Hence the arguments.
Mimi and Ryan had fought over this as well; it was something that everyone had an opinion on. Opinions that Simon and I had agreed weren’t worth sharing, since it made us argue every time we talked about it, yet the subject kept bubbling up.
What was cheating? Where was that line that, if crossed, you couldn’t come back from? Was it different for every couple, or was it black and white?
“He doesn’t get points for it. That’s not what I meant, and you know that—”
“That kind of thing doesn’t just happen, Simon. He made a choice—”
“A kiss! And that had to end everything? What about Sophia? She won’t even give the guy a chance to explain, she—”
“There’s nothing to explain, don’t you get that?” I yelled, throwing my sketchbook across the room.
Quiet.
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” I mumbled, crossing the room to pick up my book. He caught my hand as I walked by.
“This is exactly why I didn’t want to talk about this from the beginning. There’s no right or wrong here”—he raised his fingers to my lips when I started to explain that yes, in fact there is—“or at least it’s a gray area. But no matter what it is, it’s not worth us getting in a fight over, right?”
I sighed, letting him pull me into his chest. I pressed my face into the exact center. The scent of Downy calmed me.
“Right.”
He held me tight.
“I love you,” he told the top of my head.
“Love you too.”
Being half of a “we” is sometimes hard.
chapter three
“It’s melon.”
“It’s marigold.”
“Marigold! It’s pumpkin way before it’s marigold, but that doesn’t matter—because it’s melon.”
“If you think that’s melon then you need your eyes examined, because it’s obviously—”
“Mimi, what do you think? This is totally melon, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Mimi, look at this and tell me how in the world this is melon.”
“Goldfish,” Mimi said.
“What?” I asked, looking at Jillian.
We were standing in the ladies’ bridal salon at Neiman Marcus. Wait, strike that. I was standing in the ladies’ bridal salon, in my bra and underwear, while Jillian and Mimi sat on giant tufted chairs sipping champagne.
“Goldfish. Your dress is the color of those cheddar Goldfish crackers. And it’s kind of perfect for your skin tone, actually,” Mimi said, pouring another glass and drinking it down. “Now both of you shut up. Honestly, listening to two designers argue about the color of your bridesmaid dress is boring.”
Jillian and I looked at each other in the mirror and we each raised our eyebrows.
“Okay, fine. It’s goldfish. Now can you please try it on?” she said, handing it to me. I agreed, stepping into the dress. As I twisted to zip it up, I distinctly heard her mutter “melon” under her breath.
I let it go.
I turned into the mirror and looked at my reflection, and had to admit, I looked good in goldfish.
Full skirt, scooped neck, thin straps, bare arms. With a tan, it would work just fine. Better than fine. I twirled in the mirror, then stopped midtwirl when I saw Mimi going for the champagne again.
“Jillian, stop her, she’s cut off,” I said. Mimi was barely bigger than a champagne bottle herself, and more than two glasses knocked her on her tiny ass.
“You’re no fun, Caroline,” she huffed as Jillian snagged the last glass for herself.
Jillian looked triumphant as she approached me in the mirror, standing behind me. “It looks great,” she murmured, smoothing the skirt.
“Thanks again for asking me to be a bridesmaid,” I replied, meeting her eyes.
We both smiled, and then smiled bigger when we heard Mimi making retching noises. “Ugh, you two are so sweet, I’m gonna puke.”
“Okay, moment’s over. Outta that dress and let’s go get Mimi something to eat,” Jillian said.
Mimi cheered. We finished up, headed out, and grabbed a table at a favorite bistro in North Beach.
Once we were settled and got started on some appetizers for Mimi to soak up the champagne, we talked about the honeymoon.
“Wait, wait, when did France get put on the table? I thought you were going to Italy,” I said, buttering a piece of bread.
“Well, Benjamin and I talked about it and we realized it’s been ages since we had a real vacation, not just a weekend away. So we wanted to extend the trip a bit.”
“Wow, that’s going to be some honeymoon! Italy and France—sounds amazing,” I replied.
“And Switzerland. We added Switzerland too,” Jillian added, a guilty look on her face.
Mimi sighed romantically, clutching her roll close to her chest. “That sounds heavenly—a European honeymoon! I can’t wait to start planning my honeymoon. Ryan said we can go wherever I want, provided I wear lots of string bikinis for him to enjoy. And remove.” She giggled, then hiccupped. Champagne was still lingering.
“Wait, wait, wait—you’re going to Switzerland too?” I asked incredulously. “Anywhere else you’re planning that I should know about?”
“Well, I was planning on talking about this at the office, but—”
“Whoa, what’s going on?” I asked.
“Actually, we’re taking an open-ended trip,” she said matter-of-factly. “We just want to wander freely, and this seems like a good time to do it.”
I sat back in my chair, my head spinning. “How long are you planning on being gone?”
“Long enough to know that you’re gonna need an intern.”
“Wait a minute, just wait a minute. An intern? Seriously Jillian, how long are you going to be gone?” I asked, thinking of all the projects that were coming up on the calendar, to say nothing of the Claremont Hotel, if I was lucky enough to land it.
“Let’s talk about it at the office, okay? The food is here,” she said, nodding at our waiter with our dinner.
As he set plates down in front of us, I met her eyes across the table. “We’ll talk about it at the office,” she said again. “It’ll be fine, I promise.”
It was a quiet dinner. Except for Mimi’s hiccupping.
• • •
Text from Simon to Caroline:
Hey, babe, you free for lunch today?