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I feel tears prick the corners of my eyes. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. But I do know I want to kill everyone at the table. I really do.
Starting with Valencia.
“And the only reason I don’t talk about the wedding,” Luke goes on, “is that you always seem to stress out about it so much whenever I bring it up. I know your family wants to have it at their house. I also know you’d rather die… but you can’t seem to figure out how to tell them that. So I thought it would be better for me to leave it alone until you figure it all out for yourself. That’s it. It’s not that I don’t want to marry you anymore, or anything like that, you knucklehead.”
Luke reaches over, drags me toward him, and kisses me on top of my head. I keep my gaze on the tabletop. I’m afraid that if I look up, everyone will see the tears—and shame—in my eyes.
I can’t believe I wanted to kill him.
Also that I still sort of want to.
I don’t even know why. Or what’s wrong with me. Oh God.
What’s wrong with me?
“Aw,” Chaz says about the kiss. “That is just so sweet.”
“Shut up, Chaz,” I say, still not meeting anyone’s gaze.
“Yeah, shut up, Chaz,” Luke says. He’s gri
“So, September,” Valencia says. “That’s quite soon, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know about September,” I say, digging through my purse again. I’m looking for my lip gloss. “I have a couple of gowns due in September. I don’t know if I’ll have them ready in time… let alone my own gown.” The words “my own gown” cause my stomach to give a lurch. If there’d been anything but wine in it, I’m pretty sure it would have come up.
“Lizzie,” Luke says in a warning voice.
“Well, what do you want me to do, Luke?” I ask, knowing I sound petulant, but not caring. “I’m just saying, things are going really well at the shop and if it keeps up like this, September should be a busy time for me as well—”
“When isn’t a busy time for you?” Luke wants to know. “I feel like I hardly ever see you anymore.”
“Well, you’re not exactly Mr. Availability yourself, taking a job in Paris for the summer,” I snap.
“Hey now, kids,” Chaz says. “Can’t we all just get along?”
“I took that job for us,” Luke says. “To pay for our wedding.”
“Oh, right,” I say. “A wedding we’re having at your house, apparently. Which is a vineyard. The booze and venue are already paid for. How much can it cost? Stop using the cost of the wedding as an excuse for why you’re leaving.”
Luke stares at me. “Hey,” he says, looking hurt. “Where’d that come from?”
The truth is, I have no idea. I really don’t. I just know the words are out there, floating around, already said.
And there’s nothing I can do to stuff them back into my mouth.
And I don’t really feel like apologizing for them this time.
“Has it ever occurred to you,” I demand instead, “that I might rather have a smaller wedding, one that doesn’t require my fiancé having to be gone for the whole summer, working in France, to pay for it?”
“Is that really what you want, Lizzie?” Luke asks, a bit of acid in his tone. “Because I think that can be arranged. I think your mother already said we could get married in your family’s backyard, with your sisters fighting over who can make the tackiest Jell-O mold, or whatever it is, and your grandmother passed out on the lawn for the entertainment.”
For a second, it’s as if all activity in the restaurant freezes. I suck in my breath.
Then Chaz groans, dropping his face into his hands, “Tell me you didn’t just go there, man.”
But Luke only glares at me across the table, his expression defiant. He’s not backing down.
I am, though.
Because suddenly, I know what’s going on with me. I know exactly what’s going on with me.
And what’s going on with me is that I’m done. I can’t take it anymore.
I snatch up my bag, scoot out from behind the table, and say, “You don’t even know my family. Because in all this time, you’ve still never even bothered to come home with me to meet them.”
Luke’s expression has lost some of its defiance.
“Lizzie,” he says. “Look—”
“No.” I thrust a heavily callused finger in his face. I may not have a pretty manicure like Valencia, but I bet my fingers have created way more lace ruching than hers ever have. I’ve worked my ass off for these calluses. And I’m damned proud of them. “No one disses my grandmother. Especially if they’ve never even met her.”
“Lizzie,” he says, his expression contrite. “I’m—”
“No,” I interrupt him. I can barely see him, my vision is so cloudy with tears. But I’m hoping he isn’t noticing that part. “If that’s how you feel about my family, Luke, why don’t you just go marry yourself? Since that’s who you’re obviously so in love with anyway.”
Okay, not the wittiest of comebacks. But it’s all I can think of in the heat of the moment, what with the tears and all.
I do see Chaz raise his eyebrows, as stu
Fortunately a waitress bearing a huge tray of Cosmopolitans swoops past me, blocking his path, and I hurry downstairs and outside, toward Perry Street… where a black stretch limo is pulling up just as I step off the curb to look for a cab to flag down. As I peer past the limo, hoping to see a cab with the TAXI sign lit up, meaning it’s available, one of the limo’s rear smoked windows rolls down and a familiar voice calls, “Lizzie? Oh my God.”
And Ava Geck, wearing a spangled pink tube top beneath a pair of what appear to be white rubber lederhosen, leans out the window and says, “Get in, quick, before anyone sees me.”
“Ava, what are you doing here?” I am not unconscious of the fact that everyone has already seen her. Everyone gathered in front of the Spotted Pig has looked up from his or her BlackBerry and is whispering, Oh my God! It’s Ava Geck! You know, Get it at Geck’s!
“Why,” I ask, thoroughly confused, “aren’t you in Greece, Ava?”
“I’ll tell you in the car,” Ava says. “Please. Just get in.”
“Ava.” I rub at the tears still sliding around in the corners of my eyes. “What happened? You’re supposed to be getting married tomorrow.”
“I know,” Ava says. “Just get in, and I’ll explain.”
“Lizzie!”
I throw a frantic glance over my shoulder and see Luke coming out the door of the Spotted Pig, his napkin still in one hand.
I’m surprised—I really hadn’t thought he’d follow me—but I don’t hesitate a second longer. I fling open the closest door to Ava’s limo and dive in.
“Go,” I yell to the driver. “Please, just go!”
“Hey,” Ava says as I scramble over her in my haste to grab a seat. “Is that your boyfriend? He’s cute.”
“Yes,” I say. “Please, can we go? I have to get out of here.”
“Lizzie.” Luke hurries up to the limo’s still-wide-open window. “Where are you going?”
“Please go,” I beg Ava’s driver, who surprises me by doing just that.
And soon Luke, the Spotted Pig, and all the hipsters standing outside it, busily texting with their BlackBerries, are just tiny specks in the distance.