by Amiee Smith
“WTF. Do you have to pee or something?” Emma asks, sleepily.
Smaller than Lynn, she’s in a onesie and her short black hair covers her face.
“Hey Emma. We’re looking for Brit and Lynn. Are they here?”
“Oh, hey, boss man. Sorry. I was trying to get some sleep before the wedding. They went for a walk, but that was a few hours ago.”
“We’ll come in and wait,” my brother says, placing his hand on the door and stepping over the threshold.
“Hold up! Back up off me. Don’t be misled by my small stature. I’m from Oakland. I will punch you in the nuts and then run. Hella fast.” My brother immediately steps back, shielding his crotch with his hands. “They didn’t say they were expecting visitors. And I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t want you in our living room. So, you gotta wait out here,” she says, before slamming the door.
From the other side, she continues. “Alex, I hope this won’t affect my internship. Nick, it’s dope you’re rocking Brit’s tee. I hope you both will vote for me to join the Mafia. See you at the wedding. Peace and blessings.”
“You hired her?” my dad asks.
“Yeah. She was Brit’s teaching assistant at Mills. Former musician. She’s in the MBA program.”
“Good move, Alexander. You need more women working in your industry,” my mom says.
My dad examines the window next to the door. The interior shade is lowered.
“This trim is cracked. Probably dry rot. They should have let us replace the windows. I’ll let our sales team know, so they can provide the owners with a quote.”
My brother steps over to inspect the trim.
“What the fuck?” he says, pulling his phone from his pocket.
“While I rarely pass up an opportunity to talk business, the window is not important right now, bro,” I say.
“No. That’s my wife’s phone. I’m calling her and it’s not ringing,” he says, pointing to the windowsill.
Next to Lynn’s huge rose gold phone is Brit’s battered iPhone housed in the Ruth Ginsberg case.
“Call Lynn’s phone!” Nick barks.
I scroll my address book and press the phone icon. Her cell vibrates against the window, my face and “Alex Willingham (brother-in-law)” appears on the screen.
“She blocked my calls! I bet Brit blocked you too.”
“Nah, Brit doesn’t know how to do that,” I say, initiating a call to her. Brit’s phone doesn’t light up.
“Yeah, but Lynn knows a ton of iPhone hacks to keep from receiving calls when she doesn’t want to be disturbed.”
Nick calls Brit’s phone. It vibrates and rings from the other side of the window.
“She blocked my calls!” I yell.
“What clever girls! That’s the way to get a Willingham man to come running,” my mom says with a laugh.
“If you two weren’t so intoxicated last night, you might have figured this out,” my dad chuckles.
A voice of a saint speaks from behind us. “It wouldn’t have mattered. Lynn hid our phones so well we couldn’t find them this morning.”
We turn to find Brit and Lynn. Both with their hands on their hips. Both in sunglasses and black stretchy pants.
“How was your walk?” I ask Brit.
“Relaxing. We stopped for a green juice, which only made me hungry. So, we went to brunch at Urth Caffé.”
“Brit doesn’t think green juice is considered food,” Lynn says.
“Thank you, Brit! It is not food, Lynn!” my brother exclaims.
“Is this a marijuana thing?” my mom whispers.
My dad interjects. “Girls... I mean ladies, I hate to interrupt the debate on... whatever this green juice may be... but we were hoping to speak with you about last night. May we come in?”
“No!” Lynn yells.
We were expecting a better response. My parents, Nick, and I gasp. Each of us as nervous as the next.
“What Lynn meant to say is the living room is a mess. We had a Pop Divas sing-along last night to cheer ourselves up and things got a little out of hand.”
“Pop Divas sing-along?” my mom asks.
Lynn responds. “Yeah, we put the Pop Divas station on Pandora and sing the hits. Mariah, Celine, Whitney, Janet, Paula, Madonna, Cher, Beyoncé, Dolly. Kind of like karaoke, but without the words bouncing on the screen. It’s fun, particularly, with wine and weed.”
“What music brightens your day, Alan?” Brit asks.
“I... ah... enjoy Neil Young. ‘Harvest Moon’ is my favorite song,” he says.
I didn’t know my dad listens to music.
“That’s a great song! I love Neil Young. I saw him in concert with Pearl Jam, like, ten years ago,” Lynn cheers.
“I can play it on the guitar,” Brit says, humming the intro. Her vocal talent, evident.
“What about you, Sophia? What’s your favorite song?” Lynn asks.
My mom clears her throat. “Ah, I stopped listening to music, after Mia died. She had a beautiful voice. Not quite as gifted as you, Brit. Alex played your album for us this morning. I knew you played music. I just did not realize the extent of your abilities. Ah, but... when I do listen to music... my favorite song... let’s see... it’s... da-da-da-da,” my mom hums a melody, surprisingly well.
Brit recognizes it instantly. “Norah Jones, ‘Don’t Know Why.’”
“Yes! That’s it. I will say it sounds better with a glass a wine,” my mom laughs.
“Well, we don’t have any wine, but we definitely need to listen to it. Dance to it. Right now. Dragon, play it on your phone.”
“Superstar, connect it to the speakers in your car,” Lynn says.
I know exactly what my wife is doing... she’s using music to bridge the gap between us and them. My brother and I spring into action. He lowers the windows and I locate the song on Apple music, connecting it to Bluetooth.
“We’re going to listen to it... and dance... out here?” my mom asks, peering around.
“Yes. You’ll be fine. It’s a slow tune,” Brit beams.
The late morning sun gleams. Cars clutter the street in front of the house in all directions. Del Mar Boulevard is a highly traveled street among Pasadena residents. The intro of the song plays loudly over the roaring traffic.
“Come on,” Lynn says, motioning us all to the small patch of grass adjacent to the driveway.
I clasp my mom’s hand and place my palm on her waist. Lynn extends her hand to my dad. Nick embraces Brit’s hand. Together we dance to the hauntingly beautiful tune, trading partners throughout and singing along until we end up with our respective partners.
I connect with Brit during the piano solo. Together we sway. Wearing her Dior T-shirt, she hums the melody softly in my ear, tickling the tiny hairs. Holding my wife in my arms, dancing for all to see, surrounded by my family, is one of the most memorable experiences of my life.
As soon as the song ends, my mom speaks.
“Brit, I am very sorry. My behavior, and everything I said about your mother was disgusting. I am so ashamed. I hope you and Lynn can find it in your hearts to eventually forgive me.”
“Yes, it was disgusting. But we all make mistakes. I forgive you.”
My dad offers his apology. “Brit... Lynn... I hope you can forgive me too. Last night, I lost sight of what was important. My family is what matters. And I consider you girls... ladies... my daughters. Please know you will always be welcomed in my home. I am very sorry.”
“I forgive you, Alan,” Brit says.
Lynn crosses her arms over her chest. “I’ll try to forgive both of you, but remember, before I knew any of you, I knew Brit. She is my sister-friend. And I love her and the rest of the Mafia with all my heart. We are a package deal. You must accept all of us.”
“Yes. Of course,” my parents say.
Nick speaks next. “I’m sorry as well, Brit. I should have said something last night. Please forgive me, Lynn. I will never allow you or any of the girls to be mistreat
ed again.”
“I forgive you, Superstar. And I’m sorry I’ve been such a jerk about all this wedding stuff. While it’s not my thing, I know it’s important to your family. I should have had a better attitude about it. Also, and I hope you will believe me... I would never be unfaithful. Never. You are the only man I have ever wanted to be with. And I’m sorry if I behaved in any way that would make you question my fidelity... my commitment to our marriage.”
“Thank you, love. I needed to hear you say that. I know you had a life, a past before me, and I will try to be more understanding.”
“Thank you, husband. Can I have my ring back?” Lynn asks, extending her hand.
“Will you marry me again this evening?”
“Totally,” she says with a wide smile.
My brother retrieves her ring from his pocket, sliding it onto her finger. She stands on her tiptoes, kissing his mouth.
My kind-hearted, loving Brit chimes in next.
“I appreciate all of you. I know it took a lot of courage to apologize. However, it doesn’t change the fact you’re an asshole, Alex!” she yells.
“Preach, sister-friend. Preach!” Lynn praises.
CHAPTER 30
BRIT PALMER
“Brit...” he starts, eyes wide.
I interrupt, speaking with darkness in my heart.
“No, Alex! It’s exactly like last night. Everyone else says what they need to say, but you say nothing. You should have been the first one to apologize! I get it. You stutter from time to time. You struggle with reading. You get anxious. You come from a family of big personalities. You don’t have a lot of friends. We all have our shit, but we still have to speak up when it matters! And time after time, you say nothing. But you get in a meeting with a client and you’re all talk. So much of this turmoil could have been avoided if you’d just opened your mouth!”
“You’re right. You are completely right. I realized this weekend that I have to risk my pride and let the people I love in. Sure, I can give a well-rehearsed sales pitch. Yes, I can talk about investment opportunities. But I’ve never been good with sharing my feelings. It took months for me to share in my support group, mostly because I was afraid of looking stupid. Afraid of people judging me.”
“I would never think you’re stupid and I certainly wouldn’t pass judgement. That’s not my style.”
“I know. And maybe that’s why I didn’t say anything last night. I just assumed you would take me back. I... I am so very, very sorry. For everything. Please just give me this last chance. Please?”
Alex drops to his knees. He doesn’t seem to care that our family is watching. He doesn’t seem to care about grass stains. And he certainly doesn’t seem to care that people driving by can see a Willingham begging his weirdo wife for one more chance.
The feminist in me wants to kick him in his balls and go inside. But that would be too easy.
“I forgive you.”
“Really?”
“Yes. But I want to negotiate.”
“Sure. Anything you want.”
“I want a baby. I know I’m not perfect, but I want to try to be a good mother.”
“Done. And you will be a great mother. What else?”
“After your suspension ends, you can’t go back to working like you used to, Alex. I know you love your job as much as I love mine, but there is a line. It’s up to you to figure out where that line is and honor it.”
“Agreed. I don’t want to be that guy anymore. Is there anything else?”
“No. Is there anything you want?”
“I want you to love me. Even if I’m a privileged white man. Even if I am a capitalist. Even if I don’t support all your left-wing, feminist views. Yes, I believe the future is female. But never again will you use your feminism to push me away.”
“Yes, you’re my husband. My love for you transcends my feminism. Always. Is there anything else?”
“I need you to accept, really accept, that you will never be the poor friend again. We are wealthy. Very wealthy.”
“Yes, I can accept that we are wealthy. I guess I should tell you my secret, I’ve always known the password to my crypto account. I’ve been holding onto it for years. I didn’t tell you because I know your opinions on cryptocurrency, and I wanted something for me. And I didn’t need to disclose it in our divorce settlement because I bought it with inheritance money.”
“What is the current dollar value of your cryptocurrency?”
“Just a little over a million,” I say, quietly.
“You invested $100K and turned it into a million dollars?!” Lynn yells.
“Duh, I am married to a wealth manager so I know a little bit about investing. And I’m like, a genius. I just watched a lot of YouTube videos about crypto and learned the easiest thing to do is to just hold on to it as long as it continues to rise.”
Alex chuckles. “Good girl. That’s brilliant, sweetheart. If you’re willing, I would love for you to teach me about cryptocurrency. I promise I won’t meddle or try to tell you what to do.”
“I would love to share what I’ve learned with you. Is there anything else you need from me?”
“A few more things. You have to stop, and I mean this, Brit, you have to stop punishing yourself, punishing me, for the nature of your parents’ relationship.”
I pause, allowing the reality of what Alex just said to seep into the center of my chest. He’s right. I have been punishing myself, and him, for the transactional nature of my parents’ relationship. And denying myself, denying him, a happily-ever-after.
Behind my sunglasses, I fight tears and nod my head.
“Is there anything else?” I whisper.
Alex stands. “My parents want to give us a real wedding.”
“I would say yes. I love a good party. But with the tour and my new position at Mills, it’s not feasible.”
Nick speaks. “I haven’t discussed it with Lynn, but if you’re willing, you and Alex can get married with us tonight.”
“Oh, Superstar! That’s a wonderful idea. Did you think of it?”
“No. My parents did.”
“Alan and I have put together a plan. If you don’t like it, we completely understand.”
“What’s the plan?” I ask.
“You seem to be a bit untraditional, so I have a gown I made a few years ago when I thought I was going to show at New York Fashion Week. A finale piece. It’s white. All Swarovski crystals. Couture. A bit avant-garde,” my mother-in-law says.
“Well, you had me at crystals and couture. But will it fit?” I ask, genuinely.
“Honey. I may not have a fashion degree, but I’m a fierce seamstress,” Sophia says with pride. “You could wear couture for the ceremony and change into another dress for the reception. Alex said you got married the first time in a Sofia cocktail dress, I pulled some looks for you. Everything is in the car.”
“You get a costume change?!” Lynn says.
“I can pull dresses for you too?” Sophia says.
“Yuck, no!” Lynn balks before finding her manners. “I mean... I love the wedding dress I picked out. I never thought I’d be able to wear a mermaid gown. It’s the reason I agreed to all of this. Well, and it’s an opportunity to hang out with all my friends in L.A. And, most importantly, I want to tell everyone how much I love Nick Willingham.”
I respond. “Everyone knows you love Nick Willingham. You made me sit through countless high school water polo matches and, in tenth grade, you got all the nerd girls to vote him Winter Court King,” I say with a smirk.
“Brit! So much for girl code!” she bemoans.
Last night, she shared her husband has no idea she crushed on him all through high school. (Just a little sister-friend payback for telling Alex I was a thirtysomething virgin.)
“You did all that... in high school?” Nick grins wildly.
I’ve never seen him smile so much.
“I was just trying to make you happy. Indirectly,” Lynn says, quietly
.
“Well, Lynn, my brother wants to make you happy. Nick had terms for sharing his wedding.”
“What are the terms?” I ask.
“We have to do all the traditions they don’t want to do. First dance... I was thinking “Crash Into Me” by Dave Matthews Band would be appropriate.”
I turn to Lynn. “You really don’t want to do the first dance?”
Both Lynn and Nick shake their heads. “Yeah, no. Nick doesn’t dance in public.”
“What else do we have to do, Alex?”
“Father-daughter dance. Mother-son dance. Jon, Lynn’s dad, and my dad have all volunteered to dance with you. You just need to pick a song.”
“That’s so awesome. Thank you, Alan.”
“Jen wants to walk you down the aisle,” Alex says.
“No. I’ll be in couture. And the aisle is like a runway,” I say, apprehensively.
“That’s on you to give the sashay-away to your redhead Mama,” Alex says, lifting an eyebrow.
I wince. “I’ll talk to her. What other activities do we have to do?”
“We have to go from table to table and thank everyone for attending.”
“That’s no problem. You and I can work a room. What else?”
“Bouquet toss and cake-cutting.”
I gawk at my petite friend with her arm around her very tall husband. “Really, Lynn? You don’t want to do any of this?”
“Ah, no! If it were up to us, we would leave after cocktail hour.”
“Totally,” Nick says.
“Bro, you’re an introvert,” Alex says, surprised.
He nods his head, slowly. “Since being married to one, I discovered I am, in fact, an introvert.”
My mom pats Nick’s arm. “I’m so sorry. We should have never insisted you two have a wedding.”
Lynn shares her truth. “It’s totally fine. The Universe knew what was up. This is really a wedding for Brit + Alex. Besides, Brit wouldn’t have wanted to choose invitations, place settings, menus, decorations, flowers, a DJ, create a registry, write “thank you” notes, video conference with the wedding planner a trillion times, and read all those damn emails.”
“God, I didn’t realize you did all that,” Nick mutters.
“Yes, I did all of that while writing and editing a manuscript, running my business, packing up my flat, moving into your place, staying in shape to squeeze into a Sophia cocktail dress, and meeting your rigorous sexual demands,” she replies.
