“So he left you alone here to deal with your crazy family and his crazy family and your ex-husband who’s still in love with you?”
Emily opened her mouth to argue, but Ryan cut her off.
“I don’t care how smart and honorable and successful he is. Fact is, it’s crunch time, and I’m here and he’s not.”
“It’s just a wedding,” Emily shot back. “The marriage is what matters—the wedding’s just a party.”
“It’s your wedding. In thirty-six hours. So why are you spending tonight with me instead of him?”
“Enough, Ryan. This is not a debate. You cannot get me to yes on this.”
“Enough,” he repeated.
“Yes. Enough. It’s too late. We need to stop whatever it is we’re doing here.” She pushed a wet lock of hair out of her eyes and adopted the detached, professional tone she used with difficult clients. “I’m asking you to please leave.”
“But we—”
“Good-bye, Ryan.”
Before he could reply, she turned and splashed away from him, back to the safety of the beach. She left her shoes abandoned on the sand and dashed back to the Lodge.
Ryan didn’t try to follow her. He let her go, and she didn’t look back, but she could feel the bond between them strengthening and stretching, pulling her heart back to his like the tide.
Naked and trembling, Emily wrapped herself in a fluffy white robe and stared at her face in the hotel room mirror. Her cheeks looked pale and her eyes were feverishly bright.
She sank down to the floor, resting her back against the wall as she dialed her phone and held her breath through one ring…two…
“Hello?” Grant sounded tired and cheerful and impossibly far away.
She braced one hand on the doorframe and got to her feet. “Thank God you picked up.”
“Perfect timing. I’m just about to go back into surgery. I know I was supposed to be done by now, but—it’s a long story.”
“I’m so glad to hear your voice.” She walked toward the bed, reeling with a mixture of relief and guilt.
“What’s wrong? You sound upset.”
“I just…I need you here.” She cleared her throat. “I need you.”
“I know, all the wedding stuff is crazy.” She could hear the bustle of the hospital on the other end of the line, and knew he was only half listening to her. “How’s everything going?”
“Well. I went swimming tonight.” She took a deep breath. “With Ryan.”
He laughed. “You make it sound so ominous.”
She dug her fingernails into her palm and tried to be honest. “I don’t think it was appropriate.”
She heard more rustling on his end of the connection. Then he asked, “Were you two skinny-dipping?”
“No. I had all my clothes on, actually.”
“So what was the problem? I understand you have exes, Em. It’s fine. I trust you.”
She brought her knees up to her chin. “Please come back here.”
“Right now?”
“Yes. Tonight.” She bowed her head and pressed her forehead against the rough nubs of terry cloth. “Please.”
“Take it easy. I’m coming, angel. I promise.”
“Okay.” She felt her world come back into focus. “Okay.”
He waited a beat. “As soon as I can. The minute I’m done here, I’ll get in the car.”
“Tonight?” she pressed, hating her wheedling, needy tone.
“Love you, angel.”
She let him go and slipped into a blue silk baby-doll. After three more episodes of Buffy, she called Grant again. He didn’t answer and she didn’t leave a message.
He’ll be here. Any minute now, she’d hear his key in the lock.
In the meantime, she listened for the rumble of Ryan’s car engine in the parking lot. Once he left, her life would return to normal. She would return to normal.
She waited for him to go. But all she heard was a faint, muffled woof.
Emily slept until seven, slogged through a three-mile run, then made her way to Summer’s room and knocked until she finally heard sounds of life.
Summer opened the door with the demeanor and hairstyle of a possum trapped in a Dumpster. She squinted out at Emily. “This better be good.”
“Rise and shine! Let’s go grab some coffee.”
“Come back in about five hours.” Summer started to shut the door, but something in Emily’s expression stopped her. “What’s up?”
“Oh, nothing.” Emily leaned against the doorjamb. “I just wanted to talk.”
Summer matched her air of exaggerated casualness. “About anything in particular?”
“Not really. Just the fact that I’m worried I’m about to make the biggest mistake of my life.”
“Oh.” Summer rubbed at her eyes. “Just that.”
“Yeah. You know, the usual.”
“Come on.” Summer ushered Emily inside. “But before we get started, I’m calling room service and ordering Belgian waffles, a wading pool of orange juice, and, like, four croissants.”
“Allow me.” Emily picked up the phone and placed a carb-centric order, charging everything to her room number and requesting a veggie egg-white omelet for herself.
“Veggie omelet,” Summer scoffed as she fired up the coffee-maker in the corner. “How many times do I have to tell you, you can’t make it through an existential crisis on lean protein. You need butter and refined flour.”
“Ryan already plied me with s’mores and booze,” Emily said. “My self-discipline is shot to hell. More butter is not the answer.”
“Butter is always the answer.”
They ended up on the small screened porch attached to Summer’s suite, bundled up in the bedclothes against the mist blowing in from the lake. The morning breeze was laced with the smell of dew-drenched grass and the ashy remnants of extinguished campfires.
Just after the room service order arrived, Emily noticed a woman in a red anorak power-walking by on the dirt path, headed for the beach.
“Caroline!” she called out and raised her arm.
Caroline jogged over, looking sporty and refreshed. “Morning, ladies. You’re up early.”
“So are you.” Summer took a slug of OJ. “Ugh, my throat still hurts from singing last night.”
“I’m going to do a quick loop around the lake. Care to join me?”
Emily considered this for a moment. Summer did not.
“What is with you people and the cardio and the egg whites? We’re on vacation!”
“Exercise is great detox,” Caroline said.
“It’s not time to detox. It’s time to nurse our hangovers. Lord. I can’t handle this nonsense this early in the morning. Both of you—sit down and eat some waffles.” Summer unlocked the screen door for Caroline. “And take off that windbreaker. It’s making my eyes hurt.”
“But—”
“Argue with me and I’ll force-feed you a croissant.”
“She’s not bluffing,” Emily said. “Do as she says.”
Caroline gave in with surprising speed. She unzipped her crimson jacket, grabbed a throw pillow from the rattan sofa, and curled up on the floor. “What are you drinking?” she asked Emily.
“Earl Grey,” Emily said. “Straight up.”
“Hitting the hard stuff, huh?”
“Hot water’s over there. And some tea bags from the late nineties.” Emily nodded toward the carafe warming in the corner.
Summer patted Emily’s ankle. “So what’s wrong, puddin’? Spill your guts. Make this headache worth my while.”
“Well.” Emily listed to the side until her cheek was plastered against the wicker sofa’s armrest. “I had a long talk with Ryan last night while you hooligans closed down the bar.”
“And?” Summer prompted. “Did he give you a one-man sequel to the strip show? Did you get to guzzle his six-pack?”
Emily appealed to Caroline, who was settling into an armchair with a plastic mug and a little bag of lemon tea. “Yo
u see what I have to deal with?”
Caroline looked rapt. “We’re waiting. Did you guzzle his six-pack?”
“Of course not!” She held up her hand, displaying her diamond ring. “For heaven’s sake, I’m engaged!”
“So you keep saying.”
Emily tried to shut up, but the verbal floodgates were open. “It might have been easier if he had ripped his clothes off, actually. Instead, he kept talking.”
Summer stuck out her tongue. “Boo.”
“And the thing is…” Emily wrapped both hands around her warm, flimsy mug.
“What?” Summer and Caroline chorused. “What’s the thing?”
She couldn’t bring herself to divulge this next bit until she’d taken a nibble of croissant. “The thing is, I’d forgotten. I’d forgotten how much I loved him.”
Summer turned to Caroline and explained, “Think Bella and Edward from Twilight and then dial it up a few more notches.”
Caroline’s eyes got huge. “Wow.”
“Yeah. You could power a small city.”
Emily took another, slightly larger nibble of croissant. “We had such a bad breakup, and then I refused to see him again. When I thought about him, I just remembered the end. The fighting. The pettiness. But talking with him last night made me remember the beginning.”
Summer snatched up a croissant for herself, then passed one to Caroline, who took a big bite.
The three of them chewed in silence for a few moments.
“I forgot I was even capable of that kind of love.” Emily sipped her tea. The hot liquid burned her tongue and the roof of her mouth. “I don’t think I have it in me anymore.”
Caroline put aside her croissant with the care and deliberation she’d show a loaded handgun. “Well, love is different at thirty than twenty. You’re more mature. More self-aware.”
“You wear skirts with hemlines lower than your fingertips,” Summer added.
“You were right, Summer, when you said I’d lost my spark.” Emily sighed. “But it’s not Grant’s fault—I lost it long before I met him. The whole time we’ve dated, I’ve been worried about doing the right thing and getting to the next level. Like it’s a game of Tetris or something. Will he call? Will he ask me out again? Does he want to be exclusive? Will he propose?” She tucked the blanket around her feet as a light drizzle started to patter on the roof. “I never used to worry about getting hurt. But now I worry constantly. I’m so afraid I’ll mess everything up.”
“You’ve got a lot more to lose than when you were right out of college, though,” Caroline reminded her. “The stakes get much higher as you get older and more established. When you broke up with Ryan, what did you lose?”
Emily mulled this over. “A few CDs and textbooks I’d never read again. Particle-board furniture from Goodwill. Oh, and a puppy I never wanted in the first place.”
“Heartless wench,” Summer said. “Ripley is pure canine perfection.”
“Can we please not have the dog discussion again?”
Caroline refused to be sidetracked. “So you didn’t lose anything of real value.”
“Just my dignity,” Emily said. “And my sense of youthful idealism.”
“Your dignity you built back up over time. Your youthful idealism you were bound to lose anyway. A breakup used to mean you were out a futon and a Dave Matthews box set. But now…” Caroline settled back on her cushion. “If you get married and it doesn’t work out, you’ll lose a lot more. Your house, your family, your money. Love’s not a game anymore.”
“No, it is not.” Emily nibbled her lower lip.
“Let me ask you this,” Caroline said. “Do you love Grant?”
“I do. But I don’t love him the way I loved Ryan.”
Caroline nodded. “And that’s okay. Nuclear-reactor chemistry is not what sustains a marriage. Respect, integrity, and simple good manners go a long way.”
“Listen to you two.” Summer’s gaze ping-ponged between them. “Good manners? I don’t know what’s scarier—the prospect of being alone for the rest of my life, or the prospect of being married with only good manners to keep me warm at night.”
“My grandmother used to say that the most important decision I’d make in my whole life was choosing a husband.” Caroline put down her cup, her expression pensive. “She said it was more important than where I went to college or what career I chose. I used to roll my eyes and blow her off as hopelessly old-fashioned. The thing is, though, she was right. You see your husband every single day. First thing in the morning, last thing at night.” Here, she smiled wryly. “Well, unless you marry a workaholic surgeon, obviously. But when you spend every day of every month of every year with someone, they start to shape who you are.”
Summer shivered. “This is scarier than a Stephen King novel. Hold me.”
“I’ve changed my eating habits and sleeping habits to accommodate Andrew. I’ve put off having children because he wants to wait. I’ve moved across the country for his job. But, you know. We made a commitment.”
Emily and Summer exchanged a look.
Caroline caught them staring and drew herself up. “What?”
“Nothing,” Emily said. “It’s just, well, you and Andrew seem to be going through a bit of a rough patch.”
“We are.” Caroline sighed. “A rough patch the length and width of our entire marriage.”
Summer passed the pastry. “Who wants another croissant?”
Caroline’s cool composure cracked just a little. “I know how it must look—that I don’t love him. I’m always complaining that he’s late, and then nagging him when he finally gets here. I’m the high-maintenance wife who’s never satisfied.”
“No, no!” Summer exclaimed. “She just meant that, you know, the way you feel about your husband after ten years of marriage is not the same way you feel on your honeymoon.”
“I know how it looks,” Caroline repeated. “I know how it sounds. But the thing is, I do love him. And it would be so much easier if I didn’t. Because I am never, ever going to be his priority.” She gave Emily a sharp, pointed look. A look that said, Don’t let this be you.
Emily tried to muster a smile. “There’s always retirement, right?”
“His first love will always be his work. That’s who he is. My whole marriage has been about waiting. First, I was waiting for him to finish his internship, and then his residency, and then his fellowship.”
“And now?”
Caroline glanced down at her phone. “I’m still waiting. For a text, for a phone call, for my husband to actually show up. And I wish someone had told me that the waiting never lets up. If you think that it will get better, and that all you have to do is hang on for another year or two…”
“Yes?” Emily asked, as a tendril of dread coiled in her stomach.
“The engagement, these past few months of planning the wedding together? That was your honeymoon period.”
“We didn’t plan it together,” Emily said. “I did most of it myself.”
Caroline nodded. “That’s what I’m saying. You’re the support staff. So am I. And we’re great at it. But the waiting, the disappointment…it wears you out.”
“So you’re saying Bora-Bora is going to be the only tropical vacation we’ll ever take together.”
“I’m saying try to lower your expectations and cultivate your own interests. Make lots of friends.” Caroline glanced out at the sky, where the rain clouds were starting to clear. “Some of the women I know have affairs.”
Emily threw up one hand. “Whoa, there. I’m not the affair type.”
Caroline turned back and regarded her with steady discernment. “You just spent last night with a man who’s not your fiancé.”
“She didn’t do anything wrong!” Summer practically spat out her croissant. “There was no kissing, no canoodling, no guzzling of six-pack abs!”
Emily had to interject. “‘Canoodling’?”
Summer shrugged. “I read a lot of British t
abloids when I fly to London.” She bristled at Caroline. “It’s not her fault that Ryan showed up. She didn’t ask him to come.”
“You did,” Emily reminded her.
“Exactly! You’re an innocent bystander here.” Summer addressed Caroline again. “She was just trying on her wedding dress, minding her own business, and Ryan—”
“He left,” Emily said. “I asked him to go last night.”
“So now Ryan’s not here because you asked him to go, and Grant’s not here even though you asked him to stay,” Caroline said.
Emily’s mind immediately flashed back to Ryan making the same point. If Grant’s so great, where the hell is he?
“Let’s not overthink this,” she said. “We’re talking about one week. One super-stressful, overscheduled week.”
“That sets the tone for the rest of your life,” Summer said. Caroline nodded in agreement.
“Wrong. This week is a one-off. A freak of nature. The rest of my life is not going to be spent fending off my MIA ex-husband and wearing corsets and watching my mother corrupt my mother-in-law.” Emily paused. “I hope.”
And she made up her mind, then and there, to be happy with what she had. She would behave like the responsible woman she had become instead of the reckless girl she once was. She would stop asking dangerous questions and sabotaging her future. And she would stop wondering about what could never be.
“Where is he?” Emily fastened and unfastened the clasp of her black patent clutch while she paced between the bed and the bathroom door in Georgia’s suite.
“Don’t worry, Em. He’ll be here,” Summer said. “And PS, your hair looks great.”
Emily looked to her mother. “Mom?”
Georgia never took her gaze from the lighted magnifying mirror, which she was using to apply false eyelashes. “Grant’s a man of his word. He’ll be here.”
Emily glanced at Caroline, who was too busy texting on her phone to provide any reassurance.
Then she heard Bev’s voice behind her: “Don’t worry. My son would never disappoint the love of his life on the night before their wedding.”
When Emily turned around, her shock at Bev’s appearance wiped out her anxiety about her absent groom. Bev’s sensible gray-streaked bob had been cropped into sassy, choppy auburn layers. Her modest pink sweater had been replaced by a tailored emerald green suit with a nipped-in waist and a diamond-studded brooch on the lapel.
The Week Before the Wedding Page 20
