It's Got A Ring To It Page 3

  Downright ire ran through my veins. Every fiber of my being urged me to go to him and unleash all those groggy mornings on him. The nerve built up as I squared my shoulders and directed the fury in my eyes at his turned back. As I closed in on him, I became less ladylike and more of a lethal weapon. Standing behind Mr. Pretender, my strategic plan to nudge him and give him my best Tae Bo jab-hook-uppercut, didn’t seem worth the vision of me being dragged away in cuffs.

  At some point, I must’ve infringed on his personal space, because he turned around and locked me into his gaze. I might as well have been twelve again and in the middle of a staring contest. I didn’t dare blink. The first one of us to blink would lose, and I’d already lost too much at the hands of that man.

  Time froze, but true to form, Lena didn’t. “Oh…” The ever familiar singsong shriek neared. “Laila where are you? I’ve found it.”

  Whether I wanted her to or not, she was coming. I didn’t know if I should be angry with her for making me blink first, or grateful to her for saving me from the jumbled words, which surely would’ve followed. Quickly, I squinted my eyes, giving him my most intimidating stare, and then turned toward Lena’s voice.

  I knew he continued to watch, but I couldn’t risk glancing back. “Oh my goodness, Lena. Where is it?” The Academy should’ve awarded me for the show I put on. Lena ate it up, and gauging by the looks on Wilma’s and Betty’s faces, so did Mr. Donovan.

  Putting it on thick, I even threw in a little extra bounce to my step. Down the hall, I glanced over my shoulder to see if he’d noticed, but he was gone. Panic mode set in. I might never have the chance again to confront him. Hastily, I scrambled for a reason to get back to the front of the store. Ah! The tiara.

  “Lena, I have the perfect accessory for you.” She turned in awe. I’d never made it a habit to make suggestions when it came to fashion, as I’d usually get blamed later had she decided she didn’t need or like it. Mostly, I’d just nod and agree for agreement’s sake. “I saw a tiara in the showcase at the front of the store.” Still no reaction. The time had come for the coup de grâce. “Lena, every princess needs her crown for her big day, don’t you think?”

  I didn’t expect it, but as soon as I saw the tears rolling down her cheek, I knew she believed me. “Laila, I knew you would start to come around if I included you.” But my plan backfired. She trapped me in a bear hug with a grip tighter and longer than I hoped.

  “Okay. I’ll just go grab it for you, LeLe.” Breaking free, I bee-lined to where I last saw him. Her suspicions were surely on high alert, but I milked it for all it was worth. Her watchful eyes locked on me, so I checked all the other cases before the one where the tiara was displayed, to give me extra time. But, Myles Donovan was gone.

  Just as fluidly as he waltzed in, he vanished. There went my redemption and closure right out the door—along with my opportunity to reclaim my phone number. Worst of all, he left but I still had to be there. Stuck in a bridal boutique with my nuptially crazed little sister.

  With no choice, but to suck it up and get it together, I decided to finish the task at hand. Armed with new resolve, I headed for Betty and Wilma to have one of them unlock the showcase. Wilma made herself useful elsewhere, but I found Betty kneeling behind the counter, taking inventory of the accessories. While I waited patiently for her to notice me, I pulled a small stack of business cards from my purse and positioned them on the counter with the rest of the wedding vendors. I leaned on the glass and peered at bejeweled necklace and earring sets. Though I preferred pearls, even I could appreciate and be wooed by diamonds. Yet, something more enticing than the jewelry caught my eye.

  Not within the glass, but on the glass.

  An information card filled out by none other than Mr. Myles Donovan. Between his name and my phone number…was his address.

  FOUR

  All the words seemed to jumble together in a massive blur. The same message over and over. A congratulatory barrage of alliterative rhyming sentiments decorated with hearts, rings, and bells. Halfheartedly, I expected at least one of the greeting cards to skip the music gram and throw rice. I would’ve chosen a blank card and written some sentimental gibberish to appease my mother, but I hadn’t a clue what to say. I’ve always been one to give a meaningful present in a gift bag with the tiny, yet simple, to-and-from tag, rather than to waste time on cardstock scribed with someone else’s words. But, Mom insisted that certain occasions demanded traditional etiquette. It was obviously a dig at Claire, yet another battle in their never-ending bid to outdo each other.

  So, there I was standing in the center aisle of Hallmark, drudging through mounds of engagement cards, which all looked alike and said the same thing, in order to find one “tasteful” enough to come from the maid of honor. At last, I settled on a simple silver one. On the front, beneath a tiny chain dangling with two teensy linked gold wedding bands, was only the word “love.” As I pulled the matching silver envelope from behind the stack, I couldn’t help thinking about how I wished love was enough to keep two people together.

  Shaking the thought from my head, I squeezed by a few people—who were equally as deep in thought as I was—trying to narrow down their selections. Amazingly, I made my way to the clearance area in the back with only Lena’s card. Most of the time I needed blinders and an extra pair of arms to keep from buying everything in the store. Two other people were back there digging in the sale bins and marking their territory. A monogram keychain, two inspirational books, a teacup ornament, and an advent calendar later, I was finally headed for the register, when I heard a familiar voice call my name. The thought of pretending I didn’t hear her and walking away crossed my mind, but I couldn’t be rude to her. She didn’t deserve that. I turned to her, with forced a smile, just as I’d done so many times before. “Hi, Nana Bea!”

  She hugged me with her whole body. As my arms folded around her frail body, the rising lump in my throat wouldn’t let me let go. For longer than I could track, we stood there holding each other, saying more in our silence than any words could convey. Only two years passed since we last saw each other, but I never realized I wasn’t the only one who’d lost someone.

  After Ethan’s mother passed away, Nana Bea took care of him as if he were her own. I loved her wholeheartedly. She was one of the reasons that it was so hard to end the relationship with Ethan. While I loved him, I was in love with her. She was sweet as pie and made some of the best across any county. Every weekend, she baked apple pies, peach cobbler, blueberry, and my favorite, Key lime pie. Her hugs felt like Christmas. Sometimes, she’d dig in her coin purse and offer a few bucks for the hard times, as she called them, and wrap it up in my palm with a mint or butterscotch hard candy. Feisty as could be, but ended every stern word with a wink and a smile. She was what family should be. The glue. The pearls reminded me that I missed her more than Ethan.

  As we parted from our embrace, my eyes began to sting with regret. It hurt me to see what time and age do to the body. Her face was stained with a sickly pallor. The sun had crept into the creases of her face and hands. And although she moved at a sleepy pace, it was her soul that seemed tired. A woman who once embodied strength and independence, feebly gripped a cane that held up a waning corpse.

  “Now, don’t you start that,” she said, referring to the tears forming in my eyes. “If you start, then I’ll be right behind you.”

  “How are you?” It was a simple question, but my words were loaded with concern for her deteriorating physical well-being.

  “Holding it together.” With her stifled words, she made her best effort to stand taller. I knew she didn’t want me to worry about her, but it was the way it had always been. I worried about her, like I would my own mother.

  For her sake, I gave my best impression of someone at ease. “Phew! Well, that’s a relief. I’m glad to hear it.” And then, as the silence ensued, I realized the elephant had made its way into the room. All the awkward pleasantries were made, but the turns our convers
ation might’ve made two years prior, were all dead ends at that point. We had been too close at one time to revert to idle talk about the weather or some arbitrary sports team. We reached a roundabout. All discussions of work, family and friends, or any relationships would lead back to him. It wasn’t high school, when you could get away with empty promises to keep in touch or call to get together soon. And we weren’t so imprudent that we could get away with avoidance.

  Our eyes dared the other to blink first. Then, Nana Bea broached the subject at hand. As the words so effortlessly rolled off her tongue, I knew I couldn’t have planned for this moment if I’d been given years notice in advance.

  “I’m here looking for an engagement card for Ethan.” She laid it all out there on the table. I could’ve left it at that—with all the shock smeared across my face—but she must’ve felt the need to explain.

  “I’ve been in hospice for a while, so I missed the party. Better late than never.” A cursory smile forced itself into view—a side effect of the nerves. Still the words were without emotion. She said it as if we were talking about picking up dry cleaning or checking off items on a grocery list. Not at all, like telling someone that the man she was engaged to marry had found someone else.

  The rapid rising and falling of my chest should have given me away. I needed to sit. Anywhere. My eyes searched for something…anything to hold me up, but there wasn’t a chair, a stool, or a ledge in sight. I could only lean on the shelf at the end of the aisle and try to take it all in. I was engaged to a man I thought was my answered prayer. For heaven’s sake, he cooked and cleaned. If a man could be ordered from a catalogue—that would be Ethan. He was handsome, in a quirky seventies combed-over-hair, Ken-doll-kind-of-way. Not to mention, intelligent, funny, stylish, and athletic. Best of all, he told me he loved me with every turn of the clock. We were both starting our own businesses and finally feeling good about the direction we were heading in. So, when he asked me to get married six years into the relationship, needless to say, I was ready. Although, chomping at the bit was a more accurate assessment of the matter.

  Elation could not sum up how I felt. I was planning for forever with the man I loved, so every flower was our flower. Every dress was the gown I would wear for our family and friends to witness the hallmark of our great love. And the ring was my showpiece to flaunt in front of any man who even toyed with the idea of flirting. I was betrothed to my prince. Taken. Happily, off the market.

  So when things took a downward turn, I assumed it was going to be some passing phase, and eventually Ethan would come back to me. After some serious groveling and begging, on his part, I’d take him back, and we’d love each other even stronger knowing what it was like to be without one another. He was supposed to be my butterfly and come back to me because he was mine.

  For what seemed like forever, I was pissed at Ethan. And I took it out on everyone foolish enough to come near me. On more than one occasion, I chewed off Mom’s head for butting in my business. Lena and Dad all but disowned me after I lashed out on them. After a few dates I went on out of spite, hoping to run into Ethan, the word got out that I was some kind of she-devil. My reputation preceded me and left me lonelier. He’d taken away every ounce of hope in my bones, and left without showing even an inkling of remorse. I can’t remember how many times I deleted his number and added it back. Crumbled and ripped pictures of him to bits, and then pitifully pieced them back together. I had every intention of stabbing his tires or making some crazy voodoo doll. He needed to feel my pain. I was angry. It got so bad, I cyberstalked his every move. I was laying low until an opportunity presented itself to unleash the wrath of my fury.

  When we failed to run into each other, I resorted to bargaining with God. “If you bring him back to me, I’ll go to church every Sunday and all major holidays,” I promised. “Give me one more chance, and I won’t ask for anything else ever again.” Nothing worked. As each of my unanswered prayers passed, I questioned my worthiness for Ethan, then love, and eventually happiness altogether. I knew I was falling deeper and deeper. People didn’t want to be around me because I was depressed, then being alone, I became even more depressed. Dr. Reese said all the things she was supposed to say, but the wall I built was too high and too strong.

  I thought about Ethan’s letter at home in my hope chest—my past tainting my future. Seeing the pity in Nana Bea’s eyes, I was angry at myself for being so stupid to believe that he was ever coming back. Even worse than her chastising stare, I struggled to think about what was next for me. If I couldn’t go back to him, what the hell was I waiting for? What was I going to do with the rest of my life? Keep mourning a relationship he never even grieved.

  The feeling in my legs came back. I placed my face into my hands and pushed them back through my hair with a sigh. There were bigger things on my mind. What the heck was I supposed to say to her? Congratulations, was the furthest thing from my mind. I had no response for Nana Bea. She looked frail and weak, but she’d sucker punched me—in Hallmark, no less. She might not have been able to get away with avoidance, but at that point, I could. With one more hug, I smiled, and then walked away from her.

  I couldn’t take the chance of love songs playing on the radio, so I drove in silence, windows down, and listening only to the sound of the wind and my coping heartbeat.

  My hair got caught in the breeze, blocking my view of the road, as I narrowly missed the rear end of another car. A one-handed grip on my hair and the other hand gripped with white knuckles around the steering wheel. I just hated the fact that so much of my life was wasted on Ethan. In my gut, I didn’t want to spend another second of my life on him. The time seemed just as good as any to let out my last cry. I yelled into the wind as the tears trailed my cheekbone to my chin before spilling over.

  The ringtone of my cell echoed through the speakers of the car and the dashboard stereo displayed Lena’s name. Quickly, I pressed the echoing Bluetooth button on the steering wheel to answer the call.

  “Where the heck are you?” she questioned, raising her volume over the din of my car. “Roll your window up.”

  “Just leaving the store. Had to pick up a few things.” The crack in my voice gave me away. I could lie to most people, but lying to Lena was always pressing my luck. There was a hesitation on the line, and I knew she was listening for any indication that her worries were warranted.

  “What’s wrong, Laila…and don’t lie.”

  I was thinking about it, but I just didn’t have the energy or the patience to think up a believable story. “I ran into Nana Bea.”

  “And?” she said abruptly with a slight edge in her tone.

  “And…it was really hard seeing her.”

  “And?”

  I knew she would continue to press me on the issue if I didn’t give her the full rundown. Lena had no patience for Nana Bea. Lena thought she was nice, but she was adamant that Nana Bea’s loyalty would remain with Ethan. Every time I argued in Nana Bea’s favor, Lena would bring up the time she lied for him when he got caught coming into the house at four o’clock in the morning. She’d vouched for him even when I followed him and knew his exact whereabouts. On the matter of Nana Bea, there was no sense arguing, because Lena was usually right—that time was no exception.

  “And…she told me Ethan was getting married.”

  As soon as the words came out of my mouth, Lena flew off the handle. “This is what I’m talking about. That woman is so wretched. Uncouth! What made her think it was a good idea to tell you something like that. She knew it would hurt you, and you know she did it deliberately to bring you down. It’s like they know you’re finally leaving him behind and they want to keep dragging you down by the coattails. Ugh! If I run into her, you’ll have to hold me back…”

  I assumed Nana Bea told me so I wouldn’t have to hear it from anyone else, but when I got a chance to really think about it, Lena had a point. There was no positive outcome that could’ve resulted from her telling me. Nana Bea was there, she sa
w what he did to me. For goodness sake, she was the one who picked me up off the floor. Something told me that Ethan had a part in it. That was our Hallmark and we always went there, but there was no possible way she could’ve know I’d be there on that day at that time. He must have had radar for my happiness. Every time I got halfway out of the dark hole I’d dug, something happened to hold me down.

  Lena went on arguing about Nana Bea and some conspiratorial sabotage plot, but I was zoned out. Between a few “yeps” and “nopes,” here and there to ensure her that I was paying attention, I stared at the road trying to imagine myself going through another setback. Just the thought of it pissed me off. Was Ethan sitting home dwelling on the past and secretly wishing for me to come back to him? No. Had he even stopped to make sure I was okay? No. So, why the hell was I living my life in a rut, stagnant and barely bordering on complacency?

  Lena must have been reading my mind, because she chimed in as if she’d been following along with my thoughts. “Laila, it’s time for you to wake up and stop living in the past.”

  “I know, Lena. It’s just easier said than done. I’m working on it. Believe me.”

  “Well, I’m not going to just sit here and let you slip back into oblivion. Olivia, Denise, and I are going out tonight and you’re coming with us, so get yourself together. I’ll meet you at your house in a couple of hours. Oh, and you’re driving because I need a designated driver.” And just like that, it was only the resounding dial tone and my adrenaline getting pumped up that I heard.

  Back at home, my most formfitting, sexy black mini was laid out on the bed. At least the classics never go out of style. Luckily, shoes have never been a problem for me. I’d acquired enough for this lifetime and the next. Figuring out my mood was always the hardest part. Most of the time, black seemed the most appropriate for the gloom that surrounded me. Then, all I needed to do was determine how much so, and opt for the corresponding heel height to go with it. Something about that night seemed different, all black wouldn’t do. I couldn’t exactly go cold turkey, but a punch of color or pizzazz on the feet would definitely take me from drab to fab.