Shopaholic Ties the Knot
Page 7
“Not today, no,” says Luke.
“OK, well, when you do,” says Danny, “ask him if he’s put on weight. Really casually. Just say, ‘Why, Randall, you’re looking well-covered.’ And then maybe comment on his choice of entree. He is so paranoid that he’s getting fat. It’s hilarious.”
“Brotherly love,” says Luke. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” He comes to the end of the post and looks at me with a slight frown.
“Becky, has our joint account statement come yet?”
“Er… no. Not yet.” I give him a reassuring smile. “I expect it’ll come tomorrow!”
Our bank statement actually came yesterday, but I put it straight in my underwear drawer. I’m slightly concerned about some of the entries, so I’m just going to see if there’s anything I can do to rectify the situation. The truth is, despite what I said to Danny, I’ve been finding this whole joint account thing a bit tricky.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for sharing money. In fact, hand on heart, I love sharing Luke’s money. It gives me a real buzz! I just don’t love it when he suddenly asks, “What was this seventy dollars in Bloomingdale’s for?” and I can’t remember. So I’ve worked out a whole new tactical response — which is so simple, it’s brilliant.
It’s to spill something on the statement, so he can’t read it.
“I’m going to take a shower,” says Luke, gathering up the post. And he’s almost out of the room — when he stops. Very slowly he turns back and looks at the cocktail cabinet as though seeing it for the first time.
“What is that?” he says slowly.
“It’s a cocktail cabinet!” I say brightly.
“Where has it come from?”
“It… umm… actually, I bought it today.”
“Becky…” Luke closes his eyes. “I thought we said no more crap.”
“It’s not crap! It’s genuine 1930s! We can make amazing cocktails every night!” I’m feeling a bit nervous at his expression, so I start to gabble. “Look, I know we said no more furniture. But this is different. I mean, when you see a one-off like this, you have to grab it!”
I trail away and bite my lip. Luke silently walks toward the cabinet. He runs a hand along the top, then picks up a cocktail shaker, his mouth tight.
“Luke, I just thought it would be fun! I thought you’d like it. The guy in the shop said I’ve got a really good eye…”
“A really good eye,” echoes Luke as though in disbelief.
I gasp and scream as he throws the cocktail shaker in the air, and I’m wincing, waiting for it to land with a crash on the wooden floor — when Luke neatly catches it. Danny and I gape as he throws it again, twirls round, and rolls it down his arm.
I don’t believe it. I’m living with Tom Cruise.
“I worked as a barman for a summer,” says Luke, his face breaking into a smile.
I never knew that! Luke is so driven and businesslike and you think he doesn’t care about anything except work… and then all of a sudden, he surprises you.
“Teach me how to do it!” I cry excitedly. “I want to be able to do that!”
“And me!” says Danny. He picks up the other cocktail shaker, gives it an inexpert twirl, then tosses it at me. I make a grab, but it lands on the sofa.
“Butterfingers!” mocks Danny. “Come on, Becky. You need to get in practice for catching the bouquet at this wedding.”
“No, I don’t!”
“Sure you do. You wanna be next, don’t you?”
“Danny…” I try to give a lighthearted laugh.
“You two should definitely get married,” Danny continues, ignoring me. He picks up the cocktail shaker and begins tossing it from hand to hand. “It’s perfect. Look at you. You live together, you don’t want to kill each other, you’re not already related… I could make you a fabulous dress…” He puts down the shaker with a suddenly intent expression. “Hey, listen, Becky. Promise me, if you get married, I can make your dress.”
This is appalling. If he carries on like this, Luke will think I’m trying to pressure him. He might even think I told Danny to bring up the subject deliberately.
I’ve got to redress the balance somehow. Quickly.
“Actually, I don’t want to get married,” I hear myself saying. “Not for at least ten years.”
“Really?” Danny looks taken aback. “You don’t?”
“Is that so?” Luke looks up with an unreadable expression. “I wasn’t aware of that.”
“OK, well, when you do,” says Danny, “ask him if he’s put on weight. Really casually. Just say, ‘Why, Randall, you’re looking well-covered.’ And then maybe comment on his choice of entree. He is so paranoid that he’s getting fat. It’s hilarious.”
“Brotherly love,” says Luke. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” He comes to the end of the post and looks at me with a slight frown.
“Becky, has our joint account statement come yet?”
“Er… no. Not yet.” I give him a reassuring smile. “I expect it’ll come tomorrow!”
Our bank statement actually came yesterday, but I put it straight in my underwear drawer. I’m slightly concerned about some of the entries, so I’m just going to see if there’s anything I can do to rectify the situation. The truth is, despite what I said to Danny, I’ve been finding this whole joint account thing a bit tricky.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for sharing money. In fact, hand on heart, I love sharing Luke’s money. It gives me a real buzz! I just don’t love it when he suddenly asks, “What was this seventy dollars in Bloomingdale’s for?” and I can’t remember. So I’ve worked out a whole new tactical response — which is so simple, it’s brilliant.
It’s to spill something on the statement, so he can’t read it.
“I’m going to take a shower,” says Luke, gathering up the post. And he’s almost out of the room — when he stops. Very slowly he turns back and looks at the cocktail cabinet as though seeing it for the first time.
“What is that?” he says slowly.
“It’s a cocktail cabinet!” I say brightly.
“Where has it come from?”
“It… umm… actually, I bought it today.”
“Becky…” Luke closes his eyes. “I thought we said no more crap.”
“It’s not crap! It’s genuine 1930s! We can make amazing cocktails every night!” I’m feeling a bit nervous at his expression, so I start to gabble. “Look, I know we said no more furniture. But this is different. I mean, when you see a one-off like this, you have to grab it!”
I trail away and bite my lip. Luke silently walks toward the cabinet. He runs a hand along the top, then picks up a cocktail shaker, his mouth tight.
“Luke, I just thought it would be fun! I thought you’d like it. The guy in the shop said I’ve got a really good eye…”
“A really good eye,” echoes Luke as though in disbelief.
I gasp and scream as he throws the cocktail shaker in the air, and I’m wincing, waiting for it to land with a crash on the wooden floor — when Luke neatly catches it. Danny and I gape as he throws it again, twirls round, and rolls it down his arm.
I don’t believe it. I’m living with Tom Cruise.
“I worked as a barman for a summer,” says Luke, his face breaking into a smile.
I never knew that! Luke is so driven and businesslike and you think he doesn’t care about anything except work… and then all of a sudden, he surprises you.
“Teach me how to do it!” I cry excitedly. “I want to be able to do that!”
“And me!” says Danny. He picks up the other cocktail shaker, gives it an inexpert twirl, then tosses it at me. I make a grab, but it lands on the sofa.
“Butterfingers!” mocks Danny. “Come on, Becky. You need to get in practice for catching the bouquet at this wedding.”
“No, I don’t!”
“Sure you do. You wanna be next, don’t you?”
“Danny…” I try to give a lighthearted laugh.
“You two should definitely get married,” Danny continues, ignoring me. He picks up the cocktail shaker and begins tossing it from hand to hand. “It’s perfect. Look at you. You live together, you don’t want to kill each other, you’re not already related… I could make you a fabulous dress…” He puts down the shaker with a suddenly intent expression. “Hey, listen, Becky. Promise me, if you get married, I can make your dress.”
This is appalling. If he carries on like this, Luke will think I’m trying to pressure him. He might even think I told Danny to bring up the subject deliberately.
I’ve got to redress the balance somehow. Quickly.
“Actually, I don’t want to get married,” I hear myself saying. “Not for at least ten years.”
“Really?” Danny looks taken aback. “You don’t?”
“Is that so?” Luke looks up with an unreadable expression. “I wasn’t aware of that.”
