Free Something Blue by Emily Giffin Page B

said.
    I told him that wasn’t my style. Then I got up quickly, resisting the urge to have sex. After all, I had a lot to accomplish in a day. I showered, put on my makeup, and then checked Marcus’s closet, which was full of my clothes that I had brought over the night before. I opted for an Escada pencil skirt, a green Versace V-neck, and a pair of Ferragamo slingbacks. Then, I leaned into the bathroom to say goodbye to Marcus, who was singing “Purple Rain” at the top of his lungs, and, impressively, in tune.
    “See you tonight, hon!” I called into the bathroom.
    He stopped singing and poked his head around the shower curtain. “Sounds good… C’mere and give me a quick kiss.”
    “Can’t. The steam will ruin my hair,” I said, blowing him a kiss from the doorway. Then I maneuvered through the busy city streets to the subway as I considered my strategy for how to break the news. I could tell Claire, coworker and new best friend effective immediately, that she was free to spread the word. Then I remembered that she had an out-of-office meeting with a potential new client this morning, and I couldn’t stand the thought of waiting for her return. So I would send a mass e-mail as Marcus suggested, adopting just the right tone.
    I got to my office, I settled into my chair in front of my computer and quickly typed out my breaking news:
     
    Good morning, everyone. I just wanted to let you all know that my wedding will not be taking place this Saturday. It was a difficult decision, but I think I’m doing the right thing. I know it’s a bit odd to send out a group e-mail regarding such a personal matter, but I thought this was the easiest way.

    Perfect. It was strong but emotional. And most important, it clearly signaled that I had done the dumping. I reread it, thinking that something was missing. I added an ellipsis at the end. Yes. Perfect touch. Those three little dots would conjure the sound of my voice trailing away mysteriously. Now for a subject line. Should it say “Wedding” or “Canceled” or “News”? None seemed right, so I kept the subject line blank. Then, as I selected my personal e-mail group and prepared to send the shocking nugget via cyberspace, my phone rang.
    “Darcy,” my boss, Cal, said in his breathy, effeminate voice. “How are ya?”
    “Not so good, Cal,” I said in my “I can’t deal with taking instructions” voice. One that he knew well. It was the beauty of working for Cal. He was a complete pushover.
    “Well, may I please see you in Conference Room C?”
    “For what?”
    “We need to talk about the Celebrity Golf Challenge.”
    “Right now ?”
    “Yes, if you could. Please?”
    I sighed as loudly as possible. “Okay,” I said. “I’ll be there when I can.”
    Damn. Had I arrived a few minutes earlier, he’d be opening my e-mail and contacting someone else about the golf tournament. I was sure that once I told him the news, he’d pass the project elsewhere, especially if I could work up a few tears. In fact, I could probably squeeze a few leisurely weeks out of my purported hardship. Maybe Marcus and I could even take a vacation together. I minimized my e-mail, deciding that I’d give it a final tweaking and a spell-check before sending, and then made my way downstairs to the conference room. I pushed open the heavy door with a hangdog expression.
    And there before me was the entire staff of Carolyn Morgan and Associates, all packed into the room, yelling “Surprise!” and hurling their heartiest congratulations at me from all directions. A gigantic blue box from Tiffany perched on one end of the lacquered table. An ivory-frosted cake with pink gel writing sat temptingly at the other. My heart raced. Talk about your audiences! Talk about your drama!
    “We knew you’d expect your party later in the week!” Claire squealed. “Gotcha! And you believed I had that meeting!”
    She was right. They had, indeed, gotten me. But I was about to get them right