Free The One That Got Away by Carol Rosenfeld

apartment door behind me, grateful that I’d left the rest of humanity outside. I wondered how married people managed, when they came home growling and found yet another person expecting something, needing something.
    I kicked off my pumps, unzipped, then dropped my pants and rolled down my pantyhose. Within minutes I had shed my work clothes and changed into sweatpants and a t-shirt. Sliding my feet into a pair of rubber flip-flops, I shuffled into the kitchen.
    I fed Truffle, and started boiling water for spaghetti. Then I opened a jar of sauce, spilling half of it into a pot. Sometimes I eat at the sink right out of the pot, but tonight I had junk mail to read, so I transferred the piles of paper from the table to my bed and took out a placemat.
    While I waited for the water to boil, I reviewed the day. Linda Pennie’s wedding was only weeks away but she had yet to select a gown, claiming she wanted to lose more weight.
    The menu for the Greve-Lesser wedding was provingto be problematic—between the bride and the groom and their immediate families, a variety of food allergies had to be addressed: lactose intolerance, wheat products, peanuts, strawberries and cherries.
    The water was boiling. I stirred in a handful of spaghetti.
    Then there was Alexandra Nitschke, soon to be Alexandra Nitschke-Voloch. Alexandra had amazing hair—setter red, wavy, Lady Godiva-length tresses. It was easy to picture Alexandra as a faerie queene bride, flowers twined through her rippling curls, or in a square-necked, flowing gown with sleeves that hung like icicles below her wrists, perhaps a long, hooded cape buttoned to her shoulders. A creamy brocade, with pearl and gold bead embroidery, the lining of the sleeves and cape a golden silk, and a diadem on her head in lieu of a veil. But Alexandra wanted something a little less dramatic. And though she lacked imagination in terms of her apparel, she had a unique vision of what she wanted the theme of her bridal shower to be.
    â€œI want a tool shower,” Alexandra said.
    When she announced that, Eduardo swallowed his coffee and put the cup down gently, as if there were nothing unusual about the request.
    â€œYou see, I don’t wear lingerie, and my kitchen is pretty well stocked. But Eugene and I want to buy a little fixer-upper, and I don’t have many tools.”
    I made a note in the file: “Wrench for a wench; True Value instead of Tiffany’s.” I loved the concept. I pictured the invited guests, accustomed to shopping for wineglasses and cookware, inquiring about drill bits instead. I imagined a set of screwdrivers wrapped up in paper with lacy pink parasols and a curly bow.
    â€œWell, give us a day or two to come up with some options,” Eduardo said, rising to show Alexandra out.
    When he returned I said, “You handled that very well, Eduardo.”
    â€œWould you like to take this one on, B.D.? I think it’s more in your line of experience, don’t you?”
    â€œBecause I’m a lesbian? For someone who plays with gender the way you do, I think you’re being a little—provincial, Eduardo.”
    He started to reply, but I raised my hand. “I’ll do it. Not because I’m a lesbian, but because I like the idea.”
    Now I put the pasta on a plate, poured the sauce over it, sprinkled a large tablespoon full of Parmesan cheese on top, and sat down at the table, wondering if Home Depot offered a bridal registry.
    I opened the invitation with Natalie’s return address. I recognized the stationery as one that Eduardo and I often recommended our clients use for their thank-you notes.
    The details were handwritten in what appeared to be a fountain pen. “You are invited for brunch at the home of Natalie Lamont to celebrate Bridget’s birthday, April 1 at noon.”
    I wondered what I would wear. Jeans seemed too casual.
    I put the invitation aside and went on to the first of several mail order