Girl Most Likely To (20 page)

T
alk about your bitchy brides. Cristy and I were draped in layer upon layer of shrimp-orange chiffon, and bisected by a way-too-tight white bodice that matched the gloves on our hands and yes, the enormous, tacky bows in our hair.
I must really love Christopher,
I kept telling myself as I watched him and Prakash hand-feed each other chocolate layer cake with peach-infused ganache. The flavor combination, to everyone’s surprise, did work out all right. But there was nothing all right about the way that I looked on the night of Chris’s commitment ceremony with Prakash. We were seated on a podium in front of two hundred people, while photographers’ bulbs f lashed at us from every direction. Did I mention there was also a bow on my butt that was about as elegant and appropriate as a Kick Me sign?

To my right was Cristina, trapped inside the same monstrosity of a bridesmaid’s gown, and beaming so brightly at Christopher that I was afraid she might fuse. Her enthusiasm might have been an attempt to counteract the toxic fumes radiating from Pamela, who sat alongside William, and whose bitterness over yet another person getting married before her was stronger than the Kava I had tried. Directly in front of us, three rows into the audience, was Nick. And he was f lashing that impossibly bright smile in our direction.

“Hey,” I said, elbowing Cristina. “Your boyfriend’s trying to get your attention.”

“My who?” she asked, then squinted her eyes at me. “I thought you were away for too long. You got into the nose candy with those drag queens in the bathroom, didn’t you? Come on. You know I don’t have a boyfriend. But listen, if that guy on the end of the second row winks at me one more time, you might not want to wait up for me tonight.”

“Which guy?” I asked through smile-clenched teeth.

“Gray suit, brown hair.”

“Honey?” I said after getting a better look. “Um, I know I’ve been out of the dating scene for a while, but I’m pretty sure that man’s a woman.”

“Oh, come on, Vina. That meditation retreat was supposed to cure you of your cynicism. What are you talking about? There is no way that guy is a…
oh, my god! That is one mannish woman!
”

“Yes, she certainly is. Though I think the correct term is butch. And for the record, meditation was not supposed to cure me of anything. It was supposed to—”

“Yeah, sure. That’s interesting. Now who did you say was trying to get my attention? If I just spent the last half hour making eyes at a butch lesbian, I think I need to reaffirm my heterosexuality. Honestly, these gowns are a nightmare. We look like a coupla frosted cupcakes. I had no idea Christopher could be so mean. The butch lesbian in the suit probably took one look at me and thought I was a man in drag.”

“It was Nick.”

“Who was Nick? Nick was a
drag queen?
”

“What? No! Now who’s the one who’s
on something?
Nick was the one who was
staring
at you,” I clarified.

“Nick? Yeah, sure. He was looking at
me.
Don’t be naive. Everybody can see the way he drools over you.”

“Then you don’t have a crush on him?”

She tilted her head. “He’s hot, but I know you like him. Who do you think you’re talking to?”

“But I thought, since you brought him to the airport last weekend—”

“Vina, since when do I bring dates to the baggage claim? Christopher and Prakash were fussing over wedding details at his place, and when I said I had to come pick you up, Nick jumped up and immediately volunteered to drive me to JFK. Frankly, I was surprised at the way you ignored him for the whole ride home. But I figured it was because you weren’t interested in starting anything so soon after your…umm…
episode.
It’s probably a good idea, Vina. You need to get stable on your own first, anyway.”

“When I first met Christopher, I knew that he was going to marry Rich,” a drunken cousin of Christopher’s was toasting to the crowd, and I mean drunk to the point where he was wobbling about like a dashboard hula girl. “But then Rich dumped him! Or slept with someone else. Or got it annulled. I don’t remember. Whatever the case, I know two things for sure: one is that laser removal really can make it look like there never was a tattoo, and the other is that what happens in Vegas
really does stay in Vegas!
Am I right?”

Nobody was laughing. Prakash’s eyes were bulging so hard that it was clear they might soon pop right out of his head. Again, Nick decided to intervene and halt the carnage. Prakash clenched Christopher’s hand, and Cristina clenched mine. Prakash’s mother double-fisted glasses of white wine while trying to stifle her sobs, but I had to admire her for being there. One small step for any other mother must have been an ascent to the top of Kilimanjaro for her. Apart from greeting her when I first arrived, I tried to keep my distance; I thought it better than providing a constant reminder of what could have been. Prakash’s father had claimed to accept his coming out at first, but then refused to come to the wedding.
One out of two ain’t bad,
Prakash told me with moist eyes as I adjusted his bowtie in the Bridal Salon moments before the ceremony.

“All jokes aside though,” Nick began, snatching the microphone away from the cousin, and glaring him into a chair as if he were a disobedient child, “there is very little that any of us know for sure, except that life is the series of choices we make, and that if we’re lucky we come out of it without too many scratches. Or too many regrets. Things start moving so fast at a point that we forget to step back and ask ourselves what’s really important to us in the first place. Like friendship. I met Prakash in college, and since then, he’s been like the gay older brother I never had. One thing I can say for sure is that Prakash has been a better man since he’s been with Chris than he ever could have been on his own. The whole is definitely worth more than the sum of its parts. And I think that’s what a couple is supposed to be. So, to the happy couple…”

Prakash’s mother groaned. Nick, I could have sworn, tilted his champagne glass in my direction. I raised my glass along with every other captivated onlooker in the room.

Nice save,
I mouthed at Nick from where I was seated.

Nice dress,
he mouthed back.

Normally, it was the social equivalent of a police lineup: standing before your family and friends so that everyone could get an unimpeded look at the unmarried women. Thereafter, for good measure, we would be made to feel that singledom was a prison from which we should be praying to escape, even if it had to be at the expense of the other similarly sentenced women with whom we were “competing” for the lone remaining cowboy headed out of Die Alone Creek. It was roughly two days’ ride past No Children Junction. At this gay wedding, however, some rather aggressive drag queens were thrown into the mix. I’ll say this. Despite the tremendous effort they put into perfecting their makeup and training themselves to saunter in a way that makes genetic women look rough in comparison, drag queens will trade their girlish demeanors for boxing gloves if it means a better chance at a flying bouquet.

I never had a shot. I caught a glimpse of Nick’s gaze following me carefully across the floor and got distracted. Various thoughts were obscuring my sense of perception so I failed to react to the bouquet careening through the sky toward my head. Luckily, a chubby coed standing behind me broke my fall when a drag queen named Cleopatra body-slammed me out of her way. When I came to, all I could focus on was Cristina lifting me off the floor while I heard myself posing to no one in particular, “Why don’t I ever see anything coming?”

Less than twenty minutes later I was icing the elbow I had landed on when I spotted Nick walking in my general direction. I f lagged him down and decided that at the very least I still owed him an apology. Besides, given the outfit I was wearing, and the busted lip I was now sporting, it seemed a little less ridiculous to be apologizing for running out of the apartment of a guy I hadn’t slept with, and then ignoring a guy I hardly knew.

“So, can I talk to you for a minute?”

“You can talk to me for as long as you like.” He leaned against a banquet table.

“I owe you an apology.”

“Yeah, I think you do.”

I tasted a little blood, but decided that I probably deserved it. “I’m sure Prakash told you how I…misinterpreted waking up in your bed that day.”

“Vina, he didn’t need to tell me. It was pretty clear when I heard that door slam. I just can’t believe anyone would think I would take advantage of them while they were drunk. Now,
sober
is another story…”

“Well, yes. That was part of it, and I also found the video cameras in your closet.”

“Yeah…and?”

“And…I thought that you were videotaping us…doing stuff that it turns out we never did.”

It took a minute to register, and when it did, his eyes widened and he let out a deep laugh. “No wonder you ran out! Wow, having an imagination like that must be exhausting. You must have been mortified!”

“So you’re not offended that I assumed that about you?”

“It’s not exactly a compliment…but hey, I have three sisters. I know that women can’t just give every guy they meet the benefit of the doubt.” He raised an eyebrow and continued to laugh out loud. “Especially if they wake up in the guy’s bed, I guess.”

“I know, I know. But you don’t have to enjoy it
that
much.” I cracked a smile. “Have some compassion. Look at the dress they’ve got me in. Haven’t I suffered enough?”

“I’m sorry. I know. It’s just not something you hear every day.” He regained his composure. “But if that was all it was, and Prakash cleared the air before you left town, then why the cold shoulder at the airport?”

“What do you mean?” I feigned ignorance.

“You know what I mean, Vina. Ignorance is not a convincing look on you. We were having a nice conversation, and then you froze up and ignored me all of a sudden.”

“I wasn’t ignoring you.” I scanned fruits surrounding the chocolate fountain behind him as if I were interested in them.

“Yes, you were. You absolutely were. And nothing changed from the beginning of that conversation, so…wait a minute. Was this about your friend Cristina? Did you think I was with
her?
”

“No.” I stuck out my chin like a disgruntled teenager. “I didn’t think you were
with
her.”

“You must have. Why would you think that I would do something like that? After I clearly…” But then he got flustered. “You know what? Forget it.”

And then, to my surprise, he stormed off. He left me with a swollen lip, an aching elbow and one big question on my mind.
Why did it matter so much to him what I thought?

“T
he question is why does it matter so much to you that it matters to him why it matters to you?” Cristina further confused me in the ladies’ bathroom shortly after Nick’s abrupt departure. I cringed as she tried reapplying lipstick to my increasingly swollen lip.

“Sorry about that, princess.” Cleopatra made her way over to the next sink. “A girl doesn’t know her own strength sometimes.”

“I guess that’s true. Anyway, I don’t want to fight with you. I’ve got enough problems.” I turned to Cristina. “And I don’t want to deal with any riddles right now, either, okay?”

“Yeah, and I don’t want to go home alone tonight, but when the universe hurls a drag queen at your face, you find creative ways to cover up the bruises with some lipstick. And when the universe sends you a butch lesbian in the middle of a sexual drought, you go home and go to sleep by yourself.”

“Since when are you having a dry spell?” I asked, forcing her to smudge my lipliner.

“Would you sit still?” she huffed. “It’s been like two weeks!”

“Two weeks is not a dry spell. I swear, if you were a man, you’d be a walking erection.”

“So?”

“Why do I even try?” I asked Cleopatra. She shrugged at me in the mirror, and continued retouching her mascara.

Just then, Pamela burst into the bathroom, her foundation striped with tears.

“Honey, what
happened?
” Christy practically squealed, as we rushed Pam to one of the makeup tables.

She gasped and whimpered almost indecipherably.

“Who made you slap Britney Spears?” I asked.

“Nooooooo!” she shrieked and then blew her nose before speaking more clearly. “He made me waste seven
years!
”

Cleopatra fished a hanky out of her cleavage and handed it to Pam. Pam used it to blow her nose and compose herself before making the mistake of catching a glimpse of her ref lection in the mirror.

“I just can’t do it anymore! I just…I just can’t! It’s pathetic!
I’m
pathetic!”

“Pam,” Cristy said and held her by the shoulders. “What are you talking about? What can’t you do anymore?”

“We had a fight. A really bad fight. Out there. Just now.”

“You and William?” I asked, kneeling before her and taking her handkerchief since there was nowhere for her to dispose of it.

“No.” She shot me a look I hadn’t thought her capable of. “Me and Kevin Federline.”

“Sorry! I have a slight concussion so I’m a little slow on the uptake. What did you fight about? Why would he pick a fight with you?”

I held the handkerchief out for Cleopatra to drop into the basket behind her. She raised an eyebrow, which I assumed meant she expected me to know better.

“He didn’t. That’s the point. It was me.
Me!
I was yelling, and screaming like some crazy woman.” She seemed to be reliving it. “I…I just don’t know what happened. I remember being so happy for Chris and Prakash, and telling William something about how happy they looked together. And he turned to me and he said,
Well, that won’t last long.
And then I realized something. I realized that I
hate him.
I mean, what kind of a man would say that at someone’s
wedding?
”

She searched our eyes for answers neither of us could provide, before continuing, “And what kind of a woman am
I
to want to marry
him?
”

“No.” I started shaking my head. “Don’t say that.”

“Vina, it’s okay. Stop protecting me. It’s long overdue.” We could see the wheels in her mind turning. “I don’t…I don’t think that I like who I am when I’m with William. That crazy woman, the one who completely lost it in front of everybody out there, wasn’t me.
This
isn’t me. I have to get out of here!”

“Vina, wait.” A hand reached out to stop me by the shoulder while I was at the coat check a few minutes later.

“Nick,” I huffed, “this is really not a good time.”

“Just give me a minute. I’m sorry I overreacted. I’m a little off tonight.”

“Join the club. Pam and William had a huge fight. She’s a mess, so Cristina and I are taking her home.”

“I know. I saw the fireworks. Is there anything I can do? Do you ladies need a ride?”

I had to smile. “No, no. I think there’s a car waiting. But thanks for offering to save a damsel in distress. Again.”

“Any day of the week,” he replied. “So listen…”

“Hey, Vina,” Cristina intervened, winking like a balding insurance salesman into his third gin and tonic at an airport bar, “don’t worry about Pam. I’ll take her home. You stay here and enjoy the rest of the party, okay? Okay, bye!”

She was gone before I could respond.

“I guess that’s that.” I took a deep breath. “So, you were saying?”

“Right, right. I wanted to tell you that I was very impressed with what you said. The point you made about how important it is to trust your instincts.”

“Oh. You mean in relationships? You’re talking about that piece on infidelity in Salon.com? God, that feels like it was such a long time ago.”

“No. I mean, I did read that piece, but I was referring to something Prakash told me you wrote to him in an e-mail during your trip. You said the hardest thing about meditation was allowing yourself to let go, and that learning to trust your instincts through meditation was a skill that could translate into trusting your instincts for life in general. I’ve never seen anyone put that aspect of meditation into words successfully before. He was telling me about that phrase your grandmother uses and how meditation sort of brought you back full-circle to her advice.”

“So you’re into meditation?” This was too good to be true.

“I’m curious about it,” he said, pulling out a seat for me at a nearby table and then taking one beside me. “Not the kind of retreat you took, because I don’t think I could sit still for that long. I’ve tried yoga a few times and things like that. I find all this stuff fascinating. Anyway, my point was that you’re really insightful…when you take the time to be, that is, instead of jumping to conclusions about nice guys like me. You should write more about things like that. I’d love to read anything else you’ve written.”

“Thanks. I’m blushing, and Indian women don’t really do that.”

I couldn’t help batting my eyes at him. As soon as I did, I found that I was developing a full-blown crush on him. Familiar voices clawed to the surface of my mind.
What about ambition? What about religion? What about the difference between men you date and men you marry?
I recognized them and I laughed. These doubts had as much power as I gave them, I told myself, and it was more important to be in the moment. All else evaporated the instant I registered the fact that Nick was definitely staring at me. Not only did I like it, I didn’t feel guilty for liking it.
Oh, what the hell…I am observing myself sucking in my gut, and taking a deep breath, along with a leap of faith.

“So,” I began, and straightened up to give him my full attention, “how did you and Prakash become so close, anyway? You went to college together?”

Ask a man to talk about himself in any level of detail, and he’ll go home thinking he had the night of his life.

“We were roommates in law school,” he explained, stirring his drink with a swizel stick and paying absolutely no attention to the fact that my jaw had just hit the floor.

“I…I assumed it was college. I never knew you were a lawyer.”

“You never asked,” he replied. “You know, taking things at face value is a bad habit of yours.”

“So I’ve heard. So why don’t you practice?”

“I guess I got disillusioned with the law. Defending people I knew were guilty of some pretty terrible things didn’t sit well with me. I come from a big family, like I said. I have three sisters, and nieces and nephews, and I didn’t want to participate in the legal machine anymore. Justice is a subjective notion, as it turns out.”

“Really?”

“Sorry. I get all wound up when I talk about it. I want to hear more about you, Vina. I think you’re great. But first—” he stopped and stood up “—I have to apologize for not offering to get you a drink yet. What are you having?”

“A Chardonnay, please.”

I leaned back, crossed my arms and watched him walk away.

I was checking for food between my teeth in the ref lection of a butter knife when someone sat down in his chair.

“Can I give you a little unsolicited advice?” asked a pretty, petite redhead wearing a low-cut green dress and the plastered smile of a Stepford Wife.

“Huh?” I turned to face her, putting down the knife.

“Women who prey on men who are spoken for are an embarrassment to the rest of us.”

“Come again?” I was confused, and searched the bar for Nick, whose back was turned to us.

“I’m Kat.” She extended a limp and clammy hand she knew I wouldn’t shake. “And I’m with Nicky.”

“You mean…you and him?” I asked.

“I sleep in his T-shirts and everything.” She shrugged innocently.

“Well, are you sure he knows that?”

“We’ve been on-again, off-again since school. He’s just a flirt. That’s as far as it goes.” Then she leaned closer to me with a venomous glare. “Save yourself some time. Ultimately, he’s committed to me.”

Unfortunately, this scene started to feel too familiar. Flashbacks to that phone call and all of Jon’s baby-momma-drama formed a knot in my stomach. This time, I wasn’t going to fail to protect myself.

“Good luck with that,” I said, before I rose to my feet and headed for the door.

How nice. He’s a hard-bodied lawyer, she’s his long-suffering girlfriend and I’m a colossal dork.
I smiled politely at all the strangers on my way to the valet, and began to wonder if maybe the butch in the grey suit had the right idea. But on my way home in the rental car, I was feeling anything but sorry for myself. So what if he was flirting with me when he had a girlfriend? Men did that sort of thing all the time. And I would probably be better off alone for now, anyway. I had to report to work on Monday and figure out what I was doing with the rest of my life. When it came to the romantic part, at that point, I had to ask,
What was the rush?