LITMIR.BIZ

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you know. Bertie may be a lot of things, but cheap isn’t one of them,” I finished defensively.

      “Did she know Bruce was going to propose?” Annie asked.

      “No…”

      “Did she freak?” Nicole always wanted the gory details.

      “It wasn’t as bad as we thought, really. When we told her she seemed totally confused at first, but then she made a big show of it. I think she was in shock, completely overwhelmed. Who could blame her? I’m stealing away her only son.”

      “That’s one way to look at it,” Annie said. “But hopefully she sees it as gaining another daughter.”

      “Not this bitch,” said Theo. “But your optimism is refreshing, Annie.”

      “Well, she did force herself to hug me,” I continued. “Bruce doesn’t believe me, but I swear it was the first time the woman’s ever actually touched me. Can you believe that? I didn’t realize it till I felt her bony ribs. She was even crying a bit. I wouldn’t say it was exactly nice, because I was uncomfortable as all hell, I won’t lie to you, but it was…I don’t know…almost normal.”

      I was censoring, but just a bit. The first thing Bertie did when we told her we were getting married was give Bruce’s dad The Look, and then she excused herself politely to go see to the roast. I was immediately pissed off for Bruce’s sake, but he seemed more amused by it than hurt, thank God. When she came back out of the kitchen a few minutes later, she was crying—that was when she hugged me—but she smelled like onions, and her finger was bleeding.

      “I don’t think she was really all that surprised,” I lied. “Bruce’s dad knew about it the whole time, so he was probably acting like a freak for weeks beforehand. I’m sure she knew something was up.”

      “Yes, but could she really have expected this?” Theo sighed. “Her precious Bruce, heir to the Fulbright Jam and Jelly empire, marrying a sloppy Italian wench from Brooklyn. Your mother got the prize in this scenario, my dear. Bruce is like your mother’s knight in shining armour—he fixes her toilet, he does her taxes, and he saved you from the shame of spinsterhood. This wedding is the answer to all her prayers. But what do you do for Bertie?”

      “What?”

      “I mean, what does she get out of you? Out of your relationship with Bruce? Nothing but a headache, I bet. You spare the maid from doing Bruce’s laundry, that’s about it.”

      “That’s not true,” I pointed out. “Bruce does his own laundry. And mine.”

      “How silly of me. Of course he does. Just remember though, Bertie’s got plenty of daughters already, so it’s not like she needs our young Martha Stewart over here to accompany her on afternoon shopping dates or to take care of her when she gets old. This is probably a living nightmare for the woman.”

      I was incensed. “For your information, Theo, Bruce likes doing laundry. And Bertie called me the next night and we talked about what kind of wedding we want. So she’s obviously accepting this.”

      “Don’t be naive. She’s got a few tricks up her sleeve, yet,” he said.

      “What about his sisters?” asked Kimby. Bruce’s sisters were a source of endless amusement for all who knew of them. Even Morgan listened with bated breath to tales of their tantrums and addictions.

      “His sisters were okay about it, I guess. They just sort of nodded and smiled. Except for Brooke…”

      “Is that the oldest one?”

      “Yes. She’s the one who wanted to go to help free Tibet until she found out that it was in Asia.”

      Everyone nodded, remembering.

      “Well, Brooke kind of seemed like she was about to cry at any moment, and she kept staring at The Ring!”

      Annie slapped the table. “That jealous bitch!” she said, with an uncharacteristic touch of venom. “She thinks it should be hers.”

      “Bruce’s dad, though—he’s the best. He’s just so happy for us about this. It’s like he has a new reason to live or something….”

      Annie just wanted more details. “And what about the dress, and flowers, and…”

      “She’s only been engaged for a week, for chrissake,” Nicole interrupted.

      “Actually, I do have a few ideas,” I said, reaching into my bag. Thankfully, there’s an excellent magazine store in the lobby of the Kendra White building, so I’d already amassed quite a stack of reference materials. “Martha Stewart Weddings, Bridal Guide, In Style Weddings, Bride—I can’t get enough! I swear, I’m going to keep them all in business this year!” I said, and put the stack on the table.

      Nicole rolled her eyes, but grabbed Martha Stewart Weddings before anyone else could. “What a hideous cake,” she said of the picture on the cover.

      “Oh, please!” shrieked Theo. “It’s fabulous! Marzipan is so hard to work with. You just don’t get it—it’s supposed to look like Wedgewood china. You know, you could do something like this, Evie.”

      “Let’s worry about the cake later,” I said wisely. “For now, let’s turn to the pages I’ve marked for bridesmaids’ dresses. Oh, you’re all going to be so gorgeous, I can’t wait!”

      “Do I get to be a bridesmaid?” Theo clapped his hands. “I’d look precious in that one—I have a flatter stomach than all of you!”

      “No, you idiot, you’re a groomsman,” said Kimby. “And don’t kid yourself, dear. My stomach is flatter than yours.”

      4

      The scale doesn’t lie—three bloody weeks and not a single pound gone. I stared down in horror at the number between my big toes. Even if I held my boobs up—nothing. I’ve almost completely cut out chocolate, and for what? Damn. But I suppose just not gaining any weight could be seen as a relative success. It’s been hell at work, after all. Hell. And we’ve had so many dinners out, with everyone wanting to celebrate and all that. So just getting on the scale right now was pretty brave in the first place, I think.

      But now I cannot hide from the painful truth any longer: I officially had forty pounds to lose by August 18, our wedding day. Make that June 18—two months before the wedding, if I wanted to have my alterations done in time. I glanced down at the scale again. So let’s see, that gives me…about nine months. Plenty of time. But what about The Dress? How can I buy The Dress anytime soon in this state? They’ll be able to take it in, thank God for that, but I’ve at least got to be able to go dress shopping without feeling like a cow. That settles it. Starting today, I’ve got to get serious….

      “Evie?” Bruce was knocking on the door. “I need the bathroom.”

      “Get away!” I barked, and jumped down off the scale.

      “What’s the matter?”

      “Nothing. I’m not ready yet.”

      “Are you on that damn scale again? You’ve been in there for forty-five minutes. I’ve got to take a shower. I’m gonna be late.”

      I hid the scale back behind the cabinet. He’d kill me if he saw it out again. I put on my bathrobe, opened the door and swept past him in a fury. “You know, you could give me some privacy once in a while,” I yelled back at him. But he just slammed the door.

      Later, when I was blow-drying my hair, he sat down on the bed beside me. “What?” I asked.

      “I’m throwing it out.”

      “No you’re not,” I informed him, and turned the dryer back on.

      He pulled the plug out of the wall. “Yes I am. I can’t go through this again.”

      “You can’t? What about me? I’m the

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