by Amiee Smith
“Of course! I’d love to see Lynn.”
While the kitchen is in the back of the house, my well-trained ear instantly recognizes Will’s deep voice over Yo-Yo Ma & Friends playing “My Favorite Things.”
I pause from buttering my skillets to tie my kimono. Without a bra on, my nipple rings are visible through my T-shirt. I don’t care, but my Dragon would.
“Morning,” Will says, entering the kitchen with Emma.
“Hey, Will. How’s it going?” I respond.
He’s dressed casually in white high-top Jordans, slim-leg dark-wash denim jeans, and a classic white and black Beastie Boys Check Your Head T-shirt.
Emma doesn’t seem to care that she’s wearing a blue and white striped jersey onesie in front of him.
“It’s going well. I took the day off to pick up my tuxedo for the wedding and I remembered Emma saying she’s never had Mexican sweet bread, so I brought over an assortment to formally welcome her to Willingham Wealth Management.”
The oven dings and I place the pan of bacon inside and set the timer. Shifting my attention, I scoop pancake batter into the skillet.
“How did you find me?” Emma asks.
“Ah, you said last night you were staying in a little blue Craftsman on the corner of Del Mar and Euclid. Since the other three corners are apartment buildings, I assumed this had to be the spot.”
Alex and Will have applicants lined up from both Yale and USC business schools seeking a summer internship. I sincerely doubt they hand deliver Mexican pastries to their houses. But I’m just going to play good hostess and mind my business.
In a brilliant display of multitasking, I crack eggs into the skillet in between flipping pancakes.
“Join us for breakfast, Will. Would you like coffee?” I ask.
“Yeah. Thank you. I got out early this morning, so I skipped my cup.”
Emma pours him coffee.
“We don’t have ghee,” she says softly.
“It’s cool. Since it’s wedding weekend, I’m not fasting,” Will responds.
Like Dana, Will regularly practices intermittent fasting. An eating style in which people eat within a specific timeframe and fast for the rest of the day. A part of this lifestyle choice includes skipping breakfast and having coffee mixed with ghee, a form of clarified butter.
Why does Emma know this about him? Minding my business. Minding my business.
“It’s rare you take a day off. What else do you have planned?” I ask.
“I gotta go to Williams Sonoma to buy a wedding gift. Hopefully there is something left on the registry. Willingham Wealth Management sent a gift basket when Lynn + Nick got married the first time, but I was so busy making Lynn the beneficiary on Nick’s investments, it slipped my mind to buy them a gift.”
Behind her big blue glasses, Emma’s face turns crimson red. “Crap! I completely forgot to budget for a gift. I’m hoping I have enough left on my credit card to pay for the Champagne Mani-Pedi. Did you know it costs $100, Brit?”
“You can put your name on my gift,” Will suggests.
“I’ll add your name to whatever gift Alex bought. And I’ll cover your mani-pedi,” I say.
“Really? You bought all the groceries and covered our Uber from the airport.”
“Of course. There were many times I’d show up to Mafia outings with no idea as to how I’d pay my share. Jen always covered me without me having to ask. Dana, Claire or Lynn would also cover me, but it usually included a lecture about saving my money. Jen never lectures me. It makes me feel good to be able to do the same for you.”
“Thanks. Gosh, you girls are so amazing.”
Will retrieves his wallet from his pocket and pulls out several crisp hundred dollar bills, leaving them on the table.
“Here’s some spending cash for while you’re here. I won’t accept no as an answer. It’s L.A., you gotta be a little baller while you’re in the City of Angels. Consider it an advance on your first paycheck.”
Again, as far as I know, Alex and Will have never extended cash advances to their interns. And I seriously doubt he’ll have accounting deduct the stack of benjamins on the table from her paycheck. Minding my business. Minding my business.
“You sure?”
“Yes. I grew up hella broke in Inglewood. Like Brit, it makes me feel good to share.”
“Thank you, Will.”
Again, there’s a familiarity as she says his name. Like they’ve done time in a J + J guest room, maybe? Minding my business. Minding my business.
I finish breakfast. Emma sets the table. We all break our fast together with pancakes covered in butter and warm maple syrup, bacon, fluffy scrambled eggs, and Mexican sweet bread for dessert.
A beautiful meal. With beautiful company. On a beautiful sunny day in my hometown.
***
With a still full belly, wearing black leggings and my Mills tee, I steam my pink and black Vivienne Westwood Wilma Jacquard cocktail dress in my bedroom.
Joni Mitchell’s “All I Want” playing on the TV in the living room, the breeze of the air conditioner, and the L.A. sunshine streaming through the windows keep me company, creating a vibrant tranquility.
After breakfast, I cleaned the kitchen and walked over to Lynn + Nick’s Airbnb to borrow their travel steamer. I thought I’d hang out with them a bit. Maybe get a little stoned (we’re all on vacation), but they were in the middle of a session with a wedding dance instructor they hired last-minute to help Nick prepare for their first dance.
Like all the girls in the Mafia, Lynn loves to dance, and Nick is an OG athlete, but neither seemed to be enjoying the experience. And for the first time, I saw the always chill, madly-in-love couple, bickering through the routine. The tension was so heavy, I grabbed the steamer and bounced.
I’d like to believe, if Alex and I were in the same situation, we would put on a happy face and make it work.
I move the steamer over the textured fabric. My dress is truly a collector’s piece. Sleeveless with a sweetheart neckline, it falls just above my knee. I bought it on a European boutique website to wear to Jen + Jon’s rehearsal dinner three years ago.
Shortly after my purchase, Jen changed the dress code to all black. I couldn’t bring myself to return the dress and it has hung in my closet unworn.
Tonight, I will make my official debut as Mrs. Willingham in my designer dress paired with black Manolo Blahnik 105mm pumps with a crystal buckle. I’m so excited for the rehearsal dinner, I could squeal.
The doorbell rings.
I make my way through the quaint Craftsman house built in 1886. While the structure is historic, the interior has been completely renovated to preserve its Arts and Crafts charm, but with modern features.
New white and gray paint, dark hardwood floors, and a completely modernized bathroom and kitchen, it’s a Pasadena fairy-tale place to stay for the weekend.
Opening the door, I find my hunky husband in khaki pants and a navy-blue polo.
“Hello, lover,” I say, welcoming him in and shutting the door.
“Not lover. Husband,” he says, brushing his lips over mine.
“What are you doing here? Did we make plans last night on the phone?”
After the firework show, Jen poured everyone martinis and my memories of the night got a little foggy.
“No. We don’t have plans. I just finished breakfast with my parents at the Club. Since you didn’t rent a car, I thought I’d hang out and drive you to your appointment with the girls.”
“The salon is less than a mile away. Emma and I were planning to walk together, but she went with Will to buy a gift for Lynn + Nick. He said he’d show her the area and drop her off in Old Town.”
“So that is really a thing?”
“I don’t know. They are playing it cool. She hasn’t mentioned anything to me about him, but they seem awfully friendly. Come back to my room. I’m getting my outfit together for tonight.”
We enter my very bright and white bedroom with
modern furniture. Alex sits on the side of the bed while I continue to steam my dress.
“I haven’t seen this dress. Is it new?” Alex asks.
“No. I bought it for Jen’s rehearsal dinner... during the time you stopped talking to me.”
“I thought about those two years this morning. How dumb I was for not speaking up. I should have told you how I felt. You didn’t need to go through that time alone.”
“It’s fine. I had the girls. I had my work. Let’s just focus on the here and now. How did racquetball go with your dad? Breakfast with your mom?”
“Good. I enjoyed seeing them.”
“I bet they’ll miss you once you move to Oakland.”
“They are consumed with the wedding right now. My dad wants everything to be perfect.”
“Will they be happy to tell people both their sons are married?”
Alex grunts. “My parents are happy that Nick and I are happy.”
Why do I need validation from Alex’s parents? Why do I need their stamp of approval? Maybe my relationship with him will be completely real once I know Sophia and Alan are pleased with our coupling.
“How do they feel about us reconciling?”
“Like I said, they’re happy that I am happy.”
“But what did they say...about us being a real couple?”
“They’re relieved I’m not going through a real divorce.”
“Are they looking forward to meeting me tonight?”
“They’ve met you, Brit. They are looking forward to seeing everyone at the rehearsal dinner tonight.”
Alex is not saying what I want to hear. More so, I know he’s purposely evading my questions. Nerves flutter in the center of my chest. I’m rarely nervous. Lynn or Dana might say this feeling is a sign, but it’s wedding weekend.
Tonight, I get to attend the Lynn + Nick rehearsal dinner with my husband, in my beautiful dress. I’m just going to ignore my nerves because, no matter what, Alex and I have always made it through.
“Dragon, is there any reason for me to worry?”
I don’t make eye contact, because... because... I don’t really want to know the answer.
“No. No, sweetheart. My parents are distracted with the wedding. And probably more stressed out then they want to admit. You know Lynn is not into it. And I guess neither are her parents. They threw money at the problem, which I can’t fault them on, but they left a lot of the details to my parents.”
“The wedding is at the Pasadena Club. I know from Jen’s wedding, the staff there is professional and efficient. Claire’s florist is doing the flowers, so they will be spectacular. Why are your parents trippin’?”
“They want Lynn to be more of a... traditional bride.”
“In her defense, she didn’t want to have a big Pasadena wedding. She wanted to get married at San Francisco City Hall. And that’s what she did. Your parents want a wedding, so they should be the ones to handle it.”
“Believe me, it’s not about the money. But my parents run businesses and the wedding is taking away from their work. They just wish the Scotts cared more.”
“Ah, Lynn runs a business. Her mom is the best defense attorney in the state. And her father is one of the top pediatric surgeons in the country. If they are choosing their work over a wedding, then more power to them.”
“I guess you’re right. My parents just don’t want people to talk shit. You know Pasadena people love to gossip.”
“Maybe they should care less about what other people think of them and just chill,” I mutter.
I unplug the steamer and hang my dress in the closet. I lift my shoes from their box and wipe them down with a soft cloth.
“What time is your appointment?”
“1:00 p.m.”
“And Emma is going to meet you there?”
“Yep.”
“Come spend quality time with your husband.”
“What do you have in mind, Dragon?”
“We’ve done enough talking. Why don’t I show you?”
Yeah. Alex sucked my nipples and ate my pussy so many times, I could barely stay awake during my mani-pedi.
***
“I still can’t believe Jen treated us to blowouts! My hair never looks this fabulous,” Emma says.
“Yeah, she is good people.”
After our mani-pedi party, Jen used her celebrity to get us all appointments at an exclusive salon next door to Sophia in Old Town Pasadena. Lynn and Lilly declined, opting to return to their places to do their own hair.
All the girls are staying in Pasadena for the weekend to avoid commuting to and from wedding events in L.A. traffic.
Lilly + Michael are staying in a suite at the Langham. And Claire and Dana are staying at the J + J fun house.
While I cooked breakfast for Emma and Will at our Airbnb, Jen had breakfast catered followed by massages for her, Jon, Claire and Dana. She’s like, the best hostess EVER.
Emma and I stand at the vanity in the bathroom applying the last touches to our makeup. Other than performances, I never wear a full face of makeup, but my freshly manicured, light gray nails with silver glitter tips, sleek hair, and Vivienne Westwood dress require the extra effort.
After swapping out the silver hoop in my nose for the tiny diamond that brings back so many Brit + Alex memories, I toss my rarely used cosmetics in their case and place it under the sink. Cleaning up after myself, like cooking, is a new thing. I kind of like this version of me. The openly married version of me.
“Ah, is Will going to the rehearsal dinner?” Emma asks, applying a bright matte red lipstick to her thin lips.
“I thought you would know. You spent most of the day with him.”
“We just went to Williams Sonoma and then... he showed me Eagle Rock.”
Will lives in Eagle Rock. The sleepy town, just east of Pasadena, does not make a TripAdvisor list of places to see while visiting L.A.
Minding my business. Minding my business.
I leave the bathroom and return to my room. After sliding on my shoes, I strike my best poses in the mirrored closet door. Squealing and smiling. Feeling better than ever. Excitement blooms and blossoms from my toes to the top of my head.
Tonight, there are no secrets.
Tonight, all parts of my life will convene and merge at the Willingham house.
Tonight, I step into my new life.
Tonight, I step into my new family.
CHAPTER 25
ALEX WILLINGHAM
After picking up Brit and Emma, we arrive at my parents’ home for the rehearsal dinner.
Pulling up in front of the expansive, two-story, Monterey Colonial home I grew up in on the south side of Pasadena, I hand the keys to my white Mercedes GLS SUV to the valet and meet the ladies on the other side of the car.
My parents rarely host big parties. They prefer to attend them and when they do host a gathering, they have it at the Pasadena Club. Having this party, here, is a big deal.
Walking up to the door with my wife on my arm, my mood is grim. While my parents know Brit and I reconciled, I did not practice “radical honesty” in my retelling of our history. Big gaping holes course through the version of the story I told them.
This morning at breakfast, I could have filled in those holes. Instead, I sat across from my parents, ate eggs benedict, and said as little as possible.
Someone is going to fall into one of those holes tonight. And it will probably be the beautiful woman in Manolos next to me.
A member of the waitstaff my parents hired for the dinner greets us at the door.
“Welcome. Would you like a glass of sparkling wine from the Napa Valley?” a lanky man in an all-black catering uniform asks.
“Yes!” Emma says.
“I will have one,” Brit says, extending her arm.
I wish she had worn something to cover the Arabic tattoo. The dark ink on her forearm and its meaning seem inappropriate for the company of my parents and their acquaintances. My dad bitched for
weeks after he found out I got a tattoo, it’s one of the reasons I keep it hidden. Most people wouldn’t know it sits just on the other side of my wool suit.
“Sir, would you like a glass?”
“No. Thank you.”
“There is a bar in the backyard, if you change your mind,” he says, cheerfully.
We make our way through my parents’ home.
“So, this is where you grew up, Alex? Fancy,” Emma says.
“My parents renovated the house five years ago.”
“Alex’s dad is in construction,” Brit says.
“Building is a better word. And now architecture and design,” I say curtly.
“My mistake. Is it like wealth management verses financial planning?” she asks, gently.
“Yeah. Higher stakes.”
“We should find your parents. I’d like to say hello and formally introduce myself, since I’m their daughter-in-law,” Brit says with a hope-filled smile.
“They’re probably busy.”
“What charade are you playing, boss man?” Emma says.
I don’t have to respond. Brit jumps in, filling in the holes.
“Alex is not used to just attending a party. He’s usually working the room,” Brit jokes, sipping her drink.
I grunt. I’m dark and morose, dressed in a black suit, and white dress shirt. And she works overtime to lighten the mood in her lovely pink and black dress. This is us.
We enter the great room.
“Hey guys,” Jon says, approaching us in a black suit with a pint glass of beer in his hand.
“Hi Jon,” Brit says, embracing his shoulder. “You remember Emma?”
“Of course. I wasn’t that drunk last night. Though the martini nightcap my wife served did me in,” he says, chuckling.
“The party was amazeballs,” Emma says.
“My wife definitely knows how to throw a party. Everyone is outside. Shall we?”
We follow Jon through the dual French doors to the backyard. The evening air is warm and slightly muggy. The San Gabriel Mountains loom in the distance.
The setting sun casts a pink glow over ten round tables positioned throughout the yard. Each table is decorated with white tablecloths, lavish place settings for ten, and picturesque arrangements of white and blue hydrangeas.
