I’d been waiting for over half an hour when Lindsay finally showed up; lucky for her, there was a beauty store right across the street from the restaurant we were meeting at, so I killed the time trying out new perfumes. I ended up settling on a

Dolce & Gabbana Perfume

D&G scent that reminded me of summer, which was quickly drawing to a close.

“What took you so long?” I snapped at her as we sat down at our table. Not only was I irritated about having had to wait for her for so long, I also hadn’t eaten in six hours, and my empty stomach was giving me grief.

“I said I was sorry, Grace,” Lindsay said, opening a menu. “I got held up at work. It’s not like I could just leave without finishing what my boss asked me to do. You know how pissed she gets when I don’t do things exactly the way she tells me to.” She rolled her eyes at me over the menu, and I laughed a little. Lindsay had the boss from hell, a frigid, starved-looking crone named Bridget who only wore designer clothing and subsisted on romaine lettuce and champagne. Lindsay only stayed at her job because she was dying to be a fashion designer, and working for Bridget was a surefire way of making herself known in a notoriously exclusive industry.

“Fine,” I said, “I guess I can forgive you. But you owe me dessert.”

“Done,” she said. “I have a feeling this is going to be a two-dessert night. I’m not in the mood to share my sugar with you.” She laughed her loud, high-pitched laugh, sending me into a fit of giggles. Lindsay and I had been friends since we’d graduated from college three years before, and her laugh was still the weirdest thing I’d ever heard. She sounded like a cross between a donkey and hyena, and while I used to get embarrassed by it, now I just thought it was hilarious.

We ate and talked for two hours, decompressing from our stressful work week. She worked in a major fashion design firm, and I worked for a publishing house. We were both just starting out on our career paths, so we could commiserate about low salaries, tiny apartments, demanding bosses whose coffee we wanted to spit in, and having to wear high heels on the subway.

As we were leaving the restaurant, about to head our separate ways for the night, Lindsay grabbed my arm and said, “Oh my gosh! I almost forgot to tell you the most important thing that’s happened to me all week!”

“What?” I said, wondering what could be so important.

“I’m getting married!” Lindsay grabbed my hand and pumped it up and down, bouncing on her toes and squealing with glee. “Can you believe it?”

“Uhh, no, actually,” I said, wondering if she was being serious. Lindsay hadn’t even had a date in over two months, as far as I knew, and she wasn’t exactly a traditional beauty. Sure, she had good qualities, like straight teeth and long legs, but her face…well, let’s just say the boys weren’t lining up at her door. I had always just assumed that I would get married before her, but I wasn’t even close to the altar. In fact, I wasn’t even close to the church doors.

“What do you mean, you’re getting married?” I asked, trying to keep the incredulity in my voice to a minimum. “To who?”

“He’s a guy from my office. I met him a month and a half ago, and we started talking on the phone and hanging out during lunch. We have so much in common, and he is so sweet to me. I know it’s all happening kind of fast, but we’re in love. And he’s Canadian, and his visa is about to expire.” She said this last part in a rush of mumbled words, and I almost didn’t catch them.

“His visa? Like, he’s an immigrant?” I tried not to laugh, but my words were coming out all funny.

“No, Grace, he’s not an immigrant. I mean, he’s from Canada. His parents live, like, three hours away. But he technically will get deported if he stays here after his visa expires in two weeks. So we’re getting married next week, and then he’ll be able to stay.” She looked a little sheepish, and had a hard time making eye contact.

“Well, what’s his name?” I said, trying to be happy for my friend.

“James.”

“James? James, James. Why does that sound familiar? Wait, isn’t that the guy who started working there right after Bridget’s other assistant quit?” I asked.

“Yeah, that’s him.”

“Hmm. I remember you talking about him when he started, and it’s funny, but when you described him to me, I just assumed he was…” I trailed off, not wanting to be rude.

“What? Just say it, Grace,” Lindsay said, a slight edge creeping into her voice.

“Well, honestly, the way you were describing him, I thought he was gay,” I said. Lindsay was a little naïve, and I didn’t want some guy who cared nothing for her, or for any woman for that matter, taking advantage of her American citizenship.