Up & Out - Ariella Papa [15]
“Rebecca!” they shout.
“Okay, okay. I’ll get the dandelion salad and the mutton pie.” I hope I am making the right decision. I hate commitment.
“Good choice,” the waiter comments. He reaches for my menu and it takes me a second to let go. Lauryn orders another round.
“You’re ridiculous,” Beth says to me when he’s gone.
“So, okay,” Kathy leans into the table, gesturing us all to do so. “How hot is the waiter?”
Ever since Kathy got engaged she feels she has to prove she is still one of us. She constantly punctuates our outings with cries of “girls’ night out!” and she is always checking out guys. She is more obvious than Beth, who is the single one. No wait, so are Lauryn and I. I keep forgetting that we are also unattached. I’m still not used to it. When will I be? Kathy talks tough, but when we are out and any of these men approaches us, she holds up her giant ring and sings, “I’m taken, I’m taken.”
“He’s okay,” Beth says.
“Not really my type,” Lauryn adds. The next round arrives and we get another look at our waiter.
“He’s cute,” I tell Kathy, and wink. She winks back through her glasses.
“So are you ladies ready for Sunday?” She claps her hands. Our starters come just as she does this, so we are momentarily rescued from indulging in wedding talk. But Kathy is tenacious and goes right back to it after we each have a few bites.
“So you guys have to remember to bring your strapless bras to the store on Sunday.” After six excruciating trips to bridal shops around the city and two in Connecticut with Kathy’s pregnant, domineering sister, we have narrowed it down to five bridesmaid looks. Kathy swore she would make a decision this Sunday.
“You got it,” Beth says, curtly. Something has definitely made its home in her ass. Kathy looks hurt. She sees us so rarely and hardly ever in nonwedding-related occasions. She needs to feel she is still a respected part of the group. Of course she is, but she is very sensitive about it.
“It’ll be fine,” Lauryn says, sensing this. She smiles at Kathy. It is the most positive thing she has ever said about the wedding. Kathy had the luck to get engaged just as Lauryn left Jordan.
I take a piece of the rustic bread and mop up my dressing. I know Kathy is concerned about my belly, but I don’t care. I was voting for the strapless empire-waist dress. I might soon be answering to a bank teller. Bread might be my only joy. I ask the waiter for more when he clears our starters. Lauryn orders another round.
“So, do you still have that date this weekend?” Kathy asks me. I put my piece of bread back on the dish.
“Oh,” I say, remembering what day it is. “I guess I do. I mean, he said he would call when he got back from Napa.”
“Yeah, I told them. I forgot to tell you,” Lauryn says. “He left you a message.”
“Lauryn said he sounded sexy,” Kathy says.
“He is. I can’t believe he called.”
“How did you meet this guy again?” Beth asks, nonplussed. She’s from southeastern Massachusetts and she’s taking this cold New Yorker act a little bit too seriously.
“I met him at jury duty.” I had spent twenty grueling days as a Supreme Court juror for New York State. (Okay seventeen days. I had two excused absences and one religious—ha!—observance.) I was juror number three, he was juror number nine. His name was Seamus and we had done a lot of flirting before the end of our session. From what I remember, he has nice teeth and had some job relating to food. It sounded too good to be true.
“What are you guys going to do?” Kathy asks. I look at Lauryn.
“He just said he hoped you were still on, he didn’t say for what.”
“I know for what,” Kathy says, and does an awkward little shake at the table. She is beginning to remind me of the way I felt about my mom when I was a teenager. Is that what happens when you get engaged?
“She’s not even sure he’s straight,” Beth says. I’m about to fling my leftover bread at her, but our food comes.
We stuff ourselves for a while on mediocre food. (At least my meal was mediocre.) The pie dough and lamb fat would have been delicious if someone