“You’re taking it well, that’s all I can say. It sort of worries me.” Lilly pulls over to the side of the road. “Do you want a coffee or something?”
I look down at my sweats. “I don’t have any money.”
“I’ll buy you a coffee, Morgan. It’s the least I can do.”
I shake my head, and she starts the car again. “I remember when you had nothing, Lilly, and you did okay. You even got a great guy in the process. This is the first day in the rest of my life–which hopefully will not be spent in business suits for countless lawsuits. Isn’t it just my luck that
Court TV
might follow me, and I have to wear business suits with cheap shoes.”
“You don’t have to wear the cheap shoes anymore. I realized that was true torture for you.” Lilly is quiet for a moment, then she inhales a deep breath. “I’ll make you a business suit that gets you noticed.”
I grin from ear to ear. “See? A good friend knows your weaknesses.”
“A good friend doesn’t let a good friend go on national TV with average business suits. Do you think they’ll really tape it?”
“I doubt it. What could possibly be of interest to people?’
“Well, there’s your mother.”
“Yeah, there’s that. Better make the suit just in case.”
“I have a great one I’m thinking of already.” Then Lilly says, “Okay, back to me. Max wants me to meet his parents.”
“The horror! And this bothers you why?”
“They’re apparently not happy that I’m Christian.”
“Max is Christian as well.”
“They’re not happy about that either,” Lilly explains.
“So come meet Gwen first, and you’ll count your lucky stars. Animal-print sofas, Lilly. I just know it.”
“I’m all about avoiding the conflict, Morgan.”
But really, she’s not. Lilly was born conflicted, and there’s a dash of pit bull in her somewhere. “
I’m
all about avoiding conflict, so please spare me the lecture. You’re not avoiding conflict, you’re only prolonging it. You either have it out with his mother, or he leaves. Those are your options. Do you have any ambition whatsoever when it comes to a man in your life?”
Lilly shakes her head, “Not really, no. But I’m afraid this time, I have no choice.”
“The right guy will make you fight tooth and nail.”
“See, Morgan, you watch too many Danielle Steele movies. Life doesn’t work that way. You date, you find out he’s a loser and why, and you break up.”
“The Gospel according to Lilly. How exactly is Max a loser?” This I gotta hear.
“It’s true, isn’t it? Not that Max is a loser, but that finding out the truth is heartbreaking. It’s true of you. Morgan, you’re just going to freak when I tell you what I did. Let’s just say I have no right to be lecturing.”
“Well, welcome to my world. I’ll have to make sure you get the password.” I cross my arms and lean against the seat as we circle Lilly’s block for parking. “You know, we haven’t learned a thing since we left Stanford. We were dateless then, and we’re dateless now. Ten years, and we’re in the same place. Me, thinking Prince Charming will rescue me, and you thinking Prince Charming needs to be beaten to a pulp for what men did to your family. And then there’s Poppy, oblivious to the fact that men actually roam the planet. Maybe it’s us. Maybe we need a new set of friends. You know, upgrade.”
“Who would put up with us?” Lilly asks.
“Good point.”
“Max is a good man, there’s no getting around it, and he’s got me hook, line, and sinker. But I’ve heard about women who marry into families where they aren’t wanted. What would I know about putting on a dinner party? Or hosting a hotel event? I was meant to be an electrician’s wife or something.”
“Or maybe a television writer’s?”
“If that’s all he did, sure. But it’s that heir thing. Gets me every time. For once, I think I’m in deeper than I could have imagined.”
I sigh. “I just don’t get you, Lilly. You’d walk across hot coals for your work, but you’re not willing to walk across the street for a good man like Max. What is wrong with you?”
“One of the mysteries of the universe, I suppose.”
Lilly once told me she was the anti-Morgan, and I think that’s true. I’d march right in there, put on my best smile, and charm Max’s mom like a snake—maybe even bring a few baubles from my dad’s store—but I wouldn’t let a man like Max get away. Not for the likes of what might be. I suppose that’s because I’m well versed in what’s out there on the rack. Max is definitely couture.
“Let’s go to the spa this weekend, Lilly.”
“We were just there.”
“I know, but I have an idea. It’s a curse of sorts on the three of us. We have to break it.”
“Now that’s scriptural.”
“No, you’re not getting what I mean. Please, Lilly.”
“I thought you were broke.”
“You’ll spot me.”
Lilly laughs as we get out and lock the Slob (as though it’s in any danger). She grabs my bag and hoists it over her shoulder. “I wonder who will follow us this weekend.”
“For being a complete loser, people sure are interested in me. You have to give me a little credit. I’m like Angelina Jolie without the kids or Brad Pitt.”
We both giggle and climb the stairs to the loft. She, wondering how to avoid her love, and me wondering why the image of washboard abs keeps appearing when I really should be thinking about how to avoid jail time.
I
started playing poor to win this bet with my friends, and granted, it was only this weekend I made said bet, but I’m feeling over it already. I’m thinking independence is overrated right now. Had I an inkling that I’d be in court, I would have never agreed to leave my clothing. I can just see myself in one of Lilly’s Goodwill numbers, stating, “I’m innocent, your honor! But it’s true. These are horrific clothes, and they should have never entered the light of day. I’m guilty of bad clothing!”
Perhaps that’s a bit dramatic, but I just don’t know what the playbook is here. Take Poppy. She’s famous for having beautiful red hair. What if someone suddenly stripped it away. How would she cope? Is being wealthy any different? It’s not just about being rich; it’s about being who I am.
I thought I’d learn to live without Daddy, but I never actually envisioned I’d have to live without his money.
And I probably won’t. Daddy may be a gambler, but he’s greedy, too, and somewhere out there, he has briefcases of cash just like in the movies. I’m certain of it. Absolutely positive.
Sort of.
I remind myself he’s about to remodel the loft, and that’s a million-dollar project at the very least. Then I take in a deep, cleansing breath and force the horrible vision of Gwen’s decorating from my mind.
Waking up without a view is daunting. I see . . . walls. The consistent, berating horns of the freeway offer no respite from the world. It’s a wonder Lilly doesn’t head to the spa every weekend! Oh wait, that’s me who does that.
I’m trying to concentrate on my morning devotion; it’s been a long time since I bothered to spend any time with God. I mean, I figured He knew where to find me, but I suppose without Him, Andy knew where to find me, too. My Bible verse for the day is about being content in all circumstances. And I’m sitting on this futon thinking okay, yes, I can do this. I can be content. It’s not about the four C’s of diamonds or perceived perfection; I know that now. I have complete clarity. Vision, even. I am one with my very loud universe.
“I’m content,” I say aloud. “And I’m lying on a lumpy futon listening to traffic without any idea of where the Bay is from here. How cool is this?”
“You might want to add you’re not the least bit prideful, either.” I nearly jump out of my skin at Lilly’s voice. I turn to see her putting on one of her hats that she uses to mat her hair down to her head. “Get over yourself. You’re not homeless, are you? You’re in a San Francisco loft that if remodeled would be worth a fortune. Maybe we could hire Gwen?”
“I thought you went in to work already.”
“I was up at Nate’s getting coffee.”
“What’s up with that, anyway? Why are you always hanging out with him and Kim like a third wheel? I can’t even imagine you can handle the smell.” I snap my Bible shut as the combination of nagging and looking over the words simply doesn’t feel right. “Why don’t you avoid those two and buy your own espresso machine? It would be far less costly than schlepping up there everyday.”
She thinks on this for a minute, sipping her coffee slowly and loudly. “I have no clue.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Habit, I guess. It’s good coffee,” she shrugs. “Really rich espresso even when he makes decaf for me.”
“How come you never hang out with your church group?” I ask, knowing full well I don’t actually hang out with mine, either. It’s something about that title: “Single.” For me, it just feels wrong. I didn’t hang out with all my loser boyfriends hoping for better, for the title of “Single.” I should at least get the title “Actively in Pursuit” or “Working at It.”
“I always feel sort of left out there.” Lilly sips her coffee again. “They’re all brilliant and have enough money to go out to dinner all the time.”
“You do now.”
“I know, but like I said, habit. I’m in the habit of being poor, and you could learn a thing or two from me.”
“I surely could.”
“I don’t go often enough, I guess. To the singles group,” she clarifies for me. “It feels like I’m the new kid who just moved into town. I had enough of that as a child, having a nana instead of a mother.”
I allow these words to wash over me. “You know, I wonder if everyone feels that way.”
“I doubt it. I think we have issues, Morgan. I would have thought if I could have a package like yours, my troubles would be over, but it’s not true. You’re just as messed up as me.”
“Well, that’s the truth.”
“I think it’s because the church looks at marriage as the goal. That was never my goal.”
“Clearly,” I say to Lilly, wondering why on earth she can’t get past her fear of commitment. I mean, I should have a fear of commitment. What does Lilly have on me? I think the difference is I hold out hope. I think God has placed a man on this earth who will love me for who I am. Lilly already has one and therefore takes him for granted.
Lilly sets her coffee down and dons a serious look that is most unlike her. “Max is the one. I just hope I can convince his mother of that,” she whispers, looking up towards the windows. She’s all drama. Getting up, I find a bottle of dishwashing soap and hand it to her.
“What’s this for?”
“It’s our Oscar for Best Performance in a Drama. Have you seen the way he looks at you?”
She directs her gaze straight at me. “No, really. He’s the right man for me. Things are just complicated, Morgan. I don’t know quite how to explain it to you.”
“You’re thirty. I believe that’s past the standard age for your nana. I believe the word
spinster
had been muttered, in fact.”
“What does my nana know? She was a widow at my age.”
“She knows she lived her life without a husband and hopes for something different for you. She also knows Max pretty well, and loves the man. What more do you need? Besides, he’s the one . . . just because you’re afraid to meet his mother.”
She shakes her head. “You don’t know what you’re arguing. Things are complicated. We need to work them out. Someday, I’ll explain it.”
“I have time,” I say, stating the obvious. I know Lilly’s had her fears; with a very particular nana, she was always afraid to make any type of mistake. That’s why leaving finance for design was such a huge leap of faith. But if I had to leap, please, let there be a man like Max on the other side of the chasm. Because, baby, I’d so rather go over the ledge knowing I tried.
“My nana told me to marry a man who could take care of me and who was smarter than me because it’s nearly impossible to respect a man otherwise. And the Bible commands
us to respect the man.” Lilly’s nodding her head, as if all this sounds completely brilliant.
“And you don’t respect Max?”
She smiles to herself. “I do. More than I thought possible.”
“Lilly? You’re not making any sense. I think the Lysol has gotten the best of your brain cells. Maybe you should go back upstairs and get some caffeinated coffee.”
“There’s that whole heir thing. Don’t let the name fool you—my nana raised me Italian. I don’t know anything about being classy. But I can make a mean bowl of spaghetti.”
I start to laugh. “You’re kidding me, right? Sophia Loren is classy.”
“Only because she’s older. She was kinda trashy when she was younger. There was all that talk of affairs, lack of clothes in photo shoots. . . .”
“I am not going to argue Sophia Loren. If you want to be classless, you go right ahead, but you can’t blame your heritage. Or Sophia Loren.”
“I don’t even know the right fork to use in a fancy restaurant, Morgan. I know how to make really good homemade ravioli, and I own a thirty-year-old piece of starter for sourdough. Otherwise, I’ve got nothing. Something tells me that Max’s mother would want to throw anything old like that away. What if she wants to throw me away?”
“How does it make you incompatible? They live in Florida.”
Lilly’s expression falters. “She’ll hate the way I dress her grandkids.”
“So I’ll dress them when she comes around or you have pictures taken.”
“He’s a good man,” Lilly continues. “He’s gorgeous, smart, secure, good to my nana—I’d do everything the same.”
“And you love him, Lilly. Don’t forget that part. You sound like you’re talking about an interest-free loan, not the man you love. Not everything is practical.”
“I’m comfortable here. At Max’s, I look at his granite countertops and I think,
I can’t possibly keep these clean
, but I know that’s my future. He’s not moving in here.”
“So you’ll hire a maid.”
“I don’t want to become everything I despised at Stanford. I didn’t want to marry money, Morgan. Is that so hard to understand? There’s something romantic about struggling together.”
“You think so? You’re not marrying money. You’re marrying Max. Would you rather the money was all at risk for him? That his father had put him in some type of tax scheme?”