The Wedding Sisters (30 page)

“Perfect. So, now that that's settled—let's find you a wedding dress.”

*   *   *

Meryl had begun measuring days in terms of progress versus setbacks. Today had been mostly progress: Jo was set with Marchesa, Meryl had successfully made an appointment for her mother to see a psychiatrist, and she had closed the door on that whole reality show thing. And now she had no reason to see Scott, and really, nothing good would have come from that.

She looked at Hugh next to her in bed, his reading glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. When was the last time they'd made love? Did he even think about her that way anymore?

Meryl slipped out of bed to the bathroom. She looked at herself in the mirror, still not used to her “new” brunette hair. Hugh's only comment about it had been, “Interesting.” She'd asked him, “Interesting good or interesting bad?” He said, “Whatever makes you happy.” She'd found that comment maddening.

Her phone rang.

“Want me to get that?” Hugh called.

“Yes—if it's one of the girls, I'll be right there.”

She began removing her mascara.

“Meryl?” Hugh called out.

She wiped her eyes and walked back into the bedroom. He handed the phone to her wordlessly.

“Hello?”

“Meryl—it's Scott.”

Meryl froze, then reminded herself that she hadn't done anything wrong. She glanced uneasily at Hugh. “Scott, this isn't a good time—”

“I've got great news. E! wants to take a meeting.”

“What? Scott, I told you I don't want to do this.”

“You'll feel differently when you're in the room with them. Trust me.”

“No—I won't. Now, please, stop talking to people about this. Just tell them it's not happening.”

Hugh mouthed to her, “Who is that?”

“I have to go,” she said, and hung up. She sat down on the bed, not looking at Hugh.

“Meryl, what's going on?”

“Nothing,” she said, thankful—so thankful—that it was the truth.

“It didn't sound like nothing.”

And so she told him—about running into Scott the night Tippy Campion came to dinner. About meeting him at City Bakery, and Bondurants, and Jane. About the reality show.

“Are you having an affair?” he asked.

“No!” she said. “Absolutely not.”

“I can't believe I even have to ask you that.”

“I'm telling you the truth—there's nothing going on.”

“Nothing except you running around with some strange man behind my back.”

“I don't have to tell you every move I make. You certainly don't tell me! At least I'm not making major decisions that threaten us financially, make us lose our home, without talking to you. I'm trying to fix the hole you put us in!”

“So it's back to that again. You're still mad about Yardley.”

“Damn right, I am. You decided to risk your job right when we needed money for the girls.”

“That problem's solved, Meryl—you have
People
magazine footing the bill.”

“Eventually! When it's all over. In the meantime, all the money we've laid out—the credit cards maxed. I won't feel okay until they get their photos and hand us the check.”

“It will be fine, Meryl.”

“And that's just the wedding. Where are we going to live come August? Do you know what our options are for what we pay to live here? We'll be lucky to find a studio. In Greenpoint.”

“And you think your ex-boyfriend is going to solve that with a TV show about our daughters? Are you out of your mind?”

“He's not my ex-boyfriend. And I told him I'm not interested in a show.”

“So why is he calling you at ten at night?”

She didn't have an answer for him.

Hugh gathered up his pillows and a blanket and moved to the couch.

*   *   *

Certain places in New York City seemed designed for cinematic drama. The lobby of the Soho Grand was one of them.

To Jo, it felt like the set of an urban fairy tale with its turquoise chairs, its looming wall clock framing the reception desk, the floor-to-ceiling steel birdcages, and the potted plants with their large, drooping fronds, and in the center of it all, an incredible bottle glass staircase.

Leigh had texted Jo, reminding her to be discreet.
Photographers are everywhere.

In the elevator, Jo's hands were slick with nervous perspiration. She'd be anxious meeting up with Leigh under normal circumstances, but the subterfuge added a level of intensity that made it almost unbearable. She was so stressed, she was nauseated.

She stood outside the hotel room for a few seconds, taking a moment to collect herself. She even gave herself a minute to think about Toby, and mentally shelved her guilt—to be dealt with later.

Leigh opened the door quickly and ushered her inside like she was ferrying state secrets across the border.

“I feel like I should be wearing a trench coat and dark glasses,” she said.

“Maybe next time.”

Leigh was more casually dressed than she'd ever seen her, in faded jeans and a simple white short-sleeved V-neck T-shirt. She held a glass of red wine in one hand and she was barefoot. Her toenails were painted dark red.

The room was low lit, all muted, neutral shades with big windows and a view of the Empire State Building, which glowed purple in the distance.

“Can I get you a glass of wine?” Leigh asked, kissing her on the cheek.

“Um, sure.”

Jo sat on the couch and Leigh joined her with a bottle of cabernet and a glass.

“This place is amazing,” Jo said.

“Yeah. I like it. I planned an event here once that went off really well, and I've been staying here ever since.”

“How long have you been doing the party-planning thing?”

“Since college. I started working at this party-planning company when I was at Penn undergrad, and then a few years ago, I met Tippy at an event and she started requesting me for all her events.”

Jo nodded. “Impressive.”

“What do you do? I haven't really gotten any sense of that.”

“Nothing right now. I was working at a coffee shop, but I got fired.”

Leigh laughed. “Okay, that's not
impressive.
”

“I'm not like my sisters. Amy was always obsessed with clothes. Meg studied journalism at Georgetown. It's just taking me a little longer. I'll figure it out.”

“I'm sure you will,” said Leigh. She moved closer to her. “You okay with this?”

“With what?”

“Being here tonight. With me.”

“Yeah. Of course. I want…”

“What?”

“I want you. I've been thinking about you since that day at Bloomingdale's.”

Leigh smiled. “I couldn't resist talking to you in the shoe department. And then to walk into the registry and find you were part of the family I was working with? I've learned to be prepared for anything when I'm working with clients, but I had a hard time keeping a straight face.”

“Yeah. I guess ‘straight' face is the right way to put it.”

They laughed.

“So … where do we go from here?” Jo said.

“Look—we just need to get this out of our systems. We have to work together for the next few months. You're getting married, I don't date. So let's just defuse the tension, and we can both move on.”

“Really? It's as simple as that?”

“Yeah,” said Leigh. “Pretty much.”

“Why don't you date?”

She smiled. “My biggest client is gunning for the Republican nomination for president of the United States. And most of my other clients are friends of his, political beasts.”

“You mean—you're not … out?”

“No.”

“Oh my God, that's so '90s.”

“You're young,” said Leigh.

“You're condescending,” said Jo, smiling.

Leigh took the glass from her hand and set it on the coffee table. Then she kissed her, deep and full, her arms slipping easily around Jo's body. Jo felt herself flood with heat and lust and a yearning she'd never felt, not even with Caroline. When Leigh slid her hands under her shirt, she gasped.

“Oh my God,” Jo said. “Don't stop.…”

Leigh stood, took her by the hand, and led her to the bedroom.

*   *   *

By midnight, Jo knew she had to leave or she'd have a hard time explaining herself to Toby.

“So what's the deal?” Leigh asked. “What made you decide to marry that guy?”

Jo propped herself up on her elbow, staring at Leigh's beautiful profile, the slope of her nose, the curve of her cheek. Leigh turned to look at her, and Jo kissed her full lips.

“I don't know,” said Jo, almost whispering. “It seemed like a good idea at the time. I was really heartbroken—my ex … she just decimated me. Marrying my best friend was a really comforting idea. But I'm going to call it off.”

“What? Why?” Leigh sat up.

“I thought … when I said yes, I thought it was better just to be safe than to risk feeling what I feel right now—with you. I thought I never wanted that again. But now that I feel it, I do want it. I want you.”

“Jo, that's not what tonight was about. I told you—I don't date. I don't get involved. We had a good time, I'm glad we did it. But that's it—it's done. We can't do this again. I thought you understood that.”

“I did—in theory. But it's different now.”

“No,” Leigh said, shaking her head. “It's not. Jo, you don't have to marry that guy. But I assure you, if you don't, you still won't be seeing me like this again. The next time I see you will be shopping for your wedding invitations. Or I won't be seeing you at all.”

 

Three Months Until the Wedding

 

twenty-two

“Are you sure you can't come? I mean, it
is
the place we're getting married. Probably.” Meg poked her head out of the bathroom. “And can you throw me my robe?”

“It's probably the place, or we're
probably
getting married?” Stowe said, rolling over in bed.

“Very funny.”

“I still don't understand why you won't even consider the Vesper Club. It's a great space, and my parents have belonged there forever.”

“My mom said there's logistical issues. Whatever that means. Besides, if we're doing this in the spring, we might as well look at outdoor options.”

“Come back to bed and we can discuss it.” He gave her a wink.

“I have to get going, Stowe. I barely have time to shower. I have an early train.”

Meg had a million errands to do in Manhattan before their afternoon appointment to drive out to Long Island and see the historic estate that was their number one candidate for the wedding. Stowe had not been terribly impressed by the photos online.

“Come on—it's beautiful,” Meg had said.

“Yes, but it doesn't have the same
meaning
the club has for my family.”

“Well, this day is about more than your family,” she said. It had become such a sore subject; they both left it at that.

Stowe pulled himself out of bed, wearing only a pair of navy and green plaid Polo boxers. His dark hair was tousled, his blue eyes bright with energy, and she was so in love with him, she wished they could rewind to the night of their engagement and plan to elope.

“I want to go with you,” he said, handing her the robe. “But it wouldn't look right if I didn't show up for one of my last days at the office.”

“I know. I get it. At least one of us has a career to look after.”

“Babe, you'll find a job.”

“Easy for you to say.” She closed the bathroom door and pulled off her tank top.

After a few seconds, he knocked. She opened it an inch. “I'm serious—I have to get in the shower.”

“It's easy for me to be optimistic about your job prospects because I happen to have one for you.” He grinned.

“Oh yeah? What's that?”

He pushed the door open and slipped his arms around her naked body. “God, you are beautiful.”

“Stowe…”

“Oh yeah—the job thing. Mrs. Campion, you are all work and no play.”

“I'm not Mrs. Campion yet.” Still, the sound of it thrilled her.

“How'd you like to come work for my father's campaign? In the press office.”

“What? Where is this coming from?”

“My dad. His idea entirely. He likes you a lot, you know.”

“Stowe, I'm flattered. But I don't know if that is a good idea.”

“It certainly helped George Stephanopoulos's career.”

That cut her protests short. George Stephanopoulos, of ABC News, at age thirty had served as then Governor Bill Clinton's press communications director during his 1992 presidential campaign.

“I'll think about it. It just feels like…”

Stowe pulled her close. “You worry too much.”

She breathed against him, kissing his chest. He kissed the top of her head. “Now, go find us a place to get married.”

*   *   *

Meryl waited in the lobby of the psychiatrist's office while her mother had her session. She checked the time. In two hours, they had to head out to Long Island to see Longview, the Georgian Revival mansion her mother had once visited with Meryl's father on a sightseeing day trip. A place she had never before mentioned to Meryl, but had apparently never forgotten.

The historic home had 160 acres of formal gardens, lakes, grand allées that were something out of another time and place. It had taken a few calls from Tippy to make sure the venue was available on the date of the wedding, May 7.

It was now looking like it would be an outdoor wedding. Kristin Miller, the
People
photography editor going along with them to scout the location, confirmed that it was an incredibly scenic place. “From a photography standpoint, you couldn't ask for much more on the East Coast.”