Love And Miss Communication Part 28

"Me too," he said, wrapping his arms around her waist.

"I bet all the women at the hospital are jealous of me, right?" Evie teased as her fingers grazed his beeper.

"No, I don't think so," Edward said, scratching his head. "Wait, what am I saying? They hold a daily vigil praying for your untimely demise."

Edward. He was so sure of himself, he didn't need to impress Evie with stories of being sought after, like Jack used to do. She had grown accustomed to hearing about needy waitresses requesting cooking lessons and saucy bartenders asking him to test their latest concoctions after closing. At first when Edward never mentioned a nurse or a patient's family member hitting on him, Evie questioned if she was alone in finding him so irresistible. By now she recognized, and appreciated, that Edward didn't feel the need to share such occurrences, and maybe, just maybe, he was too in love with her to even notice.

They left Edward's place, where Evie had basically moved in, and set out hand in hand toward Zabar's. Evie tried her best to mask her disappointment that a proposal was unlikely looming. Bette had already left her a voice message at the crack of dawn wis.h.i.+ng her a happy birthday, and Evie was purposely waiting to call back in case she had news to share. But now she figured she might as well just call back sooner rather than later so her grandma didn't get her hopes up too much during the day. Bette was thankfully doing well, power walking around the Boca Beach shopping center and playing canasta, and now enjoying a new tradition-watching Sam's informal stand-up act on Sundays at the complex's pool.

After about ten minutes of strolling through the midmorning pedestrian traffic, Edward said, "Let's run up to your apartment for a minute if that's okay. I need to use the bathroom before we load up on sugar and fat."

Lovely. So not only were they not getting engaged today, but Edward was also sharing his bodily functions with her. If they weren't married, she shouldn't have to hear about his plans to p.o.o.p.

"Can you just go at Zabar's?" Evie asked, not feeling especially compliant.

"No, I can't. I want to use your apartment," Edward insisted. Suddenly Evie's mood reversed. This must be it! Edward was trying to lure her to her apartment where no doubt one of his friends had set up champagne and roses. An emerald-cut diamond would be sitting in a velvet box, waiting to encircle one of the most ready fingers in all of New York.

"Okay, honey, sorry. Let's go upstairs."

In the elevator she caught a glimpse of herself in the reflective railing. If her big moment was coming, she had better spruce up. She pulled out her ponytail holder, slicked on lip gloss, and used a dash of moisture from her mouth to smooth her wayward eyebrows.

"It's just Zabar's," Edward joked as she primped herself on the ride up to the nineteenth floor.

"Just want to look good on my birthday."

When they reached her door, Evie inhaled deeply. The moment was upon her, and the antic.i.p.ation was every bit as delicious as she'd suspected it would be. Her heart fluttered in her chest like a hummingbird's tiny wings. Her stomach was a wreck. If an oxygen mask had dropped down in front of her face, she'd happily have put it on.

"Well?" Edward said, "I really have to go to the bathroom. Can you open the door?"

"Yes, yes, of course," Evie said, fl.u.s.tered. Her fingertips were tingling.

When the door opened, the first things Evie noticed were the purple cardigan and thin checkered scarf she had worn the day before. They were lying in a crumpled ball on the arm of her sofa, where she had left them after changing her outfit. If Edward were about to propose in her apartment, he surely would have cleaned up first.

Edward disappeared into the bathroom, and Evie began a frantic search behind the curtains and inside every drawer, looking for evidence of an impending proposal, but she came up empty.

"Okay, I'm ready," Edward said.

"Fine, let's just go," Evie said, replacing the couch cus.h.i.+ons.

"But wait, don't you want to know what this is?" Edward asked, extending his arms.

The bathroom. It was the one place she hadn't looked.

Edward was carrying a wrapped box that looked about the size of a book.

"Happy birthday, baby," he said, handing over the package. Unless it was a box containing a dozen other smaller boxes inside like a Russian nesting doll, it didn't seem likely the contents would please her.

"Thanks," Evie said, surprised by the weight of the package. "I can't imagine what it is."

"Well, before you open it, let me say a few words. I know this is something you don't have. And I believe you are ready to enjoy it. Plus I think you're really going to need it."

At this point Evie became convinced he was describing a vibrator. She didn't have one. She would enjoy it. And if Edward wasn't going to propose on her thirty-fifth birthday or sometime soon after, then she was definitely going to need it.

"So, go ahead, open it," Edward said with a huge grin.

"Okay, here I go," Evie said, ripping open the paper. It was gold foil, totally not her taste, and had a cheesy poly bow affixed to it. "Wow, a new computer."

The present may have been expensive, but it entirely missed the mark. Even a cheesy ankle bracelet would have been better than this unromantic hunk of machinery.

"You don't like it?" Edward asked.

"No, no, I love it. Really useful. Who doesn't love typing?" she hedged with humor.

"Well, it's just that I know your old computer broke. And you said when you turned thirty-five you were going to go back to using the web," Edward said.

It was true. With her first semester at the New York School of Interior Design beginning in just a few months and actual projects to display on her business website, using a computer would be essential. And given how happy she was with Edward, she felt ready to go back online. Other people's wedding and baby photos would no longer send her in search of a Zoloft. She told Edward she planned to buy a new computer, and an iPhone and iPad too. But she promised herself she'd be so much smarter about using the Internet this time around-refusing to let herself get obsessive and miss out on the chances for her life to happen organically. And her stalking days were definitely behind her.

Apparently he'd been listening. Because she was holding an eleven-inch MacBook Air with a 1.7GHz Intel Core i5 Processor. At least he'd thrown in lots of the fancy extras, like the portable charger and an external CD-ROM.

"So, let's fire this thing up," Edward said. "I already set everything up for you. Aren't you curious to read your e-mail after all this time?"

A single tear rolled down her cheek. Edward noticed immediately and pulled her close.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" he asked gently.

"It's just, it's just-" Evie tried to talk. Maybe she should tell Edward the truth. "I don't know, I guess, I'm always disappointed on my birthday. It usually rains."

"Well, it's a beautiful day. Check your e-mail and then we can go for breakfast. I bet you have over fifty thousand e-mails waiting for you. You going to start reading at the oldest or the most recent?" Edward seemed unusually insensitive to her fragility.

"I don't know. What's the difference?" Evie said.

Edward looked deflated.

"All right, let me get at this computer," she added with more vigor, making a show of opening the laptop and stroking the keys.

"I took the liberty of buying the domain name www.Manhattan Maison.com. You should check it out. I even made you a logo. It's pretty pathetic but at least it's a start."

"Okay, okay, let me see." She sat down cross-legged on the floor and threw her hair up into a bun. She actually felt exhilarated facing a computer screen for the first time in nearly a year. Maybe the gift wasn't all that bad.

She typed in the Manhattan Maison web address that Edward had reserved for her. The page was blank save for one line: "In order to access this web page, you will need to authenticate your ident.i.ty. Please click on the link in the e-mail from to verify your ident.i.ty."

This kind of computer c.r.a.p she didn't miss.

"Edward?" He had disappeared into the kitchen. "Can you make coffee?" If she was really going to look at all of the e-mails she missed over the past year, Zabar's would have to wait. He didn't answer.

She opened her Gmail. Her inbox registered 24,612 unread messages. Jesus. Where to start?

It was clear that she was in an unquestionably better place today than she was a year ago, so she chose to scroll to the most recent e-mail in the list. It was from Edward. The subject of the e-mail was "Manhattan Maison Authentication."

She clicked it open, and suddenly the b.u.t.terflies returned to her stomach. The e-mail contained just one line, but it was the best thing to ever appear on a screen, or anywhere. In Times New Roman, size 30 font, all caps, Evie read the following: EVIE ROSEN, WILL YOU MARRY ME?.

She spun around and Edward was behind her, on one knee, with an open box. The ring looked very familiar. It was a sapphire, surrounded by diamonds.

"My grandmother's ring," Evie gasped.

"She insisted when I told her I was going to propose."

Evie was stunned speechless, relying on the reserves in her vocal cords to deliver the only word she needed to say.

"Yes," she whispered. Then, summoning more strength, she repeated the same. "Yes, yes, yes, yes, and yes."

Epilogue.

Dear Alexia, I really appreciate everything you've done so far for me and Edward. Thank you for helping us to book the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens. We know it'll be an exquisite setting for our wedding, even if the beetle exhibit will still be on display in the reception hall and the bathrooms will be under renovation. What's a wedding without "The Royal Flush" Porta Potties?

It has come to our attention that you are related to two of the vendors you pa.s.sionately encouraged us to hire. Thanks to Facebook, I have determined that DJ Rhapsody is your son and Flowers Flowers Flowers is owned by your cousin Stephan. I feel you should have disclosed these affiliations to us prior to saying that they were the only people up to the job.

As an interior designer (and the unofficial new set designer for the Greenwich Town Thespians), I am confident that I will be able to create the wedding of my dreams without your a.s.sistance, even though you told me my taste in table linens was "questionable." Further, there is nothing "cliche" about an all-white wedding. It is cla.s.sic and tasteful, and it suits our style.

We have mailed you a check for the portion of your services which you have already rendered.

Very best regards, Evie Rosen P.S. You really need to contract with a new calligrapher. I don't know if she's your relation as well, but Charlotte Appleby ("the best of the best" you promised) addressed a number of the invitations incorrectly. We had a hard time explaining to the matron of honor why her invitation was addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Jake Poo. It's L-O-O!!! And you are lucky my grandmother B-E-T-T-E doesn't see so well, because her name was misspelled as B-E-T-T-Y. This is a woman who is planning to frame both the invitation and the envelope. (I guess she wasn't certain this day would ever come.) "Well, Susan, what do you think?"

"It's perfect, Evie. You have a way with words. Besides, you don't need a wedding planner. I'm here to help."

"You are?" Evie asked in disbelief. "I thought you were here on business."

"There's time for everything."

Susan had e-mailed her a couple of weeks earlier asking if she and Wyatt could stay for a few days. Evie had Edward's place now to seek refuge, so she didn't object. She was dying to see Wyatt anyway.

"Whatever. I'm just glad I can fire her over e-mail. I would not have relished doing this face-to-face, or even on the phone. Thank G.o.d I'm back online."

"Back online?" Susan asked, confused.

"I told you I quit the Internet, remember? You said I could be part of the New Horizons ant.i.technology movement." Evie tried to jog her aunt's impaired-by-G.o.d-knows-what memory.

Susan smiled patronizingly. "Evie, honestly, going off-line? That is so pa.s.se. What matters now is Responsible Internetism."

"Glad I'm with the times."

"Indeed. Listen, Evie, you're an angel to let me stay with you again. We had such a good time when I was here last."

"Grandma was having major surgery then. We didn't know if she was going to live."

"Well, yes, I know. But you and I got to catch up. And you met Wyatt."

Upon hearing his name, the darling boy toddled into the room, holding one of Evie's shoes. He had the drunken gait of a new walker. Wyatt had grown so much in just a few months. Now he had the face of a little man and could feed himself Cheerios, one sloppy handful at a time.

"Mama!" he exclaimed, grabbing at Susan's ankle.

"Yes, sugar. You're going to spend time with Aunt Evie this week."

Aunt! Still!

"So why exactly are you in New York again? Your e-mail was a bit confusing."

"Yes! Yes! You need to meet my business partner before I fully explain. He'll be here any minute. It's my friend Anton. He also lives at New Horizons. Even though I came up with the idea, I cut him in because of his marketing expertise. You'll love him. I'll get him to make you some of his famous tempeh empanadas."

"Speaking of food, I ordered you a vegan meal for the wedding."

"Oh, that's going to be a problem. Didn't I mention to you in my e-mail that I'm only foraging now?"

"Not at the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens, you're not. You better BYO or else you're going to be very hungry."

Susan just let out a whimper, to which Evie paid no mind.

"He's here!" Susan exclaimed when Evie's intercom buzzed moments later.

Anton greeted Susan with a kiss on the lips. Some friend. He was a dead ringer for Jerry Garcia, if the singer had subsisted on a strict diet of Cherry Garcia. And why was he carrying a suitcase?

"You must be Evie," he said. "It is so nice of you to put us up while we're in New York."

Us?

"Anton, I didn't ask Evie yet if you could stay here too. Evie, you wouldn't mind would you?" Susan gave Evie puppy-dog eyes, but there was nothing irresistible about a sixty-plus lunatic who couldn't keep her family relations straight.

When Evie didn't answer right away, Anton said, "We'll happily put you and your fiance up at New Horizons whenever you like."

That was doing less than zero to sweeten the deal. Even though she could flee to Edward's, she wasn't crazy about the trio of Susan, Anton, and Wyatt (d.a.m.n cute but quite the little devil) cras.h.i.+ng at her place unsupervised.

"Fine. One night though, okay. I'm back in school now and I have a lot of reading to do. So what is this business you two are working on?"

"We are starting an online wet nurse business. People who can't breastfeed for medical reasons or because they adopted often want their babies to get breast milk. But there's no guarantee the wet nurse is eating a strictly organic diet. My business will help mothers connect with organic wet nurses. You can be an investor if you'd like. I'm offering the opportunity to family and friends first."

"Um, thanks, but I'm feeling a little strapped."

"Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me. Let me show you something." She yanked the rubber band off a rolled-up poster in her duffel bag. The sign said MA NATURE'S MILK and had a picture of an Asian baby suckling the breast of a robust black woman while she ate leaves directly off of a tree.

"Pretty great, don't you think?" Susan said. "Anton used to be a graphic designer for Coca-Cola."