Beach Glass

by Suzan Colon

  “Oh, Katy.” My mother puts her hands on my shoulders. “Don’t cry.” I think she’s comforting me until she says, “You’ll mess up your mascara.”

  I have to hug her. Always the practical one, but her hugs are so much more mommy-like these days.

  Bethy comes into the room with a serious look on her face. “Katy, Daniel wants to talk to you. I tried to tell him it’s bad luck to see the bride before the vows,” she says with a small laugh, trying to sound light, “but he said it’s important.”

  I feel my heart freeze. I know enough not to look at my mother, because I can feel her hackles going up. “Okay,” I say, my voice trembling a little.

  “You want me and Mom to stay?” Bethy asks.

  “No.” I smooth down my dress and stand as tall as I can, trying to look brave. “I’ll be fine.”

  My mother and sister let Daniel in as they reluctantly leave. I’m as stiff as a figurine on top of a wedding cake when Daniel, crushingly handsome in his steel grey tuxedo, looks at me.

  “Oh, Katy,” he says, his voice full of awe. “You’re so beautiful.”

  I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. He probably wouldn’t be admiring me if he was saying Sorry, can’t go through with it, see ya. “You too,” I say. “I mean, you look amazing.”

  “Wow,” he says again, coming close and stroking my cheek. “You’re . . . wow.” He smiles and shakes his head as his hands frame my waist. “I really want to kiss you, but I know I’m already breaking all kinds of wedding commandments just by being here. Besides, I want our next kiss to be when we’re married.”

  I let out another deep breath, one I think I’ve been holding for about nine years. “Bethy said you needed to talk to me.”

  His face falls.

  “Daniel, what’s wrong? Are you nervous? I know, it’s a big deal getting married.”

  “Oh, no, I’m not nervous. I can’t wait for that to happen.”

  “Then what is it?” I ask.

  “Something’s not right,” he says softly. “There’s something I should’ve done before, but I didn’t know how. But I have to do it before we get married, Katy. It’s important.”

  WE SIT IN THE minister’s office, Daniel, me, and the Wakefields. Richardson, Blaire, and Chandler. They’re as good-looking and fashionable as a magazine layout, but much more solemn.

  They know Daniel, and they like him. As Amanda’s grandparents and aunt, they had a right to know this Daddy person Amanda kept talking about. Gradually, they welcomed him into our weekend dates. They were always warm, though understandably wistful.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Wakefield, Chandler,” Daniel begins. He’s mumbling, a sign I know well that means he’s nervous. He seems to realize it and clears his throat before going on. “I know there are a lot of people out there waiting for us to get this wedding started, but I couldn’t do that without doing this first.”

  Slowly, it dawns on me as I look at the Wakefields, the family meant to be my in-laws, what Daniel means to do. My heart simultaneously breaks for them and fills with love for him.

  “You’ve been wonderful to me, letting me come into Amanda’s life,” Daniel says, looking at each of them. “But I can’t imagine how you must feel today, when Katy’s getting married . . . because Carson isn’t here.”

  Richardson’s gaze doesn’t leave Daniel, but his eyes grow shiny. Blaire begins to cry softly into a tissue. Chandler’s chin trembles even as she tries to smile at me.

  “Katy has told me a lot about Carson,” Daniel continues. “He sounds like he was a really great person. Brave, and smart, and fun.” His voice catches. “I never knew him, but I know he was good to Katy and good for her. I know he was a good man.”

  Now we’re all crying, even Richardson, who has given up his stoic stance and is cradling his wife’s head on his shoulder as tears stream down his face.

  “I wanted to tell you,” Daniel says, trying to steady his voice, “that I do know Carson, through Amanda. I see a lot of Katy in her, and Amanda will be her own person, but there’s a lot of your son in her, too. I love Amanda,” Daniel says, “so a part of me loves your son. I thought you should know that.”

  Richardson nods. “We appreciate that, Daniel.” His voice trembles. “You’re very kind to say all of this.”

  “It’s the truth,” Daniel says, and no one could doubt that. “You’re a very important part of our life together. You’re Amanda’s aunt and grandparents, and she’s lucky to have you, because Katy’s mom and Vic are great, but my parents?” He widens his eyes with comic drama. “My folks are a little nuts.”

  This gentle joke breaks the sadness in the room, and everyone laughs. Daniel waits until we quiet down before saying, “Richardson, Blaire, Chandler, I wanted to say that Carson is here with us. He’s a part of Amanda, so he will always be with us.” All three Wakefields nod in solemn gratitude. “And there’s something I’d like to ask,” Daniel says. “Your permission.”

  “For what?” Richardson asks.

  “I want to adopt Amanda.”

  “Daniel,” I whisper, so touched that I don’t know what else to say.

  “Sorry,” he mumbles. “I should’ve asked you first, but I thought it was important to ask you all together. Amanda belongs to all of you, but . . . I love her,” he says, almost pleading. “I want her to belong to me, too.”

  “She does,” I say fiercely. “She’s as much your daughter as if we’d had her together.”

  Daniel smiles and squeezes my hand. “Thank you, Katy. And I want her to keep Wakefield as part of her name,” he tells the others. “And when she’s old enough, she’ll know who her father was. I just . . . I want her to be my daughter, too,” he says again.

  “She is your daughter, too,” Chandler says, wiping her eyes. “I see the way you are with her and how much she loves you. You’re her father now.” Her voice breaks as she dissolves in tears. “It’s what my brother would have wanted.”

  All of us rise and go to each other, meeting in a large hug. Tears fall silently. The space I want to live in, the space of love, has grown larger.

  There’s a gentle knock at the door, and my mother peeks her head in. “Is everything okay in here?” When she sees all of us weeping, she looks suddenly shocked, which makes all of us start to giggle.

  “Everything’s fine, Mom,” I tell her. “Everything’s . . . wonderful, actually.”

  I look up at Daniel, so proud of him and so completely in love with him, with my husband, and the father of my child. He smiles at me in a way I’ve seen him smile before and takes my hand.

  “Are you ready, Katy?” he asks.

  My answer is the same as it’s always been. Yes.

  (Please continue reading for more information about Suzan Colón)

  Gratitude List

  Usually only the author’s name goes on a book, but that’s because there isn’t room on the cover for the dozens of friends, beloveds, and angels who all have a hand in bringing the book to life. That’s a story in itself . . .

  Decades ago (more than I’d care to specify), my mother handed me a book about how to write romance novels. “You should read this,” she said. “You could do this.” The fact that she thought I was capable of writing, and of writing a good book, was a vote of confidence that I have tried to validate ever since. And my father, David always tells me, “You can do it.” Four words that speak a world of love.

  I wrote my memoir, Cherries in Winter, for my mother and for my grandmother, who wanted to be a writer. This one, I think I did for me.

  But many years after that suggestion from Mom, I found myself adrift. A writer with no project is like a bottle with no message in it, bobbing along the seas with nothing to say. I found good headwinds in the right direction from Julia Cameron, whose guidebook The Artist’s Way brought me to a fictional beach called Heaven by an idealistic, passion fruit-loving surfer named Carson.

  So I had a book; what does any writer of love stories do then? Packs a bag and goes
to the national conference of the Romance Writers of America. There, I found incredible support, friends, teachers, and an agent named Louise Fury. She and her assistant, Colette, read an early version of Beach Glass and wept and smiled in the places I’d hoped they would. If not for them, this book wouldn’t have found its way to the Belles.

  Oh, the women of Bell Bridge Books—my writing idol Debra Dixon, my champion Deborah Smith, the goddesses Danielle Childers and Brittany Shirley, and all the rest of the Belles. And the editor whose shoulder I would lean on and be supported by for a year, Lynn Coddington. She was the lamp who guided the book to what it could be, should be, and is.

  Professional guidance was provided by incredible authors Ellen Sussman and Caroline Leavitt, and the invaluable instruction of John Truby. Personal support came from Hope Tarr, an author whose friendship is as lovely as her words. My gratitude goes to the gang in the red velvet room of Lady Jane’s Salon, and the sisters of RWA NYC. And Caryn Karmatz-Rudy once set down a challenge: “You could do better.” That’s a goal that keeps me trying ever harder.

  And then there was the home team: my best friend of many (many) years, Amanda Siegelson, always a touchstone. Dear friends Chris Moore and Charles Cermele took me on a surf groupie’s weekend that inspired this book. Carolina Miranda is a creative inspiration who described her surfing adventures to me with color as vivid as her husband El Celso’s art. Linda Maglionico provided inspiration in bravely seeking her own destiny. Sherri Rifkin and Stephanie Krikorian, authors I’m lucky to have in my life, formed The Writers Forum with me specifically so we could all urge each other on. Without David Keeps and Steve Korté, I’d still be scratching my head about what to do with my life. Francesco Clark always responds to my “crazy” ideas with, “You could totally do that!” With his encouragement, I try, just so I can hear him say, “See? I told you so.”

  More hubs of guidance and support: At Integral Yoga Institute, my divine instructors Kali Morse and Rashmi Galliano taught me how to remain calm and breathe. And the lovely editors Janet Siroto, Laura Mathews, Jenny Cook, and Rosemary Ellis gave my writing a good home in Good Housekeeping Magazine.

  My godmother, Barbara Haspel, talked me through the process of art and creativity by telling me to stop talking about it and write. Valuable advice, that.

  My extended family—Luisa, Amanda, Rebecca, Sheila, Ruth, and Ernesto—give love so freely I feel spoiled. I hope I give back as much. And love travels over miles of distance, as my stepsister Laurie and her family, and my stepbrother Adam and his family, and all my cousins and their clans, prove constantly.

  Alice Uniman and Beth Rascoll provided spiritual support, as necessary as pancakes and coffee.

  Animal friends deserve my gratitude, too. D’Artagnan gives the loveliest purrs. Bee is a delight-giving imp. And this book is dedicated to my CEO (Cat Executive Officer), Tootsie, who departed the day before Beach Glass was finished. I miss you, my little nimbutz.

  My own story has a hero, a romantic man who brings me flowers, inspires me with beautiful photographs, gives me support, watches comic book movies with me, and loves me in a way I’ve never been blessed with love before. Thank you, Nathan. You’re my for always and forever.

  Finally, I thank you, my dear reader. Without you, the words that come through this humble channel have no meaning. If you’ve come this far on our adventure together, I’m blessed with a new friend, and I thank you.

  About the Author

  Suzan Colón is the author of the inspirational memoir Cherries in Winter: My Family’s Recipe for Hope in Hard Times. She has also written young adult novels based on the TV series Smallville, as well as What Would Wonder Woman Do? An Amazon’s Guide to the Working World. Suzan has contributed to O, the Oprah Magazine, Good Housekeeping, and many other publications. She lives in New Jersey with her husband Nathan. Please visit suzancolon.net.

  Carson and Daniel are fictional characters (sadly), but the causes they believed in are real. I support Surfrider Foundation, the Ocean Conservancy, and the ASPCA.