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But the words just came out, and once they were spoken, I couldn’t stuff them back. Well, I mean, I could have, but…
I didn’t want to.
And that was maybe the weirdest part of all.
“Oh my God,” Ava gasps. “How did he take it?”
“He was okay with it, I think,” I say. Actually, maybe that was the weirdest part of all. “I mean, he says he understands that my work has to come first right now, and that I don’t have time to be pla
Ava makes a face. “Men are all such dicks.”
Yeah, okay. So… not wrong.
“Tell me about it,” I say. I look at the phone Ava is holding to her ear. “Are you still on hold with Sistina?”
“Oh, no,” Ava says. “They’ll be over with the food in half an hour. This is your grandmother. She wanted to know how to record something with a season pass on TiVo. So I told her how to do it. It is tricky, after all. Then when she told me how much she likes Byron Sully from that old show, Dr. Qui
I take the phone from Ava, feeling more stu
“So,” Gran’s voice crackles into the phone. “You haven’t shtupped him yet?”
I nearly choke on my own spit, I’m so shocked by the question. “I beg your pardon?”
“Sorry,” Gran says. “This Chaz character. Why haven’t you shtupped him?”
“Because,” I say, horrified, “I happen to be engaged to his best friend.”
“Is she asking about Chaz?” Ava wants to know from the couch. “I was wondering the same thing. I mean, when are you two going to get busy? Now that you’re on a break.”
“It’s not that kind of break,” I say, irritated.
“Well, what kind of break is it?” Ava wants to know. “I mean, if you can’t fu—I mean, make love with other people, what’s the point of it?”
“It’s just… it’s to… ” I stare blankly at the television screen. Ava is watching an old rerun of Celebrity Pit Fight, in which Ava is wrestling with Da Brat in what appears to be an outdoor vat of pudding. “It’s so that we can concentrate on our professional goals at the moment, and not be bogged down with romantic problems.”
“Oh God,” Gran groans over the phone.
“Oh,” Ava says, brightening. “Like me and Alek. Well, like me, I mean.”
“Exactly,” I say. “Only Luke and I aren’t broken up. We’re just on a break.”
“Who is that I was just talking to?” Gran wants to know.
“No one you know,” I assure her. “Just a friend of mine. Her name is Ava.”
“She sounds just like Ava Geck,” Gran says with a snort. “You know, the skanky crack whore. What’s Ava Geck doing in your apartment?”
“She’s just staying here for a few days,” I say. The call waiting goes off. I say, “Gran, can you hold on a sec? Someone’s on the other line.”
“What else have I got to do?” Gran wants to know.
So I pounce on the other call. “Hello?”
“Lizzie?” It’s Shari. “Are you all right? I called as soon as I heard.”
I blink. On the television screen, Da Brat has seized a handful of Ava’s golden hair (extensions) and is using it to drag her through the pudding.
“Of course I’m all right,” I say. “What are you talking about?”
“I was just talking to Chaz,” Shari says. “His call waiting went off, and it was Luke saying you two are breaking up. I called as soon as Chaz told me. I thought you’d be upset. But you seem awfully calm about it.”
“Because we’re not breaking up,” I say through gritted teeth. “We’re on a break. Of course I’m calm about it. It was my idea.”
“Oh,” Shari says. “A break. I thought Chaz said a breakup. He was talking so fast. He wanted to get off the phone with me so he could talk to Luke—”
“Oh, watch this part,” Ava says, pointing at the television screen. “This is where I make her eat it. The pudding, I mean.”
“Who is that with you?” Shari asks.
“That’s Ava Geck,” I say. When Ava makes a frantic slashing motion at me, I roll my eyes and say, “But don’t tell anyone she’s staying here. She’s hiding out from the paparazzi. She just ditched her Greek prince boyfriend, who she was supposed to marry this weekend.”
“Holy crap,” Shari says. “And she’s staying at your place? Can’t she afford to hole up somewhere a little nicer?”
“Thanks,” I say sarcastically.
“Well, sorry. But you know it’s true. So… you’re really all right with this break thing with Luke? I thought you’d be in hysterics.”
“I’m really all right with it,” I say. “Like I said, it was my idea.” I pick up the orange juice container and head to the kitchen with it. “It’s like all this stuff that had just been festering in me for months came pouring out. I even told him about my Spanx.” My cheeks begin to burn at the memory of it.
There is silence at the end of the line. Then Shari says, “Lizzie. Are you telling me your fiancé didn’t know that you wear control top panties?”
“No,” I say, opening the refrigerator door. “He didn’t know. No wonder he doesn’t respect me. What is there to respect? I’m a complete fake.”
“Oh, honey,” Shari says. “I don’t think you’re fake. Just… complicated.”
“Face it,” I say, slamming the refrigerator door with my foot. “I’m a fake, Shari. A big, shallow fake who would rather spend time renovating wedding dresses than with her own fiancé.” I wasn’t making that last part up, either. What does that say about me?
Shari sighs. “I think this break is a good idea. Both of you can spend the summer getting your heads together, putting things in perspective. Giving yourselves some space. It’s been a very intense twelve months since you met on that train.”
“Right,” I say. I know what she’s saying makes sense. I know what I’ve just said to Luke, out on the stoop, makes sense. It all makes perfect sense.
So why does my heart hurt so much all of a sudden?
“I have to go,” I tell her. “Gran’s on the other line. It’s just—” My voice cracks a little. “Luke and I are breaking up, aren’t we?”
“No, Lizzie,” Shari says. “Not at all. I mean, I don’t think so. Not necessarily. Not if you don’t want to be. Do you want to be?”
“I don’t know,” I admit miserably. I’m so confused. I remember how he kissed me good-bye out on the stoop. Was it my imagination, or had there been something like relief in that kiss? Not relief that we weren’t breaking up, either. But relief that maybe… just maybe… we were a little bit closer to doing so?
That has to have been my overactive imagination. Luke is the one who proposed, after all. I broke up with him last time, remember? He’s the one who came crawling back, begging my forgiveness. He’d done the same thing again tonight. If he wants to break up so badly, why does he keep coming back, every time I give him what he wants?
Do I want to break up with him?
What is it Shari said, all those months ago in this very kitchen? I worry that the reason you said yes to Luke is because you wanted to marry him so badly, and then when you found out he didn’t want to marry you, you moved on. And then suddenly when he came back and wanted to marry you after all, you thought you had to say yes because you’d been so adamant that that’s what you wanted all along. But you know, Lizzie, it’s okay to change your mind.
No. Not that… the other thing. That I love the idea of Luke, not Luke himself.
But that’s ridiculous. Isn’t it? I mean, how can you love the idea of someone, and not the person himself? Of course I love Luke. I love that he wants to be a doctor and save the children, and I love his eyelashes, and that he always looks so impeccably put together, and smells so nice when he gets out of the shower… those aren’t ideas. Those are real…