But it’s time, I realize, to be honest. With Luke. And with myself.
“Fun’s great,” I say. “But, you know, Luke… I want to get married someday. I really do. And if you don’t… well, what’s the point of even being together? I mean, don’t you think it’d be better for us to break up, so we can get back out there and try to find the person we can picture a future with?”
“Hey,” Luke says, pressing his lips to my hair. “Hey, don’t talk like that. I didn’t say I can’t picture a future with you. I’m just saying that right now I can’t picture a future for myself—let alone with anyone else! So how can I presume to put you in it, as well… much as I might like to see you there?”
I rest my cheek against his chest. I can feel the crisp starch of his white button-down, and smell the light scent of the eau de cologne he wears as aftershave. It’s a smell I’ve come to associate with sex and laughter.
Until now.
“I know,” I say, gently pushing him away. “And I’m really sorry. But I have to go.”
And I turn and head into the bedroom, where my suitcase for tomorrow’s trip sits. The only thing I haven’t packed yet is my toiletries. I go into the bathroom to do that now.
“You’re kidding me with this, right?” Luke’s followed me. “This is a joke.”
“It’s not a joke,” I say, slipping my toothbrush and facial soap into my Luscious Lana toiletries bag. I can barely see what I’m doing, because my eyes are so filled with tears. Stupid eyes.
I brush past him to stuff my toiletry bag and cosmetics bag into my suitcase. Then I wrench up the little pull handle and begin dragging my bag to the door.
“Lizzie.” Luke darts in front of me. His expression is anxious. “What is the matter with you? I’ve never seen you like this—”
“What?” I demand, a little more sharply than I mean to. “You’ve never seen me angry before? You’re right. That’s because I’ve been trying to be on my best behavior with you, Luke. Because I’ve been trying to prove to you that I’m worthy of you. Worthy of being with a guy as great as you. It’s like… it’s like this apartment. This beautiful apartment. I’ve been trying to act like the kind of person who would live in a place like this… a place with a little Renoir girl on the wall. But you know what I figured out? I don’t want to be the kind of person who would live in a place like this. Because I don’t like the kind of people who live in places like this—people who cheat on their husbands and lead girls to believe they’ve got a future together when they don’t because they’re not interested in marriage, only in having fun. Because I think I’m worth more than that.”
Luke blinks at me. “Who’s cheating on their husband?” he asks, puzzled.
“Ask your mother who she met for lunch the day after Thanksgiving!” I say before I can stop myself. Inwardly, I groan. Okay, that’s it. I have to get out. Now. “Good-bye, Luke.”
But Luke doesn’t take the hint and get out of my way. Instead, he sets his jaw.
“Lizzie,” he says in a different tone from before. “You’re being ridiculous. It’s ten o’clock at night. Where do you even think you’re going?”
“What do you even care?” I demand.
“Lizzie. I care. You know I care. How can you just walk out like this?”
“Because,” I say. “I can’t do for now. I need forever. I deserve forever.”
I shove past him, unlock the door, and pull my suitcase out into the hallway, stopping only to grab my coat and purse along the way.
It’s sort of hard to make a super-dramatic exit like that, though, when you have to stand there and wait for the elevator to come. Luke leans in the doorway, staring at me.
“You know I’m not going to run after you,” he says.
I don’t say anything.
“And I’m leaving for France tomorrow,” he goes on.
I stare at the numbers above the door of the elevator as they light up, one by one. They’re a bit blurry, because of my unshed tears.
“Lizzie,” he says in his infuriatingly reasonable tone. “Where are you going to go, huh? You’re going to find a new place over Christmas vacation? This city shuts down the week between Christmas and New Year’s. Look, let’s just use this time apart to cool off a little, okay? Just… just be here when I get back. So we can talk. Okay?”
Thankfully, the elevator finally comes. I get on it. And, not caring that the uniformed elevator attendant is listening, say, “Good-bye, Luke.”
The elevator doors close.
The party’s over…
What to do with your gown now that your wedding is through?
Well, many women choose to save their wedding gown for their future daughters or granddaughters to wear at their own weddings. Others may choose simply to store their wedding gowns for the sake of posterity.
Whichever you choose, it’s important to have your wedding gown cleaned after its final wearing, as even hidden stains, such as those from champagne or perspiration, can discolor the delicate material over time.
But some women, once their dress has been cleaned and placed in a preservation box, may find that it no longer holds the sentimental value for them that it once did. Perhaps their marriage ended in divorce, or even the death of their spouse.
While it may hold painful memories for you, don’t throw your wedding gown away—donate it to Lizzie Nichols Designs™ or any one of numerous 501(c)(3) charities that exist to help impoverished brides have the wedding of their dreams—501(c)(3) charities are fully tax deductible, so you’ll be making your accountant happy, too.
You’ll be helping a fellow bride in need, and you’ll be replacing possibly unhappy memories with new, joyful ones. Try it… you won’t be sorry!
LIZZIE NICHOLS DESIGNS™
Chapter 24
There is only one thing in the world worse than being talked about, and that is not being talked about.
— Oscar Wilde (1854–1900), Anglo-Irish playwright, novelist, and poet
“It’s my fault,” I say.
“It’s not your fault,” Shari says.
“No,” I say. “It is. It is. I should have asked him. Back in France, I should have just asked him how he feels about marriage. You know? I could have avoided all of this if I hadn’t played that stupid woodland creature game. For once, if I actually had opened my mouth, I might have spared myself a lot of pain and hardship.”
“Yes,” Shari says. “But you wouldn’t have gotten laid as much.”
“True,” I say with a tearful sigh. “So true.”
“Better?” Shari wants to know as she presses the cool washcloth against my forehead.
I nod. I am stretched out on her girlfriend Pat’s futon couch, in their nice big living room in their Park Slope apartment. On either side of me is a large Labrador retriever. Scooter, on the left, is a black Lab. Jethro, on the right, is a golden.
Even though we’ve only just met, I love them both very, very much.
“Who’s a good boy?” I ask Jethro. “Who?”
I see Pat look uneasily at Shari. Shari says, “Don’t worry. She’ll be all right. She’s just had a bit of a shock.”
“I’ll be fine,” I say. “I’m just going back home tomorrow to visit my family. But I’ll be back. I’m not staying in Ann Arbor. New York didn’t chew me up and spit me out. Not like it did Kathy Pennebaker.”
“Of course you’re coming back,” Shari says. “We’re coming back on the same flight on Sunday. Remember?”
“Right,” I say. “I’ll be back, and I’ll be fine. I’ll land on my feet. Because I always do.”
“Of course you do,” Shari says. “We’re going to go to bed now, all right, Lizzie? You stay out here with Scooter and Jethro. And if you need anything—anything at all—don’t be shy about coming to wake us up. I’ll leave the hall light on, just in case. Okay?”