Page 36 of Like It's 1999

“What are you talking about?” Kate’s obviously as confused as I was.

Alice jabs a finger at me. “He’s. Married.”

“No, I’m not.”

She wheels on me, practically stomping her feet. “Yes, you are.”

“I think I’d know,” I sputter.

“Wait.” She turns to Kate. “He’s not?”

“No, dummy. He’s divorced.”

I hold up a hand, Scout’s honor style. “Two years ago.”

Hands on hips, she juts her chin at my fingers. “Your hand says three, but your mouth says two. Are you not sure?”

I point to my hand. “That’s Scout’s honor. It means I promise.”

She just narrows her eyes at me.

“It’s been two years and three months since I signed the papers.”

“Well, why didn’t you say something?”

“I thought Kate told you.”

She wheels on her friend. “Yeah. Whydidn’tyou tell me?”

Kate dodges away. “I thought you knew.”

She points at me. “I haven’t seen him for five years!”

“Yeah, but you always brag about how you can find out things on that internet thing… Linus? Naxos?”

Alice rolls her eyes. “Lycos or LexisNexis.”

“Hey, my old firm funded Lycos. It was doing so great, but now that damn Ask Jeeves is getting a lot of traction.”

“As much as the analyst in me would love to dive into this,” Kate says, “my point is: I thought you knew that Steve is definitely not married.” She raises a brow at me. “And neither is she, just to be clear.” After a couple beats of silence, she whispers, “See you later. I, uh… have funds to raise.”

Once we’re alone I reach for Alice’s hand, but she whips it behind her back. “We are still problematic. I… break relationships.”

I keep my hand out and dig deep in my quote bank. “Ever since I was a bridesmaid with you, ‘it’s like I’ve taken love heroin and you’re the only fix I can’… ugh. That doesn’t work.” I rub my free hand over my face. “Okay. Um. Something else fromSixteen Candles? Uh… ‘I just want somebody to love who isn’t psycho.’ Dammit. I can’t remember anything good.”

She sighs, and I can’t tell if she’s about to laugh or cry.

“Oh, wait. I’ve got it. I’m just a guy, standing in front of a girl, asking her to love him.Notting Hill. Sort of.”

She stares at my open palm for another few excruciating moments, but instead of taking it, she roots through her shoulder bag. Just when it’s getting awkward, she places a folded-up piece of paper in my hand—heavyweight paper with a font I recognize. Unfolding the wedding program, I ask, “You kept yours too?”

Her expression wistful, she whispers, “That was such a long time ago. Like, lifetimes ago.”

I nod slowly. “We were so innocent.”

“Well, in some ways.” Her cackle is anything but innocent but it’s followed by a deep sigh. “For real, though, Steve, marriage is not for me.”

“I get it.” I study the program for a few minutes, letting memories of that month with Alice play through my mind. Then, as sound from another party sifts into my ears, something occurs to me. “You know what? We never danced at Kate’s wedding.”

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