The Sleeping Beauty Proposal by Sarah Strohmeyer Page B

the summer season with both feet by donning a short, short white miniskirt. Her subdued navy cap-sleeve sweater and faux pearls are for the parents who will never see the tattoo of Chinese characters over her left breast or her tiny silver ankle bracelet with its not-so-innocent charms.
    I attempt ultimate nonchalance. “Hey, Alice. Have a good weekend?”
    Usually, this sets her off as Alice is obsessed with Fridays and Saturdays and can discuss them endlessly. From Monday until Wednesday at noon she can run a nonstop monologue about what she did the previous weekend. At some point on Wednesday, usually during lunch, this train of thought abruptly switches to what she will do the upcoming weekend, reaching a crescendo of planning around three on Friday, when she knocks off early.
    â€œThe better question is, how was your weekend?” she says provocatively.
    "Um, okay.”
    I can feel her gaze boring into me as I check my box for Saturday’s mail and flip through various meaningless Bill Gladstone memos about upcoming meetings and retreat dates, memos that I will round-file in the privacy of my own office.Then I take a deep breath, tuck my mail under my arm, and say with exasperation, “Mondays.What a drag!”
    â€œNot so fast.” Alice snags my left hand. “Where’s the ring?”
    â€œWhat ring?”
    â€œDon’t play dumb. We all know what happened. Donna in English practically sent out a newsletter.”
    Instantly, my armpits go damp. Though I had an inkling that gossip about Hugh’s appearance on TV might be circulating around the English Department, I had not expected it to hit my neck of the woods so soon. If Donna knows, then everyone will.
    â€œWhat’s going on?” asks a male voice from the other side of the window.
    Brandon, our building’s handyman, is holding the air conditioner from his side.
    â€œShe got engaged,” Alice says. “On television. Hugh Spencer asked her to marry him. Colleen Hirst, the dean’s secretary, TiVoed it.”
    That’s how hot Hugh is on campus. Women like Colleen actually TiVo his TV appearances.
    Brandon frowns at me in disappointment as though my engagement is a personal affront to his own credentials. “Thought you weren’t looking for a serious nonplatonic relationship.”
    Oh, dear. Is that what I told him?
    Years ago, shortly before I met Hugh, Brandon asked me— in a carefully worded and clearly rehearsed speech—if I would like to see the Boston Pops. This was particularly painful because he’d probably thought and thought about what I might consider a fancy date and he came up with the Pops. (Note to men: No woman under seventy likes the Pops.)
    Because he’d gone through such agony and because I knew turning him down would devastate him, I went with him to see the Pops and, prior to that, a way-too-expensive dinner at Pier 4, during which he kept rubbing his sweaty palms on his pants and talking about his ex-wife getting the kids and how that was so unfair.The worst was the awkward fumbling kiss in the car at the end. I cringe recalling his eager lips zeroing in on mine.
    Since then, we’ve never been truly at ease around each other. I rarely ask him for help with the copier or changing the fluorescent light fixture, unless I absolutely have to. And then, I never bring up our personal lives. I just assumed he knew Hugh and I were together. Guess not.
    â€œAlice doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” I bluff. “She’s smoking dope as usual.”
    â€œNot this early in the morning I’m not!”
    Gotta love Alice.
    â€œLook, Brandon,” she says, fed up.“Hugh and Genie have been dating for four years, as long as Trey Ray and I have. What would you expect? That he’d dump her?”
    Cough.
    â€œI’ll tell you what, if Trey doesn’t end up marrying me after all his shit I’ve put up with, that man will