Page 33 of Consummation

“So, hey, what did Josh ask you?” I ask.

“When?”

“On the phone just now. When you said, ‘Hellz yeah, I will’?”

“Oh. He asked if I’ll be taking Jonas’ name. He said if I take the Faraday name then I’ll ‘single-handedly increase the number of Faradays roaming the earth by 33.33 percent.’” She smiles. “So I told him, ‘Hellz yeah, I will, you silly goose!’” She squeals with unadulterated joy.

“It’s like you’ve been sucking on nitrous oxide.”

Sarah laughs.

“And what did Josh say in response to that?” I ask.

“He said, ‘Good. I think it’s best for everyone in our family to have the same last name—that way we’ll never be turned away when visiting each other in the hospital.’”

My stomach flips over. “So enough about Josh,” I say. “I’m dying to hear everything about Greece.”

“Oh my God, I can’t wait to tell you. But lemme figure out my order first so the waitress doesn’t kill me when she comes back.”

I watch Sarah study her menu for a moment, my heart going pitter-pat with love for her. She’s so damned cute. And so damnedhappy.God, I’m thrilled for her—I really am—but I’d be lying if I didn’t say I wish I were in her same shoes, wearing a rock on my finger from Josh. Actually, no, on second thought, I don’t even care about the marriage part so much as I just want Josh towantme, totally and completely, without reservation, the way Jonas so obviously wants Sarah.

Sarah looks up. “Salmon burger with a spinach salad.Boom.”

“Sounds good,” I say, even though the thought of anything fishy turns my stomach. “Okay, nowspill,honey.”

Sarah launches into telling me every swoon-inducing detailabout Jonas popping the question, stopping only to chomp on her salmon burger when our food arrives. And when Sarah’s done telling me every last thing about Jonas’ incredible proposal, we begin poring over the huge stack of bridal magazines I’ve brought, formulating ideas for the wedding of the century a mere twenty-six days from now (oh my God!).

“Okay,” I finally say after almost an hour of brainstorming. I look down at the lengthy list of questions and ideas scrawled on my notepad. “Do you want me to go with you to your meeting with the wedding planner tomorrow?”

“No, I know you’re busy getting your new business up and running—I’ll handle everything from here on out.”

My stomach clenches. God, I hate keeping anything from Sarah. It makes me feel even more like throwing up than I already do. “Sarah, I’m the Party Girl, remember?” I say. “I live for parties—and weddings are just the granddaddy of all parties. Plus, I’m the maid of honor, after all—let me help you pull it all together.”

Sarah beams a huge smile at me. “Really?”

“Of course.”

“I must admit I’m a bit overwhelmed. Jonas says he’ll pay for everything and show up, so I’m kind of on my own here.”

“I’m thrilled to do it. Anything you need, whatever it is, I’m your girl.”

“Thanks so much, Kat. You’re the absolute best,” Sarah says. She emphatically closes the bridal magazine in front of her on the table. “So enough about me, me, me. I’ve talked your ear off this whole lunch. Tell me what’s going on with you, you, you? How’s Golden Kat PR coming? When’s the launch date, you think?”

“Um,” I say. I bite my lip. “Hmm.”

“I’ve been thinking,” Sarah says. “What do you think about ‘Kitty Kat PR’? Too juvenile? It’s certainly memorable.”

I don’t reply.

“Yeah, you’re right. Probably too juvenile,” Sarah says. “So how’s the planning going? Are you having fun?”

I take a small sip of ginger ale, trying to figure out how best to answer Sarah’s seemingly innocuous questions without unleashing the kraken on her. Shit. I suppose I should tell Sarah about Colby, but I’m certainly not gonna tell her about my accidental Faraday, notwhen she’s in the throes of planning her dream wedding—plus, the sonogram at my doctor’s appointment later today might reveal the accidental spawn is smoking and losing altitude, you never know. And if I’m not gonna tell Sarah about my accidental bun in the oven, then I sure as heck won’t be telling her about Josh’s so-called marriage proposal, either, or about how I’ve been crying my eyes out ever since.

“So, come on—tell me everything,” Sarah says, sipping her wine.

“Well...” I begin slowly, my stomach in knots. “Um.” My lower lip begins to tremble. My eyes water.

Shoot.

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