me of the college boy he used to be. Showing off the clean and casual look that he knows I love. So unfair to use a haircut as an excuse to remind me.
Maybe you think I am overanalyzing. Maybe you think I am overreacting. Like I told Mia, trust me on this. I have been reading his emails and listening to his messages for years. And it took me just about that long to figure all this out. I used to think a drink meant a martini, and that a photo was a photo. After all, what guy is so calculating that he actually puts that much thought into every word he says?
I remember vividly the moment when it dawned on me about Kevin. Funny thing was, it was Kevin himself who made me stop sleeping with him on his terms. It was one of those days when I thought trying to be friends—with benefits—could work. It was my third wedding, and I was looking at a reception hall contract while waiting for him to get out of the shower. Towel still in hand, he took the contract from me, sighing, “All right, Cass, I’ll look at it for you.”
“You don’t have to. I think it’s fine. A couple of vague phrases here or there, but as long as my clients are comfortable…”
“Lawyers are never vague without intention, Cass. Every word that is or isn’t there means something to them.”
I never looked at his emails the same again.
I hit the forward button and type in Suzanne’s, Mia’s and Kate’s email addresses.
Girls: See below. What do you think? Do I need this drama?!? Check out the picture…
I munch on my bagel while I hit Send. It always worries me a little, how fast things circulate on email. I always think of the time that some girl did a blow by blow on a blind date—what she wore, what he wore, what she said, what he said, what she looked like, what he looked like, how he kissed, etc. And she was not kind. A few hundred or thousand forwards later, and the email found its way back to her date, and to her. Needless to say it was detailed enough to be highly embarrassing.
Of course that could also be an urban legend, which is why I continue to forward recklessly.
Mia writes back immediately:
Don’t do it. You’re just setting yourself up. Don’t open up old wounds. He is DEFINITELY not worth it.
Some sound, decisive advice. Mia is so mature. I feel better about my day already without the false confidence of caffeine. I check my calendar to see what I have to do today. As usual, the Wednesday before a wedding is filled with appointments to make last-minute confirmations with various vendors. I start packing up my bag. My first appointment is at the wedding site, so in addition to the usual necessities, I pack: 1) a frozen bottle of Fiji water—perfect to last through a hot summer morning, 2) a digital camera, and 3) an extra MetroCard. I also double check that my MetroCard is where it is supposed to be, in the little outer side pocket of my Prada. Nothing annoys me more than people who dig around for their cards at the turnstile while a line forms behind them. I finish up my bagel and in five minutes I am out the door.
The Brooklyn Botanical Garden is probably my favorite place for a New York wedding. Everyone tends to make a big to-do about the whole Manhattan loft wedding, or if they are looking for a garden, they want the New York Botanical Garden in the Bronx. I head straight to the rose garden where the ceremony is to take place, and take out my digital camera. I shoot a few photos of where the altar will be set up and of the garden in general, so that I can assure the Bride that just a mere three days prior to the wedding, there are plenty of roses for a beautiful ceremony. I make sure that I am here in the morning, around the time when the ceremony will take place. I record the temperature, and then head to the Palm House.
Now the Palm House is the reason why I favor the Brooklyn garden over the Bronx one. The Victorian glass house is just so beautiful and unique for a reception hall, I almost
Maybe you think I am overanalyzing. Maybe you think I am overreacting. Like I told Mia, trust me on this. I have been reading his emails and listening to his messages for years. And it took me just about that long to figure all this out. I used to think a drink meant a martini, and that a photo was a photo. After all, what guy is so calculating that he actually puts that much thought into every word he says?
I remember vividly the moment when it dawned on me about Kevin. Funny thing was, it was Kevin himself who made me stop sleeping with him on his terms. It was one of those days when I thought trying to be friends—with benefits—could work. It was my third wedding, and I was looking at a reception hall contract while waiting for him to get out of the shower. Towel still in hand, he took the contract from me, sighing, “All right, Cass, I’ll look at it for you.”
“You don’t have to. I think it’s fine. A couple of vague phrases here or there, but as long as my clients are comfortable…”
“Lawyers are never vague without intention, Cass. Every word that is or isn’t there means something to them.”
I never looked at his emails the same again.
I hit the forward button and type in Suzanne’s, Mia’s and Kate’s email addresses.
Girls: See below. What do you think? Do I need this drama?!? Check out the picture…
I munch on my bagel while I hit Send. It always worries me a little, how fast things circulate on email. I always think of the time that some girl did a blow by blow on a blind date—what she wore, what he wore, what she said, what he said, what she looked like, what he looked like, how he kissed, etc. And she was not kind. A few hundred or thousand forwards later, and the email found its way back to her date, and to her. Needless to say it was detailed enough to be highly embarrassing.
Of course that could also be an urban legend, which is why I continue to forward recklessly.
Mia writes back immediately:
Don’t do it. You’re just setting yourself up. Don’t open up old wounds. He is DEFINITELY not worth it.
Some sound, decisive advice. Mia is so mature. I feel better about my day already without the false confidence of caffeine. I check my calendar to see what I have to do today. As usual, the Wednesday before a wedding is filled with appointments to make last-minute confirmations with various vendors. I start packing up my bag. My first appointment is at the wedding site, so in addition to the usual necessities, I pack: 1) a frozen bottle of Fiji water—perfect to last through a hot summer morning, 2) a digital camera, and 3) an extra MetroCard. I also double check that my MetroCard is where it is supposed to be, in the little outer side pocket of my Prada. Nothing annoys me more than people who dig around for their cards at the turnstile while a line forms behind them. I finish up my bagel and in five minutes I am out the door.
The Brooklyn Botanical Garden is probably my favorite place for a New York wedding. Everyone tends to make a big to-do about the whole Manhattan loft wedding, or if they are looking for a garden, they want the New York Botanical Garden in the Bronx. I head straight to the rose garden where the ceremony is to take place, and take out my digital camera. I shoot a few photos of where the altar will be set up and of the garden in general, so that I can assure the Bride that just a mere three days prior to the wedding, there are plenty of roses for a beautiful ceremony. I make sure that I am here in the morning, around the time when the ceremony will take place. I record the temperature, and then head to the Palm House.
Now the Palm House is the reason why I favor the Brooklyn garden over the Bronx one. The Victorian glass house is just so beautiful and unique for a reception hall, I almost
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