My Life as a Doormat (in Three Acts) (28 page)

I looked around. Everyone was staring at their feet, humiliated for me, I was sure. Everyone except Cinco. He was staring at the ring, and then he looked me in the eye. Shame overwhelmed me. I could tell he was hurt.

With my voice cracking, I said, “Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to go decide what kind of wedding dress I want to wear to the wedding of my nightmares. Good evening.” And with that, I strolled past the class, past Olivia's, and to my car, where I locked myself in and had myself a good cry.

I had not been able to do it. I wimped out. And not only that, I was so horrified at myself that when it came time to pick out the cake, I totally lost my mind. Edward wondered out loud if the cake was too much, but I told him modern wedding cakes were an expression of creativity. So that's what we ordered. A hot pink cake set aflame. It looked like a Las Vegas sideshow.

But to Edward's credit, he just seemed happy to be picking out a cake. Deep inside, I knew I'd tried to ambush the whole thing by ordering the most repulsive cake I could find. And I knew Edward had a strong aversion to hot pink.

My plan had backfired, though. Edward thought the fire was cool, even though he didn't catch my joke about my finally getting my flaming pancakes. I'd told the joke on the way to Cynthia's. She'd already drawn up our wedding invitation and was just missing our guest list, which Edward promised to pull off the spreadsheet he'd created the year we sent out joint Christmas cards.

Cynthia had even planned out the ceremony, including the music, reassuring us that of course anything could be changed to our liking, that her plan was just a starting point.

A starting point?

All I could think was that it was an ending point . . . to life as I knew it.

But how could I complain? I wasn't a strong enough person to stop all the nonsense. Every time I would dredge up an ounce of courage, Edward would mention Gammie and how all of her dreams for him were getting ready to come true.

After an excruciating half hour with Cynthia, I couldn't stand to hear about wedding plans anymore and made the excuse that I needed to leave for the conflict resolution class. Why I thought that would be a good place for me to go, I couldn't understand. Maybe I needed to prove something to myself.

I only proved I was a royal idiot.

As I drove home on this clear night, I turned on my windshield wipers. The sound drowned out all the sniveling I was doing, and the squeaking noise distracted me from thinking about anything hot pink.

When I returned home, there was a message from my dad, congratulating me and telling me he was sorry he missed the dinner, but that he would be coming home from the hospital Thursday.

I fell onto the couch, more ashamed of myself than I'd ever been. I was picking out cakes and designing wedding invitations like a woman in love. How could I do this to Edward? To myself? How could I have become this big of a coward in life? Was I willing to throw away my life's happiness because I was scared of confronting the truth?

I curled my knees to my chest, hoping Cinco would call, but he didn't. I prayed Edward wouldn't call, and thankfully he seemed to have had his fill of me. The phone was silent, my apartment was silent, and the whole city seemed silent. But inside my mind, one horrible scenario chased another. I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling, tears dropping down both of my temples and wetting the couch on either side of my head.

“God,” I whispered through the quiet night. But that's all that came out. What else could I say? I needed his help, but did I really want it? Didn't God have a history of shaking things up? Really shaking things up? I'd tried so hard in my life to make sure nothing was shaken or stirred or rocked or messed up. With one prayer, God could undo it all.

You know, you're doing a pretty good job of stirring and
shaking all by yourself. If you're not careful, you're going to end
up with one funky martini.

I knew I couldn't shut Jodie up. Not tonight. So I just let her talk. And she did. Rambled until daybreak, when I finally opened my eyes. I looked at the clock. It was 7:00 a.m., which was strange since I hardly ever woke that early. I sat up and immediately noticed how refreshed I felt. I thrust my arms to the ceiling and stretched until my back popped. My first instinct was to go turn on the coffee. After all, this wasn't really my time of morning. But surprisingly, I didn't even feel groggy, nor did I feel particularly depressed.

I felt normal.

I sat there for a moment, wondering why. I was still engaged to Edward. I still had a crush on Cinco. Nothing had changed from just a few hours before.

I decided to make coffee anyway. My body was probably just in shock. I was pouring the water into the coffeemaker when the phone rang. I didn't look at the caller ID.

“Hello?” I hoped it was Cinco. Mother's voice dashed that hope.

“Hi, Leah. How is my newly engaged daughter?”

The reality of my crisis began to come back. “Hi, Mother. I'm fine.” I glanced at the clock. Why was she calling this early? “Is everything okay?”

“Wonderful! They're releasing your father today, thank the good Lord.”

Today? “A day early! That is fantastic.”

“A day early? No. This is when they'd planned to.”

“On Wednesday?” Maybe I'd misunderstood Dad's message.

“I woke you up, didn't I?”

For once, no. “No, why?”

“Well, honey, you seem a little groggy.”

“Groggy? Why do you say that?”

“Well, dear, because it's Thursday.”

I dropped the phone.
Thursday?
I'd slept through Wednesday? I slumped onto the counter, trying to make sense of it. That meant I'd lost an entire day! A day of writing! Of . . . of . . . I glanced at my answering machine. It was blinking. People had called!

I remembered the phone and quickly picked it up.

“Dear, are you there?”

“I'm here,” I said, squeezing my eyes shut. I would have to work doubly hard today to catch up on my play.

“Anyway, the reason I'm calling is to see if you could meet us at the hospital and drive my car back to the house. I'm calling for a driver today so I don't have to worry about anything, but I don't want the car stuck at the hospital.”

No . . . no . . . Not today, of all days!

“Leah?”

“Sure, Mother, no problem. I'd be happy to.”

“All right. Meet us at the hospital at eleven, all right?”

“I'll be there.”

I hung up the phone and listened to the coffeemaker gurgle. Then I punched my answering machine.

“Hey, Leah, it's Edward. Wanted to just touch base with you about a couple of things concerning the wedding. Call me around six; I should be home. Thanks. Love you.”
Beep.
“Leah, it's J. R. I need you to call me as soon as you get this message. Thank you.”
Beep.
“Leah . . . it's me. Where are you? Maybe out shopping for that wedding dress, huh? Can't wait to see you in it. Well, if you get in before eight thirty, call me. If not, call me tomorrow before I leave for work, okay?”

I glanced at the clock. I had just enough time to call him. But I hesitated. I was getting so tired of playing the game. I'd just slept through an entire day. Hadn't I had enough? I dialed his number, praying for a miracle, like God speaking through me. No,
for
me. That would be convenient.

“Hello?”

“Hi.”

“Hey, you,” he said in his new gushy voice. “You got my message?”

“Yeah, sorry I'm just now calling.”

“Well, I figured you were out shopping for your wedding dress.”

I gulped loud enough that he was sure to have heard it. “Edward, listen, about that—”

“Cynthia can help you with that too. I don't know if women want help with that or not, but she can help. I'd be happy if you came down the aisle in blue jeans and a T-shirt . . . well, not really. People say that, you know, but it's more a figure of speech for the idea that I'm just happy to marry you. But what can I say? I'm a traditionalist about that sort of thing. Other than being white with lace, though, I really don't care.”

I held my face in one hand as I held the receiver in the other. I hated lace, for one thing. But I couldn't focus on that right now.

“Edward, don't you think . . . ,” I hedged, and I could hear him breathing. I imagined him glancing up at his wall clock, realizing he was getting ready to be late. It was exactly 3.2 minutes before he had to leave. How could I break off an engagement that quickly? Or maybe I was fooling myself. Maybe it would take less than thirty seconds. Could I bear that? Edward hanging up on me and never talking to me again?

“What is it? I've got about three minutes before I need to leave for work.”

I smiled. There was something to be said for this kind of predictability. “It's nothing. We can talk later. I've got to go help Dad home from the hospital.”

“Is he doing better?”

“Yeah. Expected to fully recover,” I said, closing my eyes at that statement. I was afraid this relationship was not destined for the same optimistic outcome.

“Okay, well, listen, maybe we can get together tonight and—”

“I've got the class,” I blurted. Yeah, like I really intended on going.

“You're really still going to that. Amazing.”

“It was your idea.”

“I know, I know,” he said lightheartedly. “I just didn't think you'd be this . . . excited about it.”

“It's not exciting. Only helpful.”

“Helpful in what way?”

“You better go. You've got .8 minutes before you're running late.”

“Oh, right. I'll talk to you later on, okay?”

“Bye.”

I stared at my coffee. I needed something stronger than coffee but not as threatening as alcohol.

I grabbed my keys and headed for the Godiva outlet. It didn't matter that I would have to wait two hours before it opened.

Chapter 24

[She starts out whispering.]

I
was crying. Hard. I was sobbing goo and liquid out of all the orifices in my face, but I didn't care. I had to let some things out, and surprisingly, the class, sitting in a neat circle with Marilyn at the helm, looked as if this was fully expected and they were exactly the right people on whom to unload. I even spilled the beans that the mysterious kidney-disease–stricken brother of mine was actually Edward, my fiancé. Getting the lie off my shoulders felt good, even though I noticed that Cinco didn't look too happy. But he also didn't look surprised.

I could feel myself splotching, but I never made a move to cover my neck. After all, my face was doing plenty to keep their attention.

I threw up my hands. “So I don't know what to do. I feel like I'm in an impossible situation. I'm going to hurt so many people, but my life's happiness is at stake here!”

Marilyn moved into the empty seat next to me, put a packet of tissues in my lap, and patted me on the shoulder. “First of all, Leah, it's good to let this all out. Obviously you've been holding in a lot of emotion for a long time.”

I tried to see her through my teary eyes, fumbling to extract a tissue. “You have no idea. I've never felt I had the right to express emotion. I might hurt someone's feelings.”

“That's been your entire concern all these years? Others' feelings?” Carol asked, the loudest she'd ever spoken before. “That's truly beautiful.”

But Marilyn said, “I disagree. I don't think it's quite as noble as that. No insult intended, but I think the person you've been protecting is you.”

I didn't know what to say. I didn't know if it was true. I would've liked to think my intentions were motivated by others.

“But it
is
natural,” Marilyn added. “We all have an instinct inside of us that makes us want to protect ourselves. But it's impossible to do. You can do it for so long, maybe, but eventually it will all catch up to you.”

Glenda said, “It's not only caught up with her; it's beaten her to a bloody pulp.”

I took that as Glenda's attempt at sympathy.

Marilyn returned to her seat. “We're going to scratch the lesson plan today and work out this problem. Leah, I think what you need is practice. You've never stood up for yourself, you've never voiced your opinion . . . you simply need to practice. So that's what we're going to do. Practice. And we're all going to help you through it.”

“How are you going to do that?” I blew my nose and set the tissue packet on top of my handbag.

“Well, we're going to do a little role-playing. Now, we need someone to play Edward.”

My eyes widened as I glanced around the circle. I looked at Cinco, and he said, “I'll do it.”

Before I had a chance to argue, someone brought a chair and set it in front of me. Cinco quickly plopped down in it, his eyes focused and steady.
Confident. Always
so stinking confident.

I cut my eyes to Marilyn. “You know, I think Carol might be a better pick for Edward. She has blonde hair and . . . and the same color eyes and—”

“I think Cinco will be just fine,” Marilyn said knowingly. I looked at Cinco, blushing my way through an apologetic smile. He smiled back. Sort of.

“Now, Leah, where would you feel most comfortable breaking off this engagement to Edward?”

“In a morgue. I'd be dead, so that would make it pretty easy.” I sighed when no one laughed. “His apartment.”

“Okay. Why?”

“Well, it's isolated. Nobody else around, plus I could leave on my own terms, and I wouldn't have to wait for him to leave.”

“All right. Then we're going to set this in a crowded restaurant.”

“What?”

“It's a neutral place. That way if things go unexpectedly when you really break off the engagement, you'll be prepared for anything.”