Love And Other Things I'm Bad At Part 42

They are making me get dressed so I can go along and cheer. "Dress for the fun run," Sterling urged me. "You can always jump in at the last minute."

Well, it sounds better than making gravy.

11/27.

This Thanksgiving . . . it's going to go down in history. And not just because it started raining 24 hours ago, midturkey trot, and hasn't stopped since.

We had an awkward meal. Grandma and Grandpa only talking through other people, like "Would you please tell your grandmother to pa.s.s the sweet potatoes?" and "Would you please tell your grandfather to stop being such a conceited a.s.s?"

Wittenauer came in right when we were all sitting down to dinner. We gave each other giant hugs and he sat down next to me.

"You're just in time for the toast," Mom told him.

"Funny. I thought we'd be having turkey," Wittenauer said.

I squeezed his hand under the table. He squeezed my leg back.

Mom continued, "I'm thankful for my healthy parents, my wonderful children, and for Sterling."

"And I'm so thankful for all of you coming into my life," said Sterling. "Even Oscar." He laughed.

I swear, Oscar was glaring at him. He was resting his head on his paws and just looking up, like, "Dude. You made me move to Fort Collins and live with a killer cat. Not thankful. Unless you pa.s.s me some of that turkey under the table."

"We have an announcement to make," said Sterling. "One that makes us very happy, and we hope will make you happy as well."

I coughed on a sip of cranberry juice that went down the wrong way.

"Courtney? You OK?" asked Wittenauer.

"Sure, sure."

He rubbed my back and I looked up at him, eyes watering. An announcement? That could only mean one thing. I cleared my throat and looked up expectantly, trying to smile even though my lungs were failing me and I wasn't breathing correctly.

"I'm sure it will come as no surprise to you that I've asked Suzanne to marry me," Sterling went on, "but the big surprise is that she's graciously accepted."

"M-marry?" asked Alison, looking as stunned as I felt.

Mom held out her hand, displaying a sapphire-and-diamond engagement ring. It looked beautiful. She looked amazing, so radiantly happy that she was almost glowing. Or else it was that the house was really hot from having the oven on all day.

"That's great, Mom. I'm really happy for you guys." Bryan went over to hug her, and Sterling hugged him, too, giving him the man-friend's manly clap on the back.

"Well, how long is the engagement?" asked my grandmother.

"Not long at all. We're having a Christmas Eve wedding," said Mom, beaming, beside herself. "Can you believe it? We're getting married!"

"That soon? I have nothing to wear!" cried Grandma Von Dragen. "And my hair-"

"n.o.body cares about your hair," said Grandpa, busily carving the turkey.

Grandma smiled, then looked down a bit sadly and took a bite of cranberry jelly.

Alison and I each hugged Mom, then Sterling. Then I hugged Grandma, for good measure. Seemed like she could use it.

After dinner, while others were cleaning up, watching football, Wittenauer and I were sprawled on the sofa together.

"So I've been thinking," said Wittenauer.

"So have I. I've been thinking how I shouldn't have had any stuffing. At all."

"No, seriously."

"I am being serious," I said.

"I think we should move in together, in June," he said.

"What?"

I'd been so overwhelmed by Mom and Sterling's news that I hadn't even had a chance to put my own thoughts and feelings together. Where was I on all this? How did I really feel about Wittenauer?

"It only makes sense. Let's definitely find a place of our own," he said. "I'll go to law school, you'll be a junior-"

"But, Wittenauer."

"But what?"

We really weren't "on the same page," as the saying goes. We weren't even in the same chapter. I felt my pulse kind of speeding up. "Have you really, um, thought this through?"

"Yes. It's perfectly logical," he said. "It's the only logical solution."

But you don't live together to be logical, I thought. You live together, maybe, possibly, because you're in love. And because you're going to make a commitment and be, like, a married couple someday.

Was it because I was a so-called child of divorce? Was it because I was at heart really against my mother getting remarried? Was it because I didn't actually respect Snow White for just getting off that gla.s.s coffin table and riding off with the prince, no questions asked? I mean, she totally ditched her friends, Grumpy, Dopey, etc., which was not cool.

"Um, OK. Let's not do anything rash. Let's talk about this," I said.

Then I pa.s.sed out.

I knew I'd had too much stuffing.

Woke up to grandparents, rest of family, Wittenauer hovering over me.

Grandpa was waving a little sack of balsam fir under my nose, so all I smelled was Christmas-tree scent, which was confusing, because wasn't this Thanksgiving holiday?

Not that he usually waits more than 24 hours after T-giving to chop down a Christmas tree and haul it in.

"Courtney? What's going on? Are you pregnant?" asked Grandma.

Wittenauer's eyes widened. "Are you?"

"WHAT? No!" I said. "I just . . . it's hot in here."

"Oh. Well, I could let the fire go out, I suppose." Grandpa started fiddling with the fireplace.

"You always put too many logs on," Grandma said. "You have no impulse control."

They started bickering again, just like they had all during dinner. They clearly weren't getting along the way they had been these last couple of years.

"She's fine. She's just got stuffing in her veins." Wittenauer scooped me up in his arms and carried me over to the front door so I could get some fresh air. "You OK?" he whispered. "For real?"

I told him that it was just a lot to take in-the idea of Mom getting married and maybe us living together.

"What do you mean, 'maybe us'?" he said, sounding a little disappointed.

"Maybe you what?" asked my mom, craning at me, putting her palm to my forehead. "Courtney, you feel cold and clammy. Are you sure you're all right? You can tell me, you know. You can tell me anything."

"I'm fine," I said. "I just got . . ." Overwhelmed. Freaked out. Scared. "A bit hot," I said. "That's what I'm trying to tell you."

"Was it my news-our news?" Mom asked. "It was our news, wasn't it? Oh, I knew you kids weren't ready."

"No, Mom-it's-that's fine. And we're not kids anymore, right?"

I found that I was dying for a minute by myself so I could call Beth and Jane about it, and even Grant. I couldn't wait to tell them. They'd never believe Mom was getting remarried. And they had to come to the wedding-all of them.

Wait a second. That could be awkward.

We all settled down at the table for a game of Von Dragen Boggle (you make words using the letters in bad family names) and leftover pie.

Should not have had that second piece of apple. I will never sleep again.

11/28 MORNING.

Phew. Finally, we had to leave to drive back to Denver, and Wittenauer had to go back to his parents. Still driving, cold, nasty rain. Fortunately, Sterling's ma.s.sive SUV insulates us from entire rest of world.

This will give me and Wittenauer some time to think. Hopefully, he will come to his senses.

I don't know if he needs time to think, but I do. Moving in together sounds so serious. That should be part of the long view. Looooonnnnng. Not the next year.

We didn't even really get a chance to talk about it, because we never had any time to ourselves. I did manage to tell him not to tell anyone else right away, to just keep it between us.

"Why? I mean, of course. Of course! But why?"

"Why? Because my mom will pitch a fit. Because they'll say we're too young." But mostly, I was thinking, because I have no idea if this is something I really want to do. I mean, it sounds nice, and Wittenauer's nice . . . but it would mean choosing each other, like, seriously. Settling down. With a cornstalk.

OK, so he'd be done with college and the costume.

If he moves here, would he try out to be the Ram? Do you think there's more than one? Because one does basketball games and has all these skills- Anyway. I know I'm only obsessing about mascots in the car because I don't want to face the real question: Do I want to live with Wittenauer? Or not?

11/28 NIGHT.

Spent the morning at the Cherry Creek Betrothal Boutique for our so-called final fittings. Felt more like a week.

"Mom, do you really think a big wedding is a good idea, at your age?" I asked as I pulled the strapless, cranberry-colored bridesmaid dress over my head.

"What's wrong with my age?" she asked. "And it isn't a big wedding at all-just a hundred people."

Alison and I walked out of our fitting rooms at the same time and cracked up laughing. We looked so . . . seasonal. And identical. "Who schedules bridesmaid dress fittings two days after Thanksgiving?" Alison commented. "Like I don't feel fat enough?"

"What's the problem?" Mom said, admiring us. "When I ordered them, I used the measurements from your prom dresses. That wasn't so long ago."

"You kept those?" I asked.

"I'm a math geek, remember? I have a file."

"And what is she talking about? You didn't even go to prom," I said to Alison.

"Yes I did. I just didn't have a date," she corrected me. "I went with everyone from band."

"Oh. Well, no wonder you don't bring it up much," I teased her. We started poking each other in the arms, trying to push each other over.

"Girls. Girls! Knock it off!" said Mom, sounding tense, and it was like we were 10 and 12 again, instead of 19 and 21.

"What does Bryan have to wear?" I asked. "A cranberry leisure suit?"

"Don't be ridiculous. A black tuxedo. He's one of the groomsmen," said Mom. "There's an even number of bridesmaids and groomsmen-besides you two, there's Sterling's sister, Abigail, and my friend Heather is maid of honor. . . . For groomsmen we have Bryan, Sterling's brothers-"

"Gold and Platinum?" asked Alison, and the two of us started giggling again.

"Drake and Andrew," Mom went on, ignoring us, "and his nephew Nick, who's going to be the ring bearer."

That's when I first glimpsed that Mom was losing it. She, the queen of accounting, hadn't come up with an even number at all.

"And I'll need to know ASAP if you're bringing dates so I can get the seating chart done. Oh, and I'm inviting your father," she added, almost as an afterthought.

"What? Mom, isn't that going to be weird?" Was she trying to freak us out about all this? Could you take a kind of strange situation and make it even stranger, Mom?

"No, it won't be weird at all. Sophia will come, and hopefully your stepsister," added Mom.

One big, happy, bizarre family. "Speaking of Dad. I mean, aren't you sort of, um, old to wear white?" I asked.

"I'm not wearing white. It's cream. Ecru," Mom said.

I look at her and it's not that she's 45 and I'm not. Although that helps. I just know that no matter what Wittenauer thinks, we're so not ready to move in together and take things to that next teetering, scary level.

"Courtney, you look funny," Alison said, sometime around then-I don't remember, exactly.

"I know. I don't look good in red," I reminded her. Plus, I am feeling undecided, confused, and, frankly, a bit nauseous. Which does nothing for my complexion.