After I Do

by Taylor Jenkins Reid

  So Merry Christmas to me.

  • • •

  I’ve eaten far too much. Too much ham. Too much bread. Too many spoonfuls of sweet potatoes. When the sugar-free sugar cookies get passed around, I squeeze a few into the nooks and crannies of my stomach, and then I’m ready to pass out.

  My mother has had enough glasses of mulled wine to stain her teeth a faint purple. She’s getting a bit snuggly with Bill at the table. My grandmother is on her second piece of pie, sneaking her spoon into the sugar-laden whipped cream when she thinks we aren’t looking. Charlie, meanwhile, appears stoic and sober. Natalie is smiling. Rachel is accepting compliment after compliment on her cookies, with a false modesty rivaled only by Miss Piggy. Charlie stands up.

  So here we go, here it is. Oh boy oh boy oh boy.

  “So . . .” he starts. “Natalie and I have some news.”

  That’s all my mom needs. That’s it. She’s crying. I don’t think she even knows why she’s crying, what she thinks Charlie is going to say, or whether she’s happy or sad.

  Rachel looks up at Charlie as if he’s a mental patient and she’s not sure which way he’s going to veer today.

  Natalie is still smiling, but it’s starting to buckle at the corners.

  “We are going to be having a baby together.”

  Waterfalls. My mother’s eyes are like two waterfalls. And not the kind that trickle from a little stream, either. These are the kind that gush, the kind that were I white-water rafting, I would see up ahead and go, “Oh, shit.”

  Rachel’s jaw has dropped. Bill isn’t sure which way this is all going. And then my grandmother starts clapping.

  She starts clapping! And then she stands up and she walks over to Charlie and Natalie, and she gives them huge, wet kisses on their cheeks, which has to be so very weird for Natalie, and she says, “Finally! Someone’s giving me a great-grandchild!”

  Charlie thanks her for being so great about it, but all attention is on Mom.

  “Do you two have a plan?” she asks.

  “Yep.” Charlie nods. “I’m moving back here to L.A., in with Natalie. We’re raising the baby together. I feel like the luckiest man in the world, Mom. I really do.”

  “And what about a job?”

  “I have a few interviews lined up next month.”

  That’s all she needs to know, I guess. Because the tears that could have been from joy or sadness only a few seconds ago now only make their way to her chin if they can get past her giant smile. She runs to Charlie and hugs him. She holds on to him, clinging to him. She is sloppy in her movements, operating from gut, moving out of emotion. She hugs ­Natalie.

  Natalie stands up, clearly overwhelmed but doing her best, and hugs my mom back, squeezing her tight. “I’m so glad you’re happy,” Natalie says.

  “Are you kidding me? I’m going to be a grandmother!”

  “It’s a nice club to be in,” Grandma says, and she winks at me. It’s a sweet moment. I have forgotten how special a wink can make you feel.

  When the commotion has died down, attention falls to Rachel. “I’M GONNA BE A FUCKING AUNT?” she yells, running toward them and hugging them so hard that she rocks them from side to side.

  “Rachel!” Grandma says.

  “Sorry, Grams. Sorry.” She turns to Natalie, putting her hands on Natalie’s upper arms. “Natalie, welcome to the Spencer family! We are so, so, so excited to have you!”

  When everyone looks at me, I realize that I’m supposed to react, too. “Oh!” I say, “AHHHHHH!” and then hug them both. We all stand there, around them, suffocating them, overwhelming them, wanting to take part in their joy. It’s then that I realize this is really happening. Our lives are changing. One of us is growing up. Everyone thought it would be me. And it’s not. It’s Charlie.

  The truth is, it makes me feel like a failure, in some small way. It makes me feel as if I’ve veered off the path, as if I’ve been treading water while Charlie swam the race. But that’s a tiny piece of me. The rest of me can’t believe my baby brother is growing up to be a strong, solid man. The rest of me can’t believe I’m going to have a little baby in my life to shower with presents. The rest of me can’t believe that my grandmother is finally going to get that great-grandchild she’s been asking for, that she has gotten news so great it has silenced her usual judgments.

  It’s a good day. And it’s a wonderful Christmas. And I wish Ryan were here to see it. I wish he and I were going home to the same place. I wish we were going to get into bed tonight and gossip about the rest of them, the way we used to. It’s at moments like this that I remember how much a part of all this he was.

  The five of us—Rachel, Mom, Grandma, Natalie, and myself—surround Charlie, and maybe he’s looking for an escape. Maybe he needs a breath of fresh air. He looks at Bill, and Bill stands up and puts out his hand. Charlie breaks away from us to shake it.

  “Congratulations, young man,” Bill says. “Best decision you’ll ever make.”

  Charlie looks down at the floor, ever so briefly, and then he looks Bill in the eye and says, “Thanks.” I think maybe every man wants to get a pat on the back when he shares the news that he’s becoming a father. I’m just glad Bill is here to give it to him.

  • • •

  “So when are you getting married?” Grandma asks, as Natalie helps Mom and me with the dishes. Rachel, Charlie, and Bill are still at the table. Natalie and I are stacking plates. Grandma and Mom are loading the dishwasher.

  “Oh,” my mom says. “Lay off her, Mom. They don’t have to get married just because they are having a baby.”

  “Well,” Natalie says, “probably July, actually.”

  “July? I thought you said the baby was due in June,” my mom says.

  “For the wedding,” Natalie says. “The baby will be born by then. It seems easier than trying to fit into a wedding dress.”

  “After the baby is born?” my grandmother asks.

  But at the same time, my mother is using the exact same tone and inflection to say, “Wait, you’re getting married?”

  “Yeah.” Natalie catches herself. “Wait, did we not say that?”

  “You said nothing about a wedding,” I say, as Rachel comes into the kitchen with a few empty serving bowls.

  “Whose wedding?” Rachel asks.

  “You said you were living together,” my mom says. She says it slowly, approaching the sentence as if it’s a bomb that might detonate at any second.

  “We are getting married,” Natalie says. “I’m sorry we didn’t mention that part! Charlie!” she calls out. She’s right to call in the reserves.

  Charlie pops in through the door, and we all stare at him. All five of us. His sisters. His mother. His grandmother. His . . . fiancée?

  “You’re getting married?” I ask him.

  “Yeah,” says Charlie, as if I asked him if he likes chicken. “Of course. We’re having a baby.”

  “Finally, someone makes sense in this family!” my grandmother says.

  “Mom, will you go into the dining room and keep Bill company?” my mom asks her.

  Grandma must be feeling charitable, because she puts down the dish in her hand and walks out.

  “Having a baby doesn’t mean you have to get married,” Mom says.

  Natalie inches toward Charlie. I think, perhaps, we are no longer doing a very good job of making her feel welcome. My mom notices the shift in her body language.

  “I mean, it’s great news,” my mom says. “We’re just surprised is all.”

  “How is marrying the mother of my child a surprise?” Charlie asks. Charlie really should learn to leave well enough alone.

  “No, you’re right,” my mother says, backing off. This backing off is entirely for Natalie’s benefit. Once Natalie is out of earshot, she’ll say how she really feels. That’s how you know
that Natalie isn’t really family just yet. “It shouldn’t have been a surprise. You’re absolutely right.”

  “It will be an awesome wedding,” Rachel adds lamely.

  But she’s trying, so I try, too. “Congratulations, new sister!” I say. It comes out so forced and unnatural that I resolve to shut up.

  “Thanks,” Natalie says, clearly very uncomfortable. “I think I’ll go see if there is anything else to bring in.”

  We all know there isn’t a single thing to bring into this kitchen. But none of us says anything. When Natalie is finally gone, my mother starts speaking very gently.

  “You don’t have to do this,” she says. “It’s not the nineteen fifties.”

  “I want to do it,” Charlie says.

  “Yeah, but why not take your time to think about it?” Rachel says.

  “Why are you assuming I haven’t?”

  “How long have you two even known each other?” my mom asks.

  “Three months.”

  “And she’s three months pregnant?” my mom asks.

  “Yes.”

  “Got it,” my mom says, starting to wash dishes. She’s frustrated, and she’s taking it out on the pots and pans.

  “Don’t judge me, Mom.”

  “Who’s judging?” she says, moving the plates into the sink and running the water over them. “I’m just saying, take your time. You have your whole life to decide whom to marry.”

  “What are you talking about? Natalie is pregnant. We are moving in together. She is going to be my wife.”

  “But moving in together doesn’t mean she has to be your wife. You can raise a child together and see how the relationship goes,” I say.

  “Lauren, you’re supposed to be on my side here,” Charlie says, and it makes me feel . . . included somehow. As if I am in possession of something extra that makes Charlie and me a team. Charlie isn’t on a team with anyone. So the fact that he thinks I’m on his side, well, it makes me want to be on his side.

  “I am on your side,” I say. “I’m just saying that you have never been married before, Charlie. You don’t know what it really entails.”

  “Neither do you!” Charlie says. His tone is uncontrolled and defensive, as if we’ve cornered a rat. “I just mean that everyone is figuring it out, right? Mom, you tried it your way, and that didn’t work for you. Lauren, you’re not sure how to do it. Who’s to say mine won’t work just because it doesn’t look like yours?”

  Rachel chimes in. “I guess I’m not needed in this conversation.”

  “Of course you’re needed,” Charlie says. “I want you all to be on board with this. I really like this woman. I think I can make this work for us.”

  “You can’t just make a marriage work because you want it to work, Charlie.” My mom says it, but I might as well have said it myself.

  “But you had no problem when I said we were raising a baby?” he asks.

  “They are two totally different things,” she says. “If you two don’t work out, you can co-parent.”

  “I don’t want to co-parent!” Charlie says. “I want a family.”

  “Co-parenting is a family. Single-parent homes are families.” My mom is starting to take this as an indictment of her, and I can understand why. I think it’s about to become one.

  “No, Mom. That’s not the kind of family I want. I don’t want to live across town from my kid. I don’t want to meet Natalie in the parking lot of a Wendy’s on Sunday afternoons to drop him off, OK?”

  This is something that Charlie learned from television. Our dad never took us for the weekend. He didn’t live across town. He just left.

  “OK,” my mom says, trying to keep herself calm. “You have to do what you think is right for your children.”

  “Thank you,” Charlie says.

  “But I have to do what is right for my children,” she says. “And so I’m going to tell you that marriage is hard work. No matter how hard I tried, I could not succeed. It was impossible for me. Can you think of another thing that I have ever told you was impossible?”

  Charlie listens and then shakes his head. “No,” he says quietly.

  “And your sister,” my mom says, as she gestures toward me, “is a very smart woman, a loving woman, who means well and almost always does the right thing.” I stole a Capri Sun from the grocery store when I was eleven. I swear she’s never forgiven me.

  “I know,” says Charlie.

  “And even she isn’t sure how to make one work.”

  “I know,” Charlie says.

  “So listen to us when we say that marriage is not to be taken lightly.”

  “Once again, no one cares about my opinion!” Rachel says bitterly. How quickly we all regress when we’re in the same room.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Rachel,” my mom says, losing her temper. “So you don’t have a boyfriend. Big deal. No one’s treating you like a leper.”

  “When every conversation is about someone’s boyfriend or husband, then I do think—” Rachel shuts herself up. “Whatever. It’s not about me. Sorry.”

  My mom puts her arm around her and squeezes her into the crook of her body. Rachel resigns into it. My mom keeps going, looking directly at Charlie. “You don’t have to marry Natalie to prove you’re not your father. Do you get that? You couldn’t be your father in a million years.”

  Charlie doesn’t say anything. He looks at the floor. It must be so different being a boy without a dad instead of a girl without a dad. I should stop assuming they are the same thing.

  “You have a lot of options,” Mom says. “And all we want you to do is think about them.”

  “Fine,” Charlie says.

  “Are you going to think about them?” she asks him.

  “Already have,” he says. “I’ve made up my mind. I want to marry Natalie.”

  “Do you love her?” Rachel asks.

  “I know I will,” Charlie says. “I know I want to.”

  His tone makes it clear that we have reached the end of the conversation. A part of me feels like saying, You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him drink, and the other part of me thinks that if anyone can out-stubborn marriage, it’s Charlie. If anyone can trip and fall into a happy marriage, it’s my baby brother. And also, in the deepest part of my heart, I think he’s right. I may be married, but I don’t know a damn thing about marriage. So who’s to say Charlie’s way is any worse than anyone else’s?

  “July it is, then,” my mom says, smiling. She gestures for Charlie and me to come toward her and Rachel. Charlie looks at me, and I cock my head to say, “Come on, a hug won’t kill you.”

  The four of us bear-hug. “The rest of them out there, they’re fine and all. But this . . .” My mom squeezes the three of us tight. It’s more of a metaphorical gesture now; we’re too old to fit anymore. “This is my family. You guys are my meaning of life.”

  We’re so squished together that now I’m having trouble breathing. I figure Charlie will be the first one to break the huddle, but he doesn’t.

  “I love you guys,” he says.

  From deep inside the belly of the pack comes Rachel’s muffled voice, “We love you, too, Charlie.”

  When it gets late and Grandma starts complaining that she’s tired, we all start packing our things. I gather my own pile of new sweaters and socks. Rachel grabs her new slow cooker. We throw all the wrapping paper away. Charlie and Natalie start saying good-bye to everyone.

  “Welcome to the family,” my mom says to Natalie, as they make their way to the front door. She hugs her. “We couldn’t be happier to have you.” She hugs Charlie for a long time, holding him tight. “So you’re flying out tomorrow?” she asks. “And then when do we have you back for good?”

  “I’m packing up my stuff over the next few weeks, and then I should be moved into Natalie’s p
lace by mid-January.”

  My mom laughs. “Oh, Natalie, I think you’re going to be my favorite kid. You’re giving me a grandchild and bringing my son home!” She puts her hand on her heart and frowns the way people do when they are really, really happy.

  They head to their car. I know they are going to talk about us. I know Natalie is going to ask how things went. I know Charlie is going to tell her that everyone loved her. He’s not going to tell her what we said, but she’s going to know the gist of it anyway. I know at some point, Natalie is going to ask Charlie if Grandma really has cancer. And Charlie is going to have to explain how all of this works.

  When Rachel and I start to head out, I offer to drive. Rachel hands me the keys, and when she does, Grandma asks us for a ride. “Oh,” I say. “I thought you were staying here.”

  “No, dear. I’m staying at the Standard.”

  Rachel starts laughing.

  “Again?” I say.

  “They have a lady who sits in a glass box behind the check-in desk. It’s a riot!” Grandma says.

  Rachel, Grandma, and I give Mom a kiss good-bye amid cheers of “Merry Christmas!” and “Thanks for the socks.” We leave the house to her and Bill. From the look on Bill’s face, I get the distinct impression he’s got some weird Santa sex costume waiting for her or something. Gross.

  We get into the car, and before I even turn on the ignition, Grandma starts in. “What do we think about this Bill guy?” she says.

  Rachel turns her head and then her shoulders toward Grandma in the backseat. “I like him,” she says. “You don’t like him?”

  “I’m just asking what you think,” Grandma says diplomatically.

  I keep my eyes on the road, but I join the conversation. “I think he seems really taken with Mom. I think that’s nice.”

  “You two are a far cry from when you were little. You used to hate every man she dated.”

  “No, we didn’t,” Rachel says.

  “We didn’t even meet that many of them,” I say.

  “She stopped introducing you,” Grandma says. “Because you used to get so upset.”

  I don’t remember any of this.