Read Liar's Guide to True Love Online
Authors: Wendy Chen
Liar's Guide to True Love (6 page)
At 5:37 I am convinced that Nick thinks I am halfway to lunacy, a homebody who is so socially inept that she undresses for strangers in order to gain access to a urinal.
At 5:38 I decide it is late enough to call Kate and wake her up.
I can just see her, trying to find her cell phone on the nightstand without opening her eyes. It takes three rings before she does it.
“We didn’t talk about you at all, Cass.”
“Are you sure? He didn’t say anything
weird
about me?” I may have known Kate for four years now, but I still wasn’t about to say anything more about my old lady underwear than I absolutely had to.
“No. As soon as you left we ordered another round of drinks and had a few laughs. Nick even got Suzanne out of her sour mood after a few stories about me in college. I think she felt like I evened the score for womankind or something.” Could it be? Is it possible that he didn’t
notice?
It wouldn’t be the first time I had totally gone off the deep end about an imaginary embarrassing moment. “So why the urgency at the crack of dawn, anyway?”
“Oh, no reason. Just thought…well…I left so early…”
“Are you…
interested?
He is pretty cute. Why don’t I set something up? This weekend, maybe?”
Well, this is a pleasant turn of events. At the very least I’ll be able to redeem my dullness of last night. “Sure. But I have a wedding on Saturday, and the rehearsal dinner on Friday. How about Thursday? Oh wait, I already have a date on Thursday…”
She groans. Clearly too early for her to deal with my odd schedules. “Look, I’ll tell him to call you.”
“Are you sure?! I mean, it’s no big deal, he can call me. Or not call me. Whatever.”
“Cass?”
“Yeah?”
“Hang up.”
“Okay, okay, sorry again to wake you.” The phone goes dead.
Wednesday
Wedding Planning Tip: It is not unusual for ex-boyfriends to get in touch with a Bride when they hear she is with someone else. And brides, it is not unusual to have sexy dreams about said ex-boyfriends. Just don’t act on them.
Even though I am self-employed, I still start my day like everyone else—after my shower I blow out my hair, add a touch of makeup, and then put on a great summer skirt from Anthropologie and T-shirt by Michael Kors. I got a fabulous pair of jade earrings from a little boutique in Soho last month, which adds just the right touch of dressiness to the outfit. I may work at home, but I figured out a long time ago that I needed to dress the part in order to act the part, and get some serious amounts of work done. I pop a sesame seed bagel into the toaster and start the coffee maker. While I wait I flip on the
Today
show, turn on my computer, an Apple of course, and check my email. I check my business account first, [email protected]. There is an inquiry from a young woman who I gave my business card to while I was waiting to get my nails done. She’s been engaged for three months and hasn’t started any wedding planning because her fiancé refuses to get involved and she can’t make all the decisions without a sounding board. You’d be surprised at what a common story this is. And there is another inquiry from an Engaged who attended a wedding I did a couple of months ago. I jot down their names and numbers to call back at a reasonable hour. It is starting off as a good day—a potential date with cute Nick, and two potential clients.
I check my personal email account and there is only one new message. From Kevin. I need coffee for this. By now my bagel is done toasting, so I carefully spread it with cream cheese, and pour my coffee into my favorite old mug that says “I’d rather be shopping.” I bring the bagel and mug over to my desk, and take a big gulp of caffeine as I open his message.
Hey, gorgeous. How about a drink—one day when I can skip out of work early. Hit me back.
k.
p.s. I changed my hair. Like it?
So do you see what is wrong with this? Let’s break it down line by line, shall we?
“Hey, gorgeous.” Two words in and he is already overstepping his bounds of familiarity. This is what he used to call me when we were together. Every email started off “Hey, gorgeous,” every phone call. I used to love how he would say it half under his breath, it made me
feel
gorgeous. I need sugar in my coffee today.
he
can skip out of work, on
his schedule.
As if I don’t work, as if I don’t have a social calendar to check, and am just waiting for him to ask me out for a drink. As if I don’t know what he really means by having a drink. Notice he didn’t ask me out for lunch (he’d need to be back at the firm in the afternoon). Notice he didn’t ask me out for dinner (would take too long to get me in bed).
Maybe you think I am overanalyzing. Maybe you think I am overreacting. Like I told Mia,
trust me
on this. I have been reading his emails and listening to his messages for years. And it took me just about that long to figure all this out. I used to think a drink meant a martini, and that a photo was a photo. After all, what guy is so calculating that he actually puts that much thought into every word he says?
I remember vividly the moment when it dawned on me about Kevin. Funny thing was, it was Kevin himself who made me stop sleeping with him on his terms. It was one of those days when I thought trying to be friends—with benefits—could work. It was my third wedding, and I was looking at a reception hall contract while waiting for him to get out of the shower. Towel still in hand, he took the contract from me, sighing, “All right, Cass, I’ll look at it for you.”
“You don’t have to. I think it’s fine. A couple of vague phrases here or there, but as long as my clients are comfortable…”
“Lawyers are never vague without intention, Cass. Every word that is or isn’t there means something to them.”
I never looked at his emails the same again.
I hit the forward button and type in Suzanne’s, Mia’s and Kate’s email addresses.
Girls: See below. What do you think? Do I need this drama?!? Check out the picture…
I munch on my bagel while I hit Send. It always worries me a little, how fast things circulate on email. I always think of the time that some girl did a blow by blow on a blind date—what she wore, what he wore, what she said, what he said, what she looked like, what he looked like, how he kissed, etc. And she was not kind. A few hundred or thousand forwards later, and the email found its way back to her date, and to her. Needless to say it was detailed enough to be highly embarrassing.
Of course that could also be an urban legend, which is why I continue to forward recklessly.
Mia writes back immediately:
Don’t do it. You’re just setting yourself up. Don’t open up old wounds. He is DEFINITELY not worth it.
Some sound, decisive advice. Mia is so mature. I feel better about my day already without the false confidence of caffeine. I check my calendar to see what I have to do today. As usual, the Wednesday before a wedding is filled with appointments to make last-minute confirmations with various vendors. I start packing up my bag. My first appointment is at the wedding site, so in addition to the usual necessities, I pack: 1) a frozen bottle of Fiji water—perfect to last through a hot summer morning, 2) a digital camera, and 3) an extra MetroCard. I also double check that my MetroCard is where it is supposed to be, in the little outer side pocket of my Prada. Nothing annoys me more than people who dig around for their cards
at the turnstile
while a line forms behind them. I finish up my bagel and in five minutes I am out the door.
The Brooklyn Botanical Garden is probably my favorite place for a New York wedding. Everyone tends to make a big to-do about the whole Manhattan loft wedding, or if they are looking for a garden, they want the New York Botanical Garden in the Bronx. I head straight to the rose garden where the ceremony is to take place, and take out my digital camera. I shoot a few photos of where the altar will be set up and of the garden in general, so that I can assure the Bride that just a mere three days prior to the wedding, there are plenty of roses for a beautiful ceremony. I make sure that I am here in the morning, around the time when the ceremony will take place. I record the temperature, and then head to the Palm House.
Now the Palm House is the reason why I favor the Brooklyn garden over the Bronx one. The Victorian glass house is just so beautiful and unique for a reception hall, I almost wish it would rain during an event, just to see all the guests marvel at the rain dripping down the sides and ceiling of the building while they are safely dry inside. There is just something so romantic about the rain. I take a few more pictures. Not that the Palm House is decorated, but I have found that nervous couples often like a little reassurance that their wedding venue is the same as they remembered when they booked it two years earlier. I find the Palm House’s events coordinator who I am working with, and after reviewing the menu and day’s events for the last time, and being reassured that everything is in order, I deliver the final check for the balance of the reception fee, and I am on my way back to Manhattan.
As I head to my apartment I realize that I have missed a call from my Saturday Bride. Her voice message sounds like she is frantic, but trying not to sound frantic. Something like, “Cassandra, umm, hope it’s not too early, but I know you said you were going to Palm House today. Just wanted to know how it went! Call me!” She sounds shaky and I decide it’s better to let her wait a few minutes and be completely reassured rather than call her back right now with partial information that will just make her call back again.
Once back in my apartment I upload the photos and scan the paperwork. I attach everything into an email: