The Wedding Sisters (35 page)

It was odd how she had looked forward to this weekend for months—for years, really—and now that it had finally arrived, she couldn't enjoy it.

The apartment. Scott. The documentary.

She'd called Scott half a dozen times since Janell showed them the pitch. He never returned any of her messages.

A knock on the door. Hugh answered it.

“The photographer needs to talk to you for a minute,” Hugh said.

It was Paz, from
People.

“Can I get into the dining space for a few shots before the guests arrive?”

“I don't think that will be a problem. Let me just call the manager.” Meryl made the arrangements for Paz, and then pulled her dress from the closet.

“I need to talk to you for a minute,” said Hugh.

“I have to get dressed—”

“Meryl, relax.”

But she couldn't—not until she was at the restaurant with a glass of wine in her hand. Or maybe not until the girls were walking down the aisle. Or until they'd said their vows,
People
got all its contractually promised photos, and all that was left was the seated dinner for 350 people under the tent on the lush grounds of Longview. Until then, there was nothing anyone could say that was of interest to her.

“I can't, Hugh. I'm sorry. I just can't.”

“Meryl, I got this room so we could relax a little. And celebrate.”

She nodded. “I'm proud of you for the book deal, Hugh. I am.”

“I don't mean celebrate the book deal.”

She looked at him blankly. “What, you mean, the wedding?”

“The book deal, the wedding—yes, of course. But also … the parents at Yardley are petitioning for my reinstatement.”

“You mean you might get your job back?”

“I
will
get my job back.”

“I don't understand. Why now?”

“Because of the
People
magazine article. Parents saw a different side of my dismissal. The administration hadn't been forthright about exactly why I was fired. Now the parents are coming to my defense. They want more transparency when it comes to dealing with cheating accusations, and they want a review board they can participate in. And they want me reinstated to act as their liaison to make these changes.”

“I can't believe it was that simple.”

“It's not simple. It's actually complicated.
People
's angle on how and why I was fired helped tremendously. And the publicity about my book deal gives Yardley a way to rehire me while saving face—bringing me back on scholarly merits, that sort of thing.”

Meryl barely dared to ask the next question. “Do you think … we can keep the apartment?”

He nodded, smiling.

She threw herself into his arms. “Oh, Hugh—I can't even tell you what this means to me.”

“I know. And I'm sorry it's been stressful. But things are looking up.”

“Do you really think so?”

He nodded. “Yes. So let's try to enjoy this weekend, okay? The worst is behind us.”

*   *   *

Meg and Stowe walked into the Landmarc dining room, hand in hand.

The space was a spring wonderland filled with flowers and Japanese paper lanterns and sterling silver buckets packed with Cristal. The bar was decorated with tall sterling silver vases from Tippy's personal collection and filled with white gerbera daisies.

“Green goddess?” offered a passing waiter holding a tray of the party's signature cocktail, a cucumber martini flavored with elderflower essence. Leigh had specially ordered pale green martini glasses.

A single long table, set for one hundred, was decorated with glass vases and Lucite troughs encasing the green stems of shaved horsetail surrounded by chartreuse cymbidiums, hydrangeas, mini lavender calla lilies, and tall square lavender votive candles.

“Oh, Stowe, it's perfect,” she breathed, leaning against him. He squeezed her hand.

Across the room, Amy and Jo waved at her. Her sisters looked beautiful—Jo, her long hair loose, wearing a black silk romper with ropes of delicate gold chains around her neck and thin gold bangles on her tan wrists. At seven months pregnant, she was barely showing. “I was the same way,” Meryl had told them.

And Amy wore a pale yellow A-line silk dress, her hair up in a French twist.

Toby slipped his arm around Jo and gestured for Meg to come join them.

“Let's go say hi to my sisters,” she said.

“There you two are!” Tippy walked over to them, brisk and focused. “Stowe, Hunter is looking for you.”

Meg looked pleadingly at Stowe—
Don't do it, not tonight.

“Mother, we just got here. Let me say hi to a few people, and then I'll find Hunter.”

“She said it's important.”

“Tippy, I think we should put a time-out on work talk tonight,” Meg said. It was the first time she had ever contradicted her mother-in-law-to-be, and it felt good. Damn good. Like something she should do more often.

“My dear, you do look lovely. And I know you don't want to take any of the attention away from yourself and your sisters. But you must know by now that there is no such thing as a time-out in this business. This is what you've signed up for, so please don't make a fuss.”

It took all Meg's restraint not to throw her green goddess in the face of the Queen Bitch.

“Hon, I'll be right back. Let me just get this out of the way.”

And all she could do was watch as Stowe retreated, Tippy's hand on his arm, out the door of the restaurant and back into the Time Warner Center atrium.

It was never going to change. If Meg couldn't even have his focus at the rehearsal dinner for their wedding, when would she ever? And if she was now a member of the campaign team, why was Hunter still calling Stowe aside separately? Anything that concerned him now concerned her too.

She had just turned to follow after them when her mother intercepted her.

“Oh, Meg! You have never looked more beautiful,” her mother said, brushing her cheek against hers. Meg thought the same of her mother. She looked absolutely radiant, happier and brighter than she'd seen her in months. Maybe years.

“Come this way. Gran wants to get a picture of you three girls all together. Now, where did Jo run off to? She was just here a minute ago.”

“Mom, I have to check on something. I'll be back in a few minutes. Sorry.” She left her drink on a table and hurried out of the restaurant.

Where would Stowe and his mother have gone? She turned right and pushed through the double doors leading to a long corridor with signs directing her to the restroom. She walked the length of the hall, but they were nowhere in sight.

She opened the door to the ladies' room just in case Tippy and Hunter had ducked inside for a tête-à-tête. Meg had a few words for both of them—primarily consisting of four letters.

Instead, she found her sister at the sink, dabbing away tears with a paper towel. Leigh was by her side.

“Jo—are you okay? What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” she said, trying to hide the paper towel in her handbag and bending over the sink, washing her hands.

“She's fine,” said Leigh.

“Um, clearly not.”

“Meg, it's okay. I just needed a few minutes.”

“Leigh, can you excuse us for a minute?”

Leigh nodded and exited the bathroom with what seemed like huge relief.

“Did you have a fight with Toby?” she asked Jo.

“No.”

“Is it—? Everything's okay with the baby, right?”

Jo's hand moved instinctively to her belly. “Yes—yes. The baby's fine.”

“Then what?” Meg put her beaded clutch on the sink and reached for her sister's arm. “Tell me.”

“I'm in love with Leigh,” Jo said before dissolving into a fresh round of sobs.

“Leigh? The wedding planner?”

Jo nodded.

“Um, okay, but considering you're seven months pregnant and standing outside your wedding rehearsal dinner, I'm not sure what to make of that.”

“Neither am I.”

“Are you two … involved?”

“We hooked up once. But that's all it will ever be. Leigh's not out; she's worried about her job. She doesn't want me.”

“Do you love Toby? At all?” Meg asked, hugging her tightly.

“Not like that, I don't.”

“Jo, and I say this from a place of caring—why the hell did you agree to marry him?”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time. And in some ways, it still does. In a lot of ways, actually. Did you see my mother-in-law out there? You can't miss her. Bright red hair. Already drunk. She gave me this.” Jo pulled up her shirtsleeve to reveal a canary diamond bracelet.

“Oh my God. That's magnificent.”

“I can't accept it. But it was easier than to argue—you know what I mean?”

“Jo, you don't have to do this. If you're having doubts—”

Jo pulled back, looked at herself in the mirror, and said, “Please don't lecture me, Meg.”

“Okay, I won't. But come back to the party soon. Promise?”

Jo didn't respond.

*   *   *

All one hundred guests were finally seated at the single table running the length of the restaurant. Meg didn't breathe easily until she saw Jo seated next to Toby. Across from them, the aforementioned countess, with flaming red hair and a bawdy laugh, was busy moving name cards around.

Meg tried not to stare, looking instead at the printed menu in front of her—the one that was at each place setting: for an appetizer, a choice of endive salad or warm goat cheese profiteroles. For the main course, either hand-cut filet mignon, pan-seared scallops, or grilled salmon with a sorrel vinaigrette. For dessert, blueberry crumble, crème brûlée, or a chocolate cake with green tea buttercream and semisweet chocolate truffles by Silk Cakes, the same bakery that created their three (three!) wedding cakes for the reception the following night.

A waiter filled everyone's glass with champagne. After the encounter in the bathroom, and Stowe's tight-lipped response when she asked what was so damn important that Hunter had to pull him aside during a wedding rehearsal dinner, she gulped it. And then asked for a second.

“Excuse me. Can I have everyone's attention?”

Meg, startled, turned to look at her grandmother, who was now standing.

Rose clanged her knife against her wineglass until the table fell silent. “Thank you! Now, I don't know the rules for this sort of thing. Maybe the toast comes later. In my day, we did things much simpler. And my own daughter didn't even have a wedding—she ran off and eloped. But my granddaughters certainly made up for it with this—well, let's call it what it is: theater of the absurd.”

“Mother,” Meryl whispered loudly.

“But if I've learned anything in my years, it's that the how and the why of the marriage doesn't matter. Not as much as I thought it did, at least. All that matters is the commitment to family. My husband and I had forty-five years together. And not all of them good. But we had the years—that's the point. And my daughter stuck it out. Thirty years under her belt, right, Meryl? And for the life of me, I couldn't tell you what those two have in common.”

Meg glanced at her parents. Her mother was bright red. And she could have sworn her father was stifling laughter.

“And so, to my beautiful, intelligent granddaughters, I say this: I might not agree with this circus. I might not even agree with your choices in husbands. Well—yours I do, Amy. Regardless, to all of you, I'm proud of your willingness to make the ultimate promise any person can make to another: to be true to them, always. And part of being true is being truthful. That's the hard part. Meg, Amy, Jo—I see you struggling with your truths. And I feel responsible. I set a bad example. And so my wedding gift to you is something I was unable to give even my own husband: my truth.”

The room had fallen absolutely silent.

“My real name is Roza Klasczko. That's the name I was born with. During the war, when my parents and brother were deported to the death camps, I hid with a Catholic family and took their name to survive.”

Meryl gasped. Meg looked at her in alarm, reaching over Stowe to touch her shoulder. Her mother didn't respond, her eyes locked on Rose.

“When the war ended, I waited and hoped for my parents and my brother to return. They never did. Relatives I never met came for me, to bring me to America. My name changed again, and I never spoke of the other names—or the other people—I left behind. But I speak of them today, in honor of the future—in honor of the greatest blessing, my first great-grandchild.” With that, she looked pointedly at Jo. “So, to you and Toby, to Meg and Stowe, Amy and Andy—I wish you true love and a long life together.” She raised her glass. “To family.”

Meryl was statue still, her face pale underneath her makeup. One of the guests, a woman Meg didn't recognize, was crying. Slowly, everyone stood and raised their glasses.

“To family,” said Hugh.

Meg turned to Stowe—and that's when she noticed he was texting under the table.

She glanced across the table, and sure enough, Hunter was looking at her phone.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” Meg whispered in his ear, her hand squeezing his arm. Hard.

“Now?”

She stood up and walked away from the table, not sure where she was going, just knowing she needed to get far out of the earshot of the guests before she exploded. Stowe followed her. She kept walking until she was back outside the restaurant, in the hallway where she'd originally gone looking for him and Hunter.

Meg pulled her engagement ring off her finger. “Did you hear a word my grandmother said? If you can't give me an insanely good fucking reason why you were texting Hunter Cross while my grandmother was giving a toast to our marriage—and, in case you missed it, dropping a major fucking bombshell—you can take this ring back right now. We can just call the whole thing off. Because I am not doing this for the rest of my life.”