“Reading?”
“Yes, reading,” I replied with a lofty wave of my hand. “I have decided to devote myself to the improvement of my mind by extensive reading.”
Bridget narrowed her eyes. “That’s from Pride and Prejudice, isn’t it? Damn it, Elizabeth, whenever you start quoting from P&P I know you’re in a mood. I swear, that book is your security blanket when you’re upset.”
Luckily the chime of the doorbell saved me from a response. “Oh, God!” cried Bridget. “It’s Colin. Can you let him in? Tell him I’ll just be a minute.”
I rolled off the bed and went downstairs to let Colin in. Colin is six two, with curly brown hair and large brown eyes. To me, he’s always resembled an enormous teddy bear come to life. That pretty much sums up his personality, too. He’s like the big brother every girl wishes she had. He was still stamping his wet feet on the doormat when Bridget poked her head out of her room and hollered down, “Colin, I’ll be ready in two seconds. Try to convince Elizabeth to come with us. She needs cheering up.”
Colin glanced quizzically at me. “Is that true?”
“No. She will most certainly not be ready in two seconds.”
“I meant about your needing cheering up.”
“I’m fine. She’s referring to Mark.”
“Oh, that’s right,” said Colin, rearranging his face into a somber expression. “I was sorry to hear you two broke up.”
“Liar.”
He grinned and dipped his head in acknowledgment. “Okay, you’re right. The news made my day. The guy was a jackass.” Pulling me into a quick hug, he added, “You deserve nothing but the best, Elizabeth. Don’t forget that.”
See why I love Colin?
Eventually Bridget emerged from her room, dragging a bulging suitcase. Ignoring her pleas that I join them, I resolutely settled down on our couch with a copy of Faulkner’s The Sound and the Fury, finally convincing her that all I wanted to do was stay home and read. With Colin looking grateful and Bridget looking concerned, they left me to tackle the novel.
However, with their exit, the apartment seemed unnaturally quiet, and I had trouble concentrating on the text. Our landlord didn’t allow animals, so I didn’t even have the warmth of a furry friend to comfort me. Our only pets, if you could even call them that, were two goldfish purchased during a rare fit of domesticity. Unfortunately, our local pet store didn’t stock a particularly hardy variety, resulting in bimonthly replacement visits. As a result, I’d named each new pair Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. It didn’t change their fate, but it added a little drama when I had to announce it.
Forty-five minutes later, after having read the first twelve pages of Benjy’s narrative a total of eight times, I flung the book down, now feeling hungry, lonely, and stupid. Deciding that I could alleviate at least one of those problems, I grabbed the bag of Oreos just as the phone rang. Seeing the caller ID, my mood went from bad to worse.
It was my sister Kit. I knew what was coming. One of her goals in life is to see me married—and while I’m in no way opposed to the idea, it’s not my driving force in life. As I expected, no sooner did she hear my voice than she launched into rapid-fire speech. She had heard the news of my breakup from our mother and was clearly dumbfounded. How could I let a “catch” like Mark “slip away”? Didn’t I understand that with each passing year my chances of getting married diminished? (I’m all of twenty-six.) Didn’t I know that I had to “reel them in” while I was still young? (The way Kit tossed around the fishing jargon you’d think she was a seasoned angler. But the closest she ever got to fish was in her grocer’s freezer section.)
I didn’t want to tell her the real reason for the breakup—that Mark had been seeing at least two other women behind my back. So I did what any reasonable person in my position would do. I lied.
Unfortunately, it’s not a skill that I’m adept at and the reason I gave her—that he smoked—sounded silly even to me. I know Kit found it funny, because she laughed for a good thirty seconds. Loudly. Then she launched into a lecture, the point of which was that unless I stopped being so picky, I was going to end up alone.
She said this last bit in the whispery kind of voice some people reserve for revealing a stint in prison or a terminal illness. As she continued to scoff at my “pickiness,” something inside me snapped. Candidly I volunteered, “He cheated on me, Kit, okay?”
Silence answered.
“Kit, are you there?”
Finally, all in one breath I got, “Oh, you poor, poor thing. What a terrible thing to have to go through. No wonder you didn’t want to tell me! How awful! Not that I have any personal experience, of course. Well, don’t worry about it, I won’t mention it again. Except to say that I always thought there was something untrustworthy about him. His eyes are too close together for one. And he really could be a pompous jackass at times. But there’s no point in going into all of that now. Are you alone? You shouldn’t be alone. Where’s Bridget? Oh, that’s right, Colin’s proposing this weekend, isn’t he? Well, don’t let that get you down. I know what you’re probably thinking. You’re thinking that you’re going to end up some lonely old woman who lives with cats, but that’s not true!”
“Actually, Kit, I wasn’t thinking that …”
“Good, that’s the spirit! Okay, here’s what we’ll do. I’ll come down. No, that won’t work. Tom and I are having a huge party this weekend for some clients. It’s been unbelievably stressful. You’ll just have to come here.”
My brother-in-law sells hot tubs. It wasn’t hard to imagine where the night would end with a party composed of fellow enthusiasts in a house with the deluxe model.
She continued on. “You come here and we’ll forget all about Mark. We won’t even mention him. Do you know who he was seeing? Is she pretty? You poor, poor thing.”
The thing about my sister is that she does mean well. However, her idea of well and my idea of well are on opposite ends of the spectrum. I knew she wouldn’t stop about the party until I either agreed to come or produced a reasonable excuse. Panic set in as my brain frantically struggled to generate the latter. Happily, my eyes landed on Aunt Winnie’s Post-it. With a heroic effort to keep any trace of relief out of my voice, I told her that, sadly, I couldn’t possibly go to her party as I was already going to Aunt Winnie’s.
There was a brief pause as Kit absorbed this information. “Aunt Winnie’s having a party?” she asked, a note of hurt in her voice.
“Um, well, it’s more of a work weekend, really,” I fibbed. “I think she just needs my help getting the inn ready.”
“Oh, I see—that makes sense. Well, as long as she doesn’t let you cook, everything should be fine,” she said, breaking out into the overly hearty laugh she employed whenever she insulted me. It was meant to imply “we’re all just one big, happy, teasing family and if you don’t get that, then you’re way too sensitive.” All it did was set my teeth on edge.
Thanking her for the invitation and promising that I would call if I needed to talk, I hung up on another, “Oh, you poor, poor thing.”
I looked at the Oreos. After my third one, I realized I needed something stronger. I needed a large glass of chardonnay and a larger dose of Cary Grant. Pulling my woolly cardigan around me, I went to ransack Bridget’s DVD collection. Passing the hall table, I reread Aunt Winnie’s invitation. I realized that I really did want to go, and not just so that I wouldn’t end up in a hot tub with my brother-in-law’s single clients. No, I thought with a smile, a visit with Aunt Winnie was just what I needed. Right after North by Northwest.