Little Pieces of Me, page 27
Andy looks down at the floor before looking back to me. He continues to talk, telling me about the fraternity party that night. How he was on edge—devastated from the breakup and terrified because one of his fraternity brothers was suspicious after seeing him and William together.
Then he saw my mom from across the room. There was a conversation, an empty keg, and the next thing he knew, Andy was inviting my mother up to his room for a drink. He only wanted his fraternity brothers to see them together, to help distract them from the truth.
Andy spoke in broad terms after that, telling me how one thing led to another, and he somehow convinced himself that his life would be easier if he could be the kind of man who could love a woman like my mom. The next morning, wrecked with guilt, he told her the truth. The real truth.
“What did she say when you told her?” I ask, hoping my mom hadn’t said the wrong thing.
“She mostly listened, and then she left. She promised me she would never tell anyone—I guess she kept her word. Anyway, a few weeks later, I heard that she was back together with your dad. I didn’t see her around much after that, and I honestly thought it was for the best. I didn’t know . . .”
“It’s okay,” I tell him, in an odd reversal of roles.
When he looks back up at me, tears are shining in his eyes. “That night has always been one of my biggest regrets because I hurt your mother. After you contacted me, it brought it all back—all those regrets. But if it hadn’t happened, you wouldn’t be here, and I don’t regret that you exist. That feels like a miracle to me.”
I smile, and for the first time since my world got turned upside down, I don’t regret it, either.
Chapter Forty
Then
WEDNESDAY WASN’T THE MOST ROMANTIC DAY OF THE WEEK to get married, but Mark didn’t have class until eleven—and they figured there wouldn’t be a line at City Hall. Sissy was there to be their witness and Betsy’s emotional support, and Mark had asked Will Byington, a friend from Hillel who had a camera, to come and take a few pictures after.
Betsy clutched the marriage license in her hand like it was a life raft, which, she supposed, it was. She looked over at Mark, who looked nervous, too. He kept fidgeting with his tie, buttoning and unbuttoning the top button of his shirt. He caught Betsy’s eye and took her hand in his, giving it a reassuring squeeze.
The marriage, she reminded herself, was more important than the actual day. She didn’t need the fancy dress or the party; she had a good man who loved her and would take good care of her and her child. Their child.
She needed to stop thinking about the baby as Andy’s. It was a secret she was going to take to her grave, along with the secret she was keeping for Andy. One secret for him and another from him.
At eight o’clock on the dot, a security guard unlocked the front door to the ugly brick building, letting the wedding party inside. It was so early, the building itself seemed to be just waking up. Betsy’s heels echoed as they clicked against the floor. It brought to mind the image of a prisoner, walking toward their execution. She shook the thought from her mind.
Betsy knew there were many worse fates she could be embarking on. Even if she wasn’t in love with Mark, she did love him, and she loved how he was trying so hard to be the man he knew she wanted. He had taken her words to heart, and she was trying to do her part by focusing on all the good things, remembering the reasons she fell for him in the first place.
Like the way his face lit up when he realized someone was up for a real conversation—not small talk, but real intellectual and philosophical debates. She felt proud to be by his side when he won an argument, or at least got someone to stop and think about things from a different perspective.
He would have made a great lawyer, Betsy thought, her stomach wringing with guilt. Mark told her the week before that he was delaying his plan to go to law school when he graduated. It made more sense to get a job right out of school so he could support their family. He had plenty of time to become a lawyer, he told her.
Betsy felt her eyes brimming with tears. She blinked them away and added his abandoned plans to the list of things she would spend her life making up to Mark.
“I think it’s down here,” Sissy said, leading the way downstairs into the basement of the building. There was a waiting room at the bottom of the stairs where they were told to take a seat until the judge was ready for them.
Betsy’s stomach flipped, and she wasn’t sure if it was due to nerves or the baby. Maybe both.
“How’re you feeling, bride?” Sissy asked.
Betsy gave Sissy a smile that she hoped conveyed what she couldn’t find the words to say out loud: that she was nervous but grateful. Both for Mark and her best friend. The night before, their last night as roommates, she and Sissy had stayed up talking until nearly two a.m. She made Sissy promise their friendship wouldn’t change after the baby came, that they’d still talk and be there for each other, that Sissy wouldn’t move on and forget all about her.
Sissy promised they would always be best friends, but deep down, Betsy knew it was unlikely. After today, there would be a clear divide between her life and the lives of all her friends. Sissy included.
“The judge is ready for you,” a clerk said, opening the door to the waiting room.
Betsy stood and took a deep breath before following Mark, with Sissy and Will right behind her.
The ceremony, if it could be called that, was held in a room that looked more like an office than a courtroom. The judge wore traditional black robes, but he smiled brightly, clearly happy to be on the wedding circuit instead of in traffic court.
Instead of repeating the vows after each other the way they did in movies, the judge read the vows to them, and Betsy and Mark only had to take their turns saying, “I do.”
Betsy listened intently to every word the judge said, inscribing them in her mind and on her heart. She promised to have and to hold, to love and cherish Mark for richer, for poorer, through sickness and in health. She added a few promises of her own—that she would never take his love for granted, that she would give him love in return, and that she would try every day to make him happy.
When Betsy said, “I do,” Mark’s face lit up brighter than the sun. He leaned in for a kiss, but the judge stopped him.
“Not yet, son.”
Mark nodded and took a step back, looking like a little boy with a grown man’s beard. Betsy’s heartstrings tugged at the realization their child wouldn’t share any of Mark’s features.
Before the judge got to the till-death-do-you-part section, Mark was already saying, “I do.”
Everyone laughed, including the judge, who again said, “Not yet, son.”
After the judge said his final words, he nodded at Mark, who loudly, with no uncertainty, said, “I do.”
“Now you may kiss the bride,” the judge said.
The words had barely left his lips when Mark took Betsy into his arms and kissed her like he couldn’t wait to spend the rest of their lives together.
Sissy started whooping, Will snapped pictures, and the clerk tried to usher them out of the room so another couple could unceremoniously tie the knot.
“I love you, Mrs. Meyer,” Mark said, a sparkle in his rich brown eyes.
“And I love you, Mr. Meyer,” she told him, meaning it. She let out a deep sigh of relief, and Mark squeezed her hand, mistaking it as a sigh of happiness.
Perhaps it was a little bit of both. Her plan had worked, and she was officially married.
“Let’s go get some real pictures,” Sissy said, leading the way back upstairs.
Betsy smiled, grateful for her best friend and the bouquet of flowers that she could hold in front of her expanding stomach, covering up her shame, her secret.
ANDY HAD STARTED going for a run on the mornings he couldn’t sleep. His legs had never been in better shape, and it was a shame he hadn’t had more opportunities to kick field goals for his team. But the offensive line had to start scoring touchdowns—or at least avoid turnovers for that to happen.
This season, Andy was grateful to the team for more than his scholarship. Thanks to the hours spent on practices and games on top of his classes and his work in the studio, it wasn’t a lie when Andy said he didn’t have time to date.
Which also left him with less time to mope around and think about William, wondering if he was thinking about him, too.
Andy had started to look at graduation as the medal at the end of a four-year marathon. He just had to get through two more years. Once he had his degree, he could live his own life without being beholden to his parents or his fraternity. Andy would be free to be himself.
He could already picture his life, living in New York or San Francisco, maybe Miami. He would paint, he would play, he would sleep with beautiful men and no longer have to hide his desires.
Andy pushed the thought away, knowing the more eager he got, the further away the future seemed. Instead, he focused on the moment, the music of his run, the rhythm of his feet hitting the pavement, the haggard sounds of his breath, and the beating of his heart. He turned the corner down Sixth Avenue before circling City Hall to start the run back home when he noticed a bride and groom standing on the front steps.
A Wednesday morning was an odd time to get married, he thought. Andy slowed his pace to get a good look at the bride and the groom. He’d always loved weddings, but recently the realization he’d never be able to have one of his own made him feel sad.
Even from a distance, Andy could see the huge smile on the groom’s face. He envied the man for being able to declare his love, loud and proud.
The closer he got, the more the groom looked like Mark Meyer. Andy’s eyes drifted to the man’s right, and he almost tripped over his own feet. The bride was Betsy.
Andy had heard they were back together—Jared Evans had been more than a little excited to deliver the news—but he hadn’t heard they were getting married.
As he watched the bride and groom kiss for the camera, Andy felt a flood of unfamiliar emotion. He was jealous—not because he wanted to be marrying Betsy but because she was getting the love and life she wanted, while it still seemed like an impossible dream for him. Even so, Andy was happy for her, happy for them.
Picking up the pace, he ran until the wedding party was behind him. There was a trace of a smile on his face as he let himself imagine a day when he might find the man of his dreams, just like Betsy had found hers.
Chapter Forty-One
Now
LESS THAN A WEEK AFTER WE BOTH RETURNED FROM OUR BACHELOR and bachelorette parties, Jeff and I have to leave town again—at least this time, it’s together.
“I promise I’ll make this up to you,” I tell Jeff, leaning down to give him a kiss.
“I’ll take more of that,” he says, pulling me down so I fall into his lap. “But you don’t have anything to make up for. Family comes first.”
I harrumph and stand to get my small suitcase from the closet. “We should be celebrating you this weekend,” I tell him. “Not my sisters.”
The contracts had finally been signed yesterday afternoon, and Jeff is now officially the lead candidate to replace his boss when he retires at the end of the year. Not Ross. The whole thing was a little anticlimactic because their new client had taken more than three weeks to dot the i’s and cross the t’s, but he still deserved to have his own celebration.
“They’re going to be my sisters-in-law soon,” Jeff says. “Besides, we have to go for the final wedding appointments your mom made for us.”
I groan, overwhelmed at the thought of spending so much time with my mother, without letting it slip where I was and who I met last week.
“C’mon, how bad can cake tasting be?” Jeff asks. “There’s cake!”
If only it was just cake.
We’d originally planned to drive up on Saturday morning for the party that night, then back home on Sunday, but Mom thought it would be a great idea to come in Friday night so we could squeeze in a few more wedding appointments.
We’d already tasted the menu, but cake, apparently, was an entirely different appointment. Mom had already booked the bakery, but she didn’t want to choose the flavor without us. We were also meeting with the wedding coordinator, the rabbi, the florist, and the photographer.
The details are all so overwhelming, each one coming with a dozen different decisions. It’s so exhausting, I can understand why people elope or go for simple courthouse weddings like my parents did. Although, theirs wasn’t exactly by choice.
Not for the first time, I wonder how Mom felt before her wedding. Maybe she didn’t feel trapped like I’d once assumed. Maybe she felt safe and proud of herself for securing a stable future for her child. For me.
It strikes me that I’ve been thinking about this all wrong. Everything she did, she did for me. Or at least the idea of me, since she hadn’t met me yet. It was after Roe v. Wade—she had choices. And for some reason, she chose to keep me.
I remind myself to choose the high road this weekend, to try to be grateful and forgiving.
“We should get moving if we’re going to make it in time for dinner,” Jeff says.
I sigh and zip my suitcase, wishing I hadn’t fallen in love with someone who was always so optimistic. Jeff grabs my bag and his, and we walk down the street to pick up the rental car.
“What if she asks how my bachelorette trip was?” I ask. Mom had called once during the trip, but I’d been at Andy’s and silenced the phone. I know she wouldn’t have known where I was, but I felt like it would be dishonest, talking to her without letting her know. Although not telling her I was there in the first place wasn’t that honest, either.
“If she asks, then you tell her the truth,” Jeff says. “Or at least part of the truth. Say you had a great time.”
“What if I slip up and accidentally tell her the rest of it?”
Jeff laughs.
“I’m serious.”
He sighs and turns to look at me. “Would it be such a bad thing? I mean, look where keeping secrets has gotten you both.”
I know he’s right, and I’ll tell her eventually—just not this weekend. And not before the wedding.
THE BACK ROOM at Sub Zero, a trendy bar in the Central West End, has been transformed into a black, white, and silver spectacle for the twins’ thirtieth birthday. My senses are in overload, and I’m grateful Jeff and I stopped to have a few drinks at a low-key bar around the corner first.
A DJ is spinning songs I’m not cool enough to know while kids I recognize from the twins’ social media feeds get down and dirty. I blush on behalf of some of the girls, whose outfits leave nothing to the imagination.
I look around the room, taking it all in—including the ice sculpture in the shape of a “30” that doubles as an ice luge, and the photo booth, complete with life-size cardboard cutouts of the twins wearing the same little black dresses they have on tonight.
Frannie had mentioned that Mom wanted to help plan the party, but all Annabelle wanted was her checkbook. Her twin had a “vision,” according to Frannie, and if this was it, then I’m glad I turned down her half-hearted offer to help with the wedding.
I glance at Jeff, who looks equally overwhelmed. He leans down to kiss my neck, just below my ear, and whispers, “More vodka will help.” I follow him to the bar, smiling because other than the cake tasting—which he was right about—having forever with him is the best part of this whole wedding thing.
“Jeff! Paige!”
I smile at the sound of my mom’s voice, thinking this could be a bonding experience that we suffer through together—until I turn to see her, wearing an over-the-top black-and-silver dress that perfectly matches the decor. Joel Levy is trailing behind her, looking about as happy to be here as I am.
I smile and wave before finishing my drink and setting down the empty glass.
“Another, please,” I yell to the bartender.
By the time he hands me a fresh vodka soda with a splash of cranberry, Mom has reached our corner of the bar. She gives me the kind of hug that means we have an audience. I hug her back, then give an obligatory shoulder-pat-hug to the man she still hasn’t admitted she’s dating.
I’m grateful the music is loud enough that we won’t have to talk much. I can finally relax without worrying I’ll slip up and say the wrong thing. Carrying a secret is exhausting, I have no idea how she managed to pull it off so effortlessly the last forty-three years.
“So, what do you think?” Mom shouts over the music.
“Sorry?” I yell back.
“Brunch tomorrow sounds great,” Jeff says, saving me. I flash him a grateful smile.
Mom’s face lights up, and she says something else, but I can’t make out her words over whatever loud song is currently playing. Instead, I give her what I hope looks like a heartfelt smile and raise my glass toward hers.
“Ready for another?” Joel shouts.
I glance down at my glass, surprised to see it’s almost empty. Joel smiles, and I see a flash of understanding in his eyes. I smile back and realize that for the third time in her life, my mom has picked a genuinely nice man. That’s one thing she and I have in common.
My ears perk up as the DJ plays a song I actually know. I grab Jeff’s hand and lead him out to the dance floor. I hook my arms around him and pull him closer. Pressed together in the middle of the crowd, we keep the beat with our bodies as Camila Cabello sings to us about Havana.
The room is hot, and sweat is pooling on the back of my neck, making my hair frizz, but I don’t care. The music pulses through my body, and I don’t want the song to stop because the more I move, the more I let go of everything and everyone that’s been weighing on my mind.
The song ends, and I drop my arms, ready to go back and join the grown-ups in our wallflower position, but three familiar chords from the next song stop me in my tracks. I look at Jeff, who is smiling right back at me.
