Fanfare

  I blushed to myself as certain explicit memories rose to the surface of my sleep-deprived mind. Closing my eyes, I shook my head firmly in an attempt to focus on the work in front of me.

  Today was sure to be . . . interesting.

  Thus far, the only people who knew that we were . . . engaged . . . were members of our families. We called my mother first, and Tom had patiently smiled through her tears of happiness and almost incoherent pronouncements of joy. Anne had shrieked and carried on with abandon as soon as Tom said, “We have something to tell you.” Of course, he had been unable to get a word in edgewise as soon as she gleaned the truth from him. She had ended the conversation by breathlessly saying to me, “I can’t wait to call you my sister!”

  The biggest shock of all was the reaction of Tom’s father. Truth be told, I had chewed on my lower lip nervously whenever Tom pressed the buttons on his phone to call London. His father usually thought Tom was brash and impulsive, prone to making stupid decisions based on nothing more than a whim. I assumed he wouldn’t take this news very well.

  Upon hearing what had just transpired, his mother had been quietly ecstatic in the elegantly refined manner I had come to expect from her. After warmly wishing us well and conveying her delight via speakerphone, she had turned over the phone to her husband.

  “Well, Thomas. I can’t say that I’m surprised,” he began.

  Tom merely smiled at the phone resting in his hand.

  “But . . . I’m proud of you, son.”

  Tom’s eyebrows rose in reaction to his father’s words. “Thank you.”

  “No, thank you. I thought long and hard about the things we discussed at lunch, and I need to take a step back and be proud of the man I raised, even if he is not how I pictured him being.”

  “I really appreciate that,” Tom stated earnestly.

  “You’ve chosen a magnificent young woman. She’s strong and direct, with a great sense of humor and a good head on her shoulders. She’s not likely to take any garbage you hand her way. There’s little else I put more stock into than choosing one’s partner in life. I guess you’re not as daft as I thought you were. I’m happy to give credit where credit is due. Congratulations, Thomas and Cristina. I’m very pleased for you both.”

  My jaw nearly hit the floor. Not a single admonishment. I could not even detect the slightest hint of judgment in his tone. Hot damn.

  We had definitely used up all our luck on that one. Today, Tom would tell Melissa about the happy development that occurred over the weekend. Yay.

  As I looked through my email, I saw that Hana had sent no less than four different messages to me over the span of the last three days. She wrote to tell me my phone was going straight to voicemail, and she wanted to make sure everything was okay. The last email was slightly more petulant and brought a wry smile to my face. Crazy-ass stalker. I needed to call both Hana and Gita on my lunch break.

  My phone buzzed next to me with a text message.

  Blocked ID (8:49 am): fuck, it’s early

  I smiled to myself before responding.

  Me (8:49 am): Language! Tell me a/b it.

  Blocked ID (8:49 am): i’m entitled to foul language—it’s six here

  Me (8:50 am): Blah, blah, blah. Poor u :-P

  Blocked ID (8:50 am): poor me is right, i didn’t get much sleep this wkend ;-)

  Me (8:50 am): Whatever! I didn’t hear any complaints while it was happening!

  Blocked ID (8:50 am): and u never will

  Me (8:50 am): That’s good to know.

  Blocked ID (8:50 am): i wouldn’t mind a distraction—seeing melissa in a few hrs

  Me (8:50 am): Keep a chew toy handy. Rub some catnip on it.

  Blocked ID (8:51 am): lol

  Me (8:51 am): Are u free later on?

  Blocked ID (8:51 am): no, i have a date with a hot blonde

  Me (8:51 am): Ha! No, srsly. We need to talk a/b . . . logistics.

  Blocked ID (8:51 am): u would say that—ur a total buzzkill

  Me (8:51 am): I’m serious.

  Blocked ID (8:51 am): i know—i’ll call u after ten tonight, ur time

  Me (8:52 am): Thank you. J

  Blocked ID (8:52 am): tell cletise the security guard to “back up off my shit” ;-)

  Me (8:52 am): Your shit? You swine. Tell Jenna to find another shoulder to cry on.

  Blocked ID (8:52 am): lol

  Me (8:52 am): I love you.

  Blocked ID (8:52 am): i love u

  I put down my phone with a peaceful grin and turned to my mountain of work, temporarily separated from the storm of thoughts in my head. Perhaps it was weakness on my part, but Tom never failed to distract me from myself. Unfortunately, this proved to be quite problematic when I actually wanted to have a serious discussion with him about rather important things . . . like getting married. His laissez-faire attitude was contagious, and I really needed to hash out some of the more pressing issues to appease my ranting mind—for a little while.

  “Cristina?”

  I jumped in my seat at the voice behind me. It was my boss, Marta.

  “Hey!” I squeaked as I spun around and simultaneously shoved my left hand into the pocket of my slacks.

  “I didn’t mean to startle you. You’re in early for a Monday.”

  “Uh . . . yeah. Just wanted to get myself situated and organized,” I stated lamely.

  “Great. I’m glad you’re here. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that community outreach project you’ve been working on recently. ‘Master Classes for Kids’?”

  “Oh!” With inspiration from Tom and the support of my friends, I had contacted musicians from the North Carolina Symphony in Raleigh and put together four different master classes in public schools for members of the student orchestras. The principal violinist, cellist, flutist, and percussionist had volunteered their Saturdays for open forum lessons with gifted students that were meant to engage and inspire kids to continue pursuing music. It was amazing to witness the kids surrounded by the support of their fellow orchestra members and the positive encouragement from industry professionals. Many of these children had never had a private lesson and could not really afford to pay for them, so this sort of environment was perfect for cultivating their shared love of music. I know, I know . . . eat your heart out, Oprah.

  “We’ve gotten terrific feedback from the community on it,” Marta continued.

  “Thanks. It was a lot of fun, and the kids really enjoyed it.” There appeared to be no end to the lame sound bites on my part.

  She nodded slowly. “So, I received a call on Friday from Mecklenburg County. They wanted to talk to you about helping them organize something similar there.”

  My eyes widened.

  “Of course, we don’t really have the budget to continue sponsoring these things, but Mecklenburg County recently received a donation from an anonymous patron of the arts. This individual indicated the desire to see something like ‘Master Classes for Kids’ develop into a recurring event in North Carolina,” she continued.

  “That’s really wonderful. Seriously, Marta. It’s definitely going to make such a difference. I know it was tough getting approval for any funding whatsoever on this, and I wanted to thank you again for all of your efforts.”

  “Thank yourself. You did all the work. So, are you interested in helping out Mecklenburg County? It should be a lot easier without the budgetary constraints we had here. Anyway, think about it. I’ll email you the contact info. Of course, I don’t want it to take away from your work here, but if you can manage the time commitment, I’m sure they would love your input,” she finished.

  I nodded. “Absolutely. Thanks so much for the vote of confidence.”

  She smiled back at me knowingly and turned to leave.

  Puzzled by her strange expression, I sat still for a moment trying to figure out the source of her amusement. Whatever. It was probably just my paranoia rearing its ugly head.

  I responded to Hana’s emails by saying I
would give her a call at lunch—that way I could make sure I had the full functionality of both my eardrums for at least half of the day. Her reaction to Paris was sure to be heartfelt and deafening.

  A few hours later, I made the trek to my car with the intention of sacrificing my hearing on the altar of undying friendship.

  Shockingly, Hana failed to answer her phone.

  Gita picked up on the third ring.

  “Good, you’re not dead,” she bit sarcastically.

  “Hah.”

  “I knew you weren’t. Make sure to tell Crazy you’re alive and well,” she continued with a chuckle.

  “I left her a message. Hopefully she’ll call me back before my lunch hour is up.”

  “You should have heard her on the phone yesterday. She finally got in touch with your mother, and since Mami wouldn’t throw her a bone as to your whereabouts, the speculations grew wildly out of hand,” Gita continued.

  I laughed nervously.

  She paused for a moment, digesting the implications of my skittish giggle. “Oh lord. Please tell me you didn’t run off to Vegas for an easily annullable wedding.”

  “No! I’m not quite that impulsive.”

  “That’s a joke. You’re not even slightly impulsive. Period. Why do I detect a note of hysteria in your voice?” she pressed.

  I took a deep breath. Cut the shit. “I’m engaged.”

  Dead silence.

  “Gita?”

  “Dammit! I owe Hana fifty bucks!” she groaned.

  Taken aback by her reaction, I merely said, “What?”

  “I said it would take you at least two years. She said less.”

  “Wait . . . you’re not . . . surprised?”

  “I’m surprised at how soon it happened, but I’m not surprised by it happening. Come on, dude. You two are nuts for each other.”

  “Yeah, but . . . it happened so suddenly!” I lamented.

  “Are you regretting your decision?”

  I didn’t hesitate to respond. “No. I feel like I made the right decision. I just don’t . . . I’m not used to being so impetuous.”

  “Chica, I’ve held back for a while because I didn’t want to proffer advice like an oldass crone chockfull of wisdom, but he’s a lot better for you than that regimented fool you carted around for years. That decision was a far cry from reckless, and it didn’t work out so well.”

  I remained silent for a moment. Gita was the verbal equivalent of a Mack truck.

  “Are you mad at me?” she demanded.

  “No. I knew you weren’t a huge fan of Ryan, but I guess I didn’t realize until now how much of a non-fan you were.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far. I was just never too impressed. You’re like . . . this great breath of sunny, fresh air. He wasn’t. Killjoy. In my mind, I always referred to him as Sergeant Killjoy. You don’t want a spring day to come in contact with him,” she stated flatly.

  “Ryan wasn’t . . . that bad,” I retorted lamely.

  “Whatever. He’s a total moron trying to be wise beyond his years. Full of doom and gloom. Tom kind of reminds me of a kid sometimes, but he definitely suits you more. He’s not laden with issues of self-loathing.”

  “How is he a kid?” I tried not to sound testy, but I was fairly certain I failed in my efforts.

  “Come on, Cris. I meant it in a good way. Tom laughs more, jokes more, and stops to take in life without being forced to do so. I don’t see him struggling with indecision. He knows what he wants and goes for it. A risk taker. Come to think of it, I wish I were more of a kid sometimes. They just want to have fun. If I functioned according to that premise, maybe I would stop myself from saying dumbass things to my newly-engaged best friend and upsetting her as a result.”

  I sighed with a half-smile. “I’m not upset.”

  “Liar. Let me try this again. Congratulations. Ryan sucked. Tom rules.”

  I laughed softly. “Thanks.”

  “Don’t be uncomfortable. Even if I think it happened sooner than I would have guessed, I feel a heck of a lot better about you marrying a smiling risk taker than a grouchy douchebag.”

  We ended the conversation soon after that, but the unsettled feeling in the pit of my stomach had not dissipated. I expected Gita to share some of my more worrisome sentiments, and her open acceptance of the craziest decision I had ever made in my life unnerved me. She was my practical friend, and she had always been the one to see the forest through the trees. If she readily subscribed to Tom’s school of life-changing spontaneity, I was more alone in my discomfort than I originally thought.

  Was no one dismayed by the recent turn of events? How come everyone saw this coming except for me? When were they planning to share their clairvoyance?

  The last thing she said echoed in my mind: “You said it was the right decision. Why are you trying to kill it with worry? If it’s the right decision for you, then everything else will fall into place. I’m not one for religion, but have some faith.”

  I sat in my car, staring at the steering wheel. Engrossed in my own thoughts, the sudden tapping on the window next to my head caused me to jump in my seat. If I thought the sound was startling, I was completely unprepared for the sight of its source.

  Sergeant Killjoy stood at my door and peered down intently at me.

  Ryan Sullivan: the man who broke my heart . . . my first love.

  Shit. Double shit.

  I scrambled to open the car door and scrambled up rather clumsily.

  “What are you doing here?” I sputtered and shoved my palms in my pockets like a naughty child caught with her hand in Monsieur Cartier’s cookie jar. Adrenaline made my motions jerky, and my pulse raced with the combination of shock and hyperawareness.

  His hair was cropped short, and his beautiful blue eyes studied me with the same intensity that used to make my heart melt. Pain flew into my throat. The last memory of those eyes was one of devastation.

  “I’m sorry. I thought I asked you a question. What are you doing here?” I bit out.

  “Still a smartass.” He chuckled.

  “And you’re still a dick,” I kicked back.

  “I always liked that about you.”

  “I don’t have time for this,” I retorted and made to return to the office building.

  He caught my right arm as I tried to walk by. “Cristina. Please. Just give me five minutes.”

  “Let go of me.” I gasped as the searing pain of his touch on my skin threatened to rip apart my tenuous hold on self-control.

  “I’ll just follow you inside if you try to leave.”

  I glared at him.

  He glanced around. “I guess you’re probably not going to get coffee with me.”

  “You think?” I shot back.

  “Babe, stop pretending to be such a bitch. I know it’s taking you a lot of effort. Just hear me out.”

  “I’m not your ‘babe,’ Ryan. Talk fast because I have very little patience for bullshit,” I said begrudgingly.

  His gaze softened at my apparent willingness to listen to him. “Look . . . I’ve been trying to talk to you for a while now, and I know you’re probably not ready for me to jump back into your life like nothing happened, but there are a few things I need to say to you.”

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “You suffer from the supreme misconception that I could ever feel as though nothing happened. You . . . destroyed me. There’s no other way to say it. You left me to bury myself, and you didn’t care one bit about what that meant. Luckily, I didn’t crawl into a hole and waste away. Why are you trying to make me relive that agony?”

  He grimaced at my flat tone of voice juxtaposed alongside the pain of my words. For the first time, I felt a pang of guilt for being so nasty to him. He was right . . . it wasn’t easy being such a bitch.

  “There aren’t enough words in the English language to tell you how sorry I am for what I did to you. I know I owe you an explanation.”

  “You know what? I thought you owed me an ex
planation for a long time. Now, I don’t really care,” I responded matter-of-factly.

  “You’re lying. Look, I was . . . scared. There were so many things I wanted to do with my life, and I wasn’t sure that getting married was the right decision for me.”

  “Then why the hell did you ask?” I grasped tightly onto the cell phone in my right pocket.

  “Because I knew I’d never be able to find another woman like you.”

  “And yet, you tried,” I stated quietly.

  “About that . . . I meant what I said in the email. I didn’t cheat on you. I did meet someone named Amber, and I was really attracted to her. I never did anything about it . . . but I knew you weren’t going to just let me go without a fight. As terrible as it sounds, I knew the only way to get you to walk away and never look back was to tell you I cheated on you. I lied. I’m sorry.” As he made his agonizing admission, he stared directly into my face to see if the weight of his statements would have any effect on my frosty demeanor.

  I couldn’t hide my painful dismay. “How could you do that? Why?” The last word sounded hideously similar to a sob.

  He shrugged with a look of chagrin. “I made a mistake. You have to forgive me.”

  I looked about me in an attempt to bid some time and raised my left hand shakily to my face to press my thumb and forefinger into the bridge of my nose.

  “What the fuck?” Ryan’s voice was a tortured whisper. Even through my internal anguish, I realized my error.

  His eyes froze on the giant cookie. I hastily shoved my hand back into my pocket.

  “Are you insane?” he yelled.

  I merely stared back in defiance.

  “Please tell me that’s merely a decorative deterrent. Please tell me you’re not that stupid.”

  “How dare you?”

  “Cristina, what are you thinking?” he demanded as he grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me gently.

  “Let go of me.”

  “Are you actually planning to marry that moron? You’re going to move to California? You want to be a real housewife of Orange County?” he jeered as he squeezed me even harder.