If You Only Knew, page 34
"Gee, thanks."
He's bitter. His actions have come home to roost, and he's not getting his way, and he'll be angry.
I can handle it.
"Do you want me to come to the wedding?" he asks. "Or do you want to make a big announcement and make sure everyone hates me?"
"Let's be a happy family today," I say. "Because we have been that, and we can be again. We just can't be married." I pause. "But you don't have to come if you don't want to."
He swallows and wipes his eyes again. "I do. I want to see the girls do their thing."
"Okay."
One last time to appear as a happy family. I bite down on a sob.
Then something crashes in the girls' room, and he stands up. "I'll get them ready." He gets up and heads out of our room, but pauses in the doorway. "I'm sorry," he says, and this time, the words mean more than all the other times he's said them.
"Me, too, Adam."
And so my marriage ends, just an hour before Jared's begins.
I hope Adam and I can be that couple who stays friends. That he'll come here for Thanksgivings and Christmas mornings. That we'll always care about each other. That we'll be kind to each other. I'll try for that. I hope Adam will, too.
But a huge weight has been lifted from my shoulders, as if a rock has rolled off my soul.
No. As if I pushed it off, and stand blinking in the sun.
Jenny
When my phone rings, I fall out of bed reaching for it, because my night table seems to have been stolen. Wait. Where am I?
Oh, right. I'm house-sitting. There is no night table. And it's six thirty-two in the morning, people! I'm single and childless! I don't have to get up at six thirty-two! That is the one perk of my single, childless life!
The phone is still ringing. There it is, on the chair. "Hello?"
"Jenny?"
"That's me."
"It's Kimber."
Uh-oh. I recognize that whisper...the Whisper of Cold Feet. "Hey!" I say heartily. "Today's the big day! Are you excited?"
"I think I need to...call this off. I just... I tried on my dress, and I realized... And Jared... I don't..." There's a lot of squeaking going on.
"Okay, sweetie, okay. Take a breath. Is it a problem with the dress?"
"Yes," she manages. "And everything else."
This is not the first time a bride has fallen apart at the sight of herself in her wedding dress on the big day. Kimber may have gained weight in the ten days since her last fitting--the most common reason for wedding-day meltdowns. But I have a feeling it's not that. "Do you want to meet me at the shop?"
"I...I guess so."
"Great. I'll be there in twenty minutes. This is going to be fine, Kimber. Trust me."
I shower faster than a cat and put on the pale yellow dress I planned to wear to their wedding. Err on the side of hope, I always think. That philosophy hasn't always worked out--Leo, anyone?--but I can't seem to help it.
I haven't seen Leo since Evander's recital. I sent Andreas over to my apartment to pick up a few things, but Leo didn't seem to be home. Mrs. James did call me to thank me for befriending her son. Yes, Evander got into the Juilliard program. Not that I had any doubts.
I wonder how Leo is doing.
For a second, I can't seem to straighten up.
Yearning snatches at me, startling in its hunger.
I miss him so much.
But I promised him he didn't break my heart, and so I summon a memory of his breathtaking, transformative smile and swallow hard. I loved our short time together. It made me very happy. I laughed a lot when I was with Leo, and so did he.
So I wipe my eyes and pull my hair up into a ponytail. I may have to be at my sewing machine, after all. I have a bride to comfort and a job to do.
Kimber is waiting at Bliss when I arrive, the huge dress bag draped over her arm. Her eyes are red.
Her mother is with her. Dorothy doesn't quite meet my eyes, and her face is tight with anxiety. She twists the hem of her shirt--the same nervous gesture she used that day in the supply closet.
For a flash, I can picture them, Dorothy and my beloved dad. The memory is so acute that I can almost smell his aftershave and hear the rain that poured from the sky that day.
"Come on in," I say.
"I can't go through with this," Kimber begins.
"Well, let's talk about it inside. Come on. I'll put on some coffee."
It's too early for customers; we open at ten on Saturdays. Andreas isn't here yet--have I mentioned how early it is?--so the shop is ours.
Kimber and Dorothy follow me into the dressing room, and I busy myself making coffee. "Gorgeous weather," I comment mildly, and Kimber bursts into tears.
Ah, brides. I hand her a box of tissues and a cup of coffee and sit down next to her. "So what's going on?"
Kimber doesn't answer, she's crying so hard. I rub her back and look at her mother.
"Last night was horrible," Dorothy says. "That dried-up old hag kept sticking it to poor Kimber every chance she got. But she's like a stealth bomber or something. Subtle and mean and polite at the same time."
"Yeah, I've known her my whole life. She's good at that."
Dorothy looks grateful for the camaraderie. "So anyways, Kimber tried on the dress this morning and just lost it."
Kimber blows her nose. "I want her to like me," she says wetly.
"She won't," I say. "She doesn't like anyone."
"I tried so hard," Kimber says with a hitching breath. "I mean, Jared's her only son, and I know I'm not good enough for him--"
"Oh, please. He's so happy with you."
Kimber's mouth wobbles. "I saw myself in that dress, and I just knew...I'll never fit into his world."
I look at her, this pretty, lively girl who grew up without a dad, who once wore my hand-me-downs. Who lights up a room by walking in, and who won over a confirmed bachelor by singing a song. "Oh, Kimber," I say with a smile. "You are his world."
Dorothy's face softens.
"And really," I continue, "are you going to leave him to deal with that dragon all by himself? I thought you loved him!"
"I do!" Kimber says. "I love him so much I can't believe it's real. I never knew I could feel so happy. All I want is to be with him, but his mother is going to make our life miserable, and nothing I do will be enough."
"You're absolutely right. It won't be enough for her. It'll be more than enough for Jared. And she's not going to like you, Kimber. But she might respect you."
"That's exactly what I was telling her," Dorothy says.
I look at Dorothy. "Kids. They never believe their own moms."
Dorothy smiles at me, a little uncertainly.
"Come on," I say, standing up. "Try on the dress for me, and let's see what we can do to sex it up a bit. Because Kimber...you're going to the chapel. And you're gonna get married."
Kimber smiles for real this time, though tears still course down her face. "Okay," she says. "Okay, and thanks."
Five minutes later, she puts on the dress.
It's not ugly. Please. I don't do ugly. The fabric is gorgeous, if heavy, and it fits Kimber perfectly. The seaming is flawless.
But it is horribly plain, completely without ornamentation. No lace, no crystals, no draping. And it covers her up from neck to fingertips to toes.
I tilt my head and consider my bride, feeling a pang of guilt. My job was to make her happy. Not Mrs. Brewster, and so what if she wields her country-club influence and bad-mouths me? I don't need her approval.
I do need Kimber's.
"Do you trust me?" I ask.
"Absolutely," she says.
I make a few marks, but this is easy, really. I have the tingle of inspiration. I'm in my element.
I'm back, in other words.
I help Kimber out of the dress. "This will take an hour, hour and a half," I say. "You're welcome to stay, or I can drop the dress off at your house. Whatever's easier."
"We'll come back here," Dorothy says. "Kimber, baby, let's go to the drugstore and get some hair color. I miss the pink."
Seems as if I kind of like my father's mistress. Go figure.
"Okay. Let me just wash up a little. I have raccoon eyes, I bet." Kimber goes into the bathroom.
Which leaves Dorothy and me alone with the elephant in the room.
"Thank you for this," she says.
"Of course. I should've made her a better dress to start with."
"Well, she really did think it would win her points with that old battle-ax." She twists the hem of her shirt again and looks at the floor.
"Dorothy, I think you knew my dad," I say lightly. "Didn't you work for him for a little while?"
Her face flushes, but she meets my eyes. "Yes. He was... He was a very nice man. I was so sorry to hear about his death."
And in that moment, I see that Dorothy truly loved my father. My father who didn't choose her, didn't become Kimber's stepdad, who stayed with his wife instead.
I forgive her. But mostly, I forgive him.
"He was a great dad," I say, and my voice is husky. "Rachel and I were really lucky."
Kimber pops out of the bathroom, looking much improved. "Okay, Mom. Let's go."
There's sewing to be done, and my scissors are scalpel-sharp, hissing through the satin. I cut and pin, iron and sew, the satin fabric sliding effortlessly through the machine, the whirr and hum of the machine one of the happiest sounds I know. Yards of discarded fabric lay in heaps around me.
I find that I'm singing "Son of a Preacher Man." Always loved that song. I grab some springy, faintly pink tulle, that joyful fabric, and add that onto the skirt, a drape here, a twist there.
In the fabric sample room is an entire wall devoted to bling. Belts and beads, hairpieces and tiaras, lace and netting. I choose a thick rope of Swarovski crystal beading and a blingy 1920s-style hairpiece and run back to the workroom.
When I'm done, I'm a little sweaty, but man, oh, man, this dress is perfect. Perfect for Kimber.
"Holy crap," says a voice, and it's Dorothy's. They're back, and Kimber's hair is once again bright pink. She's beaming.
"Better?" I ask.
"I love it," Kimber breathes. "Oh, Jenny, I love it."
*
When I get to the church at quarter to ten, my sister is already standing outside with the girls. Adam and Mom are there, too. I dole out kisses--even Adam, as I am the world's best sister--then exclaim over my nieces, who look like they belong on the cover of Martha Stewart Weddings. "Auntie, Auntie! Aren't we so pretty?" the girls ask, twirling so their skirts billow.
"So beautiful! Oh, I love your shoes, too!"
Mrs. Brewster, too, is here, wearing a floor-length bile-green dress.
"Where's Kimber?" my mother asks.
"She's running a little late," I answer as Grace tugs my hand and Charlotte petitions to try on my heels. "Mrs. Brewster!" I say. "Such a happy day, isn't it? And that color matches your personality perfectly."
Her nostrils turn white. She looks like she swallowed a live eel and is trying not to let it out, her mouth is clamped shut so hard. Guess her dreams of her son being left at the altar have been snuffed out.
Rachel seems awfully Zen today. She nods at me to come over; the other bridesmaids are arriving, one enormously pregnant with many piercings. Good, I think. Good for Kimber.
"You look gorgeous," I tell my sister. "And happy."
She glances at the girls; Grace is going through my mother's purse, and Charlotte and Rose are running around Adam. "We're getting a divorce," she whispers. "I told him this morning."
"Oh, Rach!"
"No, it's good. He was really... It's good."
I seem to be crying. Rachel fishes a tissue out of her clutch for me--always prepared, that's her motto. I blot my eyes. Here I wanted nothing more than for Adam to crawl away to a cold and slimy hole, but all of a sudden, I feel so bad for him. He glances over and meets my eyes, then gives a sad smile. "I'm sorry, Rachel," I whisper.
"Yeah. Me, too. But I feel...lighter."
"I'm glad, too. Sorry and glad."
"I know exactly what you mean." She smiles, and she looks so peaceful and so sad at the same time. "I'll need you a lot the next few months."
"You've got me."
Rachel gives me a quick hug, then obeys the photographer, who's trying to herd the bridesmaids together.
"Jenny!" Mom calls. "Let's go in, honey. I want a good seat."
Light floods in through the tall, clear windows of the Congregational church. Mom and I sit near the front. I wonder if this is a preview of how things will be--me as Mom's escort for the various funerals and weddings and fund-raisers, the years passing by.
But before too much longer, there will be another one of us... My foster child. It won't be happening too fast, since I don't have a permanent residence just yet, but the social worker said she didn't foresee a problem. My background check cleared, and I've already been looking at cases and pictures online of kids who need a home, imagining each one as mine.
"You look very pretty," Mom says. "Yellow usually makes you look like you need a liver transplant, but not today." That's my mama. Unable to give a compliment without somehow insulting me, too. She herself is in her "don't look at me" uniform--black pants, white man's dress shirt.
"I love you, Mom," I tell her with a smooch on the cheek.
Jared goes up to the altar with his best man. His father stands there in his minister's robes, smiling. The music starts and my nieces earn a universal sigh of rapture as they walk down the aisle, Grace solemnly and methodically scattering her rose petals, Charlotte following too closely behind her, Rose hamming it up by tossing handfuls of petals into the air. They join Adam at the front, and he kisses them, smiles and wipes his eyes.
He's a good dad. Since forgiveness seems to be the order of the day, I find myself forgiving him, too. He'll suffer enough without me adding to it. The best thing I can do for Rachel and my nieces is be friendly. And so I shall. I'm incredibly mature, it seems.
The bridesmaids file in, smiling. My sister is the prettiest, of course.
And then the doors open, and in comes Kimber, holding her mother's hand.
Mrs. Brewster's mouth falls open. Not in shock and joy, either.
But everyone else, it seems, heartily approves.
Kimber's dress is a sleeveless minidress now. Bateau neckline, the crystal-beaded belt accentuating her voluptuous curves, the skirt of the dress poofing out with the same light ebullience that radiates from the bride. Her tattoos are on full display, and as she walks down the aisle, the scoop back of the dress shows off her angel wings. From the front, she looks almost demure; from the back, like a sex kitten. The dress is bright and fun and fresh, just like the bride herself, and sure enough, I glance at Jared and, yep, he's a weeper, God bless him. He looks absolutely gobsmacked by love.
Kimber is beaming. Almost floating.
Rachel turns to look at me and gives me the thumbs-up.
"Now that's a dress," my mother says.
*
When the ceremony is over and I've gone through the reception line and been thanked by Jared and Kimber and complimented by dozens and glared at by Mrs. Brewster, I slip off to my car. "Where are you going?" Mom asks.
"I'll catch up later. I have an errand to do," I say. "Save me a seat."
I have to pay a visit to someone.
My father is buried not too far from a stand of pines, on a little knoll in the cemetery. My heels sink into the rain-softened grass, and the sharp, rich smell of pine fills the air.
I forgot how beautiful it is here. Rachel has planted purple-and-pink petunias on Dad's grave, their colors bold and cheerful.
I put my hand on the warm granite of his gravestone. "Hi, Daddy," I say.
The wind brings the smell of smoke and meat; someone not too far away is having a cookout. Dad, too, loved to grill.
I'm glad my father didn't suffer. But oh, how I wish I could've said goodbye.
"Thank you for everything," I whisper now.
Then I stand up, my knees creaking a little. I look over toward the grave of Leo's wife and unborn baby, but I won't go there. It's not my place.
But I will go see her mother. Leo said he was the only one left, and that's just too damn sad. It won't matter if she knows me; I'll at least be there. I'll tell her I'm her son's friend, and that will be enough.
The nursing home is just on the other side of the cemetery, a two-minute walk. The sky is so blue today.
Inside the air is heavy and stale, despite the flower arrangement on the coffee table. The receptionist, a different one from the day I trailed Leo, is on the phone. She waves me in. Room 227 was Mrs. Walker's room, as I recall.
I go down the hallway. The patients' names are written outside their doors in childish handwriting with drawings of flowers and animals. There's probably some kind of adopt-a-grandparent program going on here. I bet Rachel would know.
I stop outside Room 227. Elizabeth Walker, the sign reads, and there's a picture of a cat and a tree with two branches and a giant crow. I peek in, then jerk back.
Leo's in there.
"Jenny?"
Shit, I'm busted. Feeling my face burn with heat, I show myself. "Hey. I'm sorry. I didn't know you were here. It's Saturday, and you usually come on... Well. I just thought I'd stop by."
He stands up. I forgot how tall he is. Two weeks without seeing him, and I forgot that.
"Who is this?" Mrs. Walker asks. "I don't know this person! What do you want? Don't steal from me! The last people took everything!"
I guess coming to visit her wasn't a great idea.
"It's okay, Mom," Leo says, and his voice is so gentle and kind I can feel it in my chest. "She's my friend. Her name is Jenny."
"Hi, Mrs. Walker." Leo's mother-in-law seems far too young to be here. Her skin is beautiful, her hair thick and blond-gray, but she's very thin, and her eyes have a lost, frightened look.
"I don't know you," she says, her eyes flicking toward Leo.
"She's nice," Leo says. "Sit down, Jenny."
"Don't steal my things," Mrs. Walker says.
"I won't," I tell her, trying to look responsible and caring, though fearing I look guilty as hell.
"How are you?" Leo asks me.
"Fine. Good." I glance at Mrs. Walker and lower my voice. "I'm sorry. I was visiting my father's grave and I thought of... I thought maybe Mrs. Walker could use some company."
