Liar's Guide to True Love (28 page)

Saturday’s wedding day comes, and yet again, I’m reminded how nice it is to have Emma around to help out. The kids aren’t getting dropped off until just before the ceremony, so Emma has been by my side since the early morning. She’s helpful, even when she just acts as another set of ears to listen to my rambling about the various details I have to remember, or another set of hands to dig into my purse for a tissue, eyeliner, blotting papers, cell phone. She’s made it her job to stick close to the Bride, and to act as her personal gopher, while I chat with the vendors about the other details that are coming together. Of course, this bride has plenty of attendants to do her bidding, and has made sure that they all know they are there to do her bidding. But Emma relieves the tension among the bridal party by offering herself for the tasks like finding the Bride’s coffee, so that the bridesmaids can enjoy themselves. And when the Bride answers her cell phone and grits her teeth in rage to announce that “the hellions are early,” Emma blithely goes to find the kids and successfully keeps them out of the bride’s sight and ear shot. And when the groom announces that he wants a photo with his kids and new bride before the ceremony starts, Emma texts me to warn the Bride. So when the Groom opens the door to the bridal suite and the three-year-old sits on the Bride’s train, our Bride gives them nothing but warm smiles. Emma has the younger toddler sitting comfortably on her hip with a pacifier, and it strikes me how natural she seems carrying a child.

The photos and then the ceremony go off without a hitch. Emma had brought her own bag of tricks, filled with toys and snacks to keep the kids quiet. And when they clamored for their father after the ceremony, Emma managed to give them some Daddy-time while the Bride had more photos taken with her attendants. Once the reception begins, I start to relax about the kids, since a little noise from them will barely register among the two hundred other guests. Even the Bride is more visibly relaxed, which is always a good indicator that even if a minor mishap occurs now, it is unlikely to cause a bridezilla meltdown. I check on Emma via text every now and then, but she has set up a little kids’ area off in a corner, complete with some sort of Crayola sets that only draw on special paper and not on table linens or bridal gowns.

I get a text, and stop checking the hors d’oeuvres as they come out of the kitchen, thinking it’s Emma, and find myself smiling a little too widely when I see it’s from Nick.

I reply:

He texts me instantly:

I look up and Nick is standing a few feet away, against a wall, obviously trying to stay out of the staff’s way. I grin and go over to him, and kiss him on the lips. A real kiss, a kiss that says I mean it, and don’t care if anyone sees. We’re at a wedding for goodness sake. When we finally stop I have to take a moment to catch my breath.

“Happy to see me at this wedding,” Nick observes.

“What are you doing here?” I smile.

Nick looks around pointedly at the appetizers and drinks getting passed around. “I always wanted to crash a wedding, but never had the guts. At least I can say I’m with the wedding planner if I get caught.”

“You are?”

“Am what?”

“With the wedding planner?”

He looks into my eyes, wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me into him.

“Definitely with the wedding planner,” he says softly. Then he kisses me again, and I know what it means to feel the world around you stop. “What time will you be done here?” he murmurs.

“Not for a few hours.” It will be the longest few hours of my life.

“I’ll wait.” He steps back, and I reluctantly pull away.

“At least go and enjoy yourself, wedding crasher.”

A few times over the next couple of hours I see Nick munching on some food, drink in hand, chatting with “other” guests. I see him go over to help Emma out for a while too, and I try not to be one of those women who swoon at the sight of a man who is adept with small children. At some point I even see him on the dance floor briefly, with a woman who looks like someone’s grandmother. Finally I convince him to go home and get some rest when I catch him nearly dozing in a chair at a corner table.

“Your boyfriend’s nice,” Emma says to me, as we watch the crowd, waiting for any signs of an intervention needed. The Ex came to pick up the kids earlier, so Emma has been free to help me out. She has been such a hit with the bride that she even joined a group for a glass of champagne when she helped pop a few champagne corks for an impromptu toast at one of the tables.

“Isn’t he?” I singsong. I make a feeble attempt to keep a nonchalant, tight lip, before I grin. “I can’t believe he came.”

“So he
is
your boyfriend,” Emma states.

“I’m not sure. I don’t know if we’re quite there yet.” I look down. “We haven’t exactly had a chance to talk about it.”

“Well, that’s who he introduced himself to me as,” Emma says. Now she is the one who is nonchalant. “As if I didn’t remember him from your lobby.”

I grab her elbow and turn her to me. “Wait, he said that? He actually said boyfriend?”

“He did.”

I grin again. “My boyfriend,” I say, in a goofy, smitten way that can only be said to one’s sister.

Emma sighs. “It’s nice to have something to get excited about once in a while.

“Robert’s great,” she says quickly. “I don’t mean that. Aside from this baby thing, we’re better than we’ve been…recently. I guess I just feel like I need something more. Things are just so—dull—in suburbia.”

“Well, you could get excited about a new job prospect. Not a paying job, mind you. But I could use a little help now and then.”

“Do you mean it? You’ll let me be your assistant?”

“No. I mean you’ll be my partner. I couldn’t trust an assistant with overseeing the remainder of a reception for a very important, very high maintenance client, now could I?”

“You mean—”

“Yep. This evening’s all yours. I have a boyfriend I need to see.”

“Thanks Cass.” She hugs me, and for a second I’m reminded of when she would run up to me and latch on to my shoulders as little kids. “I won’t let you down.”

“I know you won’t. Just call if there’s an emergency. The rest of this event should run itself.”

After I tell the Bride that my
partner
will be handling the rest of the evening, I walk out of the ballroom feeling a lot lighter than I normally do after an event. It’s not just because I’m knocking off a little early. And not just because I’m on my way to see Nick, and am certain that he will be happy to see me. It’s because somehow even after I screwed up (royally, I know) everything is turning out to be even better than before I met Nick, or before Emma decided not to be mommy-tracked quite yet. I do wonder a little bit if Robert will be disappointed that she has decided to put off the baby-making for now, but I know it will work out with him as well.

I take a cab to Nick’s, because even though it’s only 10 p.m., I just can’t get there fast enough. I go straight to his apartment since someone was coming out of his building when I got there. I knock and wait for him to come to the door, and bite my lip. It’s not quite nervousness, just excitement, I think. He answers the door wearing an undershirt and sweats, and an adorably sleepy expression as he runs his hand through his bed head. “Were you asleep?” I say, feeling a little guilty, knowing how tired he must be. The guilt immediately slips away though, when he says nothing, just shakes his head no, and pulls me in for a deep kiss. “You missed me,” I sigh into his mouth. He nods sleepily again, and kisses me again, a little more slowly this time, but just as intensely.

All of a sudden his stomach growls, loudly, and I can’t help but break away and chuckle. “Are you hungry?” I say.

“Mmmm. Too tired to eat,” he says against my ear. He doesn’t let go, but I can tell he is exhausted.

“Come on,” I say, leading him to the couch. “I’ll order some food and run a bath.”

He raises an eyebrow at the bath. “My tub’s not quite big enough for two.”

I lean over him and give him a light bite on his earlobe. “Yes it is.” I find my bag and dig around for my BlackBerry, and call a Chinese takeout place that I have on speed dial. Then I go into his bathroom to start running a bath. I look around for any sign of bubble bath or oils, knowing I won’t find any, and stopping short of looking in the cabinet—we don’t have
that
kind of relationship yet. I sit on the edge of the tub, imagining Nick getting ready in the mornings. The soap he uses—Ivory—that clean scent that I loved since the night we had our first “date.” His razor and toothbrush are on the edge of the sink. He uses a basic Oral B brush, nothing fancy, like those Sonicare electric ones.

Then I remember that I actually have bubble bath in my purse—it was a party favor for a wedding a few months ago, and the bride insisted that I take a few extras. I go out to the living room to find my bag, and see Nick on the couch, sprawled across the length of it with his eyes closed and arms across his chest. I sigh, and go to get the bubble bath and finish running the water, even if it ends up just being for one.

I sit on the edge of the couch with Nick, watching him sleep while I wait for the food delivery. When the doorbell rings, Nick barely stirs, but by the time I pay the delivery guy and bring the food in, Nick is rubbing his eyes and attempting to sit upright. He is so adorable, with his hair sticking up every which way, his hands in fists, as he struggles to wake up. I put the food bag on the coffee table. “Hey, why don’t you get to bed?” I say to him.

“Mmm, the food’s here?”

“Yeah, but it’ll keep. Go to bed.”

“I’m sorry. I’m just so tired.”

“Don’t be. It’s really okay.” And I really mean it.

“Will you stay?”

“Sure. But there’s a bubble bath waiting for me that’s still hot.”

“Make yourself at home,” Nick smiles and leans in to kiss me. I send him off to the bedroom and follow his instructions, enjoying the lavender scented bath. It feels a bit odd, to be in his bathtub while he is sleeping, but at the same time it also feels oddly natural. I have the same feeling when I get out of the bath and use his towel, probably the same one he just used this morning. When I go into his bedroom, he is lying on his back, with one arm flung above his head. He is on one side of the bed, obviously leaving room for me, and my heart swells. And it does again when I see he’s left out a T-shirt for me to sleep in—an old Depeche Mode T-shirt from 1993. I crawl into bed with him, tired and relaxed, and he rolls over to wrap his arm around my waist without opening his eyes.

The wedding-day festivities must have taken more out of me than I had realized. I must have fallen asleep—a deep sleep, because before I know it, I’m waking up to a peek of sunlight coming in through the windows, and Nick’s arm still around my waist. He has rolled on to his stomach and is still very much asleep, as evidenced by his deep, somewhat loud breathing. I can’t stop smiling it seems, even in my groggy state of mind. I can tell it’s still early, but I slip out of bed to brush my teeth. It’s okay for him to wake up with morning breath, but I’m still trying to make a good impression here.

I, of course, have a toothbrush, paste, hairbrush and moisturizer in my bag. I do the necessaries and then check my BlackBerry when I see that Nick is still asleep. I sit on the bed next to him and see a message from Emma that came in around midnight. “Everything is great. Couple and family are ecstatic and exhausted.” I type out my thanks and Nick begins to stir as I’m hitting “send.” He blinks a few times and smiles sleepily. “Hey,” he says, and even the frog in his throat is cute.

“Hey.” I slide down to be next to him and he pulls the BlackBerry from my hands. He gets up on his elbows above me and looks so adorable with his mussed hair and unshaven jaw—now I know the meaning of bedroom eyes. I would swoon if I weren’t already lying down. I catch myself wondering if I’ll still find his “just woke-up” look so appealing years from now, and in this early morning, semi-awake state, I permit the optimistic daydream for a moment.

“Sorry I crashed last night,” Nick says as he starts to nuzzle my neck. “I’ll make it up to you.” His hands move to lift up the Depeche Mode T-shirt, and I think—this is the
only
way to wake up on Sunday mornings.

After a couple of hours of romping and resting, we head down to one of those little restaurants that Soho is peppered with. We share a newspaper over brunch, and I’m not the slightest bit embarrassed about cracking open the wedding announcements before any hard news. In fact I find it a little remarkable that there is none of the morning-after awkwardness at all, except for when Nick actually mentions my quick getaway the last time I was at his place. “I didn’t want you to think I was presumptuous about spending the night or anything, like you were going to find me wearing your pajamas and using your toothbrush in the morning,” I say in my own defense.

“I’d only been thinking about the next ten minutes, who said anything about the entire night?” I swat him with the “Vows” article and he grins. “Anyway, you look cute in my pajamas, and I wouldn’t even care if you packed your own toothbrush or not.”

As much as I want to spend the entire rest of the day with Nick, who actually has the day off, I do need to get back to Emma—and a change of clothes would also be nice.

“Is this what they mean by a ‘walk of shame’?” Emma calls out from the couch when I let myself in.

“Absolutely nothing shameful about last night,” I say to her, with a twinkle in my voice. “Or this morning.” She follows me into my room and sits on my bed while I change into some yoga pants and a tank top, just like she did when we were kids. “We had
the best
time,” I tell her, knowing she is waiting for every detail. I give her the PG version—she is my
kid
sister. Then we both lie on the bed to recap the wedding, reinforcing my decision to make her my partner. It’s so much more fun to do the postmortem with someone else.