by Abbi Waxman
Becky clicked on a kettle and turned to face Nina.
“Do you want a cup of tea? Coffee?”
Nina nodded. “Whatever you’re having.” She looked around. Peter had launched into a conversation with his stepdad, and the dog pack had headed outside in order to run in giant circles and wrestle over a stuffed margarita dog toy. Why a margarita? thought Nina. Are dogs such big cocktail drinkers?
Becky’s phone rang, and she made a face but answered it. She listened, smiled, then said, “Sure, but only for tonight.” She listened some more. “I’m not promising anything. Bring him over.” She hung up and shook her head, putting tea bags in cups and eyeing the kettle, which was made of glass. Bubbles, but not boiling yet.
“John, you having tea?” she asked, and then with the next breath, “Do you like animals, Nina?”
“Yes, very much. I have a cat called Phil, and I’m always wondering if I could handle a dog.”
Becky nodded. “Cats are good. I have three or four dotted around the place. Or is it five? I can’t remember.” She looked a question at Nina as she held a teaspoon of sugar over her own cup, and Nina nodded. Becky gave John and Peter their tea, and sat down at the table with a sigh. “I’m not an animal rescuer, but I take animals from animal rescuers when they need to park them in a safe place. It’s not really fostering, because they usually move them somewhere longer term pretty quickly, but it takes the pressure off. I love them all, even the difficult ones.”
“I think you especially love the difficult ones,” said John, smiling. He looked at Nina. “What you see in front of you is one of the softest hearts on the planet.”
Nina asked, “And was that call another animal coming?”
“Yes. A dog.” Becky motioned out of the kitchen window, which was tall and wide, and Nina looked and saw a large but cluttered yard with a wire-fenced area in one corner. “I can take rabbits and chickens and things like that, too, in the smaller yard. I can’t take ducks, though, sadly. No pond.”
“Are there a lot of lost ducks in Los Angeles?” Nina asked, surprised.
“Oh God, don’t get her started,” said Peter, but it was too late.
Becky shrugged. “Lots of lost everything, unfortunately. Do you know several charities airlift small dogs from our shelter system to other parts of the country where they don’t have so many? Other areas have lots of large dogs, but no small ones, and we have too many. They get snapped up elsewhere and put to sleep here. Lots of people are working for animals, in this town. It’s as big a subculture as any.”
John finished with his seed work and went to wash his hands. “So,” he said, over his shoulder, “you two are sisters? That’s funny.” He turned off the faucet. “Bill Reynolds was a pain in the butt, but he sure made pretty kids.”
Becky rolled her eyes at Nina. “Ignore him,” she said. “I found him on the street with one of the dogs and he followed me home.”
Peter laughed. “Are we going to keep him?”
John flicked water at them both. “It was the luckiest day of your life.”
“That’s right,” said Becky. “Best dog I ever had.” She smiled at Nina. “It’s weird to think we share a father, right? How old are you?”
“Twenty-nine.”
“And I’m fifty-nine. He was twenty when he fathered me and fifty when he fathered you. Men keep on trucking, right?” She drank her tea, then leaned forward to call the dogs. “Only claws today, Peter?”
Her son nodded. “Thanks, Mom.”
Becky shrugged. “I’m doing it for him, not you, you lazy swine.”
All the dogs piled through the door, and Becky grabbed the little greyhound and held him in her lap. She pulled a pair of nail trimmers from her pocket and swiftly clipped his claws as they talked.
“Do you remember your dad very well?” Nina looked at her sister’s face, focused on its work and filled with gentleness. She suddenly thought of Tom, whose eyes were equally as kind.
“Sure,” said Becky. “Not so much as a child, but from when we were older. He divorced Alice, our mom, and married Rosie when my sister and I were pretty young. But we still saw him a lot, because that’s what Dad wanted. He liked the concept of fatherhood, you know, the job description. He just didn’t want to do the actual work.”
“Was he abusive?”
“No, not physically, never. But he was a bit of a narcissist.” Becky grew more thoughtful, putting the greyhound down and watching the pack streak outside again. “You might have liked him of course; he was charming when he wanted to be, or when he’d had a few drinks. He loved to hold forth on his grand philosophies of life, you know, give romantic advice, for example, which is ironic for someone who couldn’t stay faithful for twenty minutes.”
The doorbell rang, and Becky stood up and nearly got knocked down by the pack as she went to open the door.
John and Peter looked at Nina, who was finding all the noise and activity a little overwhelming.
John smiled. “Like I said, chaos central.”
Becky came back with another woman who was carrying a black-and-white collie mix and a handful of papers. The new dog had his tail tucked and his eyes were grave.
The woman was talking. “His shelter name was Boris, but they gave it to him, so who knows, and he’s negative for heartworm and neutered and about three.” She looked over, “Oh, hey, John.”
“Where did they find him?” John asked. “He’s gorgeous.”
“Someone found him running on the street and brought him in. No chip, of course.”
Becky took the dog from her and plopped him on the kitchen counter, where she could look at him without being swarmed by the other dogs. He stood there patiently, his tail moving very slightly at the end. She looked at his ears, his teeth, his eyes, then moved her hands over his body, feeling for injuries. He waited, and his tail moved a little more when eventually she stopped and cupped his head, tipping it up. “You,” she said—and his tail wagged completely now—“are a good boy, and we shall be friends.” She kissed him on his nose, and he licked her chin politely. She lifted him down and opened the back door. All the younger dogs bashed their way out to run around and get acquainted. The humans watched, jealous of the ease with which they handled it.
Becky sat down and stroked the head of one of the older dogs, who’d laid his heavy chin on her knee and was gazing up at her. “The problem with dad was that he kept disappearing. He’d promise to do this or that, but there was always a last-minute reason not to show up. Eventually we all stopped expecting anything from him; if you bend something too much it breaks, right?” She looked up at Nina, and her kind eyes had grown cool in memory. “My first husband, Peter and Jennifer’s dad, was like that.”
Nina looked at Peter and John, who were listening and drinking their tea. They were clearly so comfortable together.
“How old were you when your dad left?” she asked Peter.
His mom answered. “He and Jenny were three and one. They don’t remember their dad.”
“He’s not around?”
“No.” There was a slight pause, but nothing further.
“Luckily for all concerned,” said John, stretching his arms above his head and then ruffling Peter’s hair as if he were still three years old. “I showed up about twenty minutes after he left and made everything better again.”
“It was a couple of years, but same difference,” said Becky, still petting the dog.
“John’s my dad,” said Peter, shrugging. “There’s never been a better one.”
John made a face at him, but Nina could tell he was touched. “It’s a lot easier to know you want to take care of a kid who’s so cute that old ladies faint in the street,” he said, gruffly. He looked at Nina. “The thing about being a stepfather is you know what you’re getting into. I saw a beautiful woman with two fantastic kids and a totally ridiculous number o
f animals. I guess Peter’s dad had a different dream in mind, but for me, it was everything I’d ever wanted.” He looked at his wife. “I feel sorry for him every day.” He paused. “Except when something throws up on me, then I feel sorry for myself.”
There was a scratching at the door, and they turned to see the new dog, Boris, standing there. Becky let him in, and the dog docked his smooth head with her hand as if they’d been engineered together. He looked up at her with melted chocolate eyes, and when she spoke she was looking at him but may have been talking to her husband. “It takes a lot to join a family that’s broken, but sometimes it turns out you’re exactly the glue it needs.” Then she looked up at Nina. “Hey, are you sure you don’t want a dog? This guy is a total sweetheart.”
Peter laughed. “You know you’re going to keep him, Mom.”
John nodded. “She has a terrible weakness for sheepdogs. Show her something black and white and smart as a whip and she’s putty in their paws.”
Becky grinned and ruffled the dog’s ears. “Well, to be fair, there’s always room for one more in the family.” She looked up at Nina and grinned. “Even if you’re not a dog.”
Nineteen
In which Nina attends a wedding.
As a woman in her late twenties, Nina had attended many weddings. Indeed, the last several summers had been a painful forced march of dry chicken breasts and soggy canapés, stilted conversations with relative strangers and clammy dances with people she vaguely remembered from college. However, shortly after arriving at the wedding of Lili’s sister, Rachel, Nina realized this wedding wasn’t going to be business as usual.
The camel was her first clue. It was standing on one side of a large expanse of grass, tied to a tree by a long rope, wearing a jeweled, pom-pom-covered, traditional Rajasthani camel outfit of such incredible ornament that a crowd had formed. Admittedly, it was a crowd of children, but still.
Nina wandered over, spotting Annabel. “Hi there,” she said, casually. “Is this your camel?”
Annabel, who was wearing a sparkly dress and cat ears, looked surprised to see Nina. “I thought Clare was making it up, that you were coming,” she said. “But I’m really happy you’re here. We can talk about books later. I’ve got questions.”
“Great,” said Nina. “But the camel?”
Annabel shrugged. “It’s not mine. It’s here for the wedding.”
“Was it invited?”
“No,” said a voice behind her, and Nina turned to see Lili, looking resigned and amused. “It was sent in place of someone who was invited, but what I’m supposed to feed it, I have no idea. It came with a guy who backed it out of a horse box, handed me the rope, and said, ‘I’ll be back in three hours.’” She looked at Nina. “You saw the invite; the RSVP was yes or no, not yes, no, or send a camel.”
The camel turned and regarded them thoughtfully, found them boring, and turned away again.
“Well,” said Nina, looking around at the rugs and cushions. “It sort of goes with the theme. And at least it didn’t bring a plus one.”
A tall man came over with two buckets of water, which he placed in front of the camel. Annabel’s little sister, Clare, was behind him.
“Hi, Nina,” she said. “Did you meet the camel? Isn’t he lovely? They didn’t tell us his name, but I’m calling him Humpy Bogart. Did you know camels don’t actually store water in their humps, that they’re just big mounds of fat? Like boobs?” Behind her Lili covered her face and the tall man snorted.
Nina nodded. “And did you know that they can drink up to forty gallons of water in one giant slurp?”
The tall man frowned. “Maybe I should have brought bigger buckets.” He had an accent and smiled at Nina. “I’m sorry, my name is Edward. We haven’t been introduced.”
“This is Nina,” said Clare. “She’s my guest. I invited her.”
Edward nodded. “Lovely, so happy you’re here. Clare, you better find out where Nina’s sitting and show her to her . . . uh . . . rug.”
Clare reached out and took Nina’s hand. “Come on, let’s look at the chart. The show will be starting soon.”
Nina followed her. “But I still don’t understand about the camel.”
“Me neither,” said the little girl, “but my mom said Aunty Rachel knows a lot of strange people all over the world, because she’s a smuggler of rare and beautiful things”—she ran that last part all together, so it sounded like rareandbeautifulthings—“and one of those people sent the camel.” She glanced up at Nina and made a face. “It’s not for keeping, though; it’s only for looking at.”
“Bummer.”
“You said it.” Clare paused and lowered her voice. “I’m thinking maybe the camel stays.” Nina could see the cogs turning.
They reached the front of the meadow, where Clare tugged Nina up to a large display board. They’d passed dozens of people, all of whom were lolling, exactly as the bride had planned. So far, so good.
Clare studied the board. “Where are you?” Nina, looking over her head, quickly spotted her name.
“I’m on rug fourteen. With . . .”—she read out some names—“Mike and Angie, Eloise and Frances, and Frances and Michael.” She smiled at the little girl. “Two Franceses?”
Clare nodded. “They’re easy to tell apart. One is bigger than the other.”
“But if they’re both called Frances then I can use the same name for both, right?”
“Yes,” she said. “Because they’re easy to tell apart.”
There comes a point with young children, Nina had learned, where it was best to say OK and walk away.
“It’s a good rug,” said Clare, like a maître d’ leading a guest to a special table. “They’re garden club people, apart from the other Frances, who’s a friend of my mom’s.”
Nina arranged her features in a friendly expression, getting ready to be introduced to strangers. For some reason, she wasn’t feeling as anxious about it as usual. There was something about being outside that kind of gave you more room. Perhaps she should move into a tent.
“Hi, Clare,” said a larger, older woman who was sitting on the rug Nina and Clare were clearly approaching. “I thought you were a bridesmaid.”
“I am,” said Clare.
“Well, shouldn’t you be getting ready?”
“I am ready.”
Both the lady and Nina looked at Clare, who was, Nina realized, wearing Peppa Pig pajamas with a long pink slip over the top. The kind of slip Elizabeth Taylor wore in Cat on a Hot Tin Roof; the kind with lacy bits and straps.
“And very nice you look, too,” said another woman, who looked vaguely familiar. “I bet that’s your favorite dress.”
“It is,” beamed Clare, glad someone was on the ball this evening. She turned back to Nina. “These are the Franceseses.” She stumbled over the pronunciation, and tried again. “Francesssess. Franceses.” She sighed. “They have the same name.”
Both women smiled. The older one reached up a hand. “I’m Frances from Gardening Club,” she said. “This is my wife, Eloise.” Another lady who looked pretty similar to her waved lazily.
“And I’m Frances from school,” said the other one. “Don’t you work at Knight’s, on Larchmont?”
“Yes,” said Nina, “I’m Nina Hill,” and she reached out and carefully shook both their hands.
Frances-from-school beamed. “I’ve seen you there lots of times, of course. I live around the corner, and my kids and I are there at least once a week.”
Nina recognized her now. In Nina’s head she was “nonfiction and parenting” because those were the books she bought, and her kids were (she thought hard, and placed them) young adult, early chapter and picture books, respectively. This Frances was the kind of woman who made you feel welcome, even if you were both in a strange situation. She was wearing jeans and a hooded sweatshirt, which was an odd ch
oice for a wedding, but the invitation had said “wear whatever you want.” Frances caught her looking and grinned.
“I don’t know Rachel, the bride, very well, but I know Lili, and she assured me Rachel really didn’t give a fig what people wore. So I went with a clean version of what I wear every day, because it makes me comfortable.” She looked around. “And I guess I’m not the only one.”
It was true. People were dressed in everything from cocktail dresses and black tie to, in at least one case Nina could see, footie pajamas. On an adult.
Clare had already run off to do her bridesmaid thing, and presently a voice could be heard over a loudspeaker.
“OK, people.” It was Lili. “We’re going to do this thing, so try and find a rug, yours preferably, but any is fine, and let’s get these folks married. Rachel has insisted that everyone stay on their butts while she walks through, because she says she intends to dawdle.”
Frances leaned over. “Isn’t this fun? The camel was a lovely touch.”
“I heard they spit,” muttered the other Frances. “Ten dollars someone gets it in the eye before the evening is out.”
“I’ll take that bet,” said a man who was lounging on the other side of the rug, presumably Frances’s husband, Michael.
But Nina wasn’t listening. She was looking at Rachel the bride, who was incredibly beautiful, wearing a vintage ’70s cream linen suit, and looking like a million bucks. She was making her way across the meadow, with Clare and Annabel behind her, wearing their favorite outfits and no shoes. Nina realized the haphazard arrangement of rugs was actually a way for Rachel to pass by each one on her way to the front, and people were handing her single flowers to make up into her bouquet. She was thanking them, greeting them, and even occasionally bending down to kiss people. It wasn’t the most formal wedding ceremony Nina had ever been to, but it was already memorable for its friendliness. At one point Rachel looked toward the front, where the bridegroom and best man were waiting.
“I’m getting there, babe,” she called. “I just want to say hi before I’m too drunk to recognize anyone.”
