So Much for My Happy Ending (10 page)

I gasped. “They really said that?”

“You think I would make that up?” he snapped. He stared fixedly at the blinds covering our window. “I just thought you should know that I tried. I tried for you.”

A wave of guilt swept over me. Tad had closed the door on his parents before. He had worked through all that pain and heartache and thanks to me that wound had been ripped right back open. “God, Tad, I'm so sorry.”

“It's not a problem. I'm over it.” The expression on his face said differently.

“Really?” I sat up while holding the sheet over my breasts. It didn't feel like a nudity moment. “This is my fault. I shouldn't have pressed the issue.”

“I need you to trust me, April,” he whispered. “I need you to believe in me.”

“Tad, I do.” I lifted my hand to his cheek and gently guided his face in my direction. “I believe in you more than I've ever believed in anyone. I swear I won't question your judgment again.” I hesitated for a moment. “Or at least…well, can I ask you something?”

“What?” he asked warily.

“Are you really going to start making religious bumper stickers for my mom's cult?”

Tad chuckled. “I never thought of it in those terms before. I did tell her I'd put together a small merchandise line for the temple, for a profit, of course.” He reached over and tucked a lock of my hair behind my ear. “Do you not want me to?”

“I will pay you not to do it.” I let the sheet fall a little so that it barely covered my nipples. I had the feeling I was going to need some ammunition in order to get my way. “It's bad enough that my mother's a pagan Marxist zealot, without my husband profiting off her neuroses.”

He grinned and his eyes traveled to the edge of the sheet. “And what do I get if I agree to abandon this business venture?”

I let the sheet fall to my waist.

He grabbed my wrists and, with a quick move, pinned me beneath him. “April, you have yourself a deal.”

T
he next three weeks blended together. I spent a good portion of time doing my chicken-with-head-cut-off impersonation as I ran around firming up plans with caterers, musicians and florists during my few hours away from work. The wedding was becoming incredibly expensive but Tad said that he had inherited a large chunk of money from his grandparents aeons ago and had put it in a Smith Barney account in anticipation of this occasion. What kind of guy put aside money for a future wedding? But that was Tad: Mr. Romantic. Still I convinced him that we didn't need to spend the money on a wedding planner. I had originally thought it was a totally needless expense. Now I was beginning to regret my decision.

In addition to all that I hired Gigi and spent an enormous amount of time bringing her up to speed so she would feel comfortable running things during the eleven days I would be gone. She was a quick learner, and if she wasn't such an annoying twit, training her would have been a breeze. I had one minor nervous breakdown during which Tad walked in on me pummeling a throw pillow. He took the opportunity to help me organize my to-do list and recommended that I postpone all our nonwedding social commitments (like dinner with Jeremiah) until after the honeymoon, to which I happily agreed. I had a bachelorette party where I had the pleasure of deep throating a cucumber and doing a body shot off a beefy male stripper with BO. When the wedding was twelve days away, Tad sent a dozen long-stem red roses to me at work. He sent eleven the next day, then ten and so on until I was down to one stress-inducing rose.

Now, as I stood in front of the mirror in a Ritz-Carlton hotel room just hours before I was to say my vows, I didn't feel stressed at all. Take note, panic and stress are very different things.

“You look like a princess.” Caleb's figure came into range of the mirror. “And I don't mean the fairy-tale kind with ugly puffed sleeves. You're very Audrey Hepburn in
Roman Holiday.
”

“Love that movie.” I twisted slightly so that I could admire the white, delicately beaded bias-cut gown from a different angle. This would be a great dress for a curator to wear to a gala-type event. I imagined the people gazing at me with the appropriate mixture of admiration and envy. I could almost hear them whispering to one another, “Not only is she the best curator the museum's ever had, she has incredible style!” Another would add, “She's as lovely as the women in Renoir's paintings, except, of course, she's a good twenty pounds thinner!”

Caleb adjusted the silk straps on my shoulder. “Picturing yourself walking down the aisle?”

I blanched and turned to face Caleb. “I'm doing the right thing, aren't I?”

“Wedding jitters?” Caleb asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“If I turned around and bailed right now, would you support me?”

Caleb crossed his arms in front of him and looked around the room. “How much did this wedding cost?”

“A little under seventy thousand.”

“I think it might be better if you just went through with it. If worse comes to worse, you can divorce and then you'll get to keep half the gifts.”

I turned back to the mirror. “I don't believe in divorce.”

“You haven't gone Catholic on me, have you?”

“I just think that people today don't take their wedding vows seriously enough. Once I get under that
chuppah
I'm going to swear in front of Tad, my friends and God that I will stand by Tad for as long as I live. No turning back, no matter what.”

“Ah…” Caleb stepped back a few paces and sat on the armrest of a chair. “In that case, let me ask you this. If things between you and Tad never get any better than they are right now, would you be happy?”

I thought about that for a moment. Tad had his annoying quirks. Sometimes he got defensive for no reason and his refusal to function on more than four hours of sleep had majorly contributed to my need for undereye concealer. But he was also romantic, adoring, fun, witty and I loved him. Wasn't that what it all came down to in the end? I loved him and he loved me and that should be enough for anyone. “Yes,” I said firmly. “I would be happy.”

“Then let's get this party started,” Caleb whispered. I examined his reflection. He looked resolute. I don't know what he had to be resolute about. I was the one about to make the biggest commitment of my life, a commitment that wasn't even legal for him to make to another man. I felt a sudden surge of jealousy. Civil rights issues aside, there was something liberating about not having the choice of whether or not to marry. But then again I didn't feel as if I had the choice either. Maybe Caleb's and my situation had more similarities than I wanted to admit.

There was a rap on the door and then Allie used the key card I had lent her and poked her head in. “Guess who I found in the lobby?” she sang.

She threw the door open wide and made a ta-da-like gesture in the direction of the petite grey-haired woman at the door. “Bobe!” I tottered over to her in my stiletto heels and threw my arms around her neck.

“Let me look at you,
mummala
.” She backed up and took in my ensemble. Her face crinkled into a warm smile. “What a beauty you are! A real lady.” I smiled modestly and led her to the love seat. “I gave the cake to that Rose woman downstairs. I hope she knows what to do with it.”

“She's the Ritz's event coordinator, she'll make sure it's stored correctly and served on time.”

“So now you need an event coordinator?” Bobe shook her head in disapproval. “I don't understand it. Why all the hoopla? You couldn't get married in a nice synagogue or in one of those chapels? Now you have to get married at the Ritz with an event coordinator? It's not like you, April.”

I rubbed her shoulder gently. Funny how both my mother and Bobe could disapprove of the same thing for such dramatically different reasons.

The thought of my mother threatened to give me a headache. I should've been thankful that she wasn't around to embarrass me, but I couldn't quite get myself there. I had really expected her to come to her senses. Couldn't she at least pretend to care? I squeezed my eyes shut and took a steadying breath.
Focus on your blessings. Tad loves you. Tad will always be there.

“I've got an idea!” Allie clapped her hands, oblivious to my change in mood. “Let's all have a glass of red wine!”

Bobe glanced at the clock on the wall. “So early? Before the ceremony?”

“You're right,” Allie said. “We should start with white.”

She pulled a corkscrew out of her purse (although there was one provided by the hotel right in front of her) and opened a bottle of Chardonnay that had been chilling in the minirefrigerator. She poured it into four elegant glasses and passed them out. “To April and Tad. May they have a life of happiness, love and just enough hell-raising and drunken debauchery to keep things interesting!”

Caleb's free hand went to his hip. “Did you steal that from
Martha Stewart Weddings?
”

“I've got to save the good stuff for the toast at the reception. Drink up.”

We all raised our glasses just as another knock interrupted us. “Is the bride in there?” Rose's voice carried through the door. “They're ready for you to sign the Jewish marriage contract.”

I saw Bobe blink away a tear. My choice to sign the
ketubah
immediately before the ceremony was a nod to the traditions she held dear. I glanced at the small group around me. “Okay, guys, it's showtime.”

My small entourage followed me to the hotel room down the hall and Caleb pushed on the already partially opened door to reveal the rabbi, the best man and Tad standing around a table. As soon as Tad's eyes moved to me, his jaw literally dropped open. “Oh my God, you're breathtaking.”

Maybe this princess thing wasn't so bad after all. I smiled and tried unsuccessfully to glide to his side. Tad took my hand and brought it to his heart. “I mean it, April. I'm actually having a hard time breathing.”

I giggled and resisted the impulse to kiss him prematurely. This was right. The rabbi cleared his throat. My rabbi hadn't been available, but thanks to Tad's best man/business partner's sister-in-law's grandmother's recommendation we found the elderly and somewhat doddering Rabbi Gelfman. I listened as he rattled off a few words about the sacredness of marriage, and felt a renewed flutter of nerves. The rabbi handed me the pen and I looked at the contract. It was in Hebrew, so I couldn't read it. Sometimes it was better not to know what you were getting into. My hand wavered over the line where I was supposed to sign. I looked up and saw Caleb, who was looking rather rigid. He was worried about me. I shifted my gaze to Tad, and he looked back at me with so much love that I knew there was nothing to fear. I watched my hand write my name and then I handed the pen to the man I was going to spend the rest of my life with.

I
stood by the window in our room at Hotel Nouvel and watched the sporadic droplets of rain gently tap down on the streets of Barcelona. Such an interesting city. It was as if thousands of modern western conveniences and sensibilities had been put in a time machine and dropped on a sixteenth-century world. The archaic stone buildings were now wired with very advanced security systems. Scantily clad women danced in bars just a stone's throw away from where kings and queens had once ruled over impoverished serfs. And the nights! Children playing in the streets at a time when most American children would have been tucked into bed, street performers doing provocative Latin dances—it was like every evening welcomed in a new festival. Unfortunately, there was nothing festive going on within the walls of my room. I looked over my shoulder to confirm that Tad was still buried in the book he had been reading for the last two hours.

“It's barely a sprinkle,” I noted. “Besides, I think there's something romantic about walking the streets of Spain in the rain—Hey, that rhymes!” I held out my arms grandly. “The rain in Spain falls mainly in the…”

“I'd rather not.” He didn't even bother to look up from the pages.

I dropped my arms. “That must be a good book.”

He shrugged and turned the page.

“Do you think I'd like it?”

“I don't know.”

I turned back to the window; the view was a lot more lively than the person on the bed. The wedding had been wonderful. Tad had written such beautiful vows and we had continued to dance even after the last of our guests had gone—right up until the band had finally packed up to leave. We had gone back to our suite and engaged in the most intense sex of my life. But my favorite moment had come the day after the ceremony when we had stopped briefly at our home before heading to the airport.

Tad's things were all moved in while many of mine were still in boxes earmarked for storage, but it was the stack of gifts that drew my attention. Caleb had been kind enough to drop them off at the house after the reception, and the silver and floral wrapping paper was now too much of a temptation to resist.

“Okay, I got my passport, we should get going,” Tad had said, but he, too, was attracted to the bounty.

“Just one,” I had pleaded.

“I thought we were going to wait until we got back. Something to look forward to.”

“One.” I looked at him and tried to flutter my eyelashes, which predictably caused a lash to fall directly into my eye. Tad had tried not to look amused as I cursed and delicately extricated it.

“Just one, April, we have to get to the airport.” We both broke into enormous grins, the kind Charlie wore before entering the chocolate factory. Then we dived for the present. We knew exactly which one. It had the most metallic wrapping and was beckoning to us from the top of the stack. The card was from the parents of Tad's college roommate. Together we ripped off the paper and I used my fingernails to break the tape sealing the plain brown box. I reverently pushed aside the tissue and we leaned over to see what was waiting for us.

Neither of us said anything at first. Finally, I pulled it out and held it up for our examination. “What, um…What is it?”

“Well, I'm no art major,” Tad had said, “but I'd say it's a ceramic rabbit.”

“Is it…the Easter Bunny?”

“On a really bad day.” That was it. We were in tears laughing. I remember suddenly falling in love with that rabbit because it represented all the stupid stuff that Tad and I were going to be able to laugh at together. The moment, the wedding, everything—had all been perfect. But here in Spain, for no apparent reason, it wasn't.

I climbed onto the bed behind him and massaged his shoulders. “Let's go on an adventure tomorrow. We'll get on a train and go to the south of France, Nice maybe. We'll find some little dive hotel, spend the night, get some sun, it'll be fun.”

“Okay.”

“Would you rather stay here? Or we could rent a car and drive around the countryside. And we could try to find a little pension and do the whole bohemian-lover thing.”

“Okay.”

“Are you even listening to me?” I smacked my hands against his back and bounced off the bed.

“I'm trying to read a book.”

My throat tightened. It would have been better if his tone had hidden an explosive anger or a cold rage, anything other than this lethal detachment.

“Well, forgive me for expecting you to pay attention to me on our honeymoon. Correct me if I'm wrong, but wasn't it you who wanted to come here?”

Tad shrugged again and resumed reading.

My jaw dropped. I had no idea how to respond to this. Hit him? I was pretty sure the domestic-abuse laws were a lot less stringent in Spain. I thrust my hands in my pockets to better resist temptation. “Tad, what's going on?” I strained to keep my voice steady. “Why are you being like this?”

“Look, I'm jet-lagged and I just want to read quietly for a while. Can I please just do that?”

His jet lag looked a lot like depression. That was just great; my husband had gone into a depression within forty-eight hours of marrying me. “We're going to the countryside tomorrow,” I announced.

“Fine.”

“I'm going out to see some more of the city.”

“Fine.”

I waited for him to ask if I wanted company. When the offer didn't come I grabbed my purse, yanked my coat out of the closet and made an unsuccessful attempt to slam the weighted hotel door. I took a minute to center myself while standing in the hallway. I had left my gloves on the bed stand. I looked back at the closed door and considered going back for them. I shook my head and quickly buttoned up my coat. I wasn't going in there. It felt more appropriate to have cold hands. I hurried down the corridor and turned the corner just as the elevator doors were about to close. “Hold it, please.” The man inside pressed the open button just in time and I slid in. My fellow passenger was a well-dressed gentleman in his mid-forties with thinning hair; probably French or maybe Dutch. I would have struck up a polite conversation if he hadn't been so busy impolitely undressing me with his eyes. I gave him my best I'm-so-insulted look, but secretly I was relieved. If Tad abandoned me, I still had enough allure to have an affair with a womanizer.

When the doors opened I quickly strode out into the cold, late-morning air. I tried to focus on the Gothic architecture as I walked, or the street vendors, or anything outside of myself.
It's going to be fine,
I silently chanted over and over again. But at the same time another nagging voice kept reminding me,
He's barely touched you since you got off the plane, barely looked at you
. I stuck the nail of my pinkie finger between my teeth and then yanked it out before I could damage my Egyptian-Bronze polish. The trick here was to take everything at face value. He said the problem was jet lag, so I was going to believe him. I just never realized that being jet-lagged could have such a major effect on a person's personality. But it was temporary.

I stopped at the outside of El Museu Picasso. The one mental escape I could always count on was art. The paintings were exhibited in three medieval mansions, which I found odd, considering Picasso's fierce modernism, but the juxtaposition was an appropriate reflection of the overall city. I eagerly handed over my euro dollars to the admissions clerk. There was nothing as awe inspiring as viewing the works of a master in person. Their essence simply couldn't be conveyed in a photograph no matter how high the quality of print. I moved slowly through Picasso's pieces from his young-adult years; so much simpler than his later works, but that was predictable. Everything always got more complicated with age. And yet Picasso also became bolder, even stronger.

After spending a good hour admiring the paintings from his Rose and Blue Periods I approached some of his more avant-garde paintings. There was one in particular that caught my attention. It was of a woman whose features were cracked apart with a few daring strokes of the paintbrush. I found myself staring into her misplaced eye. I felt my teeth break the flesh of my chapped lips. If Picasso were painting Tad's portrait, how would the famous artist have put together the pieces of Tad?

 

Hours later I went back to the hotel. Tad was sitting at the edge of the bed staring at the wall. His eyes moved slowly in my direction as I let the door close behind me. There was no sign of recognition, no silent or spoken greeting, nothing. He just moved his eyes back to the empty space in front of him.

“Tad?” I whispered. “Tad, what is it? What's wrong?”

“I'm jet-lagged.”

I hesitated before inching closer and letting my fingertips rest on his shoulder. “What's going on with you? Please, tell me.”

He rose to his feet without acknowledgment and then robotically walked past me to the bathroom and closed the door. I stood in the empty room, unable to take my eyes from the spot he had just vacated.
It's going to be fine,
it's going to be fine. But the other voice was overpowering my mental mantra.
This is so not fine!
I had to get a grip. We needed to talk. Communication is the key to all successful relationships, right?

“Tad?” I called out without moving. “Tad, I…”
Say something poignant, make it clear that you're reaching out to him
. “I…I think I'm going out again…I really want to see Gaudi's cathedral.” Or I could go the opposite route and flee. There was no answer from the bathroom. I left the room, putting as much distance between me and Tad as I could in a flat minute.

The next day things were better—sort of. I never again caught Tad staring at a blank wall nor was he locking himself in the bathroom or even in the hotel room. He stayed by my side as I toured such sights as the Casa Museu Gaudi and Palau de la Música Catalana. We skipped the trip to the countryside but he allowed me to take him to some of the city's bars and restaurants. I never took him to the nightclubs. At no point during our trip was the mood ever appropriate for celebratory activities. I never even felt as if he was really with me—he was just a stranger by my side indulging me out of obligation. The highlight of our trip was the plane ride home.

I buckled my seat belt and pretended to listen to the flight attendant as she went over the complicated instructions of using a plastic oxygen mask. Tad was reading another book—his fourth that week. So he didn't travel well, no biggie. It didn't mean anything. Of course, Caleb would violently disagree with that. I tried in vain not to flash back to that conversation.

“You've
never
taken a trip together?” Caleb had dropped his sandwich onto his plate on the break table and scooted his plastic chair an inch forward. “Have you completely forgotten the cardinal rule of dating?”

“The cardinal rule of dating, let's see…always shave your legs within eight hours of having sex?”

“The other one, never commit to anyone you haven't vacationed with. April, everyone knows that if you don't travel well together the relationship is doomed to failure!”

I remember giving him a patronizing smile and finishing the rest of my Diet Coke. “I'm a little dyslexic, so I had to reverse the process to suit my unique learning style. Now that I know the relationship's a success I can count on having a rocking time on our vacations.”

The plane started its slow journey to the runway. I popped in a stick of gum and wordlessly offered another piece to Tad. He politely declined. I could see that he wasn't angry with me, nor did he seem worried or stressed. With so many emotions that I could rule out, why was it I couldn't put my finger on any of the emotions he was actually feeling? The plane paused and then I felt the vibration of the engine and the fast momentum as we raced forward and lifted into the air. I reached into my purse and pulled out my own novel.
Everything's going to be fine.
After all, there was no alternative.

 

Two flights later we landed at the San Francisco airport. Allie met us at the gate with a bottle of single-malt scotch wrapped in a big purple bow. “Welcome home!” She threw her arms around me, then Tad. “Was it awesome?”

Tad nodded absently. “Yeah, it was great.”

“Yeah?” Allie linked her arm with mine and led us toward the baggage claim. “Did you ever leave the hotel room?”

Every chance I got.
“There's a lot to see in Barcelona,” I said vaguely.

“Right, like all those dark handsome Spanish men. I hope you kept her well satiated, Tad, 'cause I know there was some heavy competition.”

I knew she felt her ribbing was harmless since in her mind we had just spent the last eight days gazing into each other's eyes. Tad didn't seem bothered by it. He simply dismissed it the same way he had been dismissing me. I made myself smile and tried to absorb some of her enthusiasm. I wasn't going to tell her the truth. The baffling disappointment of the last few days was going to stay locked inside me.

We reached the baggage carousal and watched the various pieces of luggage slide into sight. Allie elbowed me as Tad stepped forward to retrieve our bags. “You must have worked that man over day and night with all that good lovin'. I don't think I've ever seen anyone so spent.”