the fighting starts.”
“Oh, Neil and I never fight,” Nicola said, taking a tiny ladylike sip of her white wine.
“You haven’t lived together yet,” Sophie said, sounding just a little jaded.
Angie gasped. “You don’t live together?”
Martin joined in. “And you’re going to marry him?”
While I was a firm believer in “try before you buy,” I thought Angie’s and Martin’s obvious shock and disapproval were a little rude. But Nicola was unfazed. She concentrated on her meticulous knit stitches as she explained, “Neil and I both decided to wait. Our parents didn’t live together before they got married and they’re still happy some thirty years later. It’s something we really believe in.”
“Uh . . . but you have had sex, right?” Angie asked.
“Well...” Nicola looked shyly down at the burgundy rectangle on her lap. “Technically no, but we still feel that we’ve made love. We both want our wedding night to be special . . . to really mean something...”
Angie looked like her eyeballs might pop out of her head but she remained mute, as did we all. Okay, maybe Nicola was a bit of a prude—but a cute and sweet prude...like that Elisabeth Hasselbeck on The View.
“What about you, Martin?” Sophie asked. “Any relationship dramas?”
Martin, whose purple baby blanket was fast resembling a full-on bedspread, replied, “I’ve given up.”
“No!” Nicola cried.
“I haven’t had very good luck in the past. I guess I just haven’t met the right person.”
“You will,” Nicola said kindly.
“I don’t know,” said Sophie, whom I was quickly realizing was a tad cynical. “I think Angie’s got the right idea. Keep your relationships purely recreational and you can’t get hurt.”
For the first time since we arrived, Angie picked up the pink yarn and needles nestled beside her on the sofa. “So . . . I guess I should get to work here,” she said, nervously.
“What’s going on with you?” I asked, instantly alerted to her change in demeanour.
“Nothing!” she cried, but when she looked up, her cheeks were pink and her eyes glowing.
“Oh my god!” I shrieked. “You’re in love!”
“I’m not in love,” Angie corrected me. “I’m in like. ”
Sophie addressed Nicola and Martin. “You don’t know what a big deal this is. Angie never likes anyone!”
“Not for more than a night or two,” I added.
“Shut up, Beth!” Angie slapped at me playfully. “You make me sound like such a slut!”
“Well . . .”
She threw a cracker at me.
“Now, now...” Nicola scurried to retrieve the offending snack off her cream-coloured throw rug.
But it was true—not that Angie was such a slut, but she was definitely a bit of a Samantha. Ever since her high school sweetheart knocked her up, talked her into having an abortion, then dumped her and invited her stepsister to the prom, Angie had vowed to steer clear of emotional entanglements. While she had an active social life, she rarely let things get beyond a third date.
“Okay, fill us in,” Martin said. I noticed that he could already knit without looking at what he was doing. He had some kind of gift.
“His name is Thaddeus,” Angie said, suddenly beaming.
“Thaddeus?” I said.
“He goes by Thad. He’s an assistant director. He lives in LA. but I met him while he was shooting an M.O.W. up here.”
“M.O.W.?” Sophie asked.
“Movie of the week,” Angie clarified. “Anyway, we met at this function and he just totally swept me off my feet. I mean, I’ve never meant anyone like him before. I’ve never felt so . . . smitten. Oh god, does that sound corny? It sounds corny, doesn’t it?” She giggled.
“A bit,” I mumbled. But thankfully no one heard me since Sophie and Nicola were loudly chorusing, “Not at all!”
“It sounds wonderful!” Nicola added.
“I’m so happy for you,” Sophie cried.
Martin sighed. “Ah, young love.”
Unfortunately, I was feeling far less congratulatory.
“Oh, Neil and I never fight,” Nicola said, taking a tiny ladylike sip of her white wine.
“You haven’t lived together yet,” Sophie said, sounding just a little jaded.
Angie gasped. “You don’t live together?”
Martin joined in. “And you’re going to marry him?”
While I was a firm believer in “try before you buy,” I thought Angie’s and Martin’s obvious shock and disapproval were a little rude. But Nicola was unfazed. She concentrated on her meticulous knit stitches as she explained, “Neil and I both decided to wait. Our parents didn’t live together before they got married and they’re still happy some thirty years later. It’s something we really believe in.”
“Uh . . . but you have had sex, right?” Angie asked.
“Well...” Nicola looked shyly down at the burgundy rectangle on her lap. “Technically no, but we still feel that we’ve made love. We both want our wedding night to be special . . . to really mean something...”
Angie looked like her eyeballs might pop out of her head but she remained mute, as did we all. Okay, maybe Nicola was a bit of a prude—but a cute and sweet prude...like that Elisabeth Hasselbeck on The View.
“What about you, Martin?” Sophie asked. “Any relationship dramas?”
Martin, whose purple baby blanket was fast resembling a full-on bedspread, replied, “I’ve given up.”
“No!” Nicola cried.
“I haven’t had very good luck in the past. I guess I just haven’t met the right person.”
“You will,” Nicola said kindly.
“I don’t know,” said Sophie, whom I was quickly realizing was a tad cynical. “I think Angie’s got the right idea. Keep your relationships purely recreational and you can’t get hurt.”
For the first time since we arrived, Angie picked up the pink yarn and needles nestled beside her on the sofa. “So . . . I guess I should get to work here,” she said, nervously.
“What’s going on with you?” I asked, instantly alerted to her change in demeanour.
“Nothing!” she cried, but when she looked up, her cheeks were pink and her eyes glowing.
“Oh my god!” I shrieked. “You’re in love!”
“I’m not in love,” Angie corrected me. “I’m in like. ”
Sophie addressed Nicola and Martin. “You don’t know what a big deal this is. Angie never likes anyone!”
“Not for more than a night or two,” I added.
“Shut up, Beth!” Angie slapped at me playfully. “You make me sound like such a slut!”
“Well . . .”
She threw a cracker at me.
“Now, now...” Nicola scurried to retrieve the offending snack off her cream-coloured throw rug.
But it was true—not that Angie was such a slut, but she was definitely a bit of a Samantha. Ever since her high school sweetheart knocked her up, talked her into having an abortion, then dumped her and invited her stepsister to the prom, Angie had vowed to steer clear of emotional entanglements. While she had an active social life, she rarely let things get beyond a third date.
“Okay, fill us in,” Martin said. I noticed that he could already knit without looking at what he was doing. He had some kind of gift.
“His name is Thaddeus,” Angie said, suddenly beaming.
“Thaddeus?” I said.
“He goes by Thad. He’s an assistant director. He lives in LA. but I met him while he was shooting an M.O.W. up here.”
“M.O.W.?” Sophie asked.
“Movie of the week,” Angie clarified. “Anyway, we met at this function and he just totally swept me off my feet. I mean, I’ve never meant anyone like him before. I’ve never felt so . . . smitten. Oh god, does that sound corny? It sounds corny, doesn’t it?” She giggled.
“A bit,” I mumbled. But thankfully no one heard me since Sophie and Nicola were loudly chorusing, “Not at all!”
“It sounds wonderful!” Nicola added.
“I’m so happy for you,” Sophie cried.
Martin sighed. “Ah, young love.”
Unfortunately, I was feeling far less congratulatory.
Similar Books
