I heard myself suggesting we go back to the luau theme, and after a long pause during which I could almost hear the words Stella wasn’t saying rolling around in her mind, she’d finally spoken.
“We can’t,” she’d said slowly, exasperation creeping into her voice. “As soon as I let the dancers go, they were immediately booked by another couple. And they were the last troupe available. Same thing with Louie’s Luau, the company that was going to roast the pig, the whole nine yards. They’d done me a favor saying yes at all—” She didn’t finish her sentence, as if she knew she’d just be adding salt to the wound.
“I’m sorry, Stella.”
“It’s fine—just promise me one thing,” she’d responded, her tone suddenly lighter, and I’d found myself assuming that was a skill she’d obviously honed through her job—to be able to dance through a conversation without losing total control, no matter how frustrated she might be.
“You name it.”
“Just don’t change anything else.”
“Cross my heart,” I’d said, imagining Max in the crisp dark suit we’d originally selected for the ceremony, remembering how he’d tugged at the collar and dusted imaginary lint off the lapel as he’d examined himself in the mirror. I drew in a long breath as I drove past the world’s largest thermometer in the tiny town of Baker, the dial ticking up to 105 degrees, hoping that was the explanation for why I’d felt a bead of sweat forming on my brow.
? ? ?
“Did you see the Enquirer?” Jules asks the next morning when we meet for coffee before work, both of us still bleary-eyed from our weekend.
“Do people still read that?” I ask.
“If by ‘people’ you mean me, then yes!”
I shake my head, and she slides her hand into her bag resting at her feet and pulls it out.
“You shouldn’t have your purse on the floor!” I scold her.
“Why not?” she says as she flips through the magazine.
“Bad feng shui! The idea is that money spills out of the bottom of your purse when you leave it on the ground,” I say, remembering the look I’d given my consultant when she’d first told me. But now I was always careful to set my tote on a chair. “And, girlfriend, you don’t need any more problems!”
“Tell me about it.” She continues to turn the pages until she finds what she’s looking for. “Here it is, look.” She holds the magazine out to me.
“Do you want to talk about things?” I ask, hoping her comment was an opening that she’s ready.
“Nope,” she says, and her lips form a tight line, one I’ve seen when she tells one of her children that their time on the iPad is over. It’s not negotiable.
“You sure?” I push anyway.
“I’ve already said too much. I shouldn’t have laid all of that on you. I’ll figure it out, I promise.”
“But . . .”
“Kate, please. I’m not ready. But when I am, I will tell you, okay?”
“All right.” I acquiesce, still concerned and wanting another chance to convince her not to stray. To stop her from doing something that can’t be undone. I exhale deeply and grab the magazine from her, reading the headline: “New Direction for Nikki Day?” Under it is a picture of Nikki in the passenger seat of a car being driven by one of the members of a boy band currently topping the charts—their latest single ironically titled “I Got Your Girl, Yo.” “Is this true?”
“Hell if I know.” Jules rolls her eyes. “Liam says it’s not.”
I raise my eyebrows at her. “What?” she says in response. “Of course I asked him about it! And he swore it was bullshit.”
“But she is in the car with this guy and her head is resting on his shoulder!”
“I know, I know, but he says it’s Photoshopped or something. Then he reminded me about her party this weekend.”
“He’s still going? After this article basically tells the whole world she’s probably cheating—” I say, and then catch myself, but it’s too late, the words are already out there. “You know what I mean, Jules. It—it’s different than your situation,” I stammer.
“You really believe that?” Jules says.
“Yes, of course. I’m just not a fan of Nikki. I don’t think she’s right for him. That’s all I meant, I promise. And he can go to that party, but there’s no way in hell I’m going to attend. I don’t care what she told him, these pictures don’t lie.”
“Okay, but if you’re secretly judging me for how I’m feeling, now is the time to tell me. It’s better to get it out on the table.” She slaps her hand on the wood tabletop for emphasis. “Because I would think you of all people would understand . . .”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, feeling my chest tighten.
“Because of what Max did to you with Courtney.”
“He didn’t actually do anything.”
“He fell in love with someone else!” She bristles and my eyes fill with tears.
“In another life, not this one,” I start to argue before Jules interjects.
“True. I’m sorry if that came out a little harsh.”