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“Still here,” I say when I stop laughing. “But I do have some news.”
“Don’t tell me.” Phil mock-gasps into the phone. “You’re preggers.”
“Um, no…” Or at least if I am, I don’t know it yet. It’s not impossible after two days of unprotected sex, but it’s definitely too soon to tell. “I am getting married, though.”
There’s dead silence on the phone. Then: “WHAT?”
“Yeah, it’s kind of a long story,” I say and launch into the same explanation I gave my coworkers about my on-and-off relationship and Peter’s travels.
“But why didn’t you tell us about him?” Phil still sounds stunned. “We all thought you didn’t date because of your husband.”
“It was a bit complicated at times. And since I wasn’t sure it was going anywhere...” I trail off, hoping Phil fills in the blanks on his own. “In any case, we are getting married, and it’s happening this Saturday, so—”
“WHAT?”
I grin, picturing his bulging eyes. “Yes, I know. We decided against a long engagement. In any case, I know it’s super short notice, so if you have other plans this Saturday, I completely understand. But if you can make it, we’d love to have you there, and obviously, you’re welcome to bring a date.”
“You’re getting married. This Saturday.”
“That’s what I just said.” I pause to give him a chance to emote more, but he seems to have lost his tongue, so I plow ahead. “You don’t have to tell me right now, but if you get a chance, I’d love to know by tomorrow if you’d be able to attend. Peter booked a catering company and everything, so it’s going to be small but hopefully nice.”
“Where…” Phil clears his throat. “Where is the wedding going to be?”
“At Silver Lake Country Club,” I say. “You know it?”
“Yes, of course. My cousin got married there a couple of years ago. Beautiful spot.”
“Oh, good.” I smile, though he can’t see it. “So can you tell me if you’ll be there, or do you need until tomorrow?”
“Are you kidding me? Of course I’ll be there. Did you already tell Rory and Simon?”
“Left them voicemails,” I say and look at the clock. I better hurry if I’m to call Marsha before my next patient. “Thanks a lot, Phil, and sorry to spring this on you,” I tell him. “See you Saturday.”
“Yeah. See you,” he says, still sounding stunned as I hang up.
Marsha is next on my list, and it’s a conversation I’m dreading nearly as much as the upcoming dinner with my parents. As I dial her number, I’m half hoping she doesn’t pick up, but she grabs the phone on the first ring.
“Hey, hon.”
I take a deep breath. “Hey, Marsha. How’s it going?”
“Eh, you know. Just about to head in for my evening shift. Andy pulled the short straw this week, but her boyfriend threw a hissy fit because it’s their anniversary today, so she asked me to swap with her. How’s it going with you? What are you up to this weekend? Tonya and I were going to hit up a couple of bars on Saturday. Want to join us? You don’t have a performance, do you?”
“No, but actually, about this Saturday…” I grip the phone tighter. “I have some news.”
“Oh?”
“There’s a guy I’ve been seeing for a while. Kind of on and off.”
“Really?” Marsha’s voice perks up. “Who? Not that red-headed bodybuilder from your band, is it?”
“Rory? No, not at all.”
“Oh, good. Because Tonya really liked him and thought it might be mutual. Who then? Have I met him?”
“No, you haven’t.” I take another deep breath. “It’s gotten very serious between us, though.”
“Really?” Her interest level is clearly spiking. “Serious how?”
I brace myself and rattle out, “We’re getting married this Saturday.”
“You’re what?”
The cat is out of the bag, so I repeat as calmly as I can, “I’m getting married. This Saturday. And if you can, I’d love for you to be there.”
“This is a joke, right?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose with my free hand. “No. We decided against a big formal ceremony, so we’re just inviting a few people. It’s going to be at Silver Lake Country Club. You know, over in Orland Park?”
“Uh-huh. And I’m going on Dancing with the Stars.”
“Marsha… I’m not joking.”
There are a few moments of heavy silence. Then: “You’re getting married?”
“Yes. This Saturday.”
“What the fuck? Are you serious? When did you two meet and how? What’s his name? How come you never mentioned him to me?”
“It’s a long story. We were on and off for a while, and then—”
“What do you mean for a while? How long is a while? Weeks? Months?”
I wince internally. “Um, months. Definitely months.” Technically, this October will mark two years since Peter waterboarded me in my kitchen, but in terms of actual time spent together, it’s probably closer to seven or eight months in total.
