Until January, I had my future all worked out. Then Garrett asked me to marry him and complicated everything.
If I didn’t love him so much I could hate him for that.
But I do love him. And I don’t want to lose him, so I convinced myself that it’d be all right, that marrying Garrett doesn’t mean changing my plan, just accelerating it a little. I’ve told myself that after the wedding, everything would be fine and life would go on almost like I’d envisioned it.
But then Abigail got all revved up about the wedding and started turning it into something that was looking more and more like this stretched-out, bright yellow monstrosity I was riding in—enormous and vulgar and more than a little ridiculous. And then Evelyn made me doubt my decision and myself and our friendship and if I could ever be accepted into Garrett’s family. Then Grandma Virginia showed up unannounced, all wrinkles and warm smiles, and Evelyn right behind her, with her family heirlooms and her selfless apologies that made me feel simultaneously loved and unworthy to be loved.
I don’t understand how this whole family thing is supposed to work. I’m not sure it can, not for long, anyway.
My father, who doesn’t really deserve that title, gave me my first lesson in the fragility of family units.
Lesson number two came from my mother. She didn’t want to die of breast cancer but the bottom line is, she did, and that left me completely alone. Well, except for Abigail. But Abigail seems like the kind of family somebody like me would have, you know? Odd. And difficult. And just as damaged as I am, though in different ways.
She’s mercurial: compassionate and self-effacing one minute, demanding and proud the next. Even so, I love Abigail. She’s the only piece of my mother that I’ve got left. But the thing about Abigail is that you can’t always count on her, so I never have. Do you see what I mean? I can count on
not
being able to count on her, and I find that comforting because it fits in with everything I’ve always known.
But these Dixons? They do family differently—like they mean it. They get in your face with their love, they give and forgive as though they expect love to last, and it scares me. Because it can’t last, can it?
Do you want to hear something crazy? When Evelyn expressed her doubts about me to Garrett, it hurt—I won’t say it didn’t—but at the same time a tiny part of me was relieved. I thought, “Well, at least she knows. And if Evelyn has figured out what a mess I am, then maybe Garrett will, too, before it’s too late.”
But it’s already too late. I am in love with Garrett.
Sooner or later, it’s bound to blow up in my face. Part of me would rather it be sooner than later. Except, of course, for that other part, that tiny atom of my being that wants, against all evidence to the contrary, to believe that love can last—even for me. That’s the part of me that, every day, fights down the compulsion to call up Garrett and tell him that I can’t marry him.
This job offer from Professor Williams would be the perfect excuse.
I could sit down with Garrett and tell him that I can’t pass this up, that I’m calling off the wedding because this is the chance of a lifetime and I’ve decided I want to move to Chicago and try to become “the wunderkind of the artistic world.”
And it wouldn’t be an excuse, not entirely, because I
would
like that. At least, a part of me would.
After a lifetime of being nobody very special, nobody that anybody cared so very much about, nobody that anybody else had to pay much attention to, I’d like to be…somebody. Somebody who matters.
I’d like to love and be loved and have it last forever.
And I’d like to live alone in Abigail’s upstairs rooms and never need anyone.
And I’d like to wake up every morning for the rest of my life with Garrett lying beside me.
And I’d like to have children and be their whole world and have them be mine.
And I’d like to live life free of the weight of anyone’s expectations.
And I’d like to run away to Paris and never come back.
And I’d like to come home to New Bern and never leave again.
And I’d like to move to Chicago and become the youngest curator in the history of the Pinkham Museum and mount exhibitions that will wow the art world.
And I’d like to be the youngest artist in history to have her own show at the Pinkham and let some other bright young wunderkind mount
my
exhibition so
I
can wow the art world.
But most of all, I’d like to know for sure what I should do. And to know if
any
of these dreams could ever really come true for somebody like me—somebody who, at the core of her being, knows she really is nobody and is waiting in fear and trembling for the day when everyone else, including Garrett, realizes it too.
T
he driver dropped us at Abigail’s front door.
Franklin, trailed by Tina, the faithful, aging black Labrador, came out to greet us. Franklin hugged me and shook hands with the girls. Tina sniffed the newcomers’ pant legs and then, tail wagging, walked over and leaned against me, urging me to pet her. I patted her on the side, hard, the way she likes it. She thumped her tail against my legs in appreciation.
“Hey, Tina’s looking very svelte these days.” Tina was a lovable and well-loved dog, as evidenced by the size of her waistline. Franklin adored her and just couldn’t resist giving her a treat whenever she turned her big brown eyes in his direction. But now she was looking decidedly thinner. “Did you put her on a diet or something?”
“Abigail did. After my heart attack, Abbie said no more pepperoni pizza for me—or Tina. Instead she’s got me eating salad and Tina eating canned green beans, no salt. Tina just loves them. I’d have never believed it, but she does. The second she sees the can, she practically stands on her back legs and dances a jig.”
Franklin reached out his hand and patted Tina affectionately on the head. “Don’tcha, girl?”
“Where is Abigail?” I asked. “She called me about ten times yesterday, reminding me to be here by ten. We’re here. So where did she run off to?”
“Don’t know,” Franklin said. “She was up before the sun, making lists and mumbling to herself, and she left right after breakfast. She said she had to get things ready before the bridal shower.”
“What kind of things? Margot and Evelyn are hosting the shower. What would Abigail have to do with it?”
Franklin held up his hands and heaved a sigh. “I don’t know, Liza, and these days, I’ve found it’s better not to ask. Say the least little thing to her and she flies off the handle. Nothing personal, Liza, but I’ll be very glad when this wedding is over.”
That makes two of us.
“Anyway”—he smiled, remembering his duties as host—“you’re all here and that’s what matters. Come on upstairs, ladies. I’ll show you to your rooms. Come on, Tina. Let’s show the girls where they’ll be staying.”
After everyone was settled in, Franklin gave the girls a tour of the house, including a peek into Abigail’s dressing room, which is about half the size of our apartment. Needless to say, they were impressed and more than a little jealous.
After that, we still had some time to kill. It was chilly outside, but when Franklin informed us that the hot tub was heated to a delicious one hundred and two degrees, the girls ran upstairs to change into the swimsuits they hadn’t thought they’d be able to use before they got to Acapulco.
The bluestone patio was cold on our bare feet as we ran outside, but the hot water felt great. Franklin brought out a tray with a bottle of champagne and four glasses, which he filled and handed to each of us.
“Thanks!” Zoe said, sipping her champagne and grinning at Franklin. “Sure you don’t want to join us? There’s plenty of room.”
“Thank you, but no. I’ve got work to do. But if you girls need anything, just yell. I’ll be upstairs in my office, going over some contracts for my most important client.”
“And that would be?” I said, feigning concentration. “Wait, don’t tell me…Aunt Abigail?”
Franklin smiled and turned to leave with Tina following close on his heels. “You girls have fun. I’ll see you later.”
“Oh, he’s a doll!” Zoe said after Franklin left.
“Yeah,” I said. “Franklin’s great. He’s the best lawyer in the county. That’s how he met Aunt Abigail. He’s been her lawyer since way before I was born, but they didn’t realize they were in love until a couple of years ago. Then Franklin had a heart attack. Abigail was with him every minute, never left his side. One night, when he was feeling really bad and they both thought it was the end, he asked Abigail to marry him and she said yes. They called for the hospital chaplain to perform the ceremony and that was that. But the second it was over, Franklin suddenly felt much better.” I laughed.
“You should have seen Abigail! When she realized that Franklin was fine and that she’d missed her chance at having a big wedding, she was ticked! She was sure the whole thing had been a ruse, that Franklin had faked his symptoms just to get her to marry him!”
Zoe made a wry face. “Well, yeah. Of course she did, especially since he did.”
“Zoe!” Janelle exclaimed, splashing a little water in her direction.
Zoe rolled her eyes and took a swig of champagne. “Sorry if the truth bothers you, but get real. I mean, look at this place!”
Holding her empty champagne glass, Zoe swept her arm through the air, taking in the pool, pool house, and manicured English gardens, as well as the back wall of Abigail and Franklin’s beautiful new home, before reaching over to grab the open champagne bottle that Franklin had left on the side of the tub and refilling her glass.
“You can’t blame poor old Franklin. If I could get myself lifelong membership to this little country club, I’d fake a heart attack too.”
“Franklin did not fake a heart attack,” I snapped. “Don’t be so stupid, Zoe. You can’t fake a heart attack. The hospital has machines that can tell that.”
“Oh? Well then, how do you explain why old Franklin felt so much better as soon as your aunt Abigail said, ‘I do’? Hmm?”
“Because,” I said testily, “Franklin had terrible indigestion, but he didn’t realize it. He thought he was having another attack. As soon as the ceremony was over he had this enormous gas attack and felt much better.”
Janelle giggled.
“It’s true,” I said. “Abigail told me all about it. Right after the minister pronounced them man and wife, Franklin just let one rip! Pretty much cleared the room. The minister suddenly remembered he had an appointment, shook hands with them, and ran out holding his breath.” I laughed. “But Franklin felt much better.”
Kerry shook her head, smiling. “Wasn’t exactly a dream wedding, was it?”
“No, but Abigail got over it. They’re just as married as if they’d held the ceremony in St. Paul’s Cathedral. That’s what counts. That’s what they both wanted.”
“Yeah,” Zoe said. “It’s just too bad that poor old Franklin is so unhappy now.”
She shook her head before lifting her glass to her lips and draining it to the halfway mark.
“Oh, knock it off, Zoe. Franklin is
not
unhappy. They might be going through a rough spot. Abigail is acting a little whacked right now, but once the wedding is over, everything will be fine. Franklin loves Abigail.”
“Oh, I’m sure he does,” she said mockingly. “Or at least he did. Look at him, Liza. The man is completely miserable. And henpecked. He might be the best lawyer in the county, but at the end of the day he’s still your aunt’s employee. I’m sure he makes a pretty good living, but it can’t be enough to pay for all this, can it? And what money he does make is all because of her. You said it yourself, Liza. Your aunt Abigail is poor old Franklin’s biggest client.”
“So what? So what if she is? What difference does that make? And quit calling him ‘poor old Franklin.’ You make him sound like some sort of charity case.”
“I’m just saying that he’s probably feeling a little emasculated, that’s all. Before, he was an important man, the best lawyer in the county. Probably everybody looked up to him. Now he’s just your aunt Abigail’s husband, playing second fiddle to a rich and powerful woman. I mean, look at him today. Your aunt flies off in a huff….”
“He didn’t say she left in a huff,” I protested.
“Maybe not, but I bet she did. Anyway, off she goes, doesn’t tell him where she’s going or when she’ll be back, and leaves him behind to play bellhop and waiter to a bunch of college girls. The man’s unhappy. Why wouldn’t he be? He used to be
somebody
. Then he got married and became your aunt Abigail’s boy toy. And the way things are looking, he’s about to be demoted to houseboy.” Zoe belched and then gave me a triumphant, challenging look.
“Shut up, Zoe. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Janelle, who was usually the last one to give her opinion, eyed me nervously. “Zoe does have a point, Liza. A lot of men, older men especially, don’t like it if their wives are more powerful than they are.”
Kerry nodded. “Not just older men. My sister Cheryl married her high school sweetheart, James. He was a machinist and made pretty good money, but they wanted to be able to buy a house, so Cheryl got a job selling real estate. She turned out to be really good at it. Before too long she was making twice as much as James. Next thing you know, he filed for divorce. He said it was because she was working so many nights and weekends, and that she never had time for him. But Cheryl said it was because he didn’t like it that she made more money than he did. And he
really
didn’t like it when she suggested that he start doing the laundry since she was working more hours than he was.”
“My point ’zactly,” Zoe said, slurring her words a little. “Men are all a bunch of knuckle-dragging Neanderthals who want to go out and bring home the bacon while the little woman stays at home, waiting to cook it. Men,” she said emphatically, “are jerks.”
Zoe put her glass to her lips and lifted it high, finishing the last of her champagne.
“By the way, have you told Garrett about your new job offer? Wonder how he’s going to feel about having to give up his business to follow you to Chicago so he can sit alone in an empty apartment with his computer for company while you’re going to work all day and school all night. Don’t think he’ll be too wild about that idea, do you?”
“Zoe!” Janelle exclaimed, reaching over to take Zoe’s glass before she could refill it.
Kerry looked at me sympathetically. “Don’t listen to her, Liza. She’s just had too much to drink.”
“That’s right,” Zoe said with a wave of her hand. “Don’t listen to me. Nobody should ever listen to me.”
I’d had enough. I stood up in the water and reached for a towel.
“Liza, don’t go!” Janelle urged. “Sit back down. Don’t be mad.”
“Come on,” Kerry said. “Stay. We’re supposed to be celebrating. Zoe didn’t mean anything by it. Did you, Zoe?”
Zoe didn’t say anything, just shook her head and then sank under the water, blowing bubbles as she went.
“It’s too hot in here,” I said, wrapping the towel around my wet shoulders and resting my behind on the edge of the tub. “I’m going to get dressed and run over to the quilt shop a little early, see if Evelyn needs any help. You remember where it is, right? Just two blocks up the street, then take a left.”
They nodded.
“I’ll meet you there. Don’t be late. And don’t let Zoe have any more champagne.” I looked down at the fountain of bubbles as they broke the surface of the water. “A drunken bridesmaid. Just what I need.”
“Don’t be mad at her,” Janelle whispered, apparently afraid that, even underwater, Zoe might be able to hear. “She’s pretty upset. Her mother sent an e-mail last night. Apparently the latest stepfather is having an affair, but that’s all right because her mom has already met potential husband number five, the next in the series of men Zoe’s mom is prepared to wed until death do them part.”
Kerry reached down into the water and pulled up a sputtering Zoe. “Come on. You can’t stay down there forever.”
Zoe wiped her hand across her face, pushed her mop of wet hair from her eyes, and looked at me, blinking away tears and chlorine.
“I’m sorry, Liza,” she mumbled. “I shouldn’t have said that. It’s just that I…”
“It’s okay,” I said. “Don’t worry about it.”
I swung my legs over the edge of the hot tub and jogged across the patio and into the house, the cold from the bluestones penetrating my bare feet and making me shiver.