The Spinster Sisters (5 page)

Aunt Ruth fetches a bottle of champagne and five glasses. A cardinal Spingold rule is that one should never have fewer than two bottles of decent champagne in the fridge. Another is that one should never hesitate to open one just because it is Wednesday and you’re thirsty.

Aunt Ruth pours our flutes full to the top and hands them around. “I know I speak not only for Shirley but for Alan and Melissa as well when I say that you are most welcome into our family, Hunter. The joy you have brought into Jill’s life has spilled into ours; you are already a part of this family in terribly essential ways. We wish you both all continued happiness. When Alan proposed to Melissa, it was at a family evening much like this one, and so much of his calm and kind sensibility is present in you, Hunter. And Jill, you have the same glow about you that your mother had on that magical night. They were as well-matched as the two of you, and I know that we are all surrounded by their love and approval on this night.” She raises a glass for herself and my parents. “Mazel tov.” Jill and I both well up afresh.

We all clink glasses, drink, and talk excitedly, and finally Hunter gets up.

“We have to be going; dinner awaits. But my parents are planning on coming in next weekend, and we’d love to have a celebratory engagement dinner with everyone on Saturday night.”

“Of course, you go have a lovely, quiet dinner and enjoy the night,” Shirley clucks.

“Congratulations again to you both, darlings. Have a wonderful evening,” Ruth says, handing Hunter his coat while Jill gets her bag.

I hug Jill and whisper in her ear, “I love you, Moose Face.”

She hugs back and whispers, “I love you, too, Butthead.”

I kiss Hunter. “You did good, little brother.”

“I like the sound of that. Thanks again for your help.”

“Get out, go eat!” I shoo them toward the door. Jill will soon find out that he booked Le Bouchon, where they had their first date, and that they will have the whole restaurant to themselves, with a special menu prepared just for them.

I wave them good-bye at the door and head back into the parlor. The aunts are talking animatedly. I flop on the floor near Aunt Shirley’s chair and put my head in her lap. She scratches my scalp like she used to do to help me sleep.

“What a lot of excitement!” she says. Then she pinches my ear.

“Ow! What was that for?” I ask, rubbing the wound.

“I can’t believe you kept it a secret from us!” she says. “Such a big thing, and you’re supposed to keep us informed.”

“Oh Lord, Shirley,” Ruth says. “You can’t keep a secret to save your life. You’d have flubbed it in front of Jill within twelve hours.”

Shirley hits her in the arm with a throw pillow. I laugh. She hits me on the head with it.

“Hey, I didn’t say anything!” I say.

“I could hear you thinking,” she says.

“So how do you feel about all this, Jodala? I’m sure you have some opinions,” Ruth asks me. I sit up and hug my knees.

“I’m thrilled, of course,” I say. “I love Hunter, he’s the perfect guy for Jill, and I know they want all the same things. I think he’ll be a wonderful husband and father and brother, and I know he’ll make Jill very happy.”

“But . . .” Ruth prods.

“But, nothing,” I say. I do have a weird feeling in the pit of my stomach, but I’m not ready to put it into words yet.

“Oh, Ruthie, leave the child alone. Her sister just got engaged fifteen minutes ago. Give her a chance to feel her feelings before having to articulate them for your amusement, really,” Aunt Shirley upbraids her.

“I don’t mean to push, darling, I just know when your eyes go that particular shade of midnight blue that you are thinking serious thoughts.” Ruth backs off, knowing full well that when I’m ready, I’ll talk about it.

“Well, I don’t know about the two of you, but all this excitement is making me hungry. Who wants pizza?” Aunt Shirley, for a gourmet, always knows when greasy comfort takeout is in order.

“Stuffed. With sausage,” Ruth says in her clipped, definitive manner, making a decision as opposed to offering an option.

“That will do admirably,” Aunt Shirley says, getting up to clear the cocktail glasses.

“I’ll order from Bacino’s and go pick it up,” I say. “I’ll be back in an hour.”

I kiss them both and head up to my apartment. I order the pizza, then go to my library and sit on the low, wide chaise. Jill’s getting married. To a perfect guy and for all the right reasons. Which only leaves one question. How can we be the Spinster Sisters if one of us isn’t a spinster? And if we aren’t the Spinster Sisters, what the hell happens to our business?

In the business of helping people to help themselves, you have to practice what you preach; you have to live the advice you give. Our whole corporation is based on the “do as we do” philosophy. What single woman in her right mind is going to listen to a married woman tell her to enjoy being single?

And for all Jill’s glib bravery when it comes to this current rash of anti-Spinster sentiment, I worry even more for the PR mess it is going to create.

My phone rings. “Hello?”

“Hey Boss Lady Number One.” It’s Paige.

“Hey, Paige.”

“I hear Boss Lady Number Two just got affianced.” Paige has become an adopted little sister to us since she joined the company four years ago.

“Word travels fast. Who called you?”

“Jill did. She wanted to see if I could cover the marketing meeting in the morning, since apparently Hunter got them a suite at the Peninsula, and they want to sleep in.”

“It’s been pretty exciting for a Thursday. You okay on that meeting? Want me in on it?”

“I’ve got it. Come if you want, but don’t shift anything for it. It’s just an update on the new branding survey anyway. If anything exciting happens, I can brief you guys later.”

“You’re the best,” I say. Which she is.

“I learned from the best,” she says. Can’t argue with that logic.

“Okay, Paige, anything else exciting?”

“Nope. Actually a slow day. Well, Benna has some new guy she’s all jazzed about, but that doesn’t really count.”

Benna is our office manager and receptionist, and for a smart, organized girl, she is always embroiled in boy trouble.

“Great. I should be in around eight or so. Let’s try and have lunch, and you can fill me in on the marketing stuff then.”

“Cool. I’ll have Benna make a late reservation. Jill said she should be in by one; we can take her to celebrate.”

“Let’s have Benna join us. She’ll only make us repeat everything when we get back to the office. We can cut out the middle-man if we bring her with.”

“Good idea. Where should we go?” Paige asks.

“Let’s go to Naniwa. Jill’s been on a sushi kick lately. And Paige, tell Kim she should start thinking about how we present the news to the public.”

“Done. I’ll see you tomorrow. And congrats, sister of the bride!”

“Thanks, Paige. See you in the morning, colleague of the bride.”

Paige laughs. “Bye.”

Sister of the bride. That one is going to take a minute to sink in. When I got married, Jill was great, even though she didn’t really approve. But she supported me a thousand percent, and whatever my concerns about the effect of this marriage on the business, I have to be sure I support her with the same enthusiasm.

I grab my coat and head out to pick up ten pounds of cheesysausagey goodness. Tomorrow I’ll think about Jill and the future of our family and our business; tonight there is pizza.

It isn’t impossible to remain friends with an ex. But it can also be unhealthy, so it is important to look closely at how the relationship ended when determining if you are a candidate for staying friends, particularly if the relationship was your first serious one. Was the desire to break up mutual, or did one of you fight to stay together? Did one of you do something particularly hurtful like lying, cheating, or being abusive? Were you friends first, or did the relationship begin as a romantic one? Who are the other stakeholders in the relationship: friends, family, children? If the relationship simply ran its natural course, and no one broke trust, you can retain a comfortable friendship, provided both parties agree to be conscientious about appropriate communication and interaction.

—
From
Living Twenty-five
by Jill and Jodi Spingold

 
 
 
 
The first week of Jill’s engagement passes in a flurry of activity and excitement. Bouquets of flowers and engagement gifts pour into the office on a regular basis. Over half of the phone calls that come through the main line are friends offering words of congratulations. Jill, much to her credit, seems to be keeping a level head about the whole thing. She accepts everybody’s words and offerings with grace and dignity and does not at this point seem to be getting too caught up in bride mania.

I’ve done my best to show outward signs of excitement, belying the little feeling in the pit of my stomach that signifies uncertainty and distress. I’m trying very hard not to worry about the big issues: the future of the business, how it will impact our relationship. We will be meeting in the next week with our publicist to figure out the best way to spin it, and so far, it hasn’t leaked into the press. I’ve quietly told everyone to keep as much of the negative stuff as possible out of Jill’s path. If someone major covers it, we won’t be able to protect her, but I’m damned if I’m going to let her see every snarky e-mail that comes in.

So in spite of the engagement, the week flows pretty smoothly. Work gets done, meetings are held, and all in all, everything is good. Tonight, Jill and Hunter are going to the airport to pick up his parents and brother and then they are having a quiet meal together. We’ll all be celebrating tomorrow night, the families meeting for the first time.

I had offers from Abbot and Ben for this evening but turned them both down. I had dinner with Abbot on Tuesday as promised, a lovely, quiet evening. He seemed very excited about Jill’s engagement, and I couldn’t help but wonder if he thought that perhaps being around wedding plans might make me more inclined to take our relationship seriously. Not likely. After marrying someone I never should have married, I’m not exactly eager to get terribly serious about anyone right now. As much as I like Abbot, I’m still awfully self-protective of my heart, and it is going to take a very special man to make me consider matrimony again.

Ben took me out on Wednesday night. We went to an event at Translucent Chocolates in the South Loop, sort of an art opening slash cocktail party. It was a fine evening, lots of laughter; I love how uncomplicated and easy it is with him. A semiperfect pair, my current suitors. Abbot makes me feel so taken care of, and Ben makes me feel young and alive. Abbot pampers me, and Ben tickles my funny bone. Abbot makes love to me with all the skill of an experienced and attentive partner, and Ben and I romp like a couple of puppies in a basket, with utter abandon.

Of course, neither of them is ideal in any sort of important way. Abbot is too set in his ways; he likes what he wants and isn’t often inclined to compromise. Fine for our current situation; we plan our time together around the things we both enjoy, and all goes well. But I can tell that we would be incompatible room-mates. His meticulousness would make me crazy. The man wipes the water droplets out of the sink after washing dishes and squeegees his shower door after every shower—even if he has a naked woman trying to get him to come to bed.

I met Ben a few weeks ago. I got a flat tire at the gym, and by the time AAA got there, Ben had changed the tire and acquired my phone number. I’ve never dated a younger man before, and while I enjoy his company tremendously, I still admit to some embarrassment about the six-year age difference. I know it shouldn’t matter, but I can’t help how self-conscious I am when we are in public, especially since he is so affectionate. And tall. I was always a sucker for a tall guy, and Ben Kohn is the tallest guy I have ever dated. A full six feet three and three-quarters inches. Yum. With that lean biker’s body that just makes me feel like the Pillsbury Dough Girl, even though he does nothing but praise my curves. He’s very creative, which sparks my own artistic tendencies, and he is encouraging of everything I do without reserve. But he won’t argue with me, not even to debate an issue of the day. And I need that back and forth to keep my intellect feeling honed. He isn’t at all interested in any of the more elegant or luxurious or sophisticated things in life, and there seems to be a slight air of disapproval when I express a desire to indulge. But he does make me feel powerful and beautiful and strong, and his deeply held belief that I can do whatever I set my mind to and achieve excellence has a tendency to keep my spine straighter these days.

Unfortunately, the physical chemistry isn’t quite there for me. I slept with him a couple of times when we first met, but while he is a fantastic kisser, the sex wasn’t really amazing. And since this coincided with Abbot stepping up his courting of me, I told Ben we needed to slow down and back away from the physical intimacy. We’ll kiss a bit at the end of an evening; we’ve even spent a couple of nights together, just cuddling. And he is very sweet about not pressuring me for more. In some ways, I think the fact that I’m not sleeping with him is making him pursue me even more doggedly.