Breaking the Rules Page 2

  “How about we do it just you and me? On the beach. Alone.”

  “Oh.” My head spins and I sit down on a kitchen chair. I have no idea what to say. A part of me thinks that Ethan’s plan sounds romantic, while the other part wants to scream and throw something.

  “I have to go, darling,” Ethan says before I have a chance to say anything. “We’ll talk about it later. We still have time to figure out the details. Love you.”

  “Me too,” I finally say to the dial tone.

  The important thing is that we get married—everything else is just details, right? I’m not like my friend Emma who’s been planning her wedding day since she was five years old and who constantly flips through huge stacks of dog-eared bridal magazines with notes in the margins.

  No, when I was seven and told my mom that Barbie and Ken were thinking of getting married, it caused quite the commotion in our house. Mom walked around the living room asking me if Ken was really committed to Barbie and would Barbie be able to stand on her own two feet if Ken left her. She thought they should wait until they were both mature enough to understand the emotional and financial impact of their decision before they got married. And then Dad started arguing about how you can’t interrupt the course of true love and declared that those two crazy kids should throw caution to the wind and get married if their love was pure and true. I guess that’s what you get when your mother is a feminist social worker and your father is a professor of Victorian literature. I’m sure that, twenty years later, I still couldn’t get them to agree on what I should do.

  Should I consider Ethan’s proposal of a destination wedding? It might be romantic. Just the two of us with our feet in the sand while we sip a margarita and watch the sunset. But how am I going to break the news to my mother? How is she going to react when I tell her that she won’t be at my wedding, but Pablo the Cabana Boy will?

  And why is Ethan bringing this up? He knows that Ollie’s party is the most important thing for me right now. The wedding can wait; we have plenty of time to discuss it. Tonight needs to be perfect.

  When Emma finally stumbles into the kitchen—arms loaded with two huge paper bags—I’m placing the mini-quiches on a wire rack to cool and trying to apply a final coat of mascara while looking at myself in the toaster.

  “Where’s Dean?” I ask, taking one of the bags and kissing her on the cheek. Dean is Emma’s boyfriend. Ever since he lost his job a few months back he’s been living on Emma’s couch and only getting up to go to the bathroom and to raid the fridge. She’d been so happy when he agreed to come to Ollie’s party.

  Emma sighs. “We sort of had a fight. He decided to stay home.”

  “What did you fight about?”

  “I refused to let him out of the house wearing sweat pants. That’s all he wears these days. Sweat pants and a Mets T-shirt. I’m sick of it. I had to do something.”

  “What did you do?” I smile at her. Emma’s the sweetest person in the world but I’ve witnessed some pretty awesome tantrums when she’s mad.

  “I took all of his old sweat pants and T-shirts, stuffed them in a bag and threw them down the garbage chute. Can you believe he actually got up and sifted through the whole building’s garbage and found the bag? He was mad as hell but at least he got up.”

  I can’t help but laugh at the thought of Dean up to his elbows in trash. Looks like I’m not the only one with boy trouble.

  When I tell Emma about Ethan’s elopement plans, her face drops and she starts shaking her head. “No way. You know I’m living vicariously through you, right? Dean and I have been together for ten years and, at this point, I’m probably going to have to wait another ten years for him to propose. Unless he finds an engagement ring in the trash or something. You can’t elope. You just can’t. We’ve been best friends since college and I know you have two sisters but I have hope that I’m still in the running to be your maid of honor. So, no. No elopement.”

  Before I can reassure Emma that I still haven’t picked my maid of honor, the apartment buzzer goes off.

  “Hello?” I say into the intercom.

  “It’s us. Let us up.” It’s Adam and Tali, my two other close friends. I put them in charge of getting the environmentally friendly recyclable paper products for the party. Ollie would shed a tear for the planet if I used the regular ones.

  “Did you get the paper cups and plates I wanted?” I ask.

  Silence.

  “Yeah, we bought some. From the 99 Cents Store,” Adam says.

  I roll my eyes. “Guys! I asked you to buy from that earth-friendly place. You know how Ollie feels about non-recyclable things. We’ll never hear the end of it.”

  Emma mumbles in agreement behind me. She’s had the recycling lecture before.

  “It’s Tali’s fault. I wanted to go but she’s wearing the most hideous heels and her feet hurt and she said Ollie would never know the difference. Owww.”

  I hear a muffled sound which can’t be anything but Tali hitting Adam for calling her shoes hideous or blaming her for their failure to buy the right cups. Probably both.

  “Aw, Rox, it’s starting to rain now. Can’t we just use regular dishes? I’m betting that’s even better for the environment.”

  “Sure, that’s a great idea. So I’m guessing you’ll wash and Tali will dry?”

  “Good one, Rox,” I hear Tali say. Her voice is loud and scratchy, but that’s only because her face is always two inches from the speaker whenever she talks into the intercom.

  Adam’s sigh reeks of defeat. “We’ll be back.”

  By the time Adam and Tali come back—after buying every single paper cup the earth-friendly store had in stock just to be on the safe side and make sure they wouldn’t have to go back later—the whole apartment looks ready for a party.

  “You look gorgeous,” Adam says, kissing me on both cheeks.

  After dumping the PJs, I’d squeezed myself into a new black skirt, a purple blouse and heels so high I’m risking a sprained ankle with every step.

  “It’s all going to waste,” I say. “Ethan might not make it tonight.”

  “Still arguing over the whole wedding planner thing?” Adam asks, sipping his glass of wine.

  I shake my head and fill Adam and Tali in on the new developments that make me wish Ethan and I were still arguing about the wedding planner. “I don’t understand why he wants to get married on the beach. Two minutes in the sun and the man is as red as a lobster.”

  “Reminds me of my ex-boyfriend,” Adam sighs.

  “Which one?” I ask, rolling my eyes. “The one who cheated on you or the one who stole your credit cards?”

  “No, no,” Tali says. “It’s the one who had the freaky allergies, right? He used to break out in hives every time his skin touched air. Or is it the one who broke your nose? There were so many it’s hard to keep track.”

  Adam gives us a dirty look but it’s all part of our favorite game: listing all of Adam’s ex-boyfriends. Most times we can’t even remember their names so they become “The One Who...” Sadly for Adam, he still hasn’t met “The One Who Sticks Around for More Than a Few Weeks.” He manages the Quid Pub—which has practically become my second home—and the fact that he sometimes lets me eat there for free might be one of the reasons business isn’t going so well.

  Tali works at Kilborn with me. She has the distinction of being the rudest receptionist we’ve ever had. Still, Greta won’t fire her because all of our male clients drool over her when they come to the office and it’s good for the company. She intimidated me when she first started—especially when I was trapped in the break room with her and she spent fifteen minutes yelling into her cell phone in Russian. After she hung up, she marched up to me and said, “My name is Natalia Federova but my friends call me Tali. I was born in the Soviet Union but my parents and I moved here when I was eight. I already know I hate this job and most of the people who work here. But you look like someone who knows things. Tell me everything.” A bit shaken by her
direct tone and the fact that she towered over me in six-inch heels, I proceeded to reveal the Kilborn family’s dirty little secrets: where the good office supplies are stocked, who makes out with who in which broom closet and who faxed a photocopy of their butt to a particularly nasty client at last year’s holiday party. I eventually introduced Tali to Emma and Ollie and she introduced me to her friend Adam.

  “Oh my God, these are delicious,” Adam says, taking another bite of his mini quiche. “Tell me, when are you going to stop being Greta Kilborn’s babysitter and become a proper chef? I’d let you work for me if I could pay you. Have you ever considered an exciting career as a volunteer chef?”

  “Unfortunately, my landlord likes his rent in cash. Not in edible goods,” I say, stealing a quiche off his recyclable paper plate. I’ve stopped counting how many of these I’ve wolfed down in the last hour. My skirt feels as though it might be lacerating my liver at the very moment, considering I had to lie on the bed and suck in my stomach to get the zipper up in the first place. “Anyway,” I continue. “I couldn’t afford to quit before so I sure as hell can’t quit now that Ollie’s leaving. I guess I’m destined to be Greta’s slave forever.”

  I pop a handful of peanut M&Ms in my mouth. One by one, slowly savoring every crunchy calorie. Tonight, I’m giving myself permission to pig out, to get drunk off starchy carbs and candy and pastries. Here’s to you Ollie Frost: I’m gaining five pounds in your honor. I’m risking not fitting into my wedding dress for you. And—if Ethan has his way—my wedding dress might actually be a wedding bikini. As if I would ever be seen in public in a bikini. Ethan of all people should know this. One more reason why his sudden change of heart makes no sense at all.

  About half an hour later, the first two guests arrive. It’s Pete and Patricia, who work with Ollie at Brent & Associates. They report that, as they were leaving the office, Mr. Brent dumped a pile of paperwork on Ollie’s desk. Pete does a perfect impression of their boss’ deep, throaty growl. “Don’t think that just because you’re leaving tomorrow means you can slack off, Frost.”

  I laugh. As soon as I’d mentioned the party to Mr. Brent, he agreed to play along and make sure that Ollie didn’t leave the office early.

  By seven o’clock, the apartment is so crowded that you can’t turn around without elbowing someone in the stomach. I’m not surprised that so many people showed up for Ollie since he keeps in touch with almost everyone he’s ever met. Just the other day I caught him writing an email to Jeff Foster, an old chemistry lab partner from high school. And there’s Jeff now, standing next to the living room couch chatting with Tali, probably trying to get her number.

  I look at my watch and feel a few butterflies. Or it might be heartburn. I have got to stay away from the buffet table. “Ollie should be here any second,” I announce.

  “What about the banner, Roxy?” Emma asks, looking around the living room.

  Crap. I’ve totally forgotten about the banner. Emma drew this gorgeous banner that reads: ‘Congratulations Ollie! Good Luck in London!’ And I forgot to put it up.

  “He’s here!” Adam screams. I’d asked him to be on the lookout for Ollie coming down the street. “He’s just turned the corner.”

  Why is it that subway trains never break down and buses are always on time in situations like these?

  “Quick, Emma. Go downstairs and stall him.”

  Emma’s eyes are as wide as saucers. “What do I say?”

  “I don’t know. You’ll think of something.” I push her out into the hallway and close the door before she can say anything else.

  I stare at the window and hold my breath as Adam gives me the play-by-play. “He’s coming down the street. He’s right across from the building. He’s looking both ways before he crosses the street. He’s jaywalking. God, he looks amazing in that sweater. Has he been working out?”

  A few of Ollie’s co-workers climb up on chairs and finish stretching the banner across the living room just a few seconds before we hear Ollie’s footsteps coming down the hall. They stop in front of the door and everyone looks around for a place to hide even though there isn’t even a square inch of available space. We all stand where we are and wait for him to open the door.

  “SURPRISE!”

  Ollie stands in the doorway—looking even paler than usual—until Emma pushes him inside the apartment. A few people gather around him and pat him on the back. I catch his eye and he smiles at me from across the room.

  My mother likes to tell the story of how the first time I met Ollie, I cried and cried and wouldn’t stop until he left the room. I can’t confirm or deny the story because I was only a few hours old at the time. Our moms were perfect strangers until they shared a hospital room after Ollie and I were born. They started calling us the “twins” because we were born fifteen minutes apart. I was two days late and Ollie was two days early. They thought it would be cute to put both of us in the same crib. But I clearly did not appreciate having my personal space invaded by a scrawny boy. But over the years we became inseparable, as did our mothers. Ollie was the brother that my sisters and I never had and—after his mother died—he tagged along on every Rule family vacation and spent more time at our house than his own. And then we went off to school together and rented this apartment. Our apartment. Well, it’s my apartment now.

  After he’s done going around and greeting everyone, Ollie comes back to me and gives me a hug. “Roxy Rule, you are unbelievable.”

  “You really had no idea?” I ask, holding him at arm’s length and craning my neck to inspect his face for any signs of previous knowledge. The boy is a horrible liar and I can almost always tell when he’s hiding something.

  “I swear I had no clue until Emma tried to trip me as I was going up the stairs. And then she told me I couldn’t go up because you’d burned something in the oven and the apartment was filled with smoke and it might be toxic. That’s when I knew something was going on because there is no way my Roxy would burn anything in the oven.”

  We laugh as Emma joins us. “I asked you to stall him, not make him think we were on the verge of a nuclear meltdown.”

  “Is Rachel here yet?” Ollie asks, looking around the room. “I really need to talk to her.”

  I freeze. Oh fuck. I forgot to invite Ollie’s girlfriend.

  Chapter Two

  How could I forget to invite Rachel?

  “Oh, don’t worry,” I tell Ollie, trying to rid my face of any sign of panic. “I’m sure she’s on her way. In fact, let me go call her right now. Why don’t you go eat something?” Shoving Ollie in the general direction of the food, I make a mad dash for the kitchen. From the corner of my eye I see Ollie stuffing a chicken dumpling in his mouth. Good, he’s distracted by food.

  I thought of every detail. I made my friends walk around in the pouring rain for damn paper cups, I made two to-do lists ... and this is what I forget? My nemesis. I have no choice; I have to call her. I pick up my cell phone from the kitchen table and punch in her number a little too violently. I refuse to put her in my contact list. I know her number by heart now but still. It’s a matter of principle.

  It rings a few times before she answers. “Hello?”

  “Hi, Rachel. It’s Roxy.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “How are you?” I ask with a big, fake plastic smile on my face. I read somewhere that if you smile wide enough and for long enough, it will fool your brain into thinking you’re really happy. It’s not working so far.

  “Oh, I’m great, Roxy. I’m just super great.”

  “Listen,” I continue, widening my smile and forcing myself to sound as enthusiastic as possible. “We’re having a bit of a get-together for Ollie. You know, to wish him luck in London and everything.”

  “I know. How’s it going? Was Oliver surprised? I bet he was.” I can almost hear her smiling.

  I try to speak but can only utter sounds. “Ummmm. Ahhhhh. Errrrrr.”

  “Roxy, you told Daddy about the party. Didn’t you
think I’d find out?”

  It’s true. I did call Ollie’s boss yesterday but somehow, with everything else going on, I didn’t think of Rachel, his evil spawn. I can’t stand Rachel’s smugness; she thinks I didn’t invite her on purpose.

  I try to keep my voice steady. “I’m really sorry I didn’t call you earlier, Rachel. It must have slipped my mind. I had every intention of telling you about the party. I know it would make Ollie really happy if you were here.”

  There. I did it. Now I feel like I’m going to throw up.

  “I don’t know,” she drawls. “I have something really important to tell Oliver. I was hoping we could be alone together. Maybe I’ll just call him. Maybe I should hang up with you and do that right now.”

  Great. She wants me to beg. I wish I could just hang up, but noise from the party is drifting into the kitchen. Ollie is laughing. He has this rumble of a laugh that fills up a room and I can just picture him grinning from ear to ear on the other side of that door. Ollie is happy right now. And I need to keep it that way. Whatever it takes.

  I take a deep breath and step on what little pride I have left. “I’m very sorry I didn’t call you, Rachel. Ollie’s party wouldn’t be complete without you. Please come.”

  “Fine,” she sighs, surely disappointed that she can’t torture me longer. “I’ll be over in a few minutes. For Oliver’s sake, I’m going keep this little incident between us.”

  And then she hangs up. Just like that.

  If I had been talking on a regular phone with a cord, I would have slammed the receiver down and maybe it would have made me feel a little better. But now all I can do is poke the End Call button and set the phone back on the table. Somehow, the tiny beep doesn’t give me as much satisfaction as the slam. I lean against the counter, close my eyes, and try to enjoy a few seconds of peace and quiet. I’m suddenly so tired I wish everyone would just leave so I could get out of these heels and tight clothes and crawl into bed. I’ve worked so hard for this day and now Ethan might not show up and I had to beg Rachel...