guilt for my upcoming date with Brad. “I know. I just meant…you know.” Why is this conversation so awkward?
“No, I don’t know. Have you moved on already?”
I take a second to think about my answer. A second too long.
“There’s someone else,” he spits out. “That’s why you said no.”
“No, of course not. There was never anyone else.”
“But you’ve met someone there.”
“It’s just a date, okay? Someone asked me out and I said yes.”
“Who is he?”
“You don’t know him.”
“I might.”
I almost laugh. Even in my wildest dreams I cannot think of a connection between the two of them. “You don’t.”
“Tell me his name. Did you sleep with him?”
“I haven’t even gone out with him yet! His name is Brad.”
“Last name?
I pause. “I don’t know.”
“You have a date with someone whose last name you don’t know?” Now it’s his turn to pause. “How am I going to do a background check?”
I let myself laugh. “Come on.”
“I can’t believe you’re already dating.”
“I’m not dating. I just have one date.”
“How would you feel if I had a date?”
“I’d hate it,” I say, rolling over. “But I’d know it was for the best.”
“I guess I just thought…I was hoping you’d realize you made a mistake. That you miss me. And that you’d call me and say, I changed my mind, I want to marry you. And then you’d come home.”
“That isn’t going to happen,” I say softly.
He sighs. “I’m realizing that.”
“I think we were just wrong for each other. I need a different kind of guy. You need a different kind of girl. You know? Someone who remembers where she puts her keys. Someone who remembers to pay the phone bill. And I need someone who is willing to follow me anywhere. To make me number one.”
“Maybe I need someone who would follow me anywhere,” he says.
In the silence that follows, I wonder if that’s true. What does Cam need? I mean really, really need?
“I spoke to Lila yesterday,” he says. “I’m stopping by this weekend to pick up my bookshelf.”
“I figured you’d want it back. You should have it.”
“Yeah, well. I gotta go. I’m meeting up with Dan and Joshua.”
“Now don’t go picking up any loose women.”
He laughs, sadly I think. “Now that sounds like fun.”
I get a sour taste in my mouth. “Cam—”
“Don’t worry, they’d never replace you.”
“Never?”
And then he says, “Not in this life.”
It’s Friday night in Arizona, and I’m unloading the dishwasher and thinking about my two existences. How can I marry someone in one life who I think is wrong for me in another? How is this even happening to me? Maybe I am crazy. Suddenly I notice a sheet of white printer paper propped up on the stove. Written in red marker on said sheet of paper is this: FIRE!!!!!!!!!!!
“Um, Cam?” He is watching TV in the living room.
“Yes, honey?”
“Why is there a sheet of paper that says Fire on the stove?”
“Eee! Eee! Eee!” Cam says, running over to me.
“What are you doing?”
“Eee! Eee! Eee! It’s a fire drill. Eee! Eee! Eee!”
My fiancé has lost it. “What am I supposed to do exactly?”
“Eee! Eee! You may want to get the fire extinguisher. Eee! Eee! Eee!”
“Where is the fire extinguisher?”
“Think, for a second, you see it every day. Eee! Eee! Eee! This is something you should know.” He taps his watch. “Time is ticking.”
I might kill him. “Why are we doing this exactly?”
“Because you had that nightmare about fires, and I don’t want you to ever have nightmares again.”
“Interesting.” I vaguely remember mentioning that I had a nightmare about fires. I should have kept my mouth shut. I try to remember if in fact I have ever noticed a fire extinguisher. I might have spotted one in the linen closet. “Is it in the linen closet?”
“Maybe. Eee! Eee! Eee!” He taps his watch again.
I open the linen closet and start rummaging through the towels.
“Eee! Eee! Eee!” He points his chin at the middle shelf.
Oh, there it is. A First Alert kitchen fire extinguisher. I pull it out of the closet. “Do you want me to actually use it on the paper?”
“No, just tell me what you’d do.”
“I’d pull off the top. And then…” my voice trails off until I spot the instructions on the bottle. “I’d hold the unit upright. Then I’d aim at base of fire and stand back six feet. Then I’d press lever and sweep side to side.” I go through the motions as I read.
“Well done!” He kisses me on the forehead. “Although it took you too long to find the extinguisher. It also took you forever to notice the fire—”
“You mean the piece of paper.”
“These are things you should know.”
“Things I should know,” I repeat. I have to admit that Cam’s behavior is a bit…weird. He’s always been a bit pedantic, but there have never been drills before.
“Yes. If it had a been a real fire, you would have suffocated.”
“But it wasn’t.”
“Tomorrow it could be.”
No, it can’t. Because tomorrow I’m going to be in New York, on a date with Brad.