Page 63 of Breaking Emily's Rules
“Thank you,” I said, pulling my dress down.
At least Nika looked matronly tonight, wearing a white tent of a dress that probably gave enough room for her bump. Unfortunately, she was glowing. “Thank you for coming.”
“Yes, thank you,” Greg added, taking Nika’s hand.
How are the hemorrhoids, Nika? Oh, never mind, one of them is sitting right next to you.
The waiter interrupted, at my side with a wineglass. “From the gentleman seated behind you.”
I turned to see a young man smiling in my direction. “Isn’t that nice.”
I mouthed a thank you in his direction and held up the glass in a silent toast. I couldn’t drink and drive, but maybe a sip wouldn’t hurt. Especially since I wanted an entire bottle at the moment.
“You look beautiful,” Nika said.
“That dress is something else,” Greg said with a sour expression.
Score one for me. No doubt he remembered the dress. “I haven’t worn it in a while. But to be honest, it’s no longer a good fit. Why am I here, Greg?”
“We want your forgiveness. Both Nika and I do.” He turned to Nika, who nodded. “My psychiatrist says I won’t be able to move on until you forgive me. Us.”
Great. Just great.
“Okay, so you’re getting married, having a babyandyou want my forgiveness? Isn’t that a little greedy?”
“Emily, you upset baby.” Nika glanced at her stomach and patted it with one hand. She sniffed and swiped at her dry eyes.Faker. “If I’m having good healthy baby, must make peace. Doctor says so. Right, honey bunches?”
Greg nodded. “What happened wasn’t right, and we know that. How can anyone’s happiness begin based on someone else’s pain?”
“I am shamed,” Ms. Waterworks said, her shoulders shaking.
I was about to tell her she ought to be when Greg set down his water glass and put a protective arm around Nika. “It’s okay.”
Even a waiter nearby filling water glasses pulled out a folded handkerchief and handed it to Nika. This was not going well. Couldn’t the jilted fiancée get a little sympathy in this room?
“Don’t cry,” I ordered.
That’s not fair. I should be the one crying. I don’t have a fiancé, and I certainly don’t have a bun in the oven.
“I betray my friend,” Nika said through her sniffles. “My only American friend.”
I took another sip of the Chardonnay, noting the rim of the glass was now wearing some of my she-devil lipstick.
“Emily doesn’t have a hateful bone in her body. She isn’t shaming you, honey bunch,” Greg said with a moony-eyed look.
Wait till I get going, I wanted to say, but I took another glance at Greg. He had a helpless lovesick teenager look on his face. Had he ever looked at me like that? He’d often said sweet and loving things like “you’re way out of my league” and “how did I ever wind up with you?” But when it came to “I love you,” Greg often tripped over his words. I had thought it adorable at the time.
“My whole family is shamed of me,” Nika continued. “And not one will come to wedding.”
“Visa trouble?”
“They say now I’m capitalist whore.”
“I thought it was pig.”
“For me, they say whore.”
“It’s my fault. This whole thing is my fault.” Greg waved a hand in the air as if he would dismiss any other possibility.
