—Jordan Blank, Op Ed in the
Chicago Tribune
, May 12, 2007
“Congratulations,” Abbot says, toasting me with his whiskey. He’s just finished reading the piece from this morning’s paper. We’ve already sent an enormous gift basket over to Jordan. When he called to fact-check the little bit of evil that Mallory had spoken to him about and heard the true details of the story, he was obviously enraged. And when I told him that he should feel free to print it, that the company had already decided to stand our ground where the threats were concerned, and that we were prepared to face anything, that rage increased to a level that has clearly served our purposes very nicely. We appear, for the moment, to be safe on that front. The rest of the PR crap continues at its petty pace, a few other retail outlets have dropped us, particularly in conservative markets, and the new forecast financially is an overall 22 to 24 percent drop for the fiscal year. But not total disaster, and if we can maintain, hopefully the new book will help an upswing come next spring.
“Have you heard from Brant?” he asks.
“Not a peep.” And Brant never reads the papers, so I doubt that he’s seen this, and even if he did, I don’t know that he’s smart enough to understand that it is about us. Especially as Mallory has been less than forthcoming with him as to what the situation is. Frankly, I think the whole thing is for the best. It forced me to look at what role Brant was playing in my life. And, as it turned out, it wasn’t a role that had any true meaning. It also forced the company to come together and make a decision about who we are and where we’re going, and ultimately I think both the company and I personally are going to be better off and stronger as a result.
“Well, let’s hope he stays peepless!” Abbot says.
The hostess comes over to where we’re sitting at the bar. “Your table is ready, sir. Madame, right this way.”
We carry our drinks over to the table in a quiet corner of Trattoria 10.
“Do you have theater tickets this evening?” the hostess asks us.
“Yes,” says Abbot, “eight o’clock curtain.”
“At which theater?”
“The Palace.”
“We’ll have you out of here in plenty of time,” the hostess says. “Enjoy your dinner.”
We scan over the menu, place our orders, and nibble on their delicious Parmesan crackers while waiting for our salads to arrive. While Abbot talks about his trip, I examine him. He’s looking particularly handsome in a dark gray suit, his salt-and-pepper hair clipped close to his head, and as I watch him and think about the time we’ve spent together, I’m filled with a sense of certainty that I haven’t had about much of anything in a very long time. I know, with every fiber of my being, that I have made the right choice for me. The best possible decision for us both. And I am suddenly really looking forward to sharing it with him later tonight.
“Jodi, dear, more wine?” Aunt Ruth asks me.
“No thanks, I’m good,” I say.
“I’ll take more,” Jill says, holding her glass out, and Ruth reaches over with the bottle and tops her off. It’s our last Thursday cocktail hour before the wedding, and we are all exhausted. Hunter’s family arrived yesterday in surprisingly good spirits and regaled us during dinner last night with all the details of the party plans for next weekend. Ice sculptures and a martini fountain and three different bands. Apparently, approximately 250 of Cleve and Grace’s friends, family, and colleagues are all eager to meet our quaint little family. Both Jill and Hunter were amazingly even-keeled, in spite of the fact that everything about that party seems to go against the sort of event that they themselves would ever have planned. But they are so happy and excited about the wedding that ultimately, whatever sort of over-the-top display is going to be made out East, all they can focus on are the perfect details of what will happen in two days.
“So, Miss Jill,” Aunt Shirley says, “we have something for you.” She walks over to the sideboard and takes out a simple white box tied with a white ribbon. She hands it to Jill.
“More presents?” Jill asks. “Really, it’s very unnecessary.” Her grin is in direct opposition to the protests coming out of her mouth.
“Oh, just open it already,” I say.
She unties the ribbon and lifts the top off the box. Gently moving aside the tissue, she reaches in to find a small, ivory-beaded clutch purse. “It’s beautiful,” she says. “It’s just perfect.”
“It’s the purse our mother carried when she married our father,” Aunt Ruth says.
“I found it last week when I was looking through a box for some old recipes,” says Shirley. “We had no idea it was even down there.”
“It’s the perfect something old,” Jill says. “Thank you.”
“Open it,” Shirley says. Jill undoes the clasp and looks inside. She pulls out a small linen handkerchief embroidered with blue forget-me-nots. It’s the handkerchief our mother carried at her wedding to our father and the one I carried when I married Brant. Jill recognizes it immediately.
“Well,” she says, “that means all my requirements are met. I’ve got the something old. The dress is new. I’m borrowing Jodi’s diamond bracelet, and now I’ve got my perfect something blue. All I need is a groom and a justice of the peace.”
“You seem very happy,” Shirley says, “and we are very happy for you.”
“We wish you all the love in the world.” Ruth raises her glass.
“Hear, hear!” I say, and the four of us clink glasses and toast to Jill’s future.
“Is Abbot coming with you to the rehearsal dinner tomorrow night?” Jill asks.
“No,” I say and take a deep sip of my wine. “Actually, Abbot won’t be able to come to the wedding either.”
Three heads snap around to look at me.
“What do you mean?” Aunt Shirley asks.
“Are you okay?” Jill says.
“Relax, relax everyone. I’m fine,” I say.
“I thought the two of you were going to Italy?” Aunt Ruth says.
“We were. I told him last weekend that I would accept his offer of going to Italy. And ever since then, my stomach has been in knots. I really thought it was the right thing to do. He’s a good man, and I enjoy his company immensely, and he’s been nothing but lovely to me.”
“But you’re in love with Connor,” Jill says.
“This isn’t about Connor,” I say. “This is about me.”
My relationship with Brant was not a good or healthy relationship for me to be in. And when it was over, I needed to take some sort of action regarding my romantic life, which has worked pretty well up until now. This situation forced me to look into my heart to decide whether I am in a place now to really consider being someone’s partner again. To give up the freedom and autonomy that I have worked so hard to achieve in order to have someone at my side in a more permanent way. And I discovered that yes, I am ready. I naturally thought that since the answer to that was yes, and Abbot was the one who asked me to consider that possibility with him, that he was the one that I should be saying yes to.
“Because you love Connor,” Jill says again.
“No, Jill, not because I love Connor but because I don’t love Abbot. I meant what I said; this isn’t about Connor. It isn’t even about the idea of Connor. This is about me. There’s no way I could have been that enthralled to be with Connor if I was really supposed to be making a commitment to Abbot. I thought about it long and hard and realized that I couldn’t force myself to explore this idea of commitment with the wrong man. So I spoke to Abbot and apologized and told him that I changed my mind. And I was very sorry to have to ultimately decline his offer, and I hoped he would understand.”
“And what did he say?” Aunt Ruth asks.
“He was reasonably understanding. He said he was very sorry, that he wished it was different, that he had been excited at the prospect. But that as he hadn’t made any definite arrangements, it didn’t put him out, and that he wished me a wonderful life.”
“How very gentlemanly of him,” Aunt Shirley says.
“There’s no question that Abbot is always a perfect gentleman,” I say.
“So what did Connor say when you spoke to him?” Jill asks.
“I haven’t spoken to Connor,” I say. “I’m not exactly sure what I could tell him. Hey, I thought you’d want to know, somebody else offered to date me exclusively, and I turned him down, but the idea got me thinking?”
“That might be a good start,” Aunt Ruth says.
“Look, the truth is, Connor and I had a fight. A really stupid fight about exactly nothing. And we talked, and we both apologized, but I’m not sure what he thinks about me right now. And he is off fishing, and by the time he gets back, we’ll be out East, and so we are supposed to get together when I get back. I don’t even know if we’re technically still together or not right now, and I can’t think about it. For right now, I’m just going to live in the world and see what happens.” I really like Connor. I genuinely care about him, but I have to tread very lightly here. Just because I have recently come to the decision that I’m open to having an exclusive relationship with someone, and just because I was smart enough to recognize that it wasn’t Abbot, doesn’t mean I should suddenly throw myself at Connor and ask him to make all kinds of commitment. And now that things with Connor are all catawampus, I have to go on the assumption that I may very well be starting from scratch.
“I think that’s very wise,” says Aunt Ruth. “You have come to this knowledge in your own time and in an organic way, and frankly it’s only fair that you give that boy an opportunity to do the same.”
“Well, as long as you don’t wait too long,” Aunt Shirley says. “Sometimes those men need just a little push.”
Jill reaches over and squeezes my arm. “I’m very, very proud of you.”
I smile at her. “You know, I’m kind of proud of myself.” Which I am. Not to mention sad, and fucking terrified, and more than a little lonesome. But, you know, in a proud way.
“But then who are you bringing to the wedding?” Shirley asks.
“I’m going solo,” I say. “After all, there is no shame in that.”
“Of course not,” Ruth says.
“Are you sure there isn’t a friend or someone you’d like to call?” Aunt Shirley says.
“I think at least one Spingold Spinster Sister ought to be represented at this party, and just because the three of you have dates doesn’t make it a requirement for me.” Shirley is bringing Gerald, a local illustrator who did the pictures on the last cookbook project she worked on. And Ruth is bringing Robert, an investment banker and former client who was recently relocated here from D.C. and relied on her to help him find the right apartment. She has been advising him on everything from where to get his shoes resoled, to where to take clients for business lunches.
“I think it’s just fine,” says Jill.
“So do I,” I say.
And I do.
EPILOGUE
Do You Take This Man?
I am my beloved’s, and my beloved is mine.
—From the
Song of Songs
, attributed to Solomon
“It gives me great joy to present to all assembled here for the first time, Mr. and Mrs. Hunter Charles,” the justice of the peace says, and the crowd erupts into delighted applause as Hunter and Jill kiss a second time and walk back down the aisle.
Worth looks at me, offers his arm, and we follow behind them. Aunt Ruth and Aunt Shirley are dabbing their eyes and smiling broadly. Hunter’s mom is collapsed in her husband’s arms. It couldn’t have been a more beautiful ceremony. The vows that Jill and Hunter wrote themselves were both deeply moving and very funny, including things like Hunter promising not to tease her about her addiction to Dairy Queen with rainbow sprinkles, and Jill promising to try to learn how to play at least one video game.
We all head out into the reception and mill around accepting hugs and kisses from friends and family and being sure to introduce Hunter’s family to everyone they didn’t meet at last night’s rehearsal dinner. It is a whirlwind of hugging and talking.
“You look like you could use a drink,” says a voice behind me. I turn to find Connor, holding out a glass of champagne.
“What are you doing here?” I ask him, completely flabbergasted. “You’re supposed to be in the North Woods!”
“I was, and this morning at five A.M., sitting in a boat in the middle of the lake with Mike, waiting for the fish to bite, I casually mentioned to him that Jill’s wedding was tonight. He asked if I was angry at not being invited. I told him I was invited, but that I couldn’t go because he and I had made these plans, and he yelled at me.”
“He yelled at you?”
“Yep. Told me I was a complete asshat and he was ashamed to have me for his brother. I asked him why, and he said that inviting someone to be your date at a wedding of a close family member was a very important invitation. He said he noticed I’ve never brought a date to any of the family weddings. Ever. And that if I had had any sense, I would’ve called him up and told him to take somebody else this weekend. He said he bet you were really pissed. I said I didn’t think you were angry, that you had taken it in stride, but then we had that fight, and that maybe this would explain it. And he said all the more reason that I shouldn’t be there with him. I should be here with you. He said that any woman so upset that you won’t be at her side at an important family event is the kind of woman you don’t want to let slip through your grasp. And I realized that he was right. So I made him row me back to shore, I packed up my gear, and I called Jill to ask if you were bringing someone else to the wedding. She said you weren’t and that it wasn’t too late. And I got on the road, and here I am. And I’m sorry that I didn’t make the right decision when I should’ve made it. It’s been a very long time since I was involved with someone that I wanted to be responsible to, and I’m so used to putting my family first that I forgot to pay attention when you invited me to be your date. And Mike’s right. You had every right to be angry with me.” He leans over and kisses me softly.