Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
It’s stupid early on my first day off, in I don’t know how long. Technically, I’m unemployed for the first time in my adult life, but I remind myself that I’ll be starting my business when I get to Nebraska.
I’m not stress-sweating. The coffee is hot, and that’s why there’s a little bead on my upper lip.
I have savings. I planned on this. But it’s weird for the workaholic in me to be out in the world on a Thursday morning and not rushing to work a long day at the salon.
Erica insisted we meet at our favorite bakery and coffee shop. She slurps a sip of iced coffee through a straw.
Even though I’m a born and raised New Yorker, it’s fall, y’all, and prime time for pumpkin spice.
Erica has a lot of city smarts, but maybe she doesn’t have seasonal sense .
.. or much at all since she just announced that she and Shane are getting married a week before Thanksgiving—not because of the holiday but because weddings are for suckers.
I said what I said.
She bounces, flashes her hand in my direction, and repeats, “Can you believe we actually did it? Shane and I got engaged.”
I nearly choke on my latte as she awaits my response. “I thought you were holding off on an engagement, given your hectic schedules.”
She beams a smile. “We didn’t want to wait any longer. That’s why I left work early last night. When he asked if I wanted to watch the sunset, I just knew.”
Then the friend in me replaces the lovelorn cynic. I leap to my feet and wrap Erica in a hug. “Oh my goodness! Congratulations.”
Arms clasped, we bounce a little with excitement. Her eyes are bright and her smile is wide. My confetti-dusted enthusiasm may have been delayed, but it’s genuine because I’m happy to see Erica so ecstatic. Shane is a good guy ... probably.
I mean, they’ll find out when they start planning the wedding.
Have discussions about kids and the future.
Where to spend holidays. When their mothers get involved in their weekend activities, the guest list, table settings—you know, just about every aspect of their lives.
They’ll truly find out how compatible they are when things get real.
I’m just speaking from experience. I’m certainly not jaded. Okay, maybe a little, and not the polished shiny stone either.
Once you’ve been in and out of love, the disillusionment settles in and the truth is revealed. It was all a big lie.
Erica gushes, “He proposed at sunset on the Brooklyn Bridge.” She shows me the photos on her phone.
As they gaze into each other’s eyes, they look happy and in love. Shane works in healthcare and is a keeper, I’ll give them that, having timed the proposal properly with a break in the flow of pedestrians on the bridge long enough to take photos.
Just like I have the “Male Scale,” which is a system I devised for categorizing the men in this city, I also have a handy dandy “Will They Make It Meter” that measures the likely outcome of a happily ever after or a divorce.
I bubble with excitement in all the right places while Erica tells me about their dinner afterward and then sharing the good news with their respective parents.
“At our wedding, maybe you’ll meet your future husband.
Wouldn’t that be amazing? I’d love to give a speech at yours about how you and the groom met at mine.
” Erica isn’t one of those steal-the-spotlight people.
She’s a Hallmark movie-watching, puppy-loving, card-carrying peacekeeper.
She’s a bubbly emoji heart in human form.
Meanwhile, I’ve been described as feisty, fiery, and a firecracker. Must be the Italian-Russian heritage. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy all the same things she does, secretly. But I can’t ruin my reputation or let anything chip away at my fortifications. Not in this city.
How Erica and I are best friends, I have no idea. Maybe I need a little bit of sweetness to balance out my saltiness. Then there’s Margo, the third member of our trio, who’s a bit of both.
Erica leans in and says, “So the best part, okay, not the best part, because, you know,” she tips her head from side to side, “I’m marrying my person and all. But you’re my sister from another mister, my work wife, and my bestest bestie, so I’d love for you to be my maid of honor.”
My jaw lowers and my heart lifts. “Really?”
“Of course!”
Cue the giddy squeals again as I accept her offer with so much appreciation that my eyes get a little misty. Erica’s sister passed away several years ago and we’ve been close through it all.
“First Margo, now me, you’re next,” she says, referring to our crew getting hitched.
My lip curls slightly because that’s not part of my one-year, five-year, or ten-year plan. Been there, tried to tie the knot, the whole thing unraveled, and I’m happily ever single. Mostly.
So why do I still date? Maybe I’m hoping someone special will come along, snap their fingers, wave a wand, or sweep me away on a magic carpet and prove that I have love all wrong .
.. and that it’s all right. Meaning, that just because I had my heart broken and used as a hockey puck, perhaps not everyone is like my ex.
But I’d have to see it to believe it.
Erica gives her iced coffee a shake to redistribute the liquid. “Since Shane is from Nebraska, this is perfect.”
I draw my attention back to the present by taking a long sip of my latte, hoping the espresso will help me focus because my brain stubbornly and repeatedly turns to my failed nuptials during times like this.
Wedding season may be over and a lot of our friends have already tied the knot, but Erica is super sweet and I don’t want to sour this experience with my bitterness as she tells me about their “Thankful hearts Thanksgiving theme.”
She adds, “Since you’re moving to Omaha and all, you won’t have to travel back here for the wedding.”
I must’ve missed something she said. “You’re getting married in Nebraska? But you’ve never been there.”
“If it’s good enough for my three favorite people in this world—Shane, Margo, and you—it’s good enough for me.”
A half-smile finds its way to my lips. Selfishly, I’m glad to hear this, but I’m still surprised nonetheless.
My mother has been in a solid state of mourning for over ten months and I’m starting to worry about her.
Okay, I’m past worried and have moved into acceptance.
Since the wedding will be in Nebraska, I won’t have to leave her alone to come back here for Erica’s big day, because we’ll already have moved.
She says, “Who knows, maybe if I like it, we’ll relocate too.”
“Technically, I’m moving to Cobbiton, a suburb of Omaha,” I say, thinking about the quirky small town with an affinity for corn and hockey.
We have a rental house waiting for us that’s modern and updated, and a salon space that is not, which makes it perfect for my vision.
It’ll be a new life free from family feuds, memories of loss, and Miguel the Mistake.
“Shane is a mega Knights fan. Maybe we can go to a game with Margo.”
“I bleed blue, forever loyal to the Empire State Kings.”
She shrugs. “Allegiances can change.”
I shake my head, adamant because my experience has proved that not even love can cut through those kinds of ties.
“Fine, you can root for them and we’ll throw corncobs at you. That’s what Shane said they do.” She laughs.
A full smile grows on my lips because I am a major hockey fan.
It keeps Papa with me because it was something we enjoyed together—he played in Russia and moved here to play for the AHL.
He and my mother met in an ESL class. He said he heard her speaking in Italian to her friend, aka her frenemy, and instantly fell in love. Ironic, since it was my ex’s mother.
Love, I tell ya. It’s the real enemy.
Erica takes one last, long sip of her iced coffee. “So, um, you have to promise not to be mad and still be my best friend no matter what.”
“What?” I tuck my chin, then go still, concerned about what she’s going to say next.
“Because I’m stuck here for the rest of the year, finishing my nursing program and you’ll already be in Nebraska, I’m wondering if you’ll be my feet on the ground and take on some of the planning tasks.
Confirm that the venue doesn’t smell like gym socks, meet with the caterer, and taste the cake—I totally trust you.
We both agree that black velvet is neither black nor velvet.
We enjoyed the flower show more than the hair styling convention at the Javits Center last year and—”
I was expecting so much worse and wave my hand dismissively. “Erica, of course. I’m your maid of honor. That sounds fun.”
Maybe my mom can tag along and it’ll help get her out to see the new area and meet people.
I’ll have my hands full with her and opening my new salon, but as they say, If you can make it in Manhattan, you can make it anywhere.
As a top stylist in the city with numerous awards and being booked out for years, I’d say, Achievement unlocked.
Why would I leave then? I’ve grappled with second thoughts. Late at night, they’ve won, but by morning, I’ve come up fighting and get them in a clinch, reminding myself that this is the plan and I’m sticking to it.
Erica says, “Please don’t do anything fussy or fancy for the bachelorette.
In fact, I was thinking we could have a virtual watch party.
Like we’ll send everyone gift bags with goodies—snacks, cozy socks, and face masks—and then we’ll watch Bridesmaids, The Wedding Planner, or The Wedding Singer together, but in our own homes. We can live chat and all that.”
I dust off my hands. “Perfect. You’re already making this easy for me. But no worries. Whatever you need, I’ve got it.”
Erica bites her lip. “But there’s just one more thing.”
“You name it. Consider it done.”
“I‘m so excited that I couldn’t sleep last night.We’ll also need help with flowers, music, and favors ... and updos, obviously. But we’ll pay you for that.”
I shake my head. “That’s my specialty.”