Slightly Married (28 page)

“You really are getting so skinny, Tracey,” Brenda says, shaking her head. “Be careful. You don’t want to get anorexic.”

“I’m not anorexic,” I tell her. “Just…too busy to eat, mostly. And…you know…it’s wedding stress.”

Brenda nods. “I remember what that was like. It feels like there’s so much to think about, and worry about, right? But don’t wish it away, okay? Because someday you’ll just have mortgage stress and baby stress and trust me, that’s not as much fun.”

“I’ll be right back, ladies.” Milagros bustles away to the back room, leaving the two of us alone.

“This stress isn’t much fun, either,” I tell Brenda. “I quit smoking months ago and lately, I’ve been craving a cigarette. Not that I’m going to start up again.”

“Don’t you dare. Your wedding is going to be great. You shouldn’t worry so much.”

I stare at myself in the mirror, toying with the edge of my veil. I look worried. Probably because I
am
worried.

“What?”

I look over at Brenda. “What?”

“Something’s wrong. Oh my Gawd, Tracey, you’re not having second thoughts, are you?”

“No!” I frown at her. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? Because you don’t look fine.”

“That’s because I’m not.” I want to sag onto the nearest bench, but I’m under strict orders from Milagros not to sit and crush the gown.

“Oh my Gawd, you poor thing. What’s wrong?” Brenda is up and at my side, touching my arm. “It’s not too late, you know.”

Too late for what?

Labor Day has come and gone; it’s been several weeks since Buckley made his seaside confession. Neither of us ever said another word about it; by the time he got back from his walk, the others were out of the water, the sun was sinking fast and we were packing up to go. He was quiet the whole drive back to the city, but I don’t think anyone else noticed.

I haven’t seen him since. We’ve spoken on the phone a couple of times, but we both carefully avoided mentioning what happened that day.

Still, it’s been gnawing at me.

Not nonstop.

For the most part, I really am too busy with work and the wedding machine to do much of anything—eat, think, sleep.

But it does hit me every so often:

Buckley is in love with me.

Buckley is hurting.

And, frankly, so am I.

But mostly for him, because he’s the one who’s alone.

I’m as sure of my love for Jack as I’ve always been…although it does bother me that our relationship has been so matter-of-fact ever since our future together was sealed with a ring. I guess taking each other for granted is just naturally what happens after a few years, especially when you’ve both pledged that you’re going to be there for each other forever. I mean, it’s only natural, right?

Still, I can’t help but crave a little less predictability; a little more good old-fashioned romance. Candlelight dinners once in a while, maybe. Champagne. Roses. Poetic words.

“Do you want to back out of the wedding?” Brenda asks me. “Is that it? Because there’s still time if you aren’t sure—”

“No!” I shake my head vehemently. “I’m sure. I love Jack, and I want to marry Jack. Period.”

No.

Not period.

“It’s just…okay, Bren, if I ask you something, do you swear you’ll tell me the truth, and do you swear you won’t tell another soul that I asked this question?”

“I sway-uh,” she says solemnly.

“You love Paulie, right?”

Her plucked-thin pencil-darkened brows furrow. “That’s the question?”

“No, I mean…you do, right? You love him?”

“Of course. He’s my husband.”

“So do you ever…I mean, have you ever…Okay, were you ever attracted to another guy?”

“Yeah.” She nods. “Tony, my old neighbor. We grew up together. But we were mostly just friends. Why?”

“Mostly?”

She gives me a sly smile. “We might’ve fooled around a little once or twice on the Fourth of July. There was always a block party, and you know…”

“Fireworks?” I grin.

“Yup.”

“But this was before you met Paulie, right? That’s not what I mean.”

She hedges. “Nope. It was during Paulie.”
Po-awww-lie,
she says it. Her accent gets more prounounced when she’s nervous.

“Brenda!”

“What? He’s gorgeous, Tracey, I swear.” It takes me a second to decipher.
He’s go-aw-jus, Tracey, I sway-ah
is how it comes out in her thick accent.

“I’ll bet he is, but…you cheated on Paulie?”

“Not when we were married! I’ve known Paulie forever, remember? We’ve been going out since we were in junior high.”

“Oh…so this Tony thing was when you were in junior high, then?”

“Mostly,” she says cryptically. “And high school.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“And then there was one last time after that,” she admits. “When we were in college. One last hurrah. But when Paulie and I got engaged, that was it.”

“You never hooked up with Tony again?”

“Tracey! What do you think I am? I’m married!” She tilts her head at me.

“But…? I smell a but.”

“No buts. I don’t commit adultery.”

“I didn’t think you did.”

“And it doesn’t count if you fantasize once in a while.”

Aha!

“I mean…Tony’s a fireman. He looks like he should be in one of those hot-firemen calendars, you know?”

“So you mean you’re still attracted to him even now that you have a husband?”

“Hell, yeah. I’m married. Not dead.”

Hallelujah.

Brenda and Paulie have one of the healthiest marriages I’ve ever seen. If she’s not immune to the charms of a smokin’ hot fireman despite a ring on her finger, there’s hope for me.

“Does Paulie know about this?”

“About what?”

“That you think Tony is…you know, hot.”

“Are you sick? No, Paulie doesn’t know. And I swear to God, Tracey, if you ever say anything in front of him—”

“I won’t! I promise!”

“Why are you asking me all this, anyway?”

“No reason,” I say airily.

Which normally wouldn’t let me off the hook with her, but Milagros comes scurrying back in just then, and the subject is effectively dropped.

“Tracey? It’s me.”

Me, who? Oh…

“Will?”

“You didn’t recognize my voice?”

“Uh, no.” Aware that obscurity is the ultimate insult to Will McCraw, I probably should apologize.

Maybe the old Tracey, his ex-girlfriend, would have done that.

But you know what? I haven’t felt like Will’s ex-girlfriend in ages. That time in my life is so long ago and far away that I can barely remember what it felt like to be hung up on someone who didn’t give a damn about me.

What a pleasant surprise. I’ve grown up and moved on. Yay, me.

Shuffling papers on my desk in search of a report I need for a meeting in about five minutes, I nearly knock over the half-full cup of cold coffee that’s still on my desk from this morning. Crazy day, as usual.

“I guess it’s been awhile,” Will says.

“I guess it has. So how are you?”

“I’m good. Back from Transylvania.”

Oh! Right! Transylvania!

How long has it been since I’ve even thought about that? Or him?

Well, it’s about time I got to that point, wouldn’t you say? We’ve been broken up for over three years now.

But I never have been very good at putting things behind me and not looking back. I guess I just don’t like endings. Even those that are long overdue.

“How was your show?” I ask, finding the report and tucking it into a folder.

“It was great. I’m sure you were wondering why I wasn’t back before now—”

Um, no.

“—but they extended our run a few times. I may be going back after the holidays, which would be terrific.”

Terrific. Transylvania in the dead of winter.

“Listen, Will, I’m glad you’re back, but I’ve got this meeting and—”

“The guy who was subletting my apartment didn’t do a great job forwarding my mail while I was away,” he cuts in. “Some of it got lost in the shuffle. So I was just wondering about the invitation to your wedding.”

He was? Uh-oh.

“You’re still getting married in October, right, Tracey?”

“Right.”
But you’re not invited
.

Just tell him
, urges Inner Tracey, clearly over Will at last.

But I hedge. “The third weekend in October. In Brookside.”

“So the invitations must have gone out then…”

“Right.”

Tell him!

I should…but that would be quite a blow to him.

So? How many times did he hurt your feelings?

“I knew it. I didn’t get my invitation,” he says, sounding a little put out. “It must be on its way to Transylvania. I swear, I told—”

“No, you didn’t get an invitation because you’re not on the list, Will.”

Silence.

“You’re kidding…right?”

“No,” I say firmly. “I’m not.”

“But—I mean, you and I have been friends for years, Tracey.”

Not really. We were much more than friends for the first few years, and far less than that for the last few.

“You’re not inviting me to your wedding?”

“I’m sorry, Will.”

“Oh, I get it,” he says. “Is your fiancé jealous?”

“Of you?”

“I guess that makes sense,” says Will, who is undoubtedly imagining Jack, green with envy over my past with an international stage sensation such as himself.

“No, it’s not that. We really just had to limit the guest list,” I say, and suddenly, I feel like a little girl who’s been dragging around a flaccid balloon on a string, a sorry relic from some long-ago birthday party.

“So you cut me off the list?” he asks incredulously.

“Actually—you were never on it.”

Silence.

“I’ve got to get to that meeting,” I say, knowing that if I leave it like this—if we hang up now—I’ll never hear from him again in my life. It would be the end of an era.

“Okay, then…” he says a little awkwardly.

“Goodbye, Will,” I say.

And I hang up, letting go of Will McCraw at last…for good.

“What do you think of my fixing up Billy’s sister with Buckley?” Kate asks casually a few days later.

I look up, startled, from the pile of white onesies we’re folding. She got them—and a truckload of other layette loot—for her baby shower earlier that afternoon.

“I think that’s a really bad idea,” I tell her.

“What? Why? He seems so lonely lately, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know…I haven’t seen much of him. Have you?”

“Billy and I ran into him at the movies the other night. He was there alone. We asked him to sit with us, but he said no. I think he’s depressed.”

And I think he, like the rest of us, isn’t overly fond of Billy. But of course I can’t say that to Kate.

“Amanda’s boyfriend just dumped her,” she says, referring to Billy’s sister, a snobby, elegant ash blonde who was here for the shower. “I think she and Buckley would be perfect for each other.”

“Why?” I ask sharply.

Kate shrugs and reaches past her cute basketball-like bump to add another onesie to the towering pile in the wicker laundry basket. “She’s pretty, he’s cute, he’s romantic and good at wining and dining women. They’re both single, and neither of them is really into settling down…”

“Buckley would be, if the right person came along.”

“No, he wouldn’t. Not now, anyway. Buckley can’t commit to anyone—or anything, for that matter. Not a job, not even a lease. He bounces around the city freelancing, moving from apartment to apartment. Tracey, he has a lot of growing up to do.”

I never thought of it that way.

She’s right.

“I think I’ll ask him to come to dinner and have Amanda here, too,” Kate muses.

“No, she’s really not his type.” I shake my head. In response to her questioning look, I elaborate, “He’s so down to earth. She’s not. She’s on the rebound—”

“So is he. And she’s very down to earth, when you get to know her.”

“Kate, she got you a thousand-dollar baby carriage imported from France. And she thinks you should name your baby Amadeus if it’s a boy. She is not down-to-earth.”

“Well, Sonja wasn’t all that down-to-earth, either.”

“Exactly.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sonja wasn’t right for him. Buckley likes down-to-earth girls. He likes…”

No. Don’t say it.

“Me. He likes
me
, Kate.”

Why did I say that?

“Actually…he
loves
me, Kate.”

Why did I say
that?

I wait for her to freak out.

“Um, yeah. No kidding,” is all she says.

“What?” I gape at her, an unfolded onesie dangling from my fingertips.

“Hello? Don’t tell me you never knew that.”

“No, I didn’t know that! Kate! How did you know? Did he say something?”

“No! It’s just obvious. And I’m sure I’m not the only one who ever noticed it.”

“I hope Jack didn’t.”

“Nah. Men are clueless about stuff like that. Jack wouldn’t have Buckley standing in your wedding if he thought he had a thing for you, would he?”

“God, no. No way.”

We fold in silence for a few seconds.

Then Kate asks, “So if you never realized Buckley was into you, how do you suddenly know now?”

“He told me.”

Her jaw drops. “Really.”

“Really.”

“What did he say, exactly?”

“He said ‘I love you.’ And some other really sweet things.”

“To which you said…?”

“I’m marrying Jack. I love Jack.”

She nods. “Good. You did the right thing. Buckley’s not husband material. Jack is.”

“But…”

“But…?”

“Sometimes I see Buckley and I feel kind of…wistful.”

“Yeah. That’s how I feel sometimes, too—not lately, though,” she says with a laugh, patting her rounded stomach.

“You’re attracted to Buckley?” I must say, I am shocked.

“Lord-a-mercy, no! I’m attracted to Gabriel. My personal trainer.”

Okay, not so shocked. I’ve seen Gabriel. Lord-a-mercy is right.

“God, I miss him,” Kate says. “I swear, the second this baby is out, I’m so
there
.”