The Wedding Sisters (21 page)

He was right. She did love him. She just wasn't in love with him. But since she wasn't ever planning on being in love again, wasn't just plain old love enough?

“Jo,” he said. “Will you marry me?”

She hesitated only for a second, pushing thoughts of Caroline far from her mind. Caroline, who was marrying Drew Finley. “Yes. Yes, I will.”

He slipped the ring on her finger.

*   *   *

The head table was closest to the dance floor. Tippy and Reed barely spent a moment in their seats. They danced song after song like it was their senior prom. The salad course (poached shrimp and watercress) had just been cleared, and Meryl and Hugh sat making small talk with the six other couples at the table.

“I absolutely adore the names of your daughters! Just like the characters in
Little Women,
” said the woman to Meryl's right. Her name was Sailor Burke, and she and her husband had been friends with Reed since Harvard. She'd never been to Manhattan and found it fascinating that Meryl could raise children there.

“Yes,” said Meryl. “Except there were four
Little Women.
We only have three.” She looked pointedly at Hugh. “Isn't that right? No fourth child for us.”

Hugh took the glass from her hand. “I think you should slow down on the wine, hon.”

Meryl had never forgotten about that accidental pregnancy, but her remorse was kicked into overdrive when she was doubting herself. When one of her choices came into question, all the choices over the years fell on top of one another, a cascade of dominoes. But tonight, it was Hugh's choice that was her undoing—his choice to choose this time in his career to take a stand against the culture at Yardley, his choosing the needs of Janell South over the needs of his daughters, and his choosing to dismiss Meryl's intense need and desire to have the weddings.

And really, hadn't that first impossible choice been his all those years ago?

She didn't like to think of it that way. In the rosy glow of retrospect, she had always framed the decision to have an abortion as the choice “they” made. She had only been a sophomore in college. They'd been only dating two months.

She'd thought about it endlessly. It had most likely happened the night of the book party. That first moment of passion, the glorious but unprotected sex in his agent's house. They had not only started a relationship; they'd created a life too. As students of literature, as lovers of art and the life of the mind, they could not help but receive the news in a romantic frame of mind. Hugh had been the first one to speak practically about the matter.

“It's just bad timing,” he'd said, as if this were an unfortunate scheduling glitch, a class that had to be dropped.

Meryl hadn't considered an abortion. She had envisioned herself going to class with a baby in one of those slings across her chest; she'd thought about how midnight feedings would barely throw her off her late-night cram sessions. She was in love with Hugh Becker; she knew that. And he loved her—even if they hadn't said it to each other yet.

But Hugh's words, said so calmly, so kindly, and with such gentle certainty, had the effect of waking her from a dream.

She never could have predicted how devastated she felt afterwards. The pregnancy was gone, and there was a gaping hole inside her that she feared would never be fixed. The bleeding felt like a punishment, like it would go on forever, though she knew it wasn't true.

Meryl needed time apart from Hugh, and for once, she really needed her mother. And that's when she made the second mistake, the one that would haunt her as doggedly as the abortion: her decision to confide in Rose.

Had Meryl expected her mother to take the news lightly? Of course not. But nothing could have prepared her for the tears, the howling, and the words Rose uttered as if Meryl had just shot her: “What have you done? Every life is precious.
Every life is precious.
”

Her mother stopped speaking to her. Meryl didn't have the strength to both shut out Hugh and lose her mother. She took baby steps back into her relationship with Rose. They healed. And eventually, her mother called her out of the blue as if nothing had happened. The abortion was never spoken of again. Her mother had forgiven her.

But she never forgave Hugh.

Meryl looked around for a waiter to get another glass of champagne.

Instead she found Polly, the attendant who had greeted her when she first arrived, making a beeline for her. “Mrs. Becker? Your mother is here. Waiting in the lobby.”

“On the phone?” Meryl asked. She looked around for her evening bag, realizing she hadn't looked at her phone in hours and probably should have checked it at least once since sitting down to dinner.

“No, ma'am. Here in person.”

“Your mother?” asked Hugh, frowning. She ignored him.

Meryl pushed back from the table, realizing only when she stood how very drunk she was. She followed Polly, weaving between tables, certain there was some sort of misunderstanding.

The lobby was several degrees cooler than the dining room, and Meryl shivered in her sleeveless dress. She looked around the room, still not truly expecting to see Rose.

“Mother?”

Rose stood across the way, peering at the ballroom where just hours earlier Tippy had given her a tour. Meryl was acutely aware of the old and the new colliding in a way she didn't find particularly comfortable.

“What are you doing here?”

“I'm here for Meg's little party.”

“I mean how did you get here?”

“I dialed 555-7777.”

The car service advertised during the late night television her mother watched to combat her insomnia.

“A car service? Mother, that must have cost a fortune.”

“Not really. And I'm not paying rent this month, so I don't see how that's an issue.”

“I told you, we still have to pay rent on that place until the lease expires.”

“I'm not paying rent on a place that kicked me out. This is America.”

“Okay, that's a whole different conversation. Why didn't you just come with us this morning?”

“I planned to boycott. I don't condone this, you know.”

“Yes, I know. We all know.”

“But I also am not going to let these people marginalize me from my granddaughter.”

“Mother, no one is trying to marginalize you. You're the one creating the drama. You're so cynical about everything, and this should be a happy time—a celebration! Why do you have to ruin everything?” Meryl heard herself getting louder and louder, but couldn't control herself. It was like locking her keys in a car and then watching it slide down a hill.

“You've had too much to drink.” Rose crossed her arms in front of her chest.

“That's all you have to say?”

“For now? Yes.”

With little choice in the matter, Meryl led her mother into the dining room. Polly, the consummate professional, had already arranged a place setting next to Meryl. Hugh shot Meryl a look, and she shrugged.

Sailor leaned over to introduce herself.

“That's quite a name,” Rose said. “Why don't you switch seats with me?” she said to Meryl. “As long as I'm here, I might as well meet new people.”

Fine, Meryl thought. Better to keep her occupied. She swapped seats so that she was positioned between her mother and Hugh. The slight change in angle gave her a view of Jo and Toby walking back into the dining room. Jo, catching Meryl's eye, gave an odd little wave. And she headed for the table with her date in tow.

Leave it to Jo to turn a man most women would fall in love with—just based on his looks and title alone—into a pal. A buddy. Her roommate. She'd thought, meeting him Jo's sophomore year at school, that surely they were a couple and Jo just wasn't ready to share it yet. It's not that she thought Jo's attraction to women was a phase—she'd suspected Jo was a lesbian years before she “came out.” And just like everything Jo did, her announcement was full of passion and drama: instead of taking Meryl aside, or sitting Meryl and Hugh down together to share the fact that she had a girlfriend or to simply tell them that she was gay, Jo e-mailed them a YouTube video of her speaking from a megaphone from atop the NYU Gay/Lesbian/Trans float at the annual New York City LGBT Pride March. Meryl could barely remember what Jo had said in the video. But she remembered how beautiful she looked, tanned to a golden brown, her long hair waving behind her like a flag, her legs barely covered in tiny denim cut-offs, and a diaphanous peasant blouse. She was like a vision from the 1960s, a child of Woodstock. What really came across in the video had nothing to do with her sexuality, but with her free spirit—the very thing Meryl loved most about her, aside from her sweet and good heart.

“Hey, Gran,” Jo said, leaning down and kissing Rose. “I thought you were blowing this off.”

“Change of plans,” said Rose.

“Well, I'm glad you're here,” said Jo, turning to look behind her at Toby. “We have something to tell you guys.”

“Something good, I hope,” Meryl said.

“We're getting married, Mrs. Becker,” said Toby.

“Ha. Very funny. Go on, you two—back to your table. It looks like Reed is about to make a toast. Hugh—do you have something prepared?” She should have thought of this before!

“As a matter of fact, I do. Something short.”

Jo leaned down closer to her. “Mom, Toby's serious. He just asked me to marry him.” She held out her left hand. And there it was—yet another engagement ring. The third to be bestowed on her daughters in six months.

Meryl's mouth dropped open, and she looked at Hugh. He shook his head ever so slightly, a denial, a rejection.

“May I have everyone's attention for a moment?”

Reed Campion stood in the center of the dance floor with the microphone. Slowly, unwillingly, Meryl took her eyes away from her husband's panicked face.

*   *   *

Meg leaned into Stowe, letting him guide her around the dance floor. She knew some friends who had taken ballroom dancing before their wedding, and clearly she could use some instruction, judging by the way she kept tripping over both feet. But Stowe, Sutton, and Cutter had already taken years of it as children. Who in that day and age sent three boys to ballroom dance lessons? Tippy Campion, apparently.

“I feel bad—I'm a weak partner,” Meg said to him.

He pressed his cheek against hers. “You're the best partner. For life. Besides, I can lead. That's what marriage is, right? Sometimes you lead, sometimes you follow. We can't both lead all the time.”

Except lately it felt like she was always the one doing the following. She hoped things would be a little more balanced after the wedding. Wedding planning was supposed to be stressful, right? That's why they made all those romantic comedies set around weddings. Drama!

But she didn't want drama. She just wanted to start their life together. She knew what her mother would say: Relax. Enjoy it. It's supposed to be fun. And tonight
was
fun. It was wonderful to have their friends and families meeting for the first time. Everyone seemed happy. And there, on the dance floor, with Stowe's arms around her, the music swelling around them, buoyant like waves, she could imagine how it would be the night of her wedding, when the vows had been taken, the cake eaten, most of the guests had gone.… It was almost like the first day of the rest of her life.

“Looks like Dad's going to say something,” Stowe said, turning her so she could see Reed taking the mic from the band leader. And sure enough, when the song ended, Reed headed toward the center of the dance floor.

“I don't want to be standing here while he makes a toast—totally awkward,” she said.

Stowe nodded and, taking her by the hand, led her to the side, where they grabbed two empty seats at a table filled with Tippy and Reed's friends from the club, including a couple who had seen Stowe grow up and still called him by the nickname “Camp” from his days on the Haverford prep soccer team.

“Friends, family—everyone who has been so wonderful as to join us here tonight. I'd like to take a moment to thank you for being with us to celebrate the engagement of our son, Stowe, to the lovely and talented Meg Becker. We couldn't be more delighted to have Meg joining our family. Where are they?” Reed cupped his hands over his eyes and looked around the room.

“Here, Dad!” Stowe called out.

“Stand up, you two.”

Meg and Stowe dutifully got to their feet. She felt herself start to perspire.

“So first, a toast to Stowe and Meg: May your lives together be as blessed as Tippy's and my own have been.”

He raised his champagne flute, and the room followed in a wave of raised glasses and murmurs. Someone handed Meg a glass and smiled. Stowe touched his glass to hers and kissed her. She vaguely heard the sound of applause, but mostly she was aware of the heat in the room, the tiny bit of champagne she spilled on Stowe's jacket, and as she looked across the room to where her parents were seated … her grandmother?

“My grandmother's here,” she whispered to Stowe.

He looked in the direction of her gaze and tightened his arm around her shoulders. “See? Everything worked out just fine.”

“We should go say hi.”

But Reed apparently was not finished. When Stowe realized his father was still speaking, he squeezed Meg's hand to stay put.

“And while I have you all here, our closest friends and family members, I wanted to share some news so you hear it from me first—before the announcement hits
The New York Times.
I am officially throwing my hat into the ring as a candidate for the next President of the United States of America.”

Meg felt her stomach drop—as if she were on a ride at an amusement park hurtling too fast toward some uncertain end.

She looked at Stowe, and he winked at her, his face full of an excitement she had never seen before.