I nodded at my reflection in the mirror above my dresser.
“And if this is all a big mistake, you can always get divorced later,” I added, a moment after I thought my conversation with myself was over.
I got up and went to my closet to pick out what I’d wear to dinner the next night.
“Tomorrow night definitely calls for sparkles,” I said with false, hysteric enthusiasm, pulling a gold sequined miniskirt from my closet and laying it over a chair.
Clearly the pep talk hadn’t worked completely, however, because there was already a new thought forming in my brain: If Pete doesn’t contact you all day tomorrow, then give Bellamy a chance. For real.
Chapter 35
“Aren’t we having a wonderful, wonderful time?” asked my mom, smiling deliriously into the camera like someone who had just downed a bottle of methamphetamines.
“We sure are,” said Bellamy.
“Mmm. This crab cake is so flaky,” she added.
“This steak is juuuust right,” said my dad, holding up a pink piece to prove it to us.
“My meal is great too,” said Bellamy. He smiled affectionately at his baked chicken and fries, and then turned to me. “How are you doing, Sweetie?”
“Great,” I answered. “Sweetie,” I added, just to try it on for size. He beamed and squeezed my leg and shoveled some fries into his mouth.
So far my parents and Bellamy were hitting it off like old pals. The three of them were doing a good job carrying the conversation amongst themselves, somehow collectively missing that I was vaguely removed from it all. I took a big swallow of ice water, hoping it would wake me up.
“How’s everyone’s meal?” asked a waitress who wasn’t even assigned to our table. I felt like telling her that they would edit her out, despite how much lipstick she put on or how many times she stopped at our table, which was now reaching double digits. She was wearing a tuxedo jacket over a low-cut blouse, blue jean miniskirt, and cowboy boots. In her defense, all the waitresses had on similar getups.
“Mmm mmmm,” said my mom and dad, nodding with their mouths full.
“I like these sweet potato fries because they’re sweet like you,” Bellamy said to me. He dipped one of the fries in ketchup and stuck it in my mouth before I had a chance to protest that it had been nestled beside his chicken.
The four of us were having dinner at Wally’s Steakhouse. Despite the producers’ best efforts to send us all on a date that would reflect my vegetarian ways, we’d ended up at a place that made my parents comfortable instead. It was for the best, I decided, as I nibbled on iceberg lettuce and ranch dressing over a bed of crouton stones. Like a golden retriever puppy, Bellamy seemed pretty happy anywhere, and if my parents weren’t choking down tofu kale smoothies we’d all be better off.
It was after eight o’clock, late for my parents, and but neither was showing any signs of fatigue. They were both a little drunk and hyper, invigorated by the cameras and something close to fame. Topping it off was the prospect that their youngest daughter, who until recently they’d feared was unmarriageable, was now potentially about to wed a rich, handsome man in a ceremony they wouldn’t have to pay for. You can see why their adrenaline was maxing out. As if reading my mind, my dad said, “I think I’m going to get one of those little cups of coffee. What the heck if I’m up all night?”
“Waitress,” called Bellamy to the cowgirl passing by, “four expressos over here please.”
I’d decided around three o’clock in the afternoon, when Pete had made no effort to contact me, that I was going to entrust myself to Bellamy. I would commit to whatever he had to bring, whether it was a proposal or just a whole lot of logrolling. I’d shaved, waxed, plucked, lotioned, and perfumed every inch of my body. I’d made my way through all twenty-three minutes of my Killer Thighs from Hell workout DVD that I’d received for Christmas eight years earlier and had never previously opened. I was wearing a silk thong and matching bra, and was determined to accept an invitation to the Waldorf Astoria if it should present itself. And not just for the high-end shampoo samples. Remembering that I might soon need to have as flat a stomach as possible made picking at my salad instead of enjoying some kind of delectable vegan potpie less painful.
“It’s a shame you’re not meeting Emma’s brothers and sisters and their families,” said my mom. “But there’s so many, what with all the grandkids, that it gets a little intense for a new person.” She couldn’t stop staring at the cameras when she spoke. My dad had the opposite problem: he couldn’t stop staring at his plate.
“Emma’s told me a lot about them all,” said Bellamy.
I looked up from slicing through my pink tomato wedge. Had I really? I listened up, curious to hear what nuggets of wisdom he’d been gathering about my family.
“She’s told me that she’s the youngest, and that even though everyone lives around the country now, you’re all Midwesterners.”
“That’s right,” said my mom.
Bellamy nodded affirmatively, proud of himself for passing the test, and added a poopy little squirt of mustard to the thick pile of ketchup he’d made on the side of his plate.
I wondered if he was going to ask my dad for permission to marry me. On other seasons, this was the night. Some guys asked both parents. Most just asked the dad. Some di
dn’t ask either. I’d never thought I’d be the kind of person whose parents got asked by someone for permission to marry me, but if this show was teaching me anything, it was that perhaps I was less picky than I’d thought.
I decided I should excuse myself from the table to give Bellamy a moment alone with my parents. Or better yet, maybe I could get my mom to come with me, so it would be just him and my dad. I cleared my throat but no one seemed to recognize that it was a secret code. I tried again and my mom reached into her purse and found a lint covered unwrapped cough drop for me.
“Mom,” I said.