Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 69858 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69858 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Plus, if Thomas has it his way, we’ll probably all end up at a lacrosse or polo tournament with Scotch for the men and white wine spritzers for the ladies.
Something tells me Thomas Decker isn’t going to be as excited as me about the assortment of male-genitalia candy I found online.
“I am ecstatic,” Thomas says, and though I roll my eyes at the exceedingly thick layer of sarcasm, nobody else seems to notice.
“Thomas, Mac has such a good eye for design,” Collette is gushing. “But then, you already know that, I guess, if you’ve seen any of her work. But I’m talking like, life stuff too. You should see her home, it looks like a perfect Pinterest board. And I’d kill for her fashion sense.”
I love my best friend, but I’m wishing she wouldn’t have said that, because now I feel everyone inspecting my chosen outfit for the evening. The reactions are varied.
Anna: Polite curioisty.
Collette: Sisterly pride.
Jon: Brotherly indifference.
Thomas . . .
Well, let’s just say the way he looks at me makes me regret that I didn’t stick with the conservative cocktail dress that had been my safe plan B. Instead, I went with my gut-reaction A plan: I’ve paired a full black tulle skirt with a lace-trimmed camisole that’s a near-neon shade of pink.
In front of my full-length mirror at home, I’d felt sexy and fashion-forward. Under Thomas’s withering gaze I feel like a little kid playing dress-up.
Especially standing beside the two suit-wearing men and Collette’s timeless classiness. Even Anna, who’s never met the bride and groom before now, seems to have better sense than me. Thomas’s date’s attire is the very definition of the little black dress; flattering without being showy, stylish without standing out from the crowd.
“You look great, Mac. As always,” Jon says kindly.
“I’m obsessed with that skirt,” Anna says with that genuine niceness again. “I wouldn’t even know where to find something like that.” She gives a self-deprecating laugh. “Not like I could pull it off.”
“You look beautiful,” Thomas tells her. A little stiffly, in my opinion, but she blushes a little and looks pleased.
I notice he doesn’t tell me I look beautiful. In fact, he doesn’t look my way at all.
Conversation shifts to wedding stuff, the way it often does in Collette’s orbit these days. Anna is all about it, asking all the right questions about colors and cake flavors and the honeymoon. As maid of honor I know I should chime in, but . . .
I need a minute.
I need a minute to wrap my head around the fact that my boss is going to be part of my best friend’s family.
I touch Collette’s arm and in a silent best-friend exchange indicate that I’ll be back in a minute. Okay? She smiles and nods. No prob!
I don’t have a destination or plan other than getting away from Thomas, and I’m grateful when I spot Eileen and Gary Burton waving me over. I haven’t spent all that much time with them, but Collette’s invited me to their place in Connecticut for their annual Fourth of July party, and they’ve invited me to join them for dinner when they come into the city to see Collette.
They’re really formal. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Eileen without her red lipstick and diamond earrings, and Gary wears pastel sweaters with the arms draped over his shoulders non-ironically. But it’s a friendly kind of formal. I get the sense that maybe my blue hair streak and multiple earrings confused them at first, but they’ve never made me feel less than.
Which is more than I can say about Thomas. He’s formal as well, but definitely not the friendly kind.
I hug the exuberant Eileen and Gary. I’m pleased to see they don’t seem even remotely bothered by the short engagement, but then, how can they be when Jon’s probably their dream son-in-law? They’re sweet, asking me how I am, showing genuine interest in how work’s been going, but after the fifth or so interruption from other guests wanting to congratulate the parents of the bride, I slip away, unnoticed.
I haven’t finished my champagne, but it’s a little warm, and I’m not into it, so I ditch it on a table and go to the open bar where I order a vodka tonic.
Through the crowd I see a glowing Collette surrounded by her coworkers, and knowing she doesn’t need me right now, I slip out onto the patio. It’s probably the place to be during spring and summer, but on a chilly fall evening, it’s too cold to be comfortable.
Bonus though, that means I have the space entirely to myself. There are a few tables, but obviously they’re not intended for use, because the chairs are turned upwards, stacked atop the table.
I pull one down and sit.
I exhale slowly, sip my drink and relish the relative quiet.