Liar's Guide to True Love (15 page)

“This really is a surprise,” I say with affected cheerfulness that I know fools no one. I speak to Emma and Nick, to assure Nick that I didn’t know my little sister would be waiting for me when I invited him over. And I mentally kick myself for not waiting for an invitation to
his
place. “Umm, Nick, this is my sister Emma. Emma, this is Nick.”

They exchange some mundane pleasantries, and Nick drops my hand. “So, why don’t I give you a call tomorrow?”

“Sounds good,” I say automatically. Emma, to her credit, is at least trying to blend into the plant that sits against the wall. She is looking at the lighting sconce as if it is the most fascinating New York landmark. “Sorry,” I whisper to Nick. “I’ll keep the wine chilled.”

He smiles and gives me a peck on the cheek. “No problem.” Emma and I both watch him stride out of my lobby. When he is out of eyesight, I glare at her.

“What in the world are you doing here?”

“That’s a fine way to welcome me! I kept missing your calls so I thought I would return them in person! Can’t I stay with you for a few days? It gets so lonely in that big house when Robert’s away.”

I sigh. I really am glad to see her, and I guess she had no way of knowing I might have a date on a Sunday evening. I pick up one of her bags—matching Longchamp duffels—and head toward the elevator. “How much did you pack?”

Emma follows with the other duffel and some other little case that I guess contains makeup and accessories. “I thought I’d stay until Friday, when Robert comes home. And I figured we’d be going out to different bars and clubs, and I didn’t know what I’d want to wear! At least we wear the same shoe size, otherwise I’d have had to pack another bag.”

I sigh. “We aren’t
quite
the same shoe size. Don’t stretch any of my sandals out, like the last time you borrowed some.” I guess she senses that she interrupted something important, since she doesn’t respond to the shoe argument and wants to change the subject.

“Who was that Nick guy anyway? Are you serious?”

We might be serious if you hadn’t been here, I think to myself. “I met him through Kate. We’ve only been out a couple times.”

“That must be fun, the dating life.” I get the sense that she is just trying to be nice, to make up for interrupting my date.

“I guess it can be.”

We get up to my apartment, and Emma drops her bags and goes to the fridge.

“How about a bottle of wine? I love a crisp white when it’s so hot out,” she says. She puts the bottle of sauvignon blanc that was meant for Nick on the counter, and rifles through the drawers for the bottle opener. What the hell, I think, as I pull out two glasses. She’s my little sister and she and I used to have a lot of fun together before she became Mrs. Suburbia.

I take a few sips of wine and decide to listen to my answering machine messages while Emma unpacks some of her clothes and toiletries. I listen to the messages on the handset—no need for Emma to know too much about my personal life and pass judgment—or even worse, offer advice. I am immediately glad that I do this when I hear Kevin’s voice with a lot of noise in the background. He called from a bar called Brass Monkey and wanted to see if I was free for a drink. He also wanted to see if I got the flowers he sent. What? First flowers, then a drink
out.
He called me when he was in public and someone could overhear? It wouldn’t be like Kevin to go out for a drink alone, so he must have been with someone who could easily have heard him calling me. Would they wonder who I was and ask him? What would his answer have been? I see Emma humming to herself while she goes back and forth between her luggage and my bedroom, hanging a few things in my closet. I’ll call Kevin later when I have some privacy.

Emma settles down on the sofa next to me and takes a big gulp of her wine. “Easy there, tiger. There’s an entire bottle you know,” I say to her jokingly. “Wait, aren’t you trying to get pregnant?”

“I just took a test yesterday. I’m not. Besides, a glass of wine here or there isn’t going to hurt anyone.”

I shrug my shoulders, what do I know? “So what made you decide to come to the city anyway, aside from Robert not being in town?”

Emma looks around, and fiddles with a piece of fabric left out from Teal Bride’s table-setting ideas. “Well I finally finished decorating the Great Room, and had some time on my hands.” She levels a look at me that reminds me of the vibrant, artsy person she used to be. “Even I need a break from living so close to Mom and Dad too, you know. Did you know that they are expecting us to go there for brunch
every
Sunday? You get out of it, since you always seem to have Saturday night weddings.” It does sound like my mother to attempt to instill new family traditions all of a sudden, after we are too old to have our habits changed. “I should probably call her to let her know I’m staying with you. Otherwise she’ll be calling the house and then the police when I don’t answer after the fifteenth time.” I nod in understanding. Despite the Nick interruption, I am glad Emma is here. Even after all these years of explaining our mother to Suzanne, Kate and Mia, all of whom have met her several times, Emma is the only other person who truly understands how nutty, overbearing, loving and contradictory our mother is.

We spend the next half hour or so catching up on the usual pleasantries—she tells me the colors of her Great Room and I wonder to myself when suburban family rooms became so affected as to become “great.” I tell her about the weddings I am working on, which never fails to excite her. Emma still has some wedding nostalgia, after her own one-hundred-and-fifty guest affair where I was maid of honor
and
planner.

Emma asks more about Nick, and I tell her the truth, though a little watered down. I tell her that I feel a connection, but it’s too soon to tell if it’s a real one, or just attraction. I tell her about our hours-long phone conversations, and how I feel like we’ve known each other a lot longer than we really have. “Oh, except he sort of thinks I’m Mia.”

“What?!” Emma has no idea what I mean, and I realize that I’m not making a whole lot of sense after all this wine.

“Well not really. I mean, he thinks I do what Mia does—job wise.” Emma still looks confused. “He doesn’t know I’m a wedding planner. So if you run into him again while you’re visiting, I’m an account executive at Greyson Advertising—just like Mia. Except I work with Maybelline.”

Emma laughs and says, “Hey, whatever line gets you in the door.”

“Really? That’s not the answer I expected from you.” I expected a small scolding from Emma, something along the lines of Suzanne’s perspective, how I can’t start a relationship with such a big lie.

“Well, why not,” she says. “I was reading some article about these men who go to classes to learn how to pick up women. They basically learn how to tell lies about themselves in order to get a conversation going, and to get the girl interested in them. You’re pretty much doing the same thing, only you don’t need to take a class or read a book to learn how to do it.”

“I’m a natural liar, gee thanks,” I say as I pour more wine for both of us.

“You just know how to play the game. It’s a compliment! That’s why you’re always getting dates with interesting men, and I’m stuck in New Jersey playing housewife.” Emma starts picking at her nails, an old habit that comes back whenever she is distressed.

“You’re having second thoughts about being a stay-at-home mom?”

“Well that’s just it—I’m
not
a mom. Not yet anyway. And who knows, maybe I won’t be one. And then what? I can’t decorate the Great Room every day.” Maybe my mother was right and Emma is getting worried that they can’t have a baby. You always hear those stories about infertile young couples. You just never think it will happen to you—or your younger sister. “Maybe I’m just not mommy material.”

“It’ll happen for you. Try not to stress about it. Sometimes it just takes time.”

“No, Cass,” she says, agitated. “I mean, maybe I don’t
want
to be a mom.” She drinks more wine, as if gearing herself up. “I don’t know that I have that maternal instinct that everyone thinks I do. The idea of having a baby doesn’t make me feel excited. At all.”

I am completely puzzled. Not because I don’t understand how she feels. But because I didn’t think she felt this way. “That’s not unusual, Em. A lot of people your age—or my age for that matter—don’t feel ready to have a baby.”

Emma is still agitated and obviously on the verge of tears. “I just feel like there is so much I haven’t done! But we’ve been married for three years. Aren’t I supposed to want a baby by now? We saw
Juno
the other night—I finally rented the DVD, because God knows we don’t even go out to the movies anymore. I’m supposed to be able to relate to Jennifer Garner’s character right? But I felt none of that. I felt like Juno, wanting to just get on with life, have a whole blank slate of a future in front of me.” She is really crying now, with no help from the half bottle of wine. Maybe I should have made tea instead.

“Why do you think you should be having a baby? Is it Robert? Is it Mom? You don’t have to feel pressured.”

“Robert’s been ready to be a dad since the day we got married. He’s been willing to wait this long. But I swear, as soon as we graduated college, it’s like he became a different person. All through college, he was in that band, remember? He was going to be a musician, or at least work in the music industry with artists. Then all of a sudden he gets recruited to sell drugs, and I’m living my mother’s life in New Jersey.” Just so you know, Robert is hardly a drug dealer, and Emma is a far cry from living the Sopranos life. Robert is a sales rep for Pfizer, and he pitches pharmaceuticals to doctors, which includes schmoozing them at five-star restaurants. His business trip this week is a medical conference in Las Vegas.

“Have you told him how you feel?”

“You know Robert. It’s his way or no way.” She sniffles a little, the tears subsiding. “I used to think his confidence and the way he makes decisions was attractive. He’s so sure of himself, of everything. Now I think he’s just stubborn. Besides, no one can understand why I wouldn’t be perfectly happy with the life I have—gorgeous house, a husband who is easy on the eyes
and
makes a nice living. I’m living a life of leisure! Only you can understand about wanting something different, Cass. You’re living a totally different lifestyle—going out every night, new guys to date all the time, girlfriends who really
get
you.”

“Is that why you’re here? Because you want to try out city life?” I give her a skeptical look. “It’s still not all champagne and roses you know. Sure I have a lot of fun, but it’s not a
better
life. Just different.”

“I know, I know. But I
need
that now, Cass. I just had to get away from that town, from Robert, from everything.” A red flag pops up in my head.

“You’re not thinking of leaving Robert are you?”

Emma looks into her glass, as if trying to read tea leaves. “I don’t know. I don’t
think
so. But I don’t know.” She takes another gulp of wine, and I am tempted to take the glass from her. She’s talking crazy and getting way too mopey. “He doesn’t know I’m here.” I’ve witnessed the beginnings and endings to several starter marriages—Suzanne’s as well as a few that I planned for close acquaintances. Emma’s and Robert’s never struck me as one, but I suppose there could be plenty that I don’t know about. Emma closes her eyes and then says, “So what are we doing tomorrow?” And just like that she has shut down and I can tell she doesn’t want to talk about this anymore. Well, she’ll be here for the week, I think to myself. Hopefully that’s enough time to get to the bottom of this quarter-life crisis she seems to be having.

Monday morning

I decide that as long as Emma is crashing on my couch and wanting a taste of city life, I might as well give her a dose of reality and put her to work. I have her organize my binders of past weddings and wedding ideas for future events, something I had been meaning to do for a while. She diligently uses my label maker to create binders for Large Events, Rehearsals, Religious/Ethnic, Theme Receptions and Flowers. Then she assembles various photographs and magazine cut outs and files them in clear plastic sleeves. She doesn’t complain once at being given the mundane administrative tasks. In fact, she practically basks in business-like behavior, even answering my landline with a chipper “Cassandra Handley Event Planning, how may I direct your call?”

While she does all this, I work on mood boards for my Attorney/Princess Bride. I generally like to come back with at least three complete concepts for all the major aspects of a wedding, with each one mounted on a piece of eighteen-by-twenty-four-inch foam board. Each board contains fabric swatches for color and table cloth ideas, a party favor, photographs of lighting schemes that might work, as well as examples of a dress, cake, flowers that could all work within that concept. A bride will rarely choose the exact same item as on any of the boards, but I’ve found that it really helps them articulate what
their
vision is when they have something to look at and react to, as well as give them comfort that I have ideas of my own to bring to the table, and have an understanding of what kind of “mood” they want for their wedding.

I almost always include a “white wedding” mood board, unless the bride has specifically stated that she does not want an all-white wedding. This is the board that I show first, the one that often makes the bride tear up a little, or at least give a gasp of delight. It’s the board that screams “I’m getting married.”

I start with pictures of three different dresses, all ball gowns with full skirts. The first has yards and yards of tulle—think ballerina. The second is silk satin embroidered with crystal detailing on the bodice and skirt, shown with a fur-lined cape for a winter wedding. The third is silk taffeta with rosettes on the skirt and cathedral-length veil. I mount all this with some spray adhesive, and also add several fabric swatches of the most common dress materials in both white and ivory. Emma takes a break to oohh and ahhh over the swaths of fabric that I have laid out, not to mention various Swarovski crystals and beads that I have to add a little sparkle to the boards later on. I then move on to headpieces. My bet is that this Bride will go with a tiara, so I mount a few pictures of ones with crystals and faux pearls. I add a real hairpin with crystal flowers for a three-dimensional effect to the presentation.

For flowers I use a combination of magazine ideas as well as photos I have taken myself over the years, of some of the most unique and beautiful arrangements at my weddings. Elton often provides me with some of his favorites as well, which has been a pretty effective way of finding business for his shop, as well as effective for me to keep on top of what the latest trends are in flower arrangements. I place one photo of a bouquet that is all white roses and stephanotis, then another of white orchids, then another of all lily of the valley. For centerpieces, I plan to present the idea of using small white Christmas trees made of feathers, flanked by white poinsettias, to show something unique and seasonal. I also add a photo of a standard towering arrangement with tall vases filled with water and dendrobium orchid stems, topped by an arrangement of orchid blooms. I also include two simple ideas for small, low arrangements, which many brides opt for when I point out how much more conducive they are to cross-table conversation.

For the second mood board, I incorporate some color—deep purple and red flowers for a winter wedding. I find a couple of eggplant bridesmaid dress examples, and a wedding gown with a red sash around the waist. One of my favorite ways to use flowers is to decorate the back of the dress skirt, to hide the bustle—the same place those awful big bows went on ’80s dresses. It can be the perfect place to add a splash of bold color. A picture of a wedding cake shows white frosting and a surprising red velvet cake on the inside. Chocolate-covered strawberries, tinted martinis and ribbon-decorated place cards show other ways color can be used throughout the reception.

I work on the mood boards until lunchtime, when Emma declares that she wants to go to Mesa Grill. No surprise there, since that is the place she
always
wants to go when she visits me—something about a Bobby Flay
Throwdown
fantasy. As is normal for a Monday, the place is filled with corporate types “doing lunch” as well as the odd summer tourist family. Emma gets the grilled mahi mahi, while I opt for a double portion of the chopped salad. The waiter refills our glasses of sparkling water, and I try to figure out a way to find out more about what’s going on with her and Robert.

I squeeze a lemon wedge into my water and say, “I think the last time we were here, you and Robert were in town to take some doctors to a Yankees game.”

“No, the last time was when Robert was working on some stupid presentation and I spent the day looking at fabrics in the garment district—alone.” Damn. Emma’s cell phone rings and she rolls her eyes and hits the ignore button. Then my cell rings. It’s our mother. Clearly looking for Emma first, then me. “Don’t answer it,” Emma says.

“You know she’ll just keep calling.” I answer the phone in a low tone—thankfully the restaurant is not that crowded and I don’t have to raise my voice at all. “Mom, we’re at lunch right now.”

My mother is beyond perky today, probably thrilled at the idea of her girls being together. “Well I just called your sister and she didn’t answer. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay.”

“Fine, Mom.”

“—because spending time together is really important for sisters. And some day you’ll only have each other you know.”

“Yes, Mom, now I really have to go.”

“Make sure to call me later and let me know how you’re doing!” She is practically singsonging into the phone.

“Bye, Mom.”

I chew on a bite of salad and decide to be direct with Emma. “Did you tell Robert you’re staying with me?”

“I will later on. If he even decides to call.” She looks around. “Do you think Bobby Flay ever comes here?”

“He might worry if he calls the house and you don’t ever answer.”

“He knows to call my cell. I’m not usually housebound when he’s away, you know.”

“You’re not usually pretending to be single while staying at my place either.” I look pointedly at her left hand, where her Tiffany Lucida ring should be. She had decided to have it as her wedding ring, foregoing a traditional band since she wanted this ring to stand alone on her finger. This was the ring she wanted
soooo
badly that she was willing to have a diamond less than one carat, since that’s all Robert could afford at the time. The ring I have never seen her without until today.

She looks at her hand a little wistfully. “It’s perfectly safe in my jewelry box at home. I’m just…trying something else out. It’s no big deal.”

“Taking your wedding ring off and moving in with your sister while your husband is away is
no big deal?
What has gotten into you?”

“I haven’t worn my ring in months. Robert hasn’t even noticed.” At least she is showing some emotion now, even if she seems angry. Her voice lowers to be nonchalant. “It’s not like we never talked about my visiting you. You’re barely two hours away you know.”

Our mother calls my cell phone again, and I give an exasperated sigh before I answer. I’m not going to get anywhere with Emma at this rate. “Yes, Mom?”

“I forgot to tell you—I hope Emma can’t hear me—try and make sure she has a good time this week, all right? Take her out with the girls. I really think she’s having a lot of stress, which is doing nothing to help her ovulate, I’m sure.”

I roll my eyes. “Okay, okay, Mom, don’t worry. I’m on it.” I hang up and look at Emma again. “She doesn’t know you and Robert are having problems, does she?”

“I wouldn’t call it ‘problems.’ I don’t know what to call it. It’s just me, I know it is. He is perfectly—happy. I’m just going through a little thing right now.”

“You mean a little quarter-life crisis?” I expect her to argue with me, to defend herself that this is perfectly normal behavior. But she doesn’t, and I am disappointed.

“Why haven’t you called me? You know I would always make time for you.” I feel so guilty for not trying harder to reach her. “It really is okay if you don’t want a baby right now, you know. You can wait a few more years at least.”

“All of my friends have at least one kid or are pregnant with one on the way. All we talk about is pregnancy symptoms, breastfeeding and burping. That is what passes for conversation in the suburbs. The whole idea grosses me out, but I can’t say anything, or the next thing you know,
I’m
the topic for gossip, about how
non
-maternal I am.”

I nod in understanding. “Some of my friends would consider that a
good
thing.”

“And that’s exactly why I’m here. I need to get out of that lifestyle bubble for a while.”

I recall how many bags she packed. “How long of a while?”

Emma looks a little sheepish. “I thought I’d stick around for your annual Fourth of July party.”

That is two weeks from now. A long time, but my little sister needs me. “You have to tell Robert.”

She gives me a big grin. “I’ll call this afternoon.”

After lunch Emma decides to head up to Central Park to lie on the Great Lawn with Manhattanites who
wish
they had easy access to a patio with a privacy fence like she has in New Jersey. I work on Attorney Bride’s mood boards a little while longer, then decide to leave them out for later—my appointment with her isn’t until Friday, and it’s nice to work on them little by little as inspiration strikes. I then spend a couple of hours catching up on work emails and putting in phone calls to confirm details on various events. I also email “the girls” to see if they are up for getting a drink tonight and to catch up on our weekends. Suzanne and Mia are in. Kate has a work event, but is free tomorrow night. We decide to meet at one of our old standbys near Suzanne’s—Hi-Life on the Upper East Side. I text Emma the time and location, in case she decides to stay out until then. She responds immediately:

Does she think I dine out all the time? I text back:

Her reply:

One of the things New Yorkers take for granted is how easy it is to get any type of food delivered to your door within thirty minutes, at any time of day or night. I am so glad Emma is easy to impress these days.

Emma comes back, breathless from both excitement and having walked several blocks in the summer heat. “I forgot how much I love the city in the summer!”

“Really? Most New Yorkers are trying to get out of the city and to the Hamptons if they can afford it.”

“But there’s so much
to do!
I walked all over the park. I went to the zoo, walked by the boathouse—did you know you could paddle boat there? If I lived here I would run in the park
every day.
”

It’s fun to see the city from fresher eyes now and then. But the sisterly side of me doesn’t want Emma to enjoy this little adventure away from home too much. “You can jog through your neighborhood if you need some trees to look at.”

She rolls her eyes at me. “But the
energy,
Cass. It’s so different here. You know what I’m talking about.”

And I do know. After all, it’s why I live here. But this is the life that is good for me—my sister has chosen her own path. “Well, you get sick of the crowds everywhere after a while. I mean, just
try
to go ice-skating at Wollman Rink the day after Thanksgiving.”

A very chipper Emma heads off to shower and I put my head in my hands. Okay, it’s only been one day, but I’m not doing much to get her back to liking her own life.

Drinks that night don’t make things much better. I successfully plan a night out where Emma can relax and have a good time. But again, she might be having too much fun. It’s nice to have a new person in our midst so to speak, and Emma brings a fresh dynamic to our little group (sans Kate, of course). She is empathetic when Suzanne complains of yet another failed date. And is able to cheer her up with a perspective that the married life Suzanne thinks she wants is not always what it’s cracked up to be. Emma is fascinated by Mia’s “glamour job” in advertising, and wants to know all about the latest photo shoot Mia was on. Usually Mia’s description of work is something along the lines of “watching paint dry” but to humor my little sis, she tries to spice it up a bit. And perhaps to her own surprise, she actually finds herself remembering why she liked that job in the first place. I realize how great it is to have my sister around, but at the same time I worry that her current emotional state might cause her to do something she’ll regret later. This worry is founded when a guy at the bar sends a drink over to her. And she gives him a little wave. “Relax, Cass,” she murmurs to me when she senses my alarm. “I’m not giving him my number or anything. Or yours for that matter.”

The next night, I am a little relieved to not have to worry about Emma—neither entertaining her, not guarding her fidelity. She decides to see an old friend of hers who she lost touch with after getting married. I seriously hope it’s not an old boyfriend. I decide to go out for a drink with Kate, to check out a new bar opening up near Kate’s neighborhood. We get a small table toward the back—not the “see and be seen” type of spot that Kate normally gravitates to, but she is feeling more low key this evening. Nonetheless, she manages to get the phone number of a cute guy with a goatee, and to give
her
number to a Wall Street type.