Page 92 of Legally Ours

"We decided it would go back to the way it was. Like that ridiculous weekend––"

"The one when Eric said he loved you?"

Jane shot me a dirty look. "Yes, the one that we don't talk about anymore. That one."

I just raised my eyebrow and fingered a silk dress. This one I kind of liked. "So, what happened?"

"I came in last night. Things were back to usual. Hot dinner. Hot sex. The works."

I whistled. "Sounds like what you wanted."

"Yeah." Jane heaved a big sigh. "Except when I changed the sheets this morning, I found a pair of underwear in his bed. And not the kind he buys in six packs, if you know what I mean."

I winced. It wasn't like they had anything serious going on, but that had to hurt Jane's pride. "And you didn't like it."

"Of course I didn't like it!" Jane exploded, sloshing her champagne around in her glass. "Ugh, I'm pathetic. I stormed out this morning without saying a word." She paused and rubbed her temples. "Can I stay with you guys tonight? I just don't think I can go back there and face him."

I sighed and sat on the back of the sofa next to my friend.

"Of course you're welcome to stay. But you guys haven't seen each other for a month. Didn't you break it off with him?"

"Yes, yes, yes." Jane scowled and took another long chug of champagne. "Obviously trying to be monogamous was never going to work. And clearly I was right. I mean, Eric's...Eric."

"Also, you're you," I added, earning a dirty look from my friend.

"Hey, I could be a one-man woman if I wanted to," she retorted. "I just haven't wanted to."

"Before now?"

There was a very long silence.

"What makes you think that Eric couldn't do the same for you?"

"Give me a break," Jane spit out. "The guy is a walking erection. We broke up for all of two seconds before he was out banging other girls."

"Haven't you been getting around too?" I asked gently. "I seem to recall him walking in on you with another guy in Chicago..."

"Totally different," Jane bit out. "For one, we didn't even do anything. Like I couldn't. I could not have been less attracted to another man. All because of a fucking petri dish."

"And why do you think that is?" I wasn't joking anymore as I reached out to touch my friend's shoulder.

"Oh, cut the cross-examination, Counselor," she snapped, although her comeback was weaker than normal. She lay back on the couch and groaned up at the lavender-painted ceiling. "All right, fine! I like him, okay? I actually like Eric and his cocky, infuriating, promiscuous, sexy, bedroom-talented ass. But I already told him I didn't want monogamy, and I'm not going to jerk him around anymore. Fuck." She tossed back the rest of the champagne, then looked around the shop. "Yoo-hoo! Fancy ladies! Fill 'er up, please! I seriously need more booze here if I have to have these kinds of epiphanies."

I looked on sympathetically. I knew how hard it was for my friend to admit this out loud, and I suspected that if she could get up the guts to be honest about it, she'd probably find that Eric still felt the same way.

"All right," she said as the salesgirl brought over another two glasses of champagne. "Enough of this Gossip Girl bullshit. Now grow up and try on some froufy dresses."

So I got to work. It quickly became apparent that Bubbe, Gloria, and I all had extremely different ideas as to what kind of dress suited me, and the situation. I tended to gravitate more toward simple silhouettes––slip dresses or column gowns with delicate straps, the kind of thing I would wear in reality, just in different colors. Gloria vetoed all of them, saying those sorts of dresses were more suitable to a beach or outdoor wedding, and that the affair I was planning required something formal. Bubbe just liked anything with a lot of beading on it.

Jane was supposed to be there for moral support, although the more she drank, the uglier the dresses she picked out for me to try on, much to Gloria's increasing annoyance.

"See, now isn't that beautiful!" Bubbe crowed when I emerged from the dressing room in what must have been the thirtieth dress so far.

I looked down. It was a mermaid gown absolutely covered in sequined beading, with puffy, off-the-shoulder sleeves that strongly resembled meringue cookies. Gloria had told me that if I wanted to dress the part for a conservative Catholic wedding, I would need to have my shoulders covered. Bubbe apparently thought that meant with giant clusters of ruffles.

Jane took one look at me and snorted champagne through her nose.

"That's your shape, bubbela," Bubbe said, clearly a little worse for wear from the champagne. All three of us were a bit unnecessarily red in the cheeks.

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