Time of My Life_ A Novel - Allison Winn Scotch [66]
JACK’S SURPRISE, lo and behold, is a new couch. Which on paper, I understand, isn’t particularly romantic or anything really to swoon over, but for him, it’s a concession, and thus, for me, it is indeed something.
“My engagement gift to you,” he says, as we’re ensconced on the second floor of ABC Home. His arm sweeps around. “Have at it. Any one you choose.”
My eyebrows dart down. “Where is my boyfriend and what did you do with him?”
“Fiancé,” he corrects.
“Where is my fiancé and what did you do with him?” I peck him on the lips. I’m still not quite used to saying that.
“Well, you know, now that we’re getting married, I do recognize that the couch of my bachelorhood should maybe take a hike.”
I look at him with suspicion.
“Okay.” He laughs. “And Leigh might have made a comment or two about how disgusting it was when she saw it last month.”
Of course, I think, though say nothing.
I head over to a supple leather love seat and sink in. Jack opens his mouth to voice an opinion but I hold up a finger, and he snaps it shut with a smile.
“My choice this time!” I say, and he wordlessly plunks down next to me, like an obedient dog. If I’d gotten good at anything during my marriage to Henry, it was mastering the art of tasteful decorating.
A sand-hued, pebbled leather three seater on the other side of the floor looks exactly like what we need to spice up the living room, so I grab Jack’s hand and weave through the sofas and couches and reclining chairs toward it. Just as we’re about to park ourselves smack in the middle, a familiar stride wanders in front of me. The lanky torso, the sloping walk, I’d know it anywhere.
“Henry?” I say, then immediately regret it. My matted hair is tucked into a baseball cap, and my zip-up sweatshirt reeks of closet dust.
“Jill!” he says, his face ebbing into joyfulness when he sees me. He glances at Jack and extends his hand. “Jack, isn’t it?”
“Uh, it is,” Jack responds, reciprocating the shake but clearly having no recollection of their brief introduction at the Coke gala. Before I can explain the connection, a petite redhead slides over to Henry and slips her hand into his back pocket.
“Hey you,” she says, as if we’re not standing there, as if she’s not slipping her hand into my fucking husband’s back pocket!
“Er, hey. Celeste, this is Jill. A friend whom I know from around.” Henry swipes his bangs and attempts to tuck them behind his ear. “And this is her boyfriend, Jack.”
“Fiancé, actually,” Jack interjects. “Just happened a few weeks ago!”
“Congratulations, you two!” Celeste squeals, like she’s known us for decades. “How exciting! When is the big day?”
“Um, it’s not set yet,” I mutter. Henry freezes his face into a smile that he’d later reserve for horrid dinner parties that have lingered hours too long; at the first sign of it, I’d take it as our cue to start saying our good-byes. His “I’d rather be riding shotgun to the gates of hell than be here now” smile is exactly how we once classified it, after we’d rushed out of an evening at the Hollands’, who were each screwing coworkers and who had made not-so-veiled references to their mutual antipathy the night through, and after we cried with laughter in the car as we drove home.
“Don’t be silly,” Jack says, rubbing my back. “It’s set for April 9! Save the date! We’re inviting everyone we know.”
“Not everyone,” I demur.
“The country club seats four hundred,” Jack says to Henry and Celeste, as if this were a hard-won bragging right.
“Sounds like fun,” Henry finally manages.
“I’m hoping it might be a bit more intimate,” I say, too awkward to meet his stare. Mostly, I gaze at the floor.
“Oh, when I get married, I want it to be the biggest, most decadent thing anyone has ever seen!” Celeste says.
“See, that’s what I’m talking about!” Jack laughs. “It’s only once, so to hell with it!” He pauses. “So how long have you two been dating?”
Henry shakes his head almost imperceptibly, but Celeste answers for them both. “Oh, just a few weeks. We met on a blind date, and we couldn’t believe