You know that feeling you get when everything seems to be right with the world? When the planets seem to be in alignment? One of those days when you’re actually running on time, your apartment is (relatively) clean, and you haven’t gotten into an argument with your mother/best friend/boss/therapist in at least a week? That was exactly how I felt as I walked home from work that day. The previous spring, I had survived my ex-boyfriend’s wedding with my dignity ever-so-slightly intact, and by fall, I was engaged to man that I loved (Yes, Jack! Jack, Jack, Jack!), had a wedding date set for the following summer (which delighted both Jack’s and my parents alike), and was planning the wedding of my dreams (well, okay, it was really the wedding of my mother’s dreams—that is, my mother single-handedly planning the wedding that she dreamed for me, but you get where I was going with that one).
I had picked up some flowers at the corner deli and some fresh parmesan cheese for the chicken parm I was cooking for Jack that evening. Yes, in my new job where they actually encourage you to leave the office in the evening, I had become quite the little domestic diva. You would have been so proud of me. Jack absolutely loved everything that I cooked for him. Except, that is, for the times where the food was too well done for him (read: burned). But most of the meals were nothing short of gourmet.
I rounded the corner, groceries in hand, and saw Jack standing on the sidewalk in front of our apartment building. I couldn’t help but smile. This was what total domestic bliss was all about—fresh flowers, chicken parm, and the man you love. No doubt we would go home, begin cooking together—glasses of red wine in our hands—and spend a blissful evening at home. No doubt, we would become so overwhelmed with passion mid-way through the cooking, that after we put the chicken into the oven, he would pull me into his arms and kiss me fervently and pick me up and carry me to our bedroom where he would make love to me passionately. The chicken would burn and the smoke detectors would go off and the building’s super would say, “Oh, those crazy lovebirds!” and Jack and I would laugh and order in pizza and cuddle on the couch together for the rest of the night. After we turned off the smoke alarms, that is.
I took a breath of the lilies that I had just picked up and was in heaven. The flowers were beautiful, the dinner would be beautiful, and at that precise moment in time, I felt like the world was beautiful. I got closer and closer to Jack and saw him talking to someone. Someone who started to wave at me. Who was that talking to Jack?
I walked a few feet further and stopped dead in my tracks. It was Trip. Talking to Jack. In front of my apartment building. I tried to smile and gain my composure before I walked the twenty feet that would lead me to my biggest nightmare. My ex-boyfriend was talking to my fiancé, Jack, who he thought was my faux fiancé, Douglas, who he most certainly was not! What would I say to Trip? Should I just lie? Should I just pretend that Jack was still Douglas? What if the doorman came out and said hello to Jack? What if one of our neighbors passed by? Damn those tight New York City quarters. If this were Upstate New York, I could totally get away with this!
I got closer and closer and could see that Jack and Trip were deep in conversation and laughing, even. Maybe Jack had just confessed the whole thing and they were having a good laugh over it? I could hear them now: “That Brooke! She’s a real firecracker, isn’t she?”
“Trip!” I cried out, as naturally as I could muster, throwing my arms around him. The bag of groceries hit him dead in the back and he lurched forward a bit into me. “What are you doing here?” Didn’t he know that New York was my town? How dare he come here without asking me first!
I gave Jack a quick peck on the lips as Trip began to answer. I wondered to myself if I had to keep my engagement ring hidden—Jack’s grandmother’s ring looked nothing like the faux engagement ring I had been sporting for the whole of Trip’s wedding. Since no one at the wedding had even noticed that it was fake (and if someone’s going to notice, it would most likely be a sixty year old woman who still goes by the nickname ‘Muffin’), I thought I was safe.
“Ava and I have some meetings in town this week. I’ve been meaning to call you so that we can all get together,” he said with a smile. I smiled back. ‘Just act natural,’ I told myself. ‘He doesn’t suspect a thing.’
“How are you two newlyweds?” I asked. See? Totally natural.
“Absolutely wonderful,” he said. “Married life is great. Which you two will most certainly find out soon enough.” I had a vision of Trip and Ava at home—she, with martini and cigarette firmly in hand, he, too busy making deal after deal to notice.
“Yes, we will,” I said, inexplicably giving Jack a little jab in the ribs to punctuate my point. Jack grabbed my hand.
“So, how about dinner this weekend? I barely had any time at the wedding to get to know Douglas.” Trip asked. ‘Just be cool,’ I thought. ‘You are cool, calm, and collected. Cool as a cucumber. You’re Coolio. This will all be over in a minute, and you will have gotten away with it once again.’
“This is not Douglas,” I inexplicably blurted out. Note to self: must seriously practice being more cool. “This is Jack. Douglas and I broke up a few days—mere hours, really—before your wedding and I was too embarrassed to tell you, so I made Jack dress up and pretend to be Douglas so that I could keep my dignity ever-so-slightly intact for your wedding. Which I did! I think. But, now, it’s all okay, because I got engaged to Jack, not Douglas, and we’re really happy and everything’s perfect and we’re getting married this summer and now that you know we can, like, totally invite you.”
I took a deep breath.
“Brooke, you’re hilarious,” Trip said, laughing so hard I was sure he would bust a gut right there on the sidewalk outside of our apartment building. “I forgot how funny you are.”
“That Brooke,” Jack said to Trip in his Scottish accent, “She’s a real firecracker, isn’t she?” I hadn’t heard Jack do the accent in so long that I’d forgotten how sexy he sounded when he did it. All I could think of was that I loved him even more right at that moment. I was totally pathetic, but he loved me anyway. I wanted to reach over a give him a huge kiss. So I did.
“But that would make a great movie,” Trip said, taking out a tiny notepad and jotting something down. “You guys are a great couple.” Jack and I smiled back at him. “Enjoy being engaged now. Once you get married, it’s totally different.”
“Um, okay?” I managed to cough out, and Jack pulled me closer to him, as if trying to prevent me from catching Trip’s jaded outlook.
“You know, Ava and I might actually end up moving to New York this summer,” Trip said. “That’s why we’re here this week. We’re negotiating a theatre deal.” Trip went on and on about the deal and the play and the really, really amazing director they had lined up, but I didn’t hear a thing. I was still registering the fact that Trip and Ava would be moving back to New York. Just in time for my wedding. “I mean,” Trip continued, “Ava really wants to move back to New York. She really is a theatre rat, did you know that? That’s how she got her start. She’s really dying to come back. She hates L.A. All the people out there are so phony.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Jack said with a full on Scottish accent. A full on genuine Scottish accent.
“When’s your big day?”
“For what?” I asked.
“Your wedding, kiddo! I want to make sure we are in town! Although, if we move back to New York, I suppose we’ll always be in town!”
“Great,” I said, trying to sound like I really did think that it was great.
“What’s our date, honey?” I asked Jack, trying to figure out a way to avoid telling Trip our actual date. With Trip and Ava’s schedule, if we just didn’t tell them the date, I was sure they would be unable to attend.
“I can’t remember,” Jack replied, obviously playing the same game. See why I’m marrying him?
“Hell, you know what? I don’t even care where we are for your big day. Even if we are filming on location in Fiji this summer, we are making it back to New York for your wedding!”
“Jolly good!” Jack said with an English accent. I could tell he was about thirty seconds away from going Down Under.
“Okay, kids, I’ve gotta go, but I’ll have my assistant call you to set up some dinner plans for this Saturday night. Do you like Pastis?” he asked as he hailed a cab.
“Love it,” I said, thinking of an excuse to get out of it before the words were fully out of my mouth.
“Just think, if we move to New York, we can go to Pastis every Saturday!” Trip said, opening the door of the cab that had just pulled over. Trip hopped into the taxi cab and stuck his hand out the window to wave goodbye. I waved back as Jack slowly turned his head to look at me. Neither one of us said a word as we walked into the mailroom to get our mail. Jack grabbed our dry cleaning from the doorman and the shopping bags from me and I took the mail out of our mailbox. We reached the elevators and smiled at each other.
“So,” I asked him as I got into the elevator and pressed the button for our floor, “For our wedding, do you think that your dad would look good in a kilt?”