Tech guy profiled in theNew York Times? All I can think is that he must be a hacker.
I set down my menu. “Please tell me you’re not marrying Julian Assange.”
“Who?”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “Never mind. What’s his name?”
“Bodhi Green.” Her face lights up as she says his name. “He invented several popular apps, like Habitactics and Quikpic. TheTimescalled him one of the most forward-thinking minds of his generation.”
I have no clue what either of these apps are, although Quikpic sounds familiar, like something my brother chastised me for not knowing about. Med school and residency left little time for keeping up with things like technology. Unless it pertains to what I do at work, I don’t have much use for apps and social media.
“Sounds like an accomplished guy,” I say.
If what she’s saying is true, this is nuts. My sister, whose idea of deep reading is wading through an entire issue of Vogue, is engaged to a brilliant nerd. This is not her normal pattern. All of the guys she dated after the Russian collectively had the I.Q. of a cantaloupe.
“We’ve been dating for about three months or so, and last week he completely shocked me by proposing.”
“Three months,” I repeat. “Wow.”
Maybe the third time isn’t going to be the charm. I need more than three months to decide what kind of car I want to buy.
“I know it’s a short time, but when you know, you know,” she says in a dreamy voice.
I do not bring up the fact that she thought she knew the first two times she got engaged. My self-restraint is commendable.
“I look forward to meeting him.”
It’s the truth. Meeting Olivia’s boyfriends is always an interesting experience and makes me feel better about my own lack of a relationship. If those are the men attracted to my gene pool, I’d rather be single.
“You’re going to have a chance. He’s flying in for our family dinner on Thursday.”
“Awesome, sounds great.”
Olivia’s face brightens, like she actually cares what I think about the amazing Bodhi Green.
“We decided not to drag out our engagement. We’re planning a destination wedding for later this month in Cozumel.”
“What?” I say. “You’re joking, right?”
Who can possibly plan a wedding in a couple of weeks? I’m getting nauseated just thinking about the logistics of a destination wedding. Passports, plane tickets, hotel reservations, not to mention the venue, the dress, the invitations. I feel a stress hive forming on my neck.
“It’s already in the works. Don’t look so worried. I hired a wedding coordinator.”
Of course she did. Olivia won’t do a lick of work. She’ll just show up at the wedding looking flawless and take all the credit for making it happen. I’m not going to complain though. She’s given me the perfect excuse to get out of attending her wedding.
“I don’t know if I can get off work with short notice. They usually require at least a month before we can get a day off, much less several days in a row.”
This is true, and it’s quite ridiculous and self-centered of her to think everyone can drop their lives and run off to Mexico for her spur-of-the-moment wedding. Hell, I won’t be surprised if she drags everyone down there and then the wedding gets canceled at the last minute. That would be classic.
“You have to be there.” Olivia’s forehead puckers with concern. “I want you to be my maid of honor.”
I tilt my head to the side like a confused cocker spaniel. “Sorry, what?”
“I want you to stand up with me when I get married.”
I say the first word that comes to mind. “Why?”
Her mouth becomes a straight line and I kind of regret my harsh delivery, but not that much.
