Just One of the Guys(104)

“Lucia,” I ask hesitantly, “how are you doing about Teddy Bear and all that?”

“Fine!” she snaps. “I’m fine, okay?”

“Are you ready to start dating again, do you think?”

She hesitates, her frown evaporating. “Why?”

“Let me put it this way. Do you want to have kids?”

“Two,” she whispers back, catching my drift. “A boy and a girl. Hopefully in that order.”

Holy crap. I smile. “Mind if I fix you up with a surgeon?”

Because let’s face it. I didn’t exactly break Ryan Darling’s heart. I have a feeling that Lucia and Ryan meeting could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

I decide not to tell anyone in my family about breaking it off with Ryan until after Mom’s wedding. In truth, I’m lying low. If Matt suspects something, he’s keeping his mouth shut. Or he just doesn’t notice, too wrapped up in Angela and planning his college courses to notice his sister’s love life (or lack thereof). I cover by going out with the gang from work a couple of times, switching Ernesto’s rowing lessons to the evening, seeing a couple of movies by myself, with only a silo of popcorn for company. I take my dad out to dinner, but we go up to Lake Champlain so I don’t have to run into anyone from town.

Oddly enough, now that I’m single once again with no prospects for husband in sight, I feel more relaxed. Happier, even, for some reason. I guess I’ve found that I’d rather be alone than with the wrong person. Even if the right person is with someone else.

I avoid Emo’s. I avoid the firehouse. I really don’t want to see Trevor just yet.

I ask my mother if she’d like me to stay with her the last few days before the big day.

“Oh, honey, that would be great.” She smiles. “I’ve hardly seen you! Yes, by all means.”

And so, two nights before her wedding, she and I are sitting in the living room of my childhood, drinking cheap pinot grigio and having a rather wonderful time. Buttercup is asleep on my old bed; even from down the hall, we can hear her snoring.

“You really love that dog, don’t you?” Mom asks.

“Someone has to,” I answer. I study the living room walls…there are dozens of pictures of us, the O’Neill kids and grandkids, front teeth missing, christenings, first communions, graduations, baseball, basketball, crew, hiking, skiing, camping, action shots ordered from the paper, Matt and the little old couple he helped rescue from a house fire. Jack getting the Medal of Honor. Lucky and his fellow bomb squaddies when they defused a homemade and very powerful bomb from a high school. Mark and the kitty-cat montage.

And Dad. He’s everywhere, smiling, blue eyes gleaming, abundantly happy in every single picture.

“Where’s your wedding picture?” I ask, noting a blank spot on the wall.

Mom sighs. “In the closet.”

I swallow. “Can I have it?” I ask quietly.

“Of course.” She says no more, just takes another sip of her wine.

“Mom?” I venture.

“Not another lecture, honey,” she says, gazing out the window at the dark street.

“No, no.” I pause. “Ryan and I called it off, Mom.”

Her eyes flick back to me, unsurprised. “I thought so. You haven’t mentioned him for days. Why, honey?”

“Well, I just…we didn’t…Trevor. That’s why.”

She sets her wine glass on the table next to her chair. “What did he do?” she says, an ominous hint of Holy Roman Inquisitor in her voice.

“Not a thing,” I lie. My eyes fill, however, and Mom doesn’t miss it. “I just love him, Mom. Even if he doesn’t quite feel the same way.”

“Quite?”

“Well, I know he cares about me and all that crap, but he doesn’t want a relationship. With me, anyway. Too much to lose.”

“So you tossed over a perfectly good fiancé for nothing, honey?”

I snort. “Yes. I’d rather be alone than with someone who didn’t…measure up.” I wipe my eyes. “Don’t say anything to anyone just yet, okay?”

She nods, then goes into the kitchen and returns with the wine bottle. “Well, whatever. I think you’re brave, Chastity, forging out on your own. All or nothing. Do or die. By the way, I heard about that car accident when you were so calm. Good for you, honey! I’m so proud of you.”

“Thanks, Mom.” I take a slug of wine, and maybe the alcohol gives me the courage to say something once more, just for the record. “You don’t have to marry Harry, you know. Dad will love you till the day he dies.”

“In his own way, yes,” she says bitterly, then she starts to cry, too. “Oh, isn’t this fun? I’m so glad you came over,” she sobs, and I laugh wetly and go over to hug her.

“Let’s run off to Vegas, just us girls,” I suggest, and she gives me an affectionate swat.

“I’m going to be very happy with Harry,” she proclaims. “Guess what I’m giving him for a wedding present?”

“A new prostate?” I suggest.

“No, you bad girl. The Joy of Sex.”

I blanch. “Now who’s the bad girl, hm? Let’s change the subject! Isn’t The Office on tonight?”