CHAPTER 45
I had talked with Ryan every night, but the conversations were short and, for the most part, perfunctory. Work was fine, he said. He was getting a cold. I was busy with the shop. Things were going well and my grandmother was healing nicely. Had we really gotten this dull?
I'd started dreading the calls, but after Jesse's and my grandmother's veiled advice, I needed to hear Ryan's voice, so as soon as the quilters left, I went upstairs. He sounded tired from a long day at work but otherwise the same. It was getting confusing-liking Ryan's familiarity, but also Jesse's new stories and way of looking at the world. Love in the fairy tales wasn't like this. You met, fell in love, and lived happily ever after. You didn't kiss the local bad boy or share chocolate cake with the soft-spoken widower. I wished I could just say all of this to Ryan, but I knew any attempt would be met with the same anger and pain that Ryan had encountered when he tried to talk to me the night he broke the engagement. Instead I chatted about the quilt and he talked about the office. We were on the phone for about ten minutes of dull, everyday talk when Ryan brought up the subject we'd been avoiding.
'We need to talk about the wedding,' he said.
'What about it?'
'If we're going to keep the same date, then you have to send out the invitations.'
'I can't remember where I packed them,' I told him.
'Well, look.'
'What's the rush?'
'Are you kidding me?' an exasperated Ryan practically shouted into the phone. 'What is with you? You want to get married, don't you?'
I hesitated. 'Yes,' I said. I didn't know what I wanted. I just knew I didn't want to fight about it.
I could hear Ryan's voice soften. 'I know things are hard for you right now, but I'm really proud of you for doing this,' he said, changing the subject, 'helping your grandmother this way.'
'Thanks.'
'It's hard for me too, you know.'
'I know.'
'I walked past the skating rink in Central Park yesterday. Do you remember?' I did remember. On our third date Ryan had taken me there and we spent an hour skating and falling before giving up and taking a hansom cab ride through the park.
'It was pretty hokey,' I laughed.
He laughed too. 'You loved it.' I did love it. 'I was trying to impress you with how romantic I could be.'
'You were?' I thought about how I felt with him that night, nervous and excited and almost in love. 'I thought you were so smooth you didn't need to impress me.'
'I want to keep impressing you, and I feel like I've fallen down on the job lately.'
'It's okay,' I said softly. 'We can't spend our lives on a third date.'
'But you still love me?' he asked.
'I still love you,' I said. I did love him, and maybe that was reason enough not to just throw things away, not if they could be repaired.
'Well, then, look for the invitations.'
'I will. First thing tomorrow.'
By four the next afternoon I hadn't looked, so after spending the day at the shop, I dragged myself to the bedroom and began opening the boxes from my apartment.
I found a CD I'd been looking for and my favorite pair of socks, but I almost missed the invitations until I opened the last box. The one containing summer clothes and other items I didn't think I'd need for a while.
I pulled out the dark blue box of invitations and opened it. Inside were dozens of beautifully printed cards waiting to be addressed and stamped. I stared at them for a long while, unsure of what to do. But I had been right when I spoke to Ryan, you can't live your life on a third date. Maybe the excitement of standing near Jesse or kissing Marc was just the thrill you have at the start of something, whether it's a quilt or a relationship. But excitement has to give way to work, and if I wasn't willing to give up on Ryan, and I wasn't, then I had to be willing to try.
I took the invitations downstairs, intent on spreading them out on the dining room table to work. But downstairs was still quilt central. Nancy was showing a new line of Indian-inspired fabrics to Eleanor and they were debating which of the fabrics to order. One woman was pulling out bolt after bolt of fabric while two other women were choosing fat quarters from a large basket.
'Shop still open?' I asked. 'I thought you closed at four.'
'We are.' Eleanor looked up. 'What's that in your hands?'
'The wedding invitations. I promised Ryan I'd get them in the mail by Monday.' I plopped down next to my grandmother at the dining room table.
Just as Eleanor opened her mouth to speak, a woman walked over. 'Excuse me,' said the woman with half a dozen bolts under arm, 'I'm having a little trouble here.'
The woman dropped the bolts on the dining room table and held up a quilting magazine. Nancy walked up behind the woman and offered her assistance, I assume to give Eleanor and me a chance to talk. But I wasn't interested. I preferred to watch Nancy and the customer than talk about the sudden appearance of wedding invitations. It seemed that the woman wanted to make the quilt in the magazine, but only if she could find the exact fabrics that were in the picture. Nancy patiently explained that this wasn't likely, but something very similar was sure to be here. I watched her maneuver through the room, pulling fabric after fabric for a full twenty minutes until the woman was satisfied. All the while Nancy smiled.
But as soon as she left, Nancy shook her head. 'I wish people had a little more faith in their imaginations,' she sighed. 'It's a beautiful quilt in that magazine, but instead of duplicating it, she could have chosen her own colors. People are so afraid of making their own choices that they end up with something that isn't really theirs. I'm not putting it down, mind you,' Nancy said to me, 'I've done it myself. But there is something to blazing your own trail.' She smiled a little and moved over to help the women picking fat quarters.
I looked down at my box of invitations. The pretty, simple lettering that looked like a thousand other wedding invitations. 'Better get to it,' I said to no one in particular, as Eleanor was playing with the computer and Nancy was busy with customers. 'I can't believe these will be in the mail.'
'Neither can I.' Eleanor gave me a slightly confused smile and I left the room to look for a quiet place to work.
I sat in the kitchen and placed envelopes, invitations and RSVP cards in separate piles. I took each envelope and wrote the name and address of each friend or family member invited. It didn't take long before I got to the end of the list, but I realized there were a few people missing. I wrote the names of each of the women from the quilt club on an envelope to be hand-delivered. Then I stared at a blank envelope. 'What the hell?' I said to myself. I wrote Jesse Dewalt on it.
CHAPTER 46
On Monday I took my pile of invitations with me to the shop. Tom had the place freshly painted in a soft white that made it look very clean but a little sterile.
'Strict instructions from your grandmother,' he said when I commented on the color. 'She doesn't want anything to interfere with the colors of the fabrics and the quilts.'
'What if we just did one wall? Something in a really neutral tone. Maybe behind the cash register. With the window there, there's hardly any wall anyway. She can't object.'
'Your funeral,' he said. 'Pick up the paint and I'll do it.'
