The Wedding Sisters (32 page)

“It's so desolate!” complained Rose.

Everyone turned to look at her.

“Oh, it's just this time of year,” said Cliff quickly. “I assure you, in three months, it'll be an entirely different tableau. Didn't you see the Web site?”

“Web site? I thought we drove all the way out here to see it in person. I could have stayed in the apartment to look at a Web site.”

“Gran, you were here yourself in the summer,” said Meg gently. “You're the one who suggested this place.”

“Well, not every idea is a winner,” said Rose. The group settled into silence.

“I have a question about the flow of the guests,” said Leigh. “Can we walk back up to the south terrace? I want to run through the transition from cocktails to getting everyone seated.”

“Certainly,” said Cliff, clearly relieved to hear a voice of reason. “And again, there is more than one way to do this. But I will show you our preference and we can adjust accordingly.”

They all began walking back up to the house. Meg pulled her phone out of her bag and texted Stowe,
It's going to be beautiful.

“Where's Amy?” said Meryl.

Everyone looked around. She wasn't there.

*   *   *

Jo tried to catch Leigh's eye, but she was studiously avoiding her.

Back at the south porch, Jo waited for her mother and Cliff to become absorbed in some detail or another, before pulling Leigh's arm. “I need to talk to you.”

“This isn't the time or the place, Jo. Come on.”

Leigh was so measured, so distant. It was like the night at the Soho Grand never happened.

“Well, you haven't answered any of my texts or calls, so … when?” She knew she sounded like a child, like she was twelve instead of twenty-three. And she knew that she was the one getting married, but she couldn't help it. She wanted Leigh, had to have her. Wanted her more than she had even wanted Caroline. And now she was looking for a sign. Could she really walk down the aisle with someone she wasn't in love with? It had seemed reasonable that night in Philadelphia, outside, running around like silly college kids again. It felt reasonable walking around that gorgeous Leonard Street apartment building, the home they would make together. But it felt decidedly, completely wrong when she had been in Leigh's bed. And just as wrong now, standing next to her, in the place where she was supposed to get married.

“Jo, I told you how this was going to go. Don't make it difficult. I'd really like it if we could be friends.”

Jo's phone rang. She sighed. Toby. There had been a time when Toby was her friend.

Now, he was going to be her husband.

*   *   *

Meg found Amy back in the garden, sitting on a stone bench.

Meg waved her along. “Everyone's back up at the house.”

“I'm just going to hang out here for a bit.”

“Why?”

“It's so peaceful. Even if it is desolate like Gran said.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I'm fine.” Amy sat with rounded shoulders, her hair falling into her face, her hands knitting together as she picked off her nail polish.

As much as Amy drove her crazy, with her petty competitiveness and insecurity, she was her sister, and Meg loved her and didn't want to see her upset. And clearly, she was not happy.

“So what do you think of this place?” Meg asked, sitting next to her. The stone bench was cold through her wool pants. “I really like it. I can see it working. The scale is so big that honestly, it would be too much for just one of us. But the three of us—it will be pretty amazing. Perfect.”

Amy started to cry.

“Hey. What's going on? You don't like this place?”

Amy shook her head. “It's fine.”

“Did you have fight with Andy?”

“I'm sorry. This is all my fault,” she sobbed. “I never should have planned to get married so quickly. This was your time, and I stepped on it—and now look.”

“It's fine—really. I don't mind this triple-wedding idea. Besides, it burns my future mother-in-law's ass, and that makes it
totally
worth it for me.”

Amy didn't even crack a smile. “I should have waited a year.”

“Amy, honestly, the logistics of the wedding are the least of my problems.”

This seemed to momentarily snap her out of her funk. “Don't tell me you're fighting with Stowe?”

“Not fighting. Just … not connecting. I don't know. It's probably me. It's like, the closer I get to becoming part of his family, the more I wonder if I should. I'm really afraid it's going to take over my life. It's already cost me my job.”

“Marrying the man you love is more important than a job.”

“Easy for you to say. You have both in one package.”

Amy suddenly started sobbing, her head in her hands. “I don't know if I do.”

Meg put her arm around her, drawing her close. “What does that mean?”

“I don't know if I love him. Not the way I'm supposed to.”

“Oh, Amy. This is probably just stress about the wedding.”

“Yeah. And maybe you're just stressing about the wedding.”

“Maybe I am. That's what I've been telling myself.”

They sat in silence, looking out at the acres of grounds.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

It was strange—Amy had never confided in her. She always preferred talking to Jo, never wanting to admit weakness to Meg, even though Meg probably could have given her some experienced advice. That she was turning to her now—well, she must really be desperate.

“Are you ever attracted to other men?”

Meg wished she could tell Amy that yes, she was—because clearly that was what she needed to hear. But the truth was that she had not been, not since the first day she met Stowe.

“I haven't been with Stowe as long as you've been with Andy,” she said carefully. “So no, I haven't been attracted to someone else yet. But I'm sure, over the course of a lifetime together, it will happen. It's normal to be attracted to other people, Amy. We're human.”

“What if I acted on it?”

“Did you?”

Amy nodded. Fresh tears.

“Does he know?”

Amy shook her head. “No. But this woman at work saw me with him—I was just trying to say good-bye. End it—and it wasn't even anything to end. Just one time. And now I'm afraid she's going to tell Andy!”

“That would be really stupid on her part.”

“Why?”

“Haven't you heard the expression ‘don't shoot the messenger'? The person who delivers unwanted news always gets burnt by it. If she tells him, it could really backfire on her.”

“Not as bad as it will on me.”

“Who was the other guy?”

“Ugh, I don't want to talk about it. And he's really—It doesn't matter.” She paused, peering into the distance. “Is that Gran?”

Sure enough, their grandmother was slowly making her way down the stone path. “What are you girls doing hiding out here?” Rose called out.

When she was closer, within comfortable earshot, Meg said, “We're just talking. Where's everyone else? Are they finished?”

“Finished? We're going to be here for hours!”

“Oh.”

“What's the problem?” Rose said, pushing up her glasses. Meg slid over to make room at the end of the bench. Rose sat, leaning forward to get a closer look at Amy.

“Nothing, Gran. Everything's fine.”

“Um-hmm,” she said. “Which one of you is having second thoughts?”

Meg and Amy looked at each other. Amy shook her head, ever so slightly.

“No one's having second thoughts, Gran,” said Meg. “We're just taking a little breather from the tour.”

“Well, have it your way. You can lie to me if you want. I see nothing wrong with a good solid lie every once and a while. The world couldn't exist without them. Just as long as you don't lie to yourselves.”

 

twenty-three

Jo looked across the breakfast table at Toby and thought,
I have to tell him.

She had exactly one hour before her
People
magazine interview, where she would be expected to say whatever it was that excited brides-to-be said. She would talk about her engagement, the dress, the honeymoon. She would talk about how she and Toby met.

How they fell in love.

Except, they hadn't. Or rather, she hadn't. He knew that she wasn't madly in love with him. She'd been clear about that. And he didn't care. But he also didn't know she was now infatuated with someone else. This thing with Leigh—and it could only be called a “thing” because it barely existed—it wasn't a relationship, it wasn't a friends-with-benefits situation. It had been a one-night stand, but Jo couldn't accept that it would never be anything more. That it would never happen again. And even if Leigh stuck by her insistence that they just be friends—at least Jo knew she could feel passion again. That she wasn't dead inside after Caroline, and that she shouldn't want to be.

The entire thing was making her sick. She was exhausted. Her nerves were so bad, she'd thrown up twice.

“Toby,” she said quietly.

He looked up from his iPad, shaking a lock of blond hair from his face. With the light coming in off the park, he was lit from behind, like a photo from an Instagram “Hot Guys with Coffee” series. He deserved to be with a woman who was in love with him. There were probably legions of them out there.

“What time's your interview?” he asked. “Should I roll with you?”

“No, I'm just going to go myself. It shouldn't take too long.” Truthfully, she had no idea how long the interview would take. Her mother had simply told her to show up at the apartment at ten wearing the Jeffrey Bruce outfit Amy had messengered over, black pants and a black blouse with a mandarin collar. I'm not wearing this, she'd muttered to herself, and paired the pants with a faded gray Lucky brand Union Jack T-shirt.

“Cool,” said Toby.

“Listen,” she said, unbuttoning the top button of the pants, which were too small for her. “I'm thinking maybe this is a little crazy.”

“It's totally crazy. So just rock it. You look gorgeous.” He jumped up from his seat and walked around the table to hug her.

She slipped her arms around him and tried to muster something resembling the yearning she felt for Leigh whenever she was anywhere near her. Nothing.

“I mean us. What we're doing,” Jo murmured against his chest.

“It's not crazy. It's perfect,” he said, stroking her hair.

She pulled back. “Aren't you even upset that I'm saying that? That I'm thinking it?”

“No. Look, your mother and your sisters are in fairy-tale-wedding la-la land, and we're different. We're getting married because it works for us. We don't expect it to be something it's not.”

Jo crossed her arms. “What do you expect it to be?”

“I expect to spend my life with my favorite person in the world, a beautiful woman I want more than I want anyone else.”

“What about what I want?”

“You want security. A safe landing. And sometimes you like it when we fuck. That's more than a lot of people have going into a marriage.”

“What if I'm attracted to other people?” Jo bit her lip.

“Then be with them. Like I said, this isn't your parents' marriage.”

“Do
you
plan to be with other people?”

He shrugged. “Probably. I mean, life is long. Why not?”

“Toby, what the hell? What's the point in even doing this?” She paused, remembering their last conversation about marriage. “Is this about your trust fund?”

“No. I mean, yes, I'm happy to get it. And I have to marry someone eventually. But I'm picking you because of the way I feel about you and because I think we have as much of a chance of being happy together as anyone else who maybe goes about things more … conventionally. I'm in love with you; you're not in love with me. I can live with that, Jo.”

But I don't know if I can.

“Jo, go do the interview. Get some pictures taken—we'll hang them in the entrance foyer to the place on Leonard Street. And then we're going to have an epic life together.”

It was useless. There was nothing to say that would provoke Toby into being the one to break off the engagement. If it was going to happen, it was on her. Jo didn't know what to do. She wished she had a sign from the universe, but she suspected she was on her own with this one.

There was just one other person she needed to talk to. And that person wouldn't be happy about it.

*   *   *

Meryl sighed.

The apartment had never looked more beautiful. It was magazine ready. And it should be for the weeks of work that Meryl had put into it: fresh paint, a new coffee table, photos that had been sitting in piles for months if not years finally framed.

Preparing the apartment for the
People
magazine shoot had been bittersweet. After decades in the same place, she was seeing it through fresh eyes. She looked at the pencil marks near her bedroom closet, where she had measured the girls' growth through high school and middle school, the initials
M, A,
and
J
etched into the eggshell-colored paint. She had never covered the marks, but in August when they were forced to move, she would leave them behind forever. In the girls' bathroom, she noticed for the first time in years the place where the tiles were crooked, where she and Hugh had an ill-fated turn at home renovation. One of the tiles was handmade by Meg, a Mother's Day craft from school. It was a blue tile with a red heart. Meryl traced it with her finger, wondering if she could somehow take it with them.

“I don't know why they want to photograph us here and not at our own apartments,” Amy had said.