“How many Jillian Design clients are on the list? How many of your parents’ friends made the cut? There’s tons of people on there that we don’t know. Don’t know well, let’s say.”
“Let’s not have this discussion again, okay?” The guest list, the menu, the parking attendants, everything was just getting bigger and bigger. And the bigger it became, the more I could tell Simon was putting on his game face, making it seem like he was okay with everything. But when it was just the two of us, and the planning committee had retired for the night, he admitted it was a bit overwhelming. But he was in for a penny, in for a pound, and insisted we keep everything as it was. But that didn’t mean he didn’t get a little disgruntled from time to time. We’d had several tense conversations over the last few months, mostly over the guest list. He didn’t understand, not coming from a large family that all lived within an hour of where we now lived, why it was necessary to invite so many people.
Mostly, though, I think seeing how many guests were in his column, and how many were in my column was difficult to see. It was like a black-and-white reminder of who he’d lost. And who wouldn’t be there. He was a trooper. He was my trooper.
And it was all happening in a month. And then we could begin to live our lives again, just for us. And our little kitty family. I changed the subject, asking him questions about his trip and getting the details on what he’d be doing. And as we talked, the tension eased. As his bag filled up and the cats began to circle, knowing that this was what happened before Daddy went on a trip, we talked only of cameras and caves, and no more tulle and lace.
And when we went to bed that night, and he kissed me long and deep and told me he loved me and he’d miss my sweet ass while I was gone, I giggled and let him love on me as long as he could. Which was awhile, because this was my Wallbanger we were talking about here.
Early the next morning, I drove him to the airport, kissed him good-bye, told him I wasn’t wearing any panties, and then kissed him once more while he tried to push me back into the car to see if I was bluffing. I was not. Kissing him a final time, I told him I loved him and I’d see him in two weeks.
No one ever tells you to remember these moments. To photograph them in your mind, develop them into memories, to have them easily accessible and on instant recall when you’d need them later. To try and replay and re-create the last time you see someone.
It was 2 a.m. I was asleep on the couch under a cover of furry bodies. Food Network was on the television. I unstuck my face from the pillow . . . nice. Drool. Wait, why was I on the couch? And what was ringing? The phone. Oh, the phone! I scrambled to pick it up, seeing it was Simon.
“Babe? You make it there?”
“Just landed in Hanoi,” he said, yawning, but his voice had the sense of urgency he always has when he’s on a trip. He loved his work. He loved the travel. There was a time when we first started living together that he wasn’t traveling as much, and I thought he might be thinking about giving up this globe-trotting life. He still traveled, just not as much. But he loved it too much to ever give it up. And I loved him too much to ever ask him to. Besides, we were used to being apart. It’s how we met, it’s how we got together, it’s how we fell in love. We made it work, because it was all we knew.
“How was the flight?”
“Last leg was brutal, but it’s good to be here. Sun’s shining, it’s a thousand degrees, and there’s a bowl of pho waiting for me as soon as I get off this phone.”
“Well, don’t let me keep you,” I teased. “Thanks for checking in. When are you heading to the first location?”
“Tomorrow morning. I’m spending the day in the city, acclimating and working with the guys here who are taking me out with the tour. Then hopping on the night train tomorrow. Or tonight. I have no idea what time it is.”
“Okay, babe, call me when you can.” I knew he’d check in, but when Simon was working he tended to lose all track of time. He certainly was the same way when he was working me . . .
“Will do. Love you.”
“Love you too. Ella says she misses you.”
“Aw, tell my pretty girl I miss her too.”
“She only sleeps with me when you’re out of town.”
“She knows who’s in charge.”
“Hanging up on you, Wallbanger.”
“Hanging up on you first, Nightie—”
Hee-hee. I got there first. Dislodging four cats took some doing, but eventually I was on my feet and stretching before heading up to bed. My phone beeped, and I looked down at the screen. He’d sent me a picture of his noodles. Ass.
I worked hard that week, trying to stack up some work ahead of time before the big day. Monica had transitioned from assistant to junior designer since coming on board last year, and she’d been instrumental in helping me, and the entire team, move seamlessly into the new arrangement we had with Jillian’s new schedule. Monica still worked closely with me on most of my accounts, but she was beginning to take on some small projects on her own, usually with me looking on in an advisory role. She’d been handling my clients while I was on wedding lockdown. Knowing she’d be keeping things up in the air and moving while I was gone was a huge help, but I still wanted to make sure I could get as much done as I could before our important day.
By the end of the week I was exhausted, but feeling like I’d gotten a little bit ahead. I had a meeting at four thirty with Jillian that I had a feeling would end in drinks afterward. I had that feeling because it was how we ended almost every single week when she was in town, so I felt pretty sure about that feeling. The fact that I was carrying a bottle of wine was also a tip-off. I was headed down to her office, arms full of binders and my always-present colored pencils, along with the wine, when I heard her raising her voice to someone on the phone.