One To Watch(47)

Ruby:

I don’t know about that. Doesn’t she strike you as not totally even wanting to get married? She doesn’t seem like the dead-eyed Pinterest girls who treat weddings like the end-all goal of one’s existence.



Cat:

Absolutely—I think that’s why I like her so much. But at the same time it’s like, hey, you know you came on this show to find a husband, right? Don’t let me down, Bea!



Ruby:

Exactly! Sacrifice your future at the altar of my enjoyment!



Cat:

She just walks down the aisle to marry some horrible jerk, sobbing, “Are you not entertained?”



Ruby:

Man, I’d watch the shit out of that.



Cat:

A thousand percent agree. And speaking of shit-watching, are you worried about what your pet is doing in your home all day while you’re at work? PupperCam is the service that allows you to watch your pet, say hi to them over a speaker, and even distribute treats to let them know you’re there with them, even when you’re gone.



Ruby:

Wow, just like my nana said she would be right before she died.



Cat:

If PupperCam worked from the afterlife, I’m sure it would be your nana’s preferred means to send you treats from heaven.



Ruby:

Thanks, Nana! We’ll be back right after this.





Bea was a senior in high school when her oldest brother, Jon, got engaged. Carol was his high school sweetheart; she followed him and his football scholarship to Kent State. Bea remembered the Thanksgiving when they told the family they were getting married—the whole group exploded into shouts and hugs and Bob dug a dusty bottle of whiskey out of a very tall cabinet and everyone did celebratory shots, even Bea.

Tim’s college girlfriend, Tina, was there, and Bea saw her eyes flash with envy while Carol and Jon posed for pictures, Carol laughing and showing off her ring. Bea hoped her own jealousy was better concealed. Seeing Jon and Carol together, their blinding smiles, the way they held hands under the table during dinner, made Bea so heartsick it caused her physical pain. She wanted that feeling so profoundly, and was nearly equally certain she’d never have it. Less than a year later, Tim and Tina were engaged too. If Carol ever thought that Tina was deliberately trying to steal her thunder (as Bea certainly did), she was too gracious to say so. Bea was a bridesmaid in both weddings, navy satin and peach chiffon, a cacophony of unflattering cuts and unforgiving fabrics that caused Bea to vow never to have bridesmaids of her own.

For years at Easter and Thanksgiving and Christmas, Bea and her youngest brother, Duncan, were a team, rolling their eyes at the familial antics of their older siblings and their wives—and, soon after, babies.

“Truly kill me if that’s ever my life,” Duncan whispered during an unbearably loud Easter brunch that featured the colicky screams of one infant, the biblical spit-up of another, and the full-tilt meltdown of a toddler.

“Same,” Bea agreed, deeply thankful to have at least one ally at family gatherings where she increasingly felt like a stranger.

In their mid-twenties, though, Duncan met Julia—another designer at the firm in Columbus where they both worked. The first time Bea met her, she knew it was all over. With Julia’s long brown hair and cat-eye glasses and red lipstick, she was so funny and smart and effortlessly cool, and Duncan had changed so much—where before he was detached and sardonic, now he was alert and attentive.

Duncan and Julia got married three years later, and they had their first baby in December; Bea met their newborn daughter this past Christmas, the first family gathering where all three of her brothers had children.

That Christmas morning, fewer than three months ago, while everyone gathered in pajamas to open presents, Bea had closed her eyes and let herself imagine Ray beside her, gently rubbing her back as the assorted kids ran around in total mayhem. She traveled back in time and superimposed him into every family memory: Ray laughing at her terrible dresses at Jon’s and Tim’s weddings, murmuring in her ear that he couldn’t wait to rip them off her; Ray holding her and gently swaying during Duncan and Julia’s first dance; a teenage Ray, five years younger than she’d ever known him, squeezing her hand while Jon and Carol posed for happy photos, saying, Don’t worry, Bea. Someday, that’ll be us.

It was the worst Christmas Bea could remember.

And now, twelve weeks later, never having brought a boyfriend home in her life, Bea was on a plane to Columbus accompanied by ten men, a mobile production crew, a literal truckload of gear, and, soon enough, the prying eyes of several million Americans.

She wasn’t worried about her family being tough on her suitors—frankly, she’d probably find it satisfying if they were. But if her mother actually liked any of these guys, Bea would never hear the end of it. “Why couldn’t you make things work with that nice Frenchman? Or what about that professor? He was so charming, so smart!”

Yes, Mom, I was unbelievably charmed when the thought of kissing me so disgusted him that he physically jerked away from me. What a long and happy life we’ll have together.

It still stung to think of Asher at the museum, how stupidly caught up in the moment she’d been, how much she’d believed that he was legitimately interested in her, and vice versa. He was probably trying to convince himself he was evolved enough to be attracted to a fat woman, but when the moment arrived, he couldn’t actually bring himself to kiss her. Bea had met this type plenty of times, sat through any number of Tinder dates with some guy who was obviously mentally weighing how badly he wanted to get laid (this type of man assumed, just as Marco had, that a woman who looked like Bea would say yes and be grateful for any sex they offered). These dates always ended the same way: a strained expression, a stilted handshake or hug or peck on the cheek, an immovable sense on Bea’s part that what she felt hadn’t mattered at all.