On the Rocks(74)

“What is it with girls and this movie?” he asked with genuine interest as he shifted his weight to turn toward me. “Every girl I know has seen it about a thousand times and is still perfectly content to watch it every single time it’s on. It must be like how geeks feel about Star Trek.”

“We prefer the term ‘Trekkie.’ Thanks.”

“You were a space geek? I should’ve known. I was more of a Star Wars guy, for obvious reasons. I bet you rocked some nice Princess Leia braids.”

“Nah. Princess Leia was a whore. Everyone knows that.”

He laughed. “Seriously, though. What’s with the female obsession with this movie?”

“I don’t know,” I said as I genuinely thought about it. “I guess it’s like the ultimate Cinderella story.”

Yes. I did just hear the words that came out of my mouth. I hate myself.

“It’s about a hooker who keeps her rent money in her toilet tank. Are you mental?”

“No, it’s not really about her being a hooker. It’s about a fairy tale. She says so in the movie. It’s about being rescued, and overcoming obstacles, and meeting Prince Charming. It’s about hope and about finding love in strange places. It probably doesn’t seem like it on the surface, but it is.” I sighed. “You know what they say: when you’re not looking, you’ll find it. This is the quintessential example of that.”

“Well, whatever. I don’t care, really. I like the movie. Mostly because Julia Roberts is a complete babe.”

He took our empty glasses off the table and returned to the kitchen to whip up another batch of what was admittedly a damn good margarita, as “King of Wishful Thinking” played over the opening credits. Wishful thinking indeed.

“So, can I ask you a question?” he asked as he returned with our refills and resumed his position on the opposite end of the couch.

“Sure.”

“What happened with the guy, what’s his name? Biff?”

“His name’s Ben. And you knew that,” I growled.

“Seriously, the mystery of what happened to you guys is killing me. Why did you guys break up? Just tell me.”

I paused before I spoke, but the wedding had made me more self-reflective than usual, and the truth was, I wanted to talk. I was tired of carrying it around with me. So very, very tired. “I know it sounds crazy, but I swear to God I don’t even really know. That’s the worst part, the fact that he left me so utterly confused.”

“I’m not defending the guy, but people break up with their girlfriends in all sorts of weird ways. We aren’t really into the emotional nonsense, you know?”

I hesitated before I said it, not sure if I wanted to let Bobby into this part of my life. What was I now, a pushover for a guy with a sense of humor and a margarita kit?

Yup.

“Fine. You win. The thing is, I wasn’t his girlfriend,” I said as I stared at him, waiting for my words to register.

“I don’t get it,” he said. So much for that.

“He was my fiancé,” I admitted, cringing from having to say that out loud.

“Whoa. Get the f*ck out of here. You were engaged to that guy?” The look on Bobby’s face was one I won’t forget for as long as I live. It was a combination of his usual impishness, mixed with shock, awe, and I think a little regret that he had been pushing me so hard to tell him what happened. I quite enjoyed seeing it.

“Was. Briefly. Yes.”

“I honestly don’t know what to say about this.”

“That makes you no different than anyone else in my life. There’s nothing to say.”

“I think you should be happy about it. He doesn’t even live here anymore.”

“I know. I’m finally at the point where I’m okay with everything,” I said as I yawned and curled into a ball in the corner of the couch. My eyes were heavy.

“I know you don’t want to talk about it, but let me just add that talking to him won’t help you move on. Maybe that’s why you’ve been having a hard time with your little dating project. You can go out with as many guys as you want, but if your head’s not in the game, it’s just a waste of time. He’s probably got a full-blown girlfriend out there already and is just stringing you along for if and when he has to come back east. You know, some girl who trims cacti for a living or something. Who knows? But you don’t deserve that.”

I barely heard the last part, or the conversation that Viv has with the salesgirls in the snobby store when she tells them that they made a big mistake (big, huge!) not waiting on her. I fell asleep with the lights and the TV on, and with Bobby nestled in the corner of the couch at my feet.

Like a dog.

I woke at 10:30 A.M. with multiple layers of wedding makeup smeared all over my face and, sadly, all over my couch cushions. The TV was off, the glasses were gone, and so was Bobby. I rubbed my hand against my forehead to brush the hair out of my eyes and felt something odd. I reached up and removed a blue Post-it note taken from a pad I kept in my kitchen. I examined it.

You fell asleep and missed the part where a smoking hot Vivian in the black dress shoots the snail across the restaurant. One of the best parts. Hope you slept well. And p.s. you snore.

Not exactly a love letter, but it was still written on actual paper before he stuck it to my forehead. It was the first handwritten communication I had received from a guy in a very, very long time. Maybe, truth be told, ever.