“What about this?” Heather held up a mint-green silk chemise. “I think this would be pretty with your skin.” She held it against my pale arm.
I wrinkled my nose. “I don’t know,” I said. “Green always makes me look kind of jaundiced, don’t you think? It’s these damn yellow undertones,” I added quickly. “I hate how I look right now!”
Heather snickered. “It’s this damn lighting,” she said, pointing towards the ceiling. “You’d think a store like Bloomingdales would be able to afford something that doesn’t make us look like old hags. Why the hell am I even spending my money here, anyway?” Her voice grew loud with the last few words, and a sales associate glared daggers in our direction.
I laughed too, blushing as the sales person glared even harder. “I don’t know,” I confessed. “Sometimes I think I’m just not cut out for shopping.”
“Beth,” Heather whined, putting her hand on my shoulder. “You’re getting married in like, two months! You don’t have any lingerie! You’ve got to come up with something.”
I frowned, walking over to a rack of red and black things made of lace. I held something up, staring skeptically at the scrap of fabric. It barely looked big enough to cover one breast, let alone my whole body.
“I don’t know,” I said again, tucking the fabric back on the rack before Heather could swoop in and demand that I try it on. “I’m just not really feeling this today.”
“We have to keep trying,” Heather said. “Come on, Beth. This isn’t that bad – just a little more, okay?”
I nodded mechanically. “Whatever,” I mumbled. “I know I should be excited. I think I just have cold feet, or something like that.”
Heather smiled encouragingly. “I’m sure that’s it,” she said slowly. “Come on, let’s go over here. They might have cuter stuff in the junior’s section.”
I rolled my eyes but eventually, I turned on my heel and followed Heather through the bright fluorescent lighting of the mall. Shopping in a mall felt so dated – almost like I was back in high school. The faux-marble tile hadn’t been changed, and the silvery metal clothing racks looked as foreign and austere as they had before, when I’d been younger. Maybe shopping had been more fun then. But now, it just seemed like a chore that I couldn’t wait to get out of the way.
“This is the way to live,” Heather declared. I wrinkled my nose – it was almost like she was reading my mind, and then choosing to ignore how I felt.
“I disagree,” I said, shaking my head. “I hate this, it always makes me feel so uncomfortable! Besides, isn’t lingerie one of those things that’s really more for the bride than for the groom?”
Heather grinned wickedly. “Andy doesn’t think that way,” she said snootily. She flipped through the racks, squealing and pulling out a matching purple silk bra-and-panty set. “He’d love this on me,” she said, holding the material against her shirt. “Don’t you think this would be hot?”
I shrugged. “Lingerie is one of those things that always makes me feel more naked than actually being naked,” I said. “I always feel so awkward.”
“You are so boring,” Heather said, rolling her eyes. “I swear, I bet you and Michael only do it in the dark!”
Inwardly, I groaned. Heather was right – exactly, one-hundred-percent right – but I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of knowing that. Michael and I had only been together four years, but we already acted like an elderly couple in the bedroom…a sterile elderly couple.
When Michael and I had first had sex, it had been exciting. Not because it had been good – I wasn’t sure that I’d ever had anything I could label as “good sex.” But rather because I was finally doing it, I was finally doing the thing that seemed to drive both men and women of every age group. It had felt naughty to take my clothes off and lie beneath a man who was also naked, rubbing his body against mine. It had hurt, too, but that was beside the point – when I lost my virginity, I finally felt like a woman.
And Michael wasn’t exactly bad, although for someone with more experience than me, I often wondered just what exactly I was supposed to be taking away from the experience. He’d had a few girlfriends before we got together – it made sense, he was six years older than me – but I never got the impression that sex was something that really drove him. It was more like a conquest – like something he demanded from me because I was his girlfriend. And then his fiancée.
And soon, I’d be his wife. I’d be Mrs. Michael Bennett, one of the richest women in New York. The money was appealing to me – it would be a blatant lie to say otherwise. But mostly, if I was being honest with myself, I’d accepted Michael’s proposal because I didn’t know what else I was supposed to do. We’d been together three years at that point, a time which Heather eloquently referred to as “shit or get off the pot.”
And then that pot came, in the form of a boring diamond solitaire from Tiffany’s, I felt absolutely obligated to say yes. After all, if I said no, wouldn’t that mean that I’d strung Michael along?
We’d met when I was twenty-two, and fresh out of undergrad. I’d attended an open house at Columbia, thinking about grad school. Michael had been there – he’d actually been with another girl, playing the part of a patient boyfriend while his girlfriend listened earnestly to the drone of the presenter. But as soon as she’d gone to get a glass of water, he’d walked over to me and handed me his business card. He’d been all of twenty-eight, and that had seemed exotic to me at the time. He was like, a real adult: someone with bills to pay and a car to drive and his own condo, that he made payments on.
At least, that’s what I’d thought at the time. Michael had been dressed sloppily, and aside from the sterling silver Frank Lloyd Wright card case he’d been carrying, I hadn’t really thought anything about an obvious display of wealth. I’d thought he was just like everyone else. I was so naïve I didn’t even recognize his last name – Bennett – and tie him to one of the wealthiest families in New York.
Michael had called every day for a week. I’d never picked up – I’d immediately regretted giving my number to a guy with a girlfriend, like I’d violated some ironclad rule of the female sisterhood. But finally, he left a message on my voicemail.
“Beth, this is the last time I’m calling. I broke up with Tania – I know she wouldn’t be the kind of girl I want to be serious about in the future. You’re that kind of a girl, and I know it because you’re too classy to think about dating a guy with a girlfriend. I like you, Beth, and I want to explore this. So you’ve got a little time. Call me back, but I won’t be calling ever again.”
The message hadn’t exactly been flattering – was he only interested in me because I’d turned him down? But it had struck an odd chord with me, and I’d found myself thinking about him day after day in the next few days. Finally, I’d had a shot of vodka and then called him. Michael had asked me to dinner the next day, and the next week I was officially his girlfriend. I lost my virginity in a suite at the Plaza Hotel.
Whenever I was alone with Michael, our relationship seemed normal. We talked about our days, we talked about the kinds of things we wanted for the future. We could settle in a peaceful silence and it wasn’t bad – it was comfortable, the kind of thing that made me feel like I could spend the rest of my life with him.
But whenever I was with Heather and her endless rotating cycle of boyfriends, or any of my other friends, or hell – even just another couple, I felt weird. I realized that they all had things in common that Michael and I had never even come close to. Heather and her boyfriends always had inside jokes. They would whisper something close to one another’s ear, leaning in until they were the only ones privy. They’d throw their heads back in synchronized laughter. They’d touch each other, resting a hand casually on the other’s thigh, or wrapping an arm around the other’s shoulders.
It had made me feel like something was really missing from my relationship. I’d made up my mind to talk to Michael about it immediately, but once I’d sat down with him, I completely lost my nerve. He was so quiet and so austere that I couldn’t think of how I could possibly approach a topic like this.
Finally, I screwed up my courage and asked.