by Abbi Waxman
The bridegroom, who looked like he might already have had a few, waved his hand at her. “Take your time, Rach. We’ve got the rest of our lives.” Then he grinned at her, like an idiot.
Next to him, the best man was talking to Lili, who was wiping tears from her cheeks and watching her sister and her daughters make their way across the grass. Then the best man turned to look at Rachel, too, and that was when Nina realized this wedding really wasn’t going to be business as usual, and not just because of the camel.
The best man was Tom.
* * *
• • •
The vows took quite a while, because they were wide-ranging. Nina’s favorite was a promise to always set up the coffee maker the night before, followed by a paired promise to never let them run out of half-and-half.
Finally, the officiate said, “For their last vows, Rachel and Richard have asked to read the lyrics of their favorite song.”
Rachel said, “Richard, we wrote our vows together, and they mean a lot to us. But we also know when someone else has put it better, so here goes.”
She cleared her throat. “I’m never going to give you up.”
He replied, “Never going to let you down.”
She said, “Never going to run around and desert you.”
Nina turned to Frances and raised an eyebrow.
Frances shrugged. “It is a classic song of their childhood, I suppose.” They both watched as the happy couple finished up by promising never to tell lies or hurt each other, then Frances added, “The great philosopher Richard Astley knew a thing or two about commitment.”
“He’s in the Guinness Book of World Records,” said Nina, unable to help herself. “His first eight singles reached the top ten in the UK; he’s the only male singer to do that. As far as I know, the record still stands.”
Frances patted her arm. “Good to know.”
Nina peered into the picnic basket and pulled out a packet of Pocky, those little biscuit sticks with chocolate on them. Again, a big improvement over chicken breast or mushroom vol-au-vents. There were sandwiches in the basket, and bread rolls, and cheese and fruit and enormous bars of chocolate. Tiny pastries in a tin. Meringues shaped like flowers.
“What’s in the other basket?” she asked Frances.
Frances lifted the lid, then turned and grinned at Nina. “It’s a cooler pretending to be a basket. It’s full of ice cream bars.”
Every so often a waiter would come around with fresh drinks, and although Nina had switched to fizzy water after the toasts, she was feeling as buoyant as everyone else. The sun had gone down, strings of lights had come on, and it really was magical.
Lili appeared and sat down on the rug next to her. “Is it the right Tom?” she asked, getting to the point.
“Yes.” Nina nodded. “But I don’t really understand.”
Lili hugged herself. “Well, when I looked up the team, I saw his name and thought it was entirely possible there was more than one Tom Byrnes in Los Angeles, right? I knew Richard had a brother named Tom, but he and I had never met, and you and I had never really met properly before that night. It was a long shot.”
“Yeah,” said Nina. “Kind of unbelievable.”
“And yet these things happen,” said Lili. “In my experience they happen more than you’d think. So I invited you to the wedding, and if it was supposed to be, then he would be the right one.” She shrugged and looked around. “Besides, there are lots of single men here because most of the people who work for Rachel are young guys who lift stuff, so if Tom wasn’t the right Tom then you still might meet someone nice.”
“Clare said your sister was a smuggler?”
Lili laughed. “She’s an importer of art and artifacts. She works with museums and private collectors, but one time when Clare was visiting her at work, Rach told her she was a smuggler, and then it was funnier to leave it like that.”
“Let’s hope Clare doesn’t grow up to work for the IRS.”
“Wash out your mouth,” said Lili, and got to her feet. “Have fun tonight. Tom seems very nice, and Richard is fantastic. We’re definitely improving the gene pool in the family by adding him.” She looked around. “Wait . . . where’s the camel?”
* * *
• • •
It turned out Clare had the camel and was trying to persuade it to climb into the back of her mother’s car. It further turned out that camels are not easily persuaded, particularly if you want to fold them up like umbrellas and squeeze them into small spaces, so Clare wasn’t getting very far.
Once she was separated from Humpy, under duress and with a lot of heated tears, she revealed she’d had four ice cream bars and two bags of gummy worms, and then threw up all over the back seat of the car. Nina offered to go hunt down a damp cloth and a roll of paper towels and headed off. While she was talking to a helpful waiter, Tom came up behind her.
“Hey, Nina, fancy meeting you here.” He’d spotted her after the ceremony, but he’d had to go and pose for fifty thousand wedding photos, and it had taken him until now to come find her. “I’m not sure how you are here, I’ll be honest.” He blushed slightly. “I mean, I’m really glad to see you.” Smooth move, ex-lax, he thought.
Nina had her arms full of paper towels, which was good because she could hand him a roll and explain the Clare–camel–gummy worm situation as an opening conversational topic. That way maybe he wouldn’t notice how flushed her cheeks were.
“So, let me get this straight,” he said, as they crossed the grass. “You’re here at the invitation of Clare, my new sister-in-law’s niece, who has been overcome by sugar and attempted camel-napping, and we’re on our way to provide assistance.”
“That’s about the size of it,” replied Nina. “Her older sister is one of the girls who was staring at you last week at the bookstore. She’s in my elementary book club.”
“Wow, it’s a small world.”
“No,” said Nina, spotting Lili and Clare still sitting on the ground by their car, the camel chomping the grass nearby. “It’s a very big world, but Larchmont is very small.”
Clare was looking much better, so Tom led the camel back to its original spot while Nina helped clean up and Lili explained to Clare that no, she couldn’t have more ice cream now that she felt better. No, even though she’d made room by throwing up. No, even if it was probably the gummy worms that had caused the trouble. And no, she couldn’t have a camel.
Tom and Nina decided it was probably best to back slowly away. Lili clearly had this under control.
* * *
“Congratulations, by the way,” said Nina, as they meandered across the grass. People had started dancing now, in an area near the front, and many of the rugs were empty.
He looked at her, puzzled.
“On your brother’s wedding. Congratulations on your new sister. I don’t know her, but Lili is really nice. And her nieces, as you saw, are great.”
Tom grinned. “I only met them myself very recently.”
“Oh? Richard and Rachel haven’t known each other very long?”
Tom shook his head. “No, they met last summer, although apparently Richard had seen her before and kind of fell in love at first sight. Then, when he spotted her again, he went for it.”
“Wow. That’s . . . bold.”
Tom shrugged. “That’s the Byrnes family for you. Overconfident. We’d rather try hard and fall on our faces than not try. It’s my mom’s fault; she’s insane.”
Nina paused. “Actually insane, as in mentally ill, or mad as a hatter insane?”
Tom laughed. “Well, I’m not a psychiatrist, but she’s definitely mad as a hatter. She likes to try lots of new things and get out there and do stuff. She skis, she skydives, she rides horses, she runs marathons.”
Nina smiled but said, “She sounds exhausting.”
To
m nodded. “She can be. Richard is like her, my sister, Amelia, is even more like her, and I’m a little bit like her. I’m not so adventurous.”
Nina looked up at him. “And your dad?”
Tom was watching where he walked, trying not to trip over any of the rugs. “I’m more like him. He’s . . . normal. He likes to watch my mom do all this stuff, and cheer her on, but not actually break his leg falling off things.”
“Does she break her leg a lot?”
Tom shook his head. “Not lately.”
They had wandered across the whole meadow now and stood watching the dancers.
Tom turned to her. “Would you like to dance?”
Nina shook her head. “I’m not a good dancer. I love music, but I get nervous and then I mess up.” As if I needed to underscore my lack of adventurousness, she thought.
A slow song came on. “Girl Talk,” by Julie London.
Tom smiled. “You can’t mess up a slow dance. Come on.”
Nina shook her head but let herself be tugged onto the dance floor. “This is the most sexist song ever,” she said.
“Yes,” said Tom, pulling her close and starting to dance. “It is, but follow me and don’t think about it.”
“I can’t not think about it,” said Nina, although she was following his steps and enjoying the feeling of his arms around her waist. She’d had to put her arms around his waist, too, as he was too tall for her to hold him around his neck. “We chew the fat about our tresses and the neighbours’ fight . . . honestly.”
“But her voice,” said Tom, bending his head so she could hear him over the music. “Her voice is the most beautiful thing in the world.”
Nina smiled and looked up at him. “It is. She really did have the most . . .”
And then he kissed her. Properly. And it was just as well he was holding her, because otherwise she might have lost her balance.
Over on the side of the dance floor, Clare turned to her mom and held out her hand. “Told you!”
Lili sighed and pulled a gummy worm from her pocket. “You win.”
Clare chewed and watched Nina and Tom, who were still kissing. “I knew they were going to kiss. I could tell.”
“How could you tell? You’re six.”
“I watched you and Edward. People who are going to kiss do it with their eyes first.” Clare shrugged. “You can see it coming a mile off.”
Tom and Nina pulled apart and looked at each other silently, and Clare held out her hand. “See, still kissing. Worm me.”
Lili slapped another worm in her daughter’s palm.
Clare chewed. “And now the lips again.”
Twenty
In which Nina shares more of herself.
“Wow,” said Tom, walking into Nina’s apartment. “Those are some serious bookshelves.”
Nina held back, watching him enter her space, seeing what he looked like in her home. She hardly ever brought men back to her apartment. She preferred to go to theirs so she could leave if she needed to. Nothing worse than a date going wrong and having to throw someone out in the middle of the night or pretend everything is fine until the next morning. A shiver of anxiety crossed her stomach, but then Tom turned and smiled at her, and it faded.
“These must have been here since the guesthouse was built. They don’t make them this way anymore.” He ran his hands along the edges of the shelves.
Nina smiled. “I don’t think I’ve ever had anyone compliment the actual shelves before. People are usually more focused on the books.”
“Yeah, there are a lot of them.” But he was still looking at the shelves.
“Would you like a drink?” Nina went to see if she had any wine or beer, but she didn’t.
“No, I’m fine,” he said, coming up behind her, sliding his hands around her waist. She was small, this woman, but strong. He could feel her muscles moving under his palms as she twisted around and kissed him again. There was nothing hesitant in her reaction to him, not on the dance floor, not at the wedding, not in the car on the way here, not now. He leaned into her, wrapped his arms tightly around her, and half lifted her higher against him. Suddenly, he felt a sharp pain in his ankle and pulled away, exclaiming.
Nina laughed as she looked down. “Oh, sorry. That’s Phil.” A small cat was standing on the kitchen floor, his tail lashing, his ears back. “He’s hungry.”
Tom bent to stroke the cat, who hissed at him. “I don’t think it’s hunger; I think it’s hatred.”
Nina was filling a small silver dish with cat kibble and shook her head. “No, he’s a lover not a fighter.” She put the dish on the floor, and Phil started to eat. “See? Just hungry.” Tom went to step around Phil, but Phil whirled around and sank his teeth into his ankle again. “Huh,” said Nina. “I was wrong. He hates you.”
Eventually, Phil allowed Tom to pass, and they headed into the sitting room area. Tom sat on the giant armchair and pulled Nina onto his lap. “Is this where you spend all your time?” he asked, between kisses.
“Yes,” she said, “it’s my favorite place in the world.” She was straddling him in the chair, and as she tugged her dress over her head, Tom smelled lemon and honey again, and pressed his lips against her stomach. “Although,” she said, undoing the buttons on his shirt, “I’ve never done . . . this . . . here before.” She finished with his shirt and started on his belt, loosening the buckle and tugging it out of his waistband.
“You surprise me,” said Tom, standing and lifting her in order to step out of his pants, her legs around his waist, then turning and setting her down in the chair again, kneeling on the rug in front of her. “It’s so perfect for it.”
He bent his head to her stomach again, then began to work his way down.
“Oh,” said Nina, closing her eyes and leaning her head back. “You’re right. It’s . . .”—her voice faltered for a second—“perfect.”
* * *
The next morning, Nina woke and through her sticky contact lenses saw Tom moving around in the kitchen. She smiled, remembering the way it had been. For once, she didn’t want to leave, or get him to leave, or do anything other than everything all over again.
He looked over and saw her watching him. “Good morning, beautiful,” he said. “Coffee?”
She nodded.
“I went out already and got breakfast,” he said. “And I made peace with your insanely jealous cat.”
Nina realized Phil was standing on the kitchen counter, eating something. “How did you do that?”
“Old-fashioned bribery,” replied Tom, carrying two mugs of coffee over to her. “It turns out he’s happy to share you in return for organic smoked salmon.” He sat on the floor next to the bed and leaned forward to kiss her. “How are you?”
She sipped her coffee and smiled at him. “I’m good. You?”
“Very good.” He smiled back. “Last night was amazing. You’re amazing.”
She handed him back the coffee cup and lifted the duvet. “Come back to bed,” she said. “I thought of a few more amazing things.”
He grinned and slid under the sheet.
* * *
A few hours later, they managed to make it out of the apartment, and wandered hand in hand to Larchmont Boulevard, which was wearing its Sunday best. Sunday was not Nina’s favorite day in the neighborhood, because the Farmer’s Market brought what felt like a million visitors to the hood, all of them vying for limited parking and carrying ethically sourced string bags they filled with overpriced produce.
Tom turned to Nina. “Are you hungry?” he asked.
“Not really,” she replied. “But I can always have ice cream.”
He smiled and kissed her softly on the lips. “You don’t think you’re sweet enough already?”
She made a face at him. “I might be sweet, but do I contain an interesting variety of carefully curate
d ingredients? I don’t think so.”
“It’s a good point,” he said. “Besides, what if you collapsed from vanilla deficiency?”
“Exactly,” she said. “Only the rapid application of ice cream will prevent disaster.”
They turned into one of the two, yes, two, artisanal ice cream stores on the Boulevard. Sometimes Nina imagined their workers, late at night, coming out onto the street, scoopers at the ready, or maybe with a giant ice cream trebuchet, throwing enormous balls of frosty death at one another, competing to be the Ice Cream Monarch of Larchmont Village. An Ennio Morricone version of an ice cream truck jingle would hang in the air, and in the middle of August, the ice cream would melt on the hot street and cream would run in the gutters.
Nina told Tom about her theory as they waited in an impossibly long line, and he listened to her very carefully, nodding at the trebuchet part and pursing his lips in consideration of the street-cleaning ramifications. Then he sighed and kissed her so deeply that conversation in the line stopped while people admired his technique. Finally, he let her go and said, “You are a complete lunatic, Nina Hill, and I doubt I will ever have any idea what’s going on in your head.”
Nina caught her breath and nodded. “It’s probably just as well,” she said, although right at the moment, he was the only thing in her head. No need to tell him that, of course.
Then she ordered a scoop of salted peanut butter with chocolate flecks and Tom ordered Brambleberry Crisp and they went outside to sit on a bench silently licking and watching people go by, enjoying that incredible feeling after you’ve finally slept with someone you wanted to and it turned out to be even better than you hoped it would be.
People walked by with the joie de vivre all Angelenos have, at least in that neighborhood. People were fit, healthy, attractive, and living their dream, or at least trying to live their dream. It was Sunday, and they were busy working up their enthusiasm for the coming week. Each morning they would face possible disappointment (no callbacks, no job interviews, no call from the Academy) but would march themselves to lunchtime yoga and drink a green juice and look forward to the next opportunity to Break In or Go Big or Make It Work. Maybe this week they would meet The One. Los Angeles runs on youthful optimism, endorphins, and Capital Letters.
