15
The End of Molly and Brad
W
ith the start of school just around the corner, I have to get out of my lazy summer routine and back to getting up at a reasonable hour. So, as draining as the previous night was, I'm still up early and on the phone with Jamie making plans to go to the craft store to get school supplies when my Call Waiting beeps.
“Hello?”
“Molly! Are you on the other line?” It's Brad!!
“Yeah, but hang on one sec.”
I flash back over to Jamie and arrange to meet her at Michael's.
“Hi!” I say when I click back over to Brad.
“We had a great time last night.”
Huh? Were they at the same dinner we were? Maybe they went out afterwards?
I must have been silent a little too long, because Brad says, “Didn't you?” before I have a chance to think of how to respond.
“Oh, yes, of course. For sure,” I stumble and bumble. What do I say?!?
“It was so good to see you. I missed you.”
Now
what do I say?
It was so good to see the demon that has taken over your body,
doesn't seem appropriate.
“Me, too,” I reply lamely.
Then Brad's tone stiffens a little and I'm prepared for him to admit that it was an altogether awful time, but instead he says, “I'm worried about you.”
Me? You're worried about me? I'm not the one who's been brainwashed!
“Huh?”
“Molly, there is something about Justin that I can't put my finger on.”
For a minute I freeze ... I'm positive we've been caught. I'm horrified that Brad has seen through the act that Justin and I put on ... but I'm also relieved that we are still close enough that he can see through me.
“I'm worried about the way he tries to control you,” Brad continues.
What?!? People who live in glass houses shouldn't throw rocks.
“What are you talking about?”
“He is always looking at you and touching you.”
It's called being in love, dumb-ass! (Or pretending to be in love to fool your family and friends into believing you are engaged, but that's a separate issue.)
“It's because we're in love,” I inform Brad, and I'm positive that he's going to see through me because it sounds SO awkward to say it like that.
“Well, what about how he was with the check?” Brad asks.
“What about it?” I say, defensively. “He was trying to make it nice and easy and Claire made a big stink about ten dollars!”
I know that dragging her name into this will escalate the problem, but I don't care. I'm tired of playing nice. Bring it on!
“She didn't appreciate being swindled by an out-of-work actor.”
“At lease he has a line of work to be out of!” Not my best comeback, but what can I say? I'm not great at fighting on my feet.
“There we have it.”
“There we have what?” I challenge.
“You are so jealous of Claire.”
I am flabbergasted because it's really not true. I will admit that I have been jealous of people in the past. Friends who got engaged before me, my own sister who got pregnant before me, the teacher they selected over me to be third grade dean (yes, Manhattan elementary schools have elementary grade deans). I have NEVER been jealous of Claire Reilly, though!
“Brad!” I yell. “You know me better than that.”
“No, Molly, I know you exactly that well. And I know that you are only dragging that stupid Justin character around to try to make me feel guilty for getting married.”
“Wh-what?!?” I stammer.
“First you tried to get me to break up with Claire and when it didn't work you took this approach.”
Okay, I have to say it ... he's
forced
me. You see that, don't you?
“Actually, Brad, I tried to get you to break up with Claire because I think she's evil. I see that she has broken your spirit and robbed you of your personality. I see that the sparkle is gone from your eye. My relationship with Justin has
nothing
(okay, this is a tiny lie since it was his engagement that drove me over the edge and forced me to call Justin in the first place, but that's a moot point right now) to do with you or Claire or your miserable marriage.”
“Maybe I have changed, Molly, but I've changed for the better. You've changed into a bitter, jealous woman.” CLICK.
“SCREW YOU!” I yell before slamming the phone down, then picking up the receiver and slamming it four more times.
16
A Day With Jamie
I
am trembling and sobbing and am truly in shock over what just took place. I think Brad and I have argued four times in the past twelve years. The time I spread the news that his roommate slept with one of their fraternity brothers' girlfriend. The time I got super-hammered and hooked up with the same roommate. The time I told my mother he was gay as an excuse for why we weren't a couple. (Ironic that now I am telling my mother a gay man is straight.) And ... maybe that's it. Maybe we've only argued three times ... over petty little things.
In all the other instances, we were laughing about it by happy hour the same night. I am positive we won't be laughing about this over Heinekens tonight ... or ever. I have a very permanent feeling that my friendship with Brad is over. The strange thing is that I don't feel as upset as I would have thought I would beâwhich is maybe part of why I'm so upset ... because what I said to Justin the other day comes back to me. The person I just got off the phone with isn't my best friend. He's the brainwashed Claire Reilly version. My Brad has been gone for months.
I take a long, hot shower and pull myself together. I have to meet Jamie in a little over an hour. When I step out of the steam of my bathroom I realize that a hot shower probably wasn't the smartest thing. The temperature seems to have spiked again and my apartment is now uncomfortably warm. I blast the air conditioner while I get myself ready. I decide to skip blow-drying my hair; it'll dry pretty curly, but blow-drying it in this heat would only lead to a frizz ball, and I could sweat to death under the heat of my blow-dryer.
I'm out the door with just enough time to grab a Caramel Frappuccino before meeting Jamie. Of course, I still get there first and stand outside the craft store getting a sugar-and-caffeine high while I wait for her. When she finally walks up, I do a double take. It's only been a couple weeks since the family dinner and she has practically doubled in size!
“You're huge!” I blurt out.
“I know,” she giggles, “I popped.”
I stare at her bulging belly for a second and feel a rush of emotion. My baby sister, my beautiful baby sister, looks so much more beautiful with her own baby inside her. It's amazing.
“You look so amazing.”
“Ugh, no. Look at my feet.”
She sticks a foot that is almost swollen beyond recognition in my face.
“Okay, eew ... your feet look awful, but the rest of you looks fantastic.”
“Thank you. I actually feel pretty good. I've been doing a lot of the yoga that Justin showed me and I think it helps.”
We continue chatting about all the pregnancy stuff that Jamie is doing as we walk into the craft store. Once inside, we both pull long lists out of our pursesâwhat do you expect? We're teachers!
After what feels like three trips up and down each aisle and seven bathroom trips for Jamie, we are in line with carts full of construction paper, Elmer's Glue, glitter, paint, markers, stickers ... you name it, and we're buying it. I must admit that one of my favorite things about being a teacher is putting together my bulletin board before the beginning of the school year.
Usually I start with something fall-themed that can easily be transformed for Halloween and Thanksgiving ... an orange background is usually the best starting point. Then, in December, I switch to a red background that will take me through Christmas and Valentine's Day. No need to worry about New Year's, because the kids are on winter break. Some teachers steer clear of red because it isn't as Hanukkah-friendly, but I decorate a green tree with all different color dreidels ... I like the idea of blending the holidays together, especially since that's how I grew upâwith a Jewish mother and a Christian father. Technically, we are all Jewish, since our mother is, but she was always very generous about celebrating both sets of holidays. Then, in March, I go to a green background that works for St. Patrick's Day and on through spring. Sometimes I'll move to a yellow background for summer in May, but sometimes I burn out. Depends how trying my class that year is, I guess. It's so much fun for me.
After Jamie and I check out, we lug what feels like most of the store's inventory out onto the street.
“I'm starving,” Jamie announces.
Since I can usually eat, I agree that lunch is a good idea. We spot a sidewalk café not too far away, and drag our bags there. As we sit down I admire the place ... we've never been there and it's really adorable. Small café tables line the patio that is really just the Manhattan sidewalk, but some carefully arranged potted plants have made it feel far away from the hustle and bustle of traffic whirring by. We look at the menus as we try to kick the bags to one side or the other and make foot space under the tiny table.
We make up our minds pretty quickly because we are starving. I order a
panino caprese
, my favorite kind of sandwich. . . it's basically a caprese salad (buffalo mozzarella, tomato, and basil) on yummy Italian bread. Jamie gets the cheese ravioli.
“I crave cheese ravioli all the timeâisn't that weird?” she asks me, as if I have any idea what is weird or not for a pregnant woman.
“I dunno.”
“It is. People always talk about craving ice cream and pickles ... but not me. Cheese ravioli ... which I actually think is more disgusting, because I have eaten it out of the Chef Boyardee can without even heating it up in extreme moments ... like the middle of the night.”
“That
is
disgusting,” I agree.
“So,” Jamie says, “I have something I need to talk to you about.”
“Me, too, actually.” I've decided to get Jamie's take on the Brad situation.
“You go first,” she instructs.
I go way back to the first Brad-Claire problems ... my being unable to reach Brad without Claire thwarting me. Finally reaching him and being told that we can't be alone together. Then I fill her in on the dinner from hell. And I wrap up my tale of woe with the morning's awful phone call.
“You're kidding me,” is all she says.
“No, obviously I'm not kidding. He
said
all those things ... about me and about why I'm with Justin!”
Jamie shakes her head and pulls another list out of her bag. She takes out a pen and furiously scratches something off it.
“What are you doing?”
“I'm uninviting them to my baby shower.”
“You're having a baby shower? Why didn't you tell me? When?”
“Actually, that's what I wanted to talk to you about. I want you to throw it,” she says as she hands a neatly organized list of names and addresses across the table.
I'm caught off guard only for a tiny second of wondering at how Jamie can so expertly and so innocently take the topic off of my huge problem, get it onto her, and get me to throw her a party in the process. I promise that selfishness only lasts one second, though, because the truth is that nothing would thrill me more than planning her shower.
“Really? You want me to?!?”
“Well, of course. You're going to be the godmother.”
“I'm going to be the godmother?!?” My eyes well up and I'm bawling before “mother” is completely out of my mouth.
“Well, of course,” she says, bawling as well.
We hug and cry and giggle and then spend the rest of the afternoon talking about the baby shower.
We never get back on the “Brad problem” and that doesn't disappoint me at all.
17
Molly Gets Organized
T
hat evening I sit down at my desk and really prepare to plan. My plate has suddenly become so full that I'm slightly worried that even I won't be able to tackle it. I have to plan my upcoming fake engagement, fake wedding, and the greatest baby shower in the world for Jamie, and, of course, prepare for schoolâmy job. As I'm trying to figure out how I can finish everything in time, the door to my apartment opens and Justin comes in (I gave him a key) carrying Chinese take-out.
“I love you!” I announce while grabbing a box of chow mein (my favorite) and a pair of chopsticks.
“So, what's new and exciting?” he asks as he grabs the container of garlic chicken and the second pair of chopsticks for himself.
I jump into telling him all about my day with Jamie and how I am planning her baby shower and I am going to be the godmother. We talk about that for ages before I remember my awful morning and tell him about that.
“Oh Jeez, Molly ... that sucks. Are you sure you're okay?”
I nod my head as I affirm that I really am.
We talk about the Brad situation only a little longer before going back to Jamie and the baby. As the evening grows later we start talking about our childhoods.
“I think I can remember my mother being pregnant with Jamie. I'm not sure, though ... it might be one of those things you see so many pictures of when you are growing up that you think you remember it actually happening. Know what I mean?”
He does, of course. And we start talking about his childhood in Kansas. And then what it was like realizing he was gay and coming out, and ultimately leaving Kansas.
“I was actually engaged,” he tells me. “Then I came home one day and realized how wrong the whole situation was for me.”
“Did she hate you?” I ask.
“For a long time she did, but it didn't matter that much because my own mother and father hated me. Not to mention my brother, so it was just one more person.”
For the first time, I'm realizing what a painful thing it was for him to come out.
“That's so awfulâI'm so sorry.”
“Don't be sorry. My family is better than most. They eventually got over it and things are okay between us now. We all went to therapy, together and separately. I even became friendly with Lisa, my ex-fiancée, and helped her plan her wedding to the man she eventually married.”
Even though Justin's story has a happy ending, it makes me sad to think of all the people's who don't. “It breaks my heart to think about people whose families let them down when this is something that cannot be helped.”
“It is sad,” he agrees.
Slowly the topic moves from serious to silly and back again. Before we know it, it's 3 A.M. and we can hardly keep our eyes open. We crawl into our respective beds and I don't know about him, but I'm asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow.
Somehow, although I've only had a fraction of the sleep a person needs to function, I'm awake and alert early the next morning. My body must be realizing that school is nearing and it's getting back on time.
I put on a pot of coffee and sneak into the room where Justin is sleeping to get my schedule off the desk. He looks so peaceful and comfortable. I quietly shut the door and plop myself down on the couch to watch Regis and Kelly on low volume while I figure out what I need to do first.
School stuff is going to need to take priority because it's starting first ... in a little over a week. Next I'll have to figure out engagement details because that is supposed to happen in two weeks. Jamie's shower, which I'm probably the most excited about at this point, will have to take the back burner for a short time since I think it'll be fun to wait until she's farther along and even bigger.
As far as getting ready for school goes, I'm almost there. I've been doing this long enough that I have my lesson plans pretty perfected as jumping off points. Obviously they get adjusted as the year goes on, depending how the class is moving, but for starting the year off, I stick to what has worked in the past.
I have some new school clothes and all my new school supplies. What I really need to do is get to the school and set up my classroom, my desk, and my bulletin board (yippee). Also, I like to study the previous year's yearbook to try and learn as many names as possible. Sometimes it's really hard because yearbook photos are taken in the fall so by the time I get the kids they are a full year older and many of them look very different. But for the most part it's a helpful way to get started, because I like to learn names quickly. I always hated the teachers who still weren't sure of everyone's names in October, so I vowed never to be one of those.
As for the engagement, the biggest thing I have to do is figure out the ring dilemma. Obviously the Tiffany rings, and really all “real” rings, are outrageously out of budget for a fake engagement (and perhaps for a real one, too), but all the cubic zirconium and costume ones we looked at were so tacky. This is probably the biggest problem with my grand plan, so far. I also need to think up an adorable way for the engagement to happen since I know from hearing countless stories from other people that everyone on earth asks engaged people to retell the story of how it happened. And I definitely want to have one of the ones that brings tears to people's eyes, not obvious disappointment like my poor friend Lily whose husband proposed in line at the supermarket. I want something romantic. Other than figuring out those two things, I don't think there is much else I need to do with the engagement. I don't want to send out announcements to newspapers or anything like that ... that would just be overkill on the lie.
I move onto the shower planning. As organized as ever, Jamie has given me a typed, alphabetized list of guests. I look at the list, and the black scratch marks through “Bradley Lawson,” give me a tiny pang of sadness, but I'm strong and I move on. Jamie basically wants everyone she's ever met (and I think perhaps one or two that she hasn't) invited to this baby shower. Where on earth am I going to hold such a gala? And how on earth am I going to pay for it?
I make good money teaching at a private school and tutoring over breaks, and am comfortable since I don't really have rent since my grandmother had owned this apartment for so long that it was paid off, but Justin's “salary” for the year is going to leave me with less rainy-day money than usual ... actually, it's leaving me flat broke. Like the shortfall when it came to the engagement ring money, my wedding fund doesn't exactly cover a groom's salary, either. It is taking every spare dime, plus some severe scrimping and saving, to pay Justin to be dutifully by my side for twelve months ... I've even become my mother's daughter and am a coupon clipper. Ugh ... I've sunk so low! Obviously, Nana hadn't considered the fact that I might need to pay an actor to pose as my true love when she set the money aside for me. I am thinking about asking my mother to plan the shower with me (aka help me pay for it) when Justin pads into the living room looking very sleepyheaded.
“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” I croon at him.
He grunts in my direction. Justin has been around my apartment enough now that I know he is not a morning person.
“Coffee's in the kitchen,” I inform him.
He grunts again and heads that way. A few minutes later, the usual Justin emerges from the kitchen with a jumbo mug of joe.
“What are you up to so bright and early?” he asks.
“Planning, organizing, scheduling, and figuring out what I need to do and when I need to do it.”
“Ah-ha. And what do you need to do and when do you need to do it by?”
I pick up my papers and go over them.
“I need to set up my classroom and study the old yearbook this week. I need to figure out our engagement stuff and the ring problem this week, too. After that stuff is taken care of, I can start thinking about Jamie's party ... and how to pay for the biggest baby shower ever thrown.”
“Oh, about the engagement. I thought at the Labor Day barbeque at your parents' that I could ask your father for âpermission.' I don't think I'll see him again before it happens, will I?”
I think for a second and realize that we won't see my family again before we get engaged ... it's happening so soon!
“No. You're right. Asking for permission is such a great touch. Makes it so legit. You're not scared to do it, are you?”
“No. It's like acting ... plus, it'll be the only time in my life I'll be able to ask a girl's father for permission to marry his daughter.”
He laughs at this thought.
“What about when you got engaged to Lisa?” I ask.
“Oh, Molly, I was not the classy gentleman who stands before you today. I was a confused, often drunk, college student. We were hammered the night I proposed and I was relieved when she passed out so that I wouldn't have to have sex with her,” he laughs again.
“I'm sure one day you'll ask a nice boy's father for his son's hand in marriage.”
We giggle together at the thought.
“The ring is a real pickle for me,” I tell him.
“Yeah, I know. I was thinking: my friend Jake at work got engaged and then, like, three months later the girl broke it off and gave the ring back. Maybe we could borrow it?”
“Really?” I ask, wide-eyed. “That would be so ideal.”
“I know, and I remember it being a nice ring. Not exactly like what you picked out of the blue box, but nothing to be ashamed of, either. I think he's working the same shift as I amâI'll ask him tonight.”
“How are you going to ask him?”
Justin furrows his brow. “Good question.”
We think furiously for a few minutes.
“Tell him it's for a play?” Justin suggests.
“Why wouldn't you use a fake, worthless ring for a play?” I counter.
“Good point.”
More thinking.
“I know!” I exclaim. “You could tell him that your sister had the exact same ring, but lost it and needs to wear one so her husband doesn't realize she lost hers while a replacement is made.”
“I don't have a sister,” he reminds me.
“Friend?” I offer.
“Yes, something along those lines might work. I'll ask him about it and see how he reacts and feel the situation out from there.”
We finish our coffee in silence and watch Regis and Kelly interview Alyssa Milano and then demonstrate how to grill ribs for Labor Day. When the show is over, Justin heads into the second bedroom. He comes out just as the ladies of
The View
are taking their seats.
“Okay, cutie. I'm off.”
I stand up to give him a hug.
“See you later, alligator.”
“After while, crocodile. Do good on your bulletin board.”
“Do
well
,” I correct. “I have to get back in teacher mode,” I say with a smile.
“I'll call you tonight,” he says, returning my smile as he walks out the door.