Matchmaking for Beginners
Page 14

“So then tell me what you need.”
“Can you look at whatever it is you look at and see if he’s coming back to me?” My voice cracks. “Would you do a spell for me? To make me less ordinary, or to make him not mind how ordinary I am?”
“Oh, honey. You don’t want him back! Trust me on this. There’s so much—”
“Please. Give me a spell. How desperate does a man have to be to break up with somebody on their honeymoon? How am I supposed to get over that?”
She’s silent for a moment, and then she says in a quiet voice, “Listen to me, sweet pea. Change is hard. And Noah is a high-level entitled brat who forgot to grow up, and I’m very sorry for the pain he’s put you through. But trust me, there’s something so much better waiting for you. You’ll get through this and move on. It’ll take time, but you will. So much better is waiting for you.”
“No,” I tell her. “It isn’t. We were meant for each other. I know it, just the way I knew that Natalie and Brian were meant for each other. You said yourself that I’m a matchmaker, and I know he’s the one for me.”
“No one can read their own stuff that way,” she says. “Otherwise I wouldn’t have had to go through the cockroach and the dead-on-the-inside man. Think about it. And by the way, you are not ordinary, and you need to come to Brooklyn.”
“I’m ridiculously ordinary. I lose my keys all the damn time, and I am opinionated and I get impatient, and I don’t have any ambition, and I don’t make enough money and I couldn’t care less about it, and—and when I was little, I dressed up cats in costumes and I didn’t care when they got mad about it.”
She sighs and says, “Okay, listen. I have to tell you something. When I was eighteen, my father died, and the family homestead I’d counted on inheriting was given to his sister instead. And that’s when I realized that I could either live under my bed and be passive for my whole life or I could do something that scared me every single day. So, being intelligent, I picked being passive. Which was a great decision. Brilliant, in fact.”
She laughs a little. “So I kept living with my aunt and trying to please her by doing everything she said, and smiling nicely to everybody. And then one day my aunt told me that I was like my father, that I was a loser and I was never going to amount to anything, and for the first time all that anger I’d been pushing down simply erupted out of me. I was livid! Beyond livid. So I scraped together the little bit of money that my father had left to me, and I went to Brooklyn, a place I picked on the map just because it scared the hell out of me. I had no idea what I was doing. I was out of my mind terrified.”
She is quiet for a moment, and I can hear her breathing. “But it turned out to be divine intervention or something that I came here. Because after I arrived, everything changed. I made friends with the fear. I married a scientist I barely knew, and I went with him to Africa and studied bugs—I hated bugs! And I hated heat and snakes and traveling without knowing what to expect—but after that, I went all over the world. I chanted in India; I sailed on schooners that looked like they wouldn’t float for five more minutes; I climbed mountains; I studied different religions. Whenever anything scared the living daylights out of me, that was a sign to me that I needed to throw myself into it. And you know what else? That’s how I’ve lived my whole life, doing whatever scares me.”
I don’t want to tell her that that sounds like the worst possible life I could imagine. So I just say, “I’m always scared.”
“Good! My sweet Marnie, you really should come see me.”
“But I’m working,” I say.
“Ah yes, building up security and employment credits.”
“Well, I have to support myself,” I point out. “No one else is going to do it for me.”
She’s silent for a long time, and I’m sure I’ve insulted her. But then she says very quietly, “I want you to look very carefully around you. Because everything is about to change. Your whole life, all of it. You need to notice it just the way it is right now. Will you do that?”
She says some words I can’t really hear.
“Is that the spell?” I say.
“I’m sending you my best words of power,” she says. “But yes. It’s your spell.”
“I wish you’d come back home,” says Natalie one night on the telephone. She means back to Jacksonville. To live there. “Mom and Dad aren’t getting any younger, you know. And I miss you. The baby misses you.”
“The baby isn’t even born yet.”
“I know, but I tell her about you, how you defected to California, and she’s very upset about it. She wants me to tell you that you’re going to lose out on a lot of family experiences if you insist on remaining there.”
I look out the window at the mountains and the park and the yellow brick library building. I’ve loved living here, walking to the perfect little nursery school where I work, then walking home through the town, window-shopping in all the cool stores I can’t afford. But now this town seems like a place that was never meant for me. Everybody I know here is already a member of a couple. I wave to them in the elevator of my posh little apartment building: smiling at each other, making their evening plans, with no interest in me whatsoever. Noah and I were like that, too, just keeping to ourselves.
It’s the same pang I always feel when I talk to Natalie—she and Brian always have music playing, and they’re always fooling around, laughing like I guess happily married people do, and I wish Noah and I had settled down near my family, like I’d kind of thought we’d do at some point down the road. You know, meet them for dinner sometime, run into each other at the grocery store . . . have a big old extended family right there.
But I don’t want to go back to Florida alone, as the failed sister, the person who never figured out how to make it in the world. Besides, if Noah were to ever come looking for me . . . well, I’m just saying. This is where he would think to look: right here in Burlingame. He liked how upscale it was, said he always wanted to live in the kind of town where the weekly police blotter reports were dominated by stories of residents bothered by squirrels tossing acorns too boisterously.
Natalie reads my mind, which she is good at, having known me and my shenanigans for my whole life. “How is staying there a good idea for you? You need to get over him and move on, not stay at the scene of the crime,” she is saying.
“Costa Rica was the ‘scene of the crime,’ as you call it.”
“Come home, come home, come home,” she says. And then Brian gets close to the phone, and they both start chanting. “Come! Home! Come! Home!”
One morning, after a week in which the Bride Girls have begged for us to put on pretend weddings at the preschool, I wake up with a fantastic idea. Probably the best idea I’ve ever had! I jump out of bed, jiggety jig, and race around the apartment, pack up my wedding dress, the veil, the something blue, the somethings old and new, as well as the corsage and the bouquet, and I put them all in a giant trash bag. But I’m not throwing it all away! I’m not crazy or anything. I’m taking it to school! The most dazzling show-and-tell EVER.
I get there before the sun is even up, and I set out the dress lovingly on the art table. It looks so beautiful laid out like that, so I put the veil across the chair. Noah was supposed to lift it off my face, so lovingly, smiling into my eyes.
But, well, we didn’t get to that part.
I hear myself laugh out loud at the idea that things might have been altogether different if we’d done things the right way, lifting the veil for the kiss, having our first dance, tossing the bouquet, all of it. You can go insane that way—what if Whipple hadn’t been the best man, what if there hadn’t been a trip to Africa waiting, what if Noah hadn’t realized all the stupid, conventional things about me just before he was supposed to say “I do”?
Conventional. That’s what I forgot to tell Blix is my main flaw. I’m not simply ordinary—I’m conventional. Maybe I should call her back. I’ll do that—today! Later.