Married by June (5 page)

He looked to his cousin for support, but Theo said, “There’s no way, Coop. You’re going to get crucified. Bailey made sure of that.”

“Get her back,” his dad said flatly.

“You can’t honestly expect me to marry Jorie because you say so.”

His dad clenched his fists.

Theo spoke up. “What did Jorie say?”

“What?”

“Is she happy? Did she agree?”

Cooper remembered the bleak look on her face. “No.”

His dad nodded eagerly. “That’s good then. Right.” He turned to Theo and continued speaking as if Cooper wasn’t in the room. “So we’ll have him
tell her he changed his mind. He can get her back and no one will be the wiser.”

“No one except me! You can’t be serious.”

“You don’t have to marry her. Postpone the wedding until after the election and then you can break up again.”

“Dad, listen to yourself. I’m not doing that to her.”

“If you dump her now,” Theo said, “your breakup is going to be dragged into Bailey’s screwed-up situation which will kill her business. Who’s going to hire a wedding planner whose own wedding turned into such a public circus? No bride will want to think about an affair and a broken engagement every time she gets advice from Jorie. Go to her and explain. Buy some time for both of you so she can get out of this with her dignity intact.”

Cooper didn’t like the way his dad looked so delighted with this solution. On the other hand, Jorie had been hurt enough. Theo’s issue with her business aside, having their breakup splashed all over the news would heap more hurt on her. She’d already had an awful year, losing her mom with so little warning. He didn’t want to marry her, but he didn’t wish her any more sadness. He owed it to her to give her the choice.

“I’ll talk to her.”

“And then you’ll get right back here because we’re already behind,” his dad said.

“I’ll talk to Jorie and then come back here,” he agreed.

“Tell her we’ll need to brief her. I’ll set up an appointment and have someone call her.”

It was already starting. The switch from a private, ordinary life to a very public one. His dad wouldn’t be calling Jorie to make a casual lunch date the way a regular father-in-law would. Instead she’d be squeezed in, reminders would be sent, and his dad’s BlackBerry would beep exactly seven minutes before the meeting. Jorie had gone from fiancée to business asset in one afternoon.

He didn’t see his mom or Bailey when he was leaving the house. Outside on the sidewalk, he thought about calling a cab. It was getting dark and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten. He’d had a bite of cake at Alice’s, but before that maybe coffee he’d bought on the way to the church? He decided to walk. He could grab something to eat and get his thoughts together on the way.

He pulled out the small, leather-bound notebook he carried. He got some of his best ideas while he was walking and he was going to need all of his skill tonight. Somehow, between here and Jorie’s house, he had to figure out how the hell to tell her that his brother had messed things up for all of them.
He flipped the notebook open, looking for a blank page. He paused at the place where he’d tried to write his wedding vows, looking at the few words he’d managed, feeling sick about what his dad had asked him to do.

If she’d agree to postpone their breakup for a few months, he’d help her plan how to back out gracefully. At least he’d have a chance to smooth over his fumbling breakup that afternoon.

Flipping the page, he wrote
1. Bailey. 2. Senate.
He hesitated, his pen resting on the notebook. What next? He scribbled
3. Me + You (for now).
Which worked fine as a subject heading, but the content? What was he going to tell her exactly? That they’d have to pretend to be in love for a few more months? That was it, right?

Great. He closed the book. Now all he had to do was fill in the details that would persuade Jorie. No sweat.

W
HEN SHE GOT
home, Jorie wanted to be depressed. She would spend her days doing nothing but watching daytime TV in her rattiest sweats while eating chocolate and processed cheese products. It was something jilted brides and the recently unemployed should do. It was what she’d never done. She’d spent so many years working hard to build her business and her life, to prove that she wasn’t going to be like her mom, wouldn’t have to wait for a man to complete her, and now, here she was anyway. Jilted and left with nothing. Depression was the obvious next step. She’d bought the Cheetos on the way home, and now all she needed was the sweats.

She dropped the coffee-stained dress on her bedroom floor and stepped on it deliberately. The heels she’d abandoned by the foot of the bed and the dress were the only things out of place in the room. That was going to change. She was pretty sure she would become messy during her depression.

Deep in the bottom drawer of her cherry dresser, she found the T-shirt she’d bought at the Dirty Bird
Bar when she went to Ocean City for spring break back in college. The fabric was so worn it was threadbare. That shirt, together with a pair of sweats she’d stolen from a boyfriend years ago, gave her the perfect outfit for her new lifestyle.

She sat on the bed to put the sweats on, then picked up her shoes. She stopped herself just as she was about to place them on the rack in her closet. Neatness was a habit, after all. One she could break. She let the heels fall back to the floor, and when one of them landed inside the closet accidentally, she gave it a kick to the middle of the room.

She stuck with the depression plan through one small bowl of Cheetos and three do-it-yourself shows with borderline attractive hosts. Her fingers turned orange. She missed the real butter and eggs in Alice’s cakes.

She thought about Cooper saying she was lying, and anger flared, spoiling her depression.

Maybe she should turn on her computer and order some pajama bottoms because her ratty sweats weren’t presentable enough to wear if she had to run to the corner store. But she really shouldn’t waste the money. Who knew how long she’d have to make her savings last.

She glanced across the room at the top drawer of the sideboard where she’d locked up her inheritance from her mom. Some people might think of the
jewelry as a safety net, but Jorie had sworn she’d never use it, no matter how broke she was. When she’d made that promise, her business hadn’t been down the tubes, but her new circumstances didn’t change the way she felt about her mother’s jewelry. Each piece represented a failed hope, a guy who’d let her mom down in the end. She wouldn’t profit from that.

A picture of her and her mom and Cooper sat on the sideboard. Taken at their engagement party, the shot had captured her mom in a rare moment of unguarded laughter. Chelsea had been so aware of her image that most photos showed her only from her “good” side, her head tilted to erase any hint of a double chin. It was suddenly imperative that Jorie get the picture out of her living room. Cooper had put that smile on her mom’s face. She couldn’t be expected to keep a photo that reminded her of her enormous failure.

She took the picture with her into the bedroom and slid a basket off the top shelf of her closet. The stack of cotton sweaters that had been in the basket joined the dress and shoes on the floor. She put the picture in instead, along with the World War II spy novel Cooper had insisted she read. The pages were littered with his underlinings and exclamations and notes to himself and her. Despite the fact that she
was devouring the story, she couldn’t read the rest of it with his presence on every page.

She set the basket on the bed and pulled the drawer of her nightstand open. Into the basket went the pair of glasses he’d left at her place to wear when he took out his contacts, followed by contact solution and an extra carrying case. The box of condoms went next, but then she removed it. She wasn’t engaged anymore, and they were her condoms. Who knew when she might need one or twelve?

She collected two of his T-shirts and a sweatshirt from her dresser and tossed them into the basket, then headed back to the living room. She was proud that she didn’t sniff any of the clothing, even though Cooper’s scent—a combination of guy deodorant, paper and ink—was one of the things she’d always liked about him. Obviously, or she wouldn’t have stolen the T-shirts in the first place.

The basket was now full of the odds and ends of her year-long relationship with Cooper Murphy. She flopped on the couch, the basket on the table in front of her. Their wedding binder was on top of the clothes. Cooper wouldn’t want it, but then neither did she. Let him deal with it. In fact…she jerked the antique diamond ring he’d given her off her hand and tossed it on top of his stuff. Screw him. She wasn’t going to start a collection of jewelry for the next generation of jilted Burke women. She didn’t
want any reminders of Cooper Murphy or this whole crazy year.

Except.

She slid the basket closer with her foot so she could just reach the binder without actually moving from the couch. She opened the cover and flipped past the first few pages to the archival pocket where she’d tucked Cooper’s fairy tale. As soon as she had it in her hand, she remembered how she’d felt that night when he proposed. It had been wrong for them to get engaged, but she’d wanted it to be right. He’d convinced her.

Tricked her.

Loved her.

He had loved her. Or at least, she’d thought he did. She’d wanted him to. If he didn’t love her, what kind of fool was she for imagining he did?

Could he have written the fairy tale for someone he didn’t love? She smoothed a hand over the words on the last page, “And so on…” He’d taken it for granted that they’d live happily ever after. She hadn’t, but she’d hoped.

The front doorbell chimed and she jumped, banging her knee on the coffee table and spilling a few Cheetos. Who could be at her door?

Her first thought was Cooper but she told herself not to be an idiot. He wasn’t coming back. Men never did.

She put the binder in the basket. A few stray Cheetos lay on the table and she scooped them into the bowl, which she pushed under the couch with her foot before limping to the door and peering out the sidelight window.

Alice, still wearing her work clothes, a lavender bakery box in one hand, stood on her top step. She lifted the box and smiled. “Jorie?” Her voice was muffled by the heavy wooden door. “I, uh, I brought you a cake.”

Alice?
Alice was her friend, but not a dropping-in kind of friend. As a matter of fact, Jorie didn’t have any friends of the dropping-in kind, probably because she was a private person. After a childhood spent moving and trying to fit into other people’s homes and lives, she treasured the sanctuary of her own place where the only memories were ones she’d chosen. Still, Alice was her friend and she wouldn’t turn her away.

“One second,” she called.

Her sneakers were on the floor of the small foyer closet. She shoved her feet into them, hoping Alice would think she’d been on her way out to the gym. She slid the chain across before unlocking the dead bolt.

“Sorry for not calling first,” Alice said. “But when you left I had this feeling you were going to be alone tonight, so I took the chance.” She noticed
Jorie’s sweats. “Oh, were you going to the gym? I can leave the cake.”

Something about the way Alice was holding herself back, creating a clear dividing line between herself and Jorie’s home, told Jorie that the other woman felt uncomfortable being there. Maybe dropping in wasn’t something she did either. But Alice had taken a risk in coming and Jorie couldn’t shoot her down.

“No. Please, come in.” She stepped back and Alice handed her the cake.

“Thank goodness,” Alice said while Jorie locked the door. “Eliot’s incompetence was driving me insane. If I went home by myself I’d probably spend the night putting a job posting online and collecting résumés when the last thing I need is to train a new employee. If I spend some time with you, maybe the horror of Eliot will have subsided by the time I leave.”

“He was kind of cute,” Jorie said. “Befuddled can be endearing.”

“In a koala bear, maybe. Not my counter help. He has a very beautiful boyfriend, though, who picks him up after work. If I fire him, I won’t get to admire Jared anymore. I suppose my daily ogle is worth something. Your place is gorgeous.” Alice glanced around the tiny foyer that opened into the living room. “I love older places like this. My condo
is so new and bland…I can’t help feeling it will always be superficial.”

Jorie led her inside, turning on another lamp in the living room. Alice, ever-attuned to details, admired the slip-covered sofa and ran her hand across the throw pillows heaped in the corner. “Look at the trim on these pillows—I love the beading on this one. You had them made, didn’t you?”

The beaded pillow happened to be one of Jorie’s favorites. “I spend a lot of time in fabric stores with the brides. I’ve learned to indulge my passion in small amounts so I don’t kill my credit cards.”

Alice wandered around the living room, admiring the decor. “My place is a disaster. I keep planning to move, but it’s such a pain when I’m only renting and hardly ever home anyway. You really lucked out finding this place.”

Luck hadn’t had much to do with it. One of her first commissions had been for an extremely up-tight, image-conscious real estate developer whose daughter was three months’ pregnant when she got engaged. The wedding was an enormous rush, but Jorie pulled it together and the bride was able to walk down the aisle in a nonmaternity wedding gown that managed to conceal both her baby bump and the tattoo her father hated. The poor girl couldn’t take a comfortable breath, but her dad was satisfied. He gave Jorie a break on the price of the row house at
the edge of the Eastern Market neighborhood. The discount, together with the entire contents of the small investment account she’d maintained, meant she could manage the down payment.

While Alice looked around, Jorie excused herself and went down the short hall that led to the bedroom. Acutely conscious of her horrid outfit, she wished she could change, but settled for pulling the door closed to conceal the messy room. Alice peeked through the open French doors to the small alcove at the back end of the house that was Jorie’s office. A large, linen-covered board hung on one wall. Jorie used the space to lay out design ideas, while clear plastic boxes of samples, all carefully labeled, lined the built-in bookcases flanking the window. The
Rebel Without a Cause
concepts still covered the design wall. “What did the Richfords say about James Dean? Did they love it?”

Jorie turned toward the kitchen, holding the cake box by the string. “No. I’m quite sure that is one wedding I won’t be planning. I’m definitely not getting any referral business from them either.”

Alice trailed after her, apparently understanding that the Richford wedding was a closed subject. “You can have that cake for breakfast if you want. It’s plain white cake, no icing. Sort of an antiwedding cake. Lots of eggs and butter to help you keep your strength up.”

“You can’t expect me to wait until morning for cake. Please, Alice.”

Jorie had taken the doors off some of the kitchen cabinets when she repainted the kitchen, creating open display spaces where she stored the pieces she’d collected over the years.

She stretched up to a high shelf over the dishwasher, hoping Alice wouldn’t notice the hole under the arm of her T-shirt, and pulled down the china cake stand she’d inherited from her mother’s aunt Mae. It was white, with embossed balls like pompoms dotting the scalloped edge. When she opened the bakery box, the rich scent of the cake made her mouth water even though it looked as plain as Alice had described. She put it on the stand and got out two plates and forks.

“Do you want me to make tea?”

Alice shook her head. “I didn’t mean for you to go to any trouble. Water’s fine.”

They carried everything back into the living room and sat down on the couch. Alice’s heel hit the snack bowl and she reached down to pull it the rest of the way out. She held it up by the edge, delicately, as if it were a bowl of fish guts, before setting it on the table.

“Ah hah!” she said.

“Ah hah?”

“Ah hah, I understand what’s going on. The outfit
should have been enough, but I thought you might be on your way to the gym. But sweats plus junk food equals wallowing. Perfectly understandable, I might add.”

“I wasn’t wallowing.” She had to make the protest—she did have her pride—but was oddly glad to be found out.

“No?” Alice’s eyebrows went up.

“I was depressed.”

Alice frowned as she pointed with her fork at the basket full of Cooper memorabilia. “Expunging him from the record.”

“I guess.” Looking at the basket made her depressed for real. She’d learned as a child not to make herself too much at home in any of her temporary “uncles’” places. Cooper wasn’t like that, though. He’d left little pieces of himself in every room, confident in tomorrow. Gathering those pieces up had been lonely work.

She’d been looking forward to finishing that spy novel and talking about it with Cooper. She’d already laid out the programs for the wedding with the picture of her mom, her and Cooper on the back page. Every time she saw a guy in tortoiseshell glasses, she’d think of Cooper, sitting in bed next to her, his leather notebook propped on his knees, fountain pen scratching across the page. How was she supposed to pack up all of that, her whole life
with Cooper, and get rid of it? One of his T-shirts was bunched up and hanging over the edge of the basket. She pushed it back inside. She missed him already.

Jorie took a bite of cake. The texture was rich but not dense. Alice must have beaten the eggs to within an inch of their lives. The creamy butter taste was cut with just a hint of sugar. It was one of the most perfect cakes she’d ever tasted and she could barely swallow it. She put her plate on the table.

“I want him back.”

The words surprised her. Not that she was thinking them. The thought had been building almost since he’d first said he was breaking up with her. But the way she said them. As if it was a done deal. As if anyone ever came back after a breakup.