Not Quite A Bride by Kirsten Sawyer Page A

take it and a few seconds later he’s back on the line.
    â€œHey. It’s good to hear your voice,” Brad says with a warmth that tells me he means it.
    â€œYou could have called back if it’s a bad time.”
    â€œNo, I really want to talk to you.”
    â€œOkay.” I open my mouth to take a big bite of humble pie. “I miss you, and I want to see you, so ... why don’t the four of us get together this weekend?”
    â€œThe four of us?”
    â€œYeah. I thought the only way for me to be allowed to see you was under Claire’s supervision?”
    â€œWell, yes ... but who’s the fourth?”
    What?!? “Justin!” I say with a “duh” tone.
    â€œOh, really? You guys are still together, huh?”
    That is such a strange response ... I’m not even sure what to say. “Yes, of course we are.”
    â€œOkay, well, great. I think we’re free Sunday. I would love to see you, too, Molly.”
    â€œSunday is perfect.” I know Justin has Sundays off.
    â€œFantastic—I’ll call you Sunday morning to set up time and place. ’Bye, Molly.”
    I set the phone back on the receiver, but I’m kind of weirded out by the conversation. Brad just doesn’t seem like himself. It’s so strange ... and so sad. Claire really must be brainwashing him! Sunday should be interesting.
    Justin and I really enjoy the weekend. As fall is approaching, the leaves are starting to change color and it’s starting to cool down just a little. School starts soon and shortly after that we are supposed to get engaged ... so there’s a lot to do. We spend the days shopping; we look at fake, fake engagement rings ... it’s a little depressing. I get some back-to-school clothes (yes, teachers get them, too), Justin gets some “straight boy” clothes, as he calls them, for the post-engagement events we’ll be doing, and we play with all the knickknacks at Williams-Sonoma in preparation for our registry. Justin even packs a weekend bag and spends Saturday night at my apartment. It’s like having a slumber party ... we make mai tais, put on face masks, and stay up half the night talking and giggling. As much fun as I’m having, our Sunday night plans with Brad and Claire leave an uncomfortable knot in my stomach. It’s similar to the feeling of dread I get when I have an impending dentist appointment. And just like the time leading up to a dentist appointment, it flies by and before I know it, it’s Sunday night.
    True to his word, Brad calls on Sunday morning to confirm our plans and set up a restaurant in Greenwich Village that “Claire loves.” The phone call only makes the knot in my stomach grow because it’s SO not Brad to be so responsible. When the old Brad said, I’ll call you Sunday morning to confirm (if he would even be organized enough to say that), it meant, Call me Sunday afternoon to remind me.
    Sunday evening, Justin and I get dressed and, thanks to his help, we look damn good. We get to the restaurant ten minutes after the scheduled time ... we take our time and have the cab drop us off a block from the restaurant and stroll the rest of the way, knowing that this will upset Claire and taking immense, although immature, pleasure in it.
    We walk in the restaurant, which is practically empty, but Brad still waves us over like the place is a crowded bar that we could never have found him in. We exchange uncomfortable hellos; Claire doesn’t get up, I’m not sure if I’m allowed to hug Brad, so I don’t. Justin awkwardly shakes his hand, but Brad is looking at me, not Justin, while they shake. Finally, we all sit down (except Claire, who never got off her bony ass) and I grab the first waiter I see and order a glass of white wine. Then there is silence. Hmmm ... dumdedum ... okay ... this is weird.
    An icebreaker, we definitely need an icebreaker. Should I knock something