The Balance Thing Read Online Free

of those women. I could deal.
    I hung up the phone and closed the laptop. Because I also knew I could deal a lot better after a massive amount of ice cream.

Three
    I think you’re crazy for wanting another stupid marketing job anyway.” Connie’s opinion was not blunted by the silk-organza-with-hand-sewn-pearl-accents bridal veil engulfing her face.
    â€œThat one’s too stiff,” I told her. “I thought you wanted long and drapey. And I don’t see what’s so crazy about trying to get my career back on track.”
    â€œAre we still on the job thing?” Vida entered the elaborately feminine dressing room with her arms full of something sheer and silky. “Seriously, Becks, why don’t you just enjoy the time off?”
    â€œIt isn’t time off unless it’s time off from something. And I don’t have anything, so it’s just time. Wasted time.” I looked at the new veil, which Vida offered with the resigned fortitude of a handmaiden who realizes she isn’t destined to please the queen. “That’s nice.”
    Connie wrinkled her nose. “Too plain. I want simple and elegant but not plain.”
    The handmaiden rebelled. “Well, you’re going to have to explain the difference to me because the last thing I brought in was ‘too fussy.’”
    Vida was definitely not in her element at Bridal Elegance. As usual, she was wearing sunscreen instead of makeup, and her straight blond hair was in a ponytail. She wore cargo pants and a long-sleeved polo with a software logo on it—her office clothes. She’d come straight from her job as a coder at one of the big tech companies on the peninsula.
    Vida went surfing before work every morning she could, and I knew if I got close enough to her, I’d probably still be able to catch a whiff of riptide on her skin. She was sure and graceful on a surfboard, but surrounded by bridal flounces she looked about as comfortable as Rambo in a tea shop.
    I heard Connie’s voice from somewhere inside a cathedral-length cloud of sheer white silk. “I hate this.”
    Tempers were getting frayed. Luckily, the saleswoman had years of experience to call upon. She poked her head inside the creamy satin drape and asked the magic question. “Does anyone here need champagne?”
    Â 
    AN HOUR LATER, a much more mellow bridal party had identified the perfect veil (perfect was the theme for Connie’s wedding) and moved on to another room and the tricky subject of bridesmaid shoes for Vida and me.
    â€œThey need to be high enough so you look good, but low enough so you can dance all night,” Connie said with authority. “Just because the dresses are full-length doesn’t mean that nobody will see your feet.”
    I must have made some sort of harumphing noise because both Vida and Connie looked at me.
    â€œWhat?” Connie asked. “What’s wrong with the shoes?”
    â€œIt’s not the shoes,” I said, although at an average price ofthree hundred and twenty dollars there was plenty wrong with them. “It’s just that, unless you find me an eligible Englishman, I don’t really need to worry about dancing.”
    My friends exchanged glances.
    â€œWhat?” I demanded.
    â€œYou can’t date an Englishman,” Connie told me.
    â€œWhat do you mean I can’t date an Englishman? Is that part of NAFTA or something? They can have our wheat, but we can’t have their men?”
    Vida gave me a serious look. “NAFTA has nothing to do with England,” she said. “It stands for North American—”
    â€œI know what it stands for,” I snapped. “I just mean, what rule says I’m prohibited from dating an Englishman?”
    Connie sank onto one of the shoe department’s fringed ottomans and considered a black Stuart Weitzman pump with a little crystal bow on the front strap. “Well, Becks, you know how