Love and Other Things I'm Bad At (43 page)

12/20

We picked up our bridesmaid dresses yesterday morning, then went to a fancy restaurant in Cherry Creek for a so-called ladies’ luncheon. Mom gave us all little mementos, a pair of silver ski earrings that I will probably not wear in a hundred years, but I appreciate the gesture because presents are always good, even when they’re not your thing.

“Why do we have to do all this?” I asked.

“It’s tradition,” said Mom. “When is Wittenauer meeting us?”

I bit my lip. Here came the uncomfortable parental questions. “Um.”

“Um, what?”

“He’s not.”

“Courtney!” Mom yelled. “If he doesn’t come, then the whole seating chart will be messed up!”

“Mom, I think it’s a little bit more important what’s going on with your daughter than what happens to your perfect seating chart,” said Alison. She scooted closer to me. “What’s going on?”

“We broke up,” I said. “Yesterday.”

“I know the feeling,” said Grandma Von Dragen. “Completely heartbreaking.”

But it’s not, I thought. Not for me.

“Well, do you think you can find another date by Thursday?” asked Mom. Not even asking how I was feeling or doing.

A mental image of Grant in a tux flashed through my mind. He looked good, even in a mental image. But that would mean contacting him and asking him. “I’m not sure, Mom.”

“Well, could you decide by tonight?”

“What do you want her to do, hire an escort? Get real,” said Alison.

“An escort?” Mrs. Vickers, Sterling’s mom, started laughing. “Oh, that would be rich.”

Suddenly, our conversation turned to whom we’d choose for an escort. Dream companion for wedding. Mrs. Vickers gave quite the monologue about George Clooney. Grandma said she’d have to get past her first. But then they moved on to some younger contenders, like Zac Efron and Robert Pattinson.

Cougars! Every last one of them.

12/21

We’re in Breckenridge for the weeklong wedding celebration. Today is ski day. I can handle that. Unless Mom and Sterling get married on the slopes.

We’re not that far away from Denver, but it feels like we are.

I can’t stop thinking about Grant’s parting words, how I have to be completely sure before I contact him again.

Don’t text me, don’t visit me . . . etc.

But DO kiss him?

What?

Has he ever heard of the term
mixed messages
?

LATER

Skiing over. Have windburn on face but feel good, exhausted.

We’re staying in this cluster of rented condos, where pets are allowed, so Oscar does not have to be abandoned yet again. Tonight a bunch of us got together to watch movies. Tonight was Mom’s choice:
The Graduate
.

Very old movie about a guy who goes home after college and is totally alienated from parents.

Hm. Familiar.

“Men,” my grandmother complained when Dustin Hoffman started sleeping with that pretty girl Elaine’s mother, Mrs. Robinson.

12/22

Had a dream last night after watching the movie.

Instead of Dustin Hoffman racing to the church to stop the wedding, and pounding on the window, it was Grant, shouting “Courtney!” instead of Elaine. “Courtney!”

In the dream I was getting married to the Tom, in a hideous, cranberry-colored wedding dress with a dozen ruffles and bows.

And instead of escaping on a city bus, Grant and I went flying down the slopes on skis.

But then we ended up skiing on the highway and getting stuck in the Eisenhower Tunnel and after that skied right into a rock slide.

12/23

Rehearsal dinner tonight. Dad and Sophia flew in from Phoenix.

Why would an ex-husband go to his wife’s wedding? Why? Insane family of mine. Mom said it’s for us, the children. The children are now, respectively, 17, 19, and 21 years old. Think we could handle it.

Still, it was nice to see Dad, even though occasionally I get annoyed, remembering that if he hadn’t left in the first place, I wouldn’t:

Have so many freaking issues with commitment;

Be wearing a cranberry dress tomorrow night because Mom wouldn’t be getting remarried;

Have to make awkward small talk with yet another set of relatives, including stepsister, Angelina;

Be getting a manicure at ten.

Wait. It’s not all bad.

Alison and I were hanging out together, while Bryan was keeping to himself, writing dark poetry he wouldn’t let us see.

During dead part of dinner, while various people made various obnoxious toasts, I texted Grant:

Please rescue me. Please.

I even gave explicit directions to the condo.

No response. Not even allowed to text him. Forgot.

12/24 CHRISTMAS EVE

I’m going to do it.

I’m skipping the Frozen Fingers 5K this morning that everyone is supposed to run in as a sign of solidarity and support for Mom and Sterling.

I’m not going to wear the
WATCH STERLING AND SUZANNE RUN TO THE ALTAR
T-shirt that I’m supposed to wear at the after-run brunch.

Because you know what? I don’t run. It’s too cold to stand around and watch a 5K. And I don’t even like brunch.

But also because I can sit here all week and wait for Grant to come rescue me from a disastrous wedding . . . or I can go find him myself, tell him I love him (gulp), and see where that takes us.

Because in real life, unlike in the movies, your prince does not come. Dustin Hoffman doesn’t show up. Neither does Prince Charming. You have to go get him.

Even if you have to drive your little brother’s car that has a
BOYZ WILL BE BOYZ
bumper sticker.

Wish me luck, dear journal.

Not that you’ve ever helped me before, but who’s keeping track, really?

12/24 LATER CHRISTMAS EVE

There’s something really, really challenging about having romantic conversations that start off with, “Hello, Mrs. Superior. Is Grant home?”

Gah. Should have done this in Fort Collins where we at least live on our own, sort of, or at least with peers. Had to sit around with Grant’s parents and Grandmother, snacking on gingerbread cookies and fruitcake (bluck) and admiring Christmas tree and other holiday decorations. Had a feeling Grant liked watching me squirm. Parents seemed to be evaluating me a little too closely as well. Making note of every crumb I did, or didn’t, eat. Watching me sip coffee.

Finally, Grant asked if I wanted to see the new mountain bike he was getting for Christmas. Kind of question a ten-year-old boy would ask. But it worked.

We went into their attached garage. Grant closed the door, but I still pictured his parents and grandmother leaning against door to kitchen, listening.

“So, Grant,” I said as he wheeled his new bike out for me to look at.

“Check out the front suspension,” he said.

“Yeah. Great. So, listen. I broke up with Wittenauer. About a week ago,” I said.

“And it has twenty-eight gears. The lowest ones are really intense,” he said.

“Is that so,” I murmured. What was with him? “Anyway, the thing is, Grant. I’m ready. I mean, I’ve made my choice. I’m making it right now.”

“It has fenders so that I can ride in really wet weather—”

“And it’s blue! With silver accents! OK, OK, I get it!” I grabbed Grant’s arms and the bike dropped and leaned against his parents’ sedan. “Grant! I really, really want to get back together. I love you! I never stopped, I don’t think! And I want to be with you and no one else, ever, and I want you to come back up to Breckenridge with me for the wedding!”

He arched that eyebrow, the one that kills me. “You’re not suggesting a double ceremony, are you?”

“T-tonight? No.” I shook my head frantically. I did love him, but I wasn’t ready to discuss anything like that.

“Not that I wouldn’t want to marry you. Eventually.”

Eventually?
I thought. Ooh, I like the sound of that.

“But not at the same time as your mother. I mean ten, fifteen minutes later, I’ll be ready.” He smiled, then picked me up and gave me a big hug. He started to swing me around but my heel nearly gouged the sedan, so we moved to the edge of the garage where all romantic garage encounters must occur.

By the rakes and shovels.

Grant kissed my neck, my shoulder blades, behind my ear . . .

Had forgotten how much I love the way he kisses.

Had forgotten my name at that point.

There was this vintage sign on the wall by the tool bench behind him, showing a guy watching TV and drinking a beer, with his feet up. It read:
WHAT HAPPENS IN THE GARAGE STAYS IN THE GARAGE
.

Which was probably a good thing, considering what Grant and I were doing.

“If you ever, ever back out on spring break plans again . . . or any plans . . . that’s it, OK? We’re done,” he said, still kissing me.

“I wouldn’t. I mean—I’m sorry.” He backed away and just kept looking at me, waiting for more, I guess. “I’m really sorry. I don’t expect you to forgive me for a while yet. I won’t ever hedge my bets again. Unless of course we go to Central City and gamble sometime.”

“I think I’ve gambled enough lately,” he said.

“I hear that,” I said. “But sometimes it pays off, right?”

And we started making out again, right by the wrench collection.

“We’re going to have to, um, go back in the house,” he said, and we tried to tear ourselves apart from being entangled. Again.

Complete and Utter Bliss with Superior Boyfriend. There’s just this feeling between us that I’ve never had with anyone else.

Now must dress for wedding. Can’t count how many times Alison, Mom, and various others have knocked on my bedroom door to tell me it’s time to get ready.

I
am
ready. But it’s Grant that’s still fixing his tie.

12/25 WHAT. A. CHRISTMAS.

SCENE ONE: THE WEDDING

Grant and I ran down the snow-covered street to the church, me in my bridesmaid dress with the high-heeled shoes that were dyed to match. I kept slipping in the snow and the dye was starting to run, so I was leaving this pink-red trail behind me.

Grant picked me up and carried me the last block, and when we got to the church, Bryan was standing outside on the steps—with Shawna, of all people. We squealed like we hadn’t seen each other in months, instead of just a week.

“I knew you guys would end up together, from day one!” she said.

“And I knew
you
guys would,” I said.

“Oh. We’re just friends,” said Bryan.

“Yeah,” added Shawna, nodding.

“Right. And so are we,” I replied.

Grant squeezed my hand a little too tightly. “I mean, good, good friends,” I said.

He kept squeezing.

“Quit it! We
are
,” I said.

“Which is why he’s
carrying
you,” said Bryan. “Come on, let’s go in.”

There were only a few minutes to prepare ourselves before the music began, then we slowly walked down the aisle, bridesmaids and groomsmen, just like we’d practiced. The bridal procession music started. Mom emerged in her ecru gown, looking gorgeous, although I thought I saw her running shoes peeking out from underneath her dress.

It hit me. This was really happening. Mom was really getting married, again, and she was so happy, she looked about ten years younger.

I was about to cry when I saw Grant sitting in the church, watching me.

Then I really started sobbing. Grant was here. With me. I was so happy!

“Pull it together, Court,” Alison said from out of the corner of her mouth. She shoved a Kleenex at me.

And so, I did.

Pull it together, I mean.

SCENE TWO: THE RECEPTION

“Well, you just look like a prince in that suit.” Mom gave Grant a warm hug in the receiving line.

The ever-polite groom held out his hand to Grant. “Sterling Vickers. Nice to meet you.”

And, I thought, they’ll probably be seeing a lot more of each other. This is all good. I think.

Best Christmas Present Ever: back together with Best Boyfriend Ever.

“Sorry I messed up the seating chart again,” I said to Mom.

“Oh, hon,” she said, crying as she hugged me tight.

It’s her special day, so I’ll tell her I don’t like being called “hon” another time.

Later, Mrs. Vickers stopped by our table, just as Grant and I were about to get up and dance. “So. I see you got yourself an escort.”

“Well, I had to. Seating chart and all,” I said.

She and Grandma Von Dragen kept eyeing him the whole time we danced.

“I think they’re Googling you,” I said.

“Ogling, you mean.”

“Call it what you want. If I were you, I wouldn’t go anywhere alone right now.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” he said.

I looked around the small ballroom while we danced. Despite all her protests, Mom had actually incorporated a lot of my ideas into her reception. It was the Green Party. No plastic cups were used—only glasses. There were cloth napkins (with no initials). The party favors were reusable coffee tumblers, and inside each tumbler was a pair of rolled-up cotton running socks with Mom and Sterling’s initials and a little slip of paper that read
WE’RE A PAIR NOW
.

Except for endless running references, everything in the universe seemed slightly OK.

I was with Grant. Bryan was dancing with Shawna, as
friends
, they kept insisting, and at least that made a lot more sense than him pining for Dara and writing bad poetry. Alison would be home for a few weeks, and we were starting to be close friends again. Dad hadn’t made any scenes and, in fact, I’d seen him and Mom’s parents laughing and reconnecting.

When Mom threw her bouquet of fresh herbs, Alison caught it, which means she will have to find a state where same-sex unions are allowed. Which is another family drama I hope doesn’t happen for a while.

As they left the reception and walked down the steps to Sterling’s waiting SUV, we all threw snowballs at them. Little teensy ones, so nobody got hurt.

Then Mom and Sterling left for a two-week honeymoon trip to Maui.