past my projects, my mind is admittedly elsewhere. I miss Jacob when he’s gone. He’ll be backtomorrow from a retreat hosted by some small company that is trying to get his business. Or something like that. Anyway, he is in Alaska of all places—salmon fishing. I never really considered where salmon comes from or how difficult it is to fish, until he excitedly called me on Saturday night to share the whole story of how he’d caught this huge fish. He’s never done anything resembling fishing in his life; in fact, he went to Sport Chalet to buy a DVD on fishing as homework before the trip. But he was so proud of his “catch.” His enthusiasm was incredibly cute, but picturing Jacob all Eddie Bauer out on the river just made me miss him, and our weekend routine, more. And then just as I was falling asleep that night, a secret place in the self-loathing part of my brain questioned if spouses had been invited.
I lay in bed staring at the ceiling for roughly an hour after that, trying to fathom how I could get Jacob to admit to purposely not inviting me along. Is he ashamed of me? Embarrassed? Finally I convinced myself that I was being absurd, took a for-emergencies-only Ambien, and fell asleep.
But there is a weight in the pit of my stomach that won’t fade away this morning. And I just can’t figure out how to ask Jacob where we stand on this—our future as a couple—without putting him on the spot. I have never pressured him. I’m not the kind of girl who carries around in her wallet a picture of the engagement ring she wants (true story). Or the girlfriend who demands marriage or it’s over. Principles like that are all well and good on paper but feel doomed in real life. Yet lately it’s just been more and more on my mind. It seems like after we exchanged keys, there was no forward movement in our relationship,and Jacob is okay with that. And the key thing was a
year ago
! I don’t know what to think. Am I overreacting? Or am I afraid of how he might respond if I rock the boat?
“Sophie?”
Elle’s impatient tone slices through the mental cobwebs.
“Yes?” I reply with what I hope is a commanding, totally involved, I-was-just-considering-before-responding definitive response, with a hint of question just in case.
“Good. That’s settled.”
What? What’s settled?
Now would be the right moment for a go-back-in-time superpower. Elle continues in a perkier voice, “And for a fun announcement: our very own Sara Garman is engaged! Congratulations, dear!” Squeals and applause from all the girls, and I watch Sara, a junior publicist, fake modesty as she flashes at least a two-carat rock. She’s all of twenty-three. Here I am at thirty-one, with not even a hint of an engagement in my future, while everyone in the office is fawning over the latest bubbly cheerleader who is getting married next fall. I realize how jealous I sound. And bottom line, I
am
jealous. But I am not going to let anyone know it. That would be unprofessional, but also completely humiliating.
Standing at the back of the group peppering Sara with questions, I smile and nod appropriately and even take a turn examining her ring. It is large but tasteful, and fits her hand perfectly. Just as I’m starting to feel that a quick exit is my only option, Elle catches my eye and motions me over to her as she finishes up her conversation with Jeff, a young, black, nattily dressed associate.
“Sophie, are you all set for tomorrow, or do you want Jeff toback you up?” Tomorrow is one of my first events with Billy. He’s hosting a charity auction at this black-tie affair in Hollywood. It’s part of our campaign to give Billy’s image a little shine. Not that he’s Charlie Sheen or anything, but still, a worthwhile cause is always a good PR move.
“No, thanks. I’ve got it covered.” I see the enthusiasm fade from Jeff’s face. Jeff’s been a fast-learning junior publicist for almost a year now. He’s what my parents would call a
I lay in bed staring at the ceiling for roughly an hour after that, trying to fathom how I could get Jacob to admit to purposely not inviting me along. Is he ashamed of me? Embarrassed? Finally I convinced myself that I was being absurd, took a for-emergencies-only Ambien, and fell asleep.
But there is a weight in the pit of my stomach that won’t fade away this morning. And I just can’t figure out how to ask Jacob where we stand on this—our future as a couple—without putting him on the spot. I have never pressured him. I’m not the kind of girl who carries around in her wallet a picture of the engagement ring she wants (true story). Or the girlfriend who demands marriage or it’s over. Principles like that are all well and good on paper but feel doomed in real life. Yet lately it’s just been more and more on my mind. It seems like after we exchanged keys, there was no forward movement in our relationship,and Jacob is okay with that. And the key thing was a
year ago
! I don’t know what to think. Am I overreacting? Or am I afraid of how he might respond if I rock the boat?
“Sophie?”
Elle’s impatient tone slices through the mental cobwebs.
“Yes?” I reply with what I hope is a commanding, totally involved, I-was-just-considering-before-responding definitive response, with a hint of question just in case.
“Good. That’s settled.”
What? What’s settled?
Now would be the right moment for a go-back-in-time superpower. Elle continues in a perkier voice, “And for a fun announcement: our very own Sara Garman is engaged! Congratulations, dear!” Squeals and applause from all the girls, and I watch Sara, a junior publicist, fake modesty as she flashes at least a two-carat rock. She’s all of twenty-three. Here I am at thirty-one, with not even a hint of an engagement in my future, while everyone in the office is fawning over the latest bubbly cheerleader who is getting married next fall. I realize how jealous I sound. And bottom line, I
am
jealous. But I am not going to let anyone know it. That would be unprofessional, but also completely humiliating.
Standing at the back of the group peppering Sara with questions, I smile and nod appropriately and even take a turn examining her ring. It is large but tasteful, and fits her hand perfectly. Just as I’m starting to feel that a quick exit is my only option, Elle catches my eye and motions me over to her as she finishes up her conversation with Jeff, a young, black, nattily dressed associate.
“Sophie, are you all set for tomorrow, or do you want Jeff toback you up?” Tomorrow is one of my first events with Billy. He’s hosting a charity auction at this black-tie affair in Hollywood. It’s part of our campaign to give Billy’s image a little shine. Not that he’s Charlie Sheen or anything, but still, a worthwhile cause is always a good PR move.
“No, thanks. I’ve got it covered.” I see the enthusiasm fade from Jeff’s face. Jeff’s been a fast-learning junior publicist for almost a year now. He’s what my parents would call a
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