“It makes perfect sense, Roxy,” Sunny said. “And soon, we’re all going to be sisters. Isn’t that great!”
I’d never felt more protected, more loved.
Begrudgingly I stand up, walk into my en suite bathroom and look at myself in the mirror. I’ve pulled myself together as best I could. I’m wearing more makeup than I ever do at home, and my new navy-blue dress, purchased for the occasion, feels sleek and a little chic. I have struggled into some Spanx even, to smooth my curves, and my mousy blond hair is as styled as it can get. I smile at myself, revealing my dimple, my only cute quality. It’s true. Everything else, all my shine, has faded away over the years. I’m like an old washcloth you keep around because it’s familiar. Or because your son is marrying my daughter.
“It’s as good as it’s going to get,” I say to the mirror. And then, because the only person I can say this to is my own reflection, I add, “I hope Celeste knows what she’s doing.”
I love my daughter, my beautiful blond daughter, who looks everything like her playboy father. Luckily, she got my brains and personality. The best of both worlds, I suppose. When hedied of an overdose when Celeste was a toddler, I have to say I was relieved. I welcomed being a single mom, and I hoped I would do a good job. I can now replace my primary worry of her childhood with my new worry of her adulthood: Celeste is marrying my nemesis’s son. And they’ve only known each other for four months. There’s no two ways to look at it. My least favorite sorority sister is now going to be my daughter’s mother-in-law.
When Celeste broke the news a few months ago, I was shocked. I knew she and Zach had been dating and then moved in together in Chicago, but a proposal? It was all moving too fast, but there was nothing I could do to change her mind. I suggested waiting until after law school, at least, but to no avail.
I tried to focus on the positive. My daughter will be incredibly wealthy, and well taken care of. Zach seemed to be a wonderful, if not a bit pretentious and entitled, young man. And though I hadn’t seen Roxy or Ryan since college, I had to try to believe that Roxy had changed.
But Roxy hasn’t changed. It’s clear that she’s still the self-centered snob she was back then, and maybe worse. There’s no kindness, no empathy in her bones, never has been, only an intense striving to be the best, the prettiest, the most popular. Maybe Zach has Ryan’s personality; maybe that’s what Celeste sees in him. I always liked Ryan, even if I hadn’t let myself remember that until today.
I check my watch. I can’t avoid dinner any longer. I walk out of my charming and cozy room—I must admit the accommodations are five-star—and make my way down thehall, following the sounds of laughter and chatter floating up from the first floor. I stop and admire a framed black-and-white photograph of a woman in a bikini standing by a pool. She’s facing the pool, her back to the camera, her long blond hair halfway down her back. I swallow as the memory of Sunny’s long blond hair pops into my mind. Plenty of young women have long hair, I remind myself, as I hurry down the stairs.
I hear a voice coming from the other end of the hall and realize it’s Ryan. He’s talking to someone inside a guest room, his back to the hallway.
“Hey!” I say, coming up behind him.
Ryan jumps and slams the door closed. “What the fuck, Beth? Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” His face is red and angry.
“No, my gosh, sorry! I heard you talking to someone and thought I’d come say hi,” I say.
“There’s no one staying in this room, Beth,” he says, twisting the doorknob and pushing the door open. “See? I think you’re imagining things. Did you have too many cocktails?”
I look into the room, a room very similar to the one I’m staying in down the hall. He’s right; it seems like no one is there.
“No, I’m fine. You’re right; nobody is in here,” I say, backing out of the room. “Sorry for scaring you. I’ll go on down and join the others.”
“Good idea,” he says. He seems to have calmed down. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
Downstairs, I locate the spacious dining room. The roomhas dark wood beams spanning the ceiling, a large sparkling chandelier, a glowing fireplace, and, of course, all my sorority sisters, who turn and look my way as if they’re startled to see me. The space is anchored by an oversized, dark mahogany table, evoking the elegance of the Roaring Twenties. High-backed, carved wooden dining chairs surround it. A large, ornate mirror with a gilded frame reflects the room’s ambiance and its sparkling occupants. I’m completely underdressed, of course.
“Mom,” Celeste says, appearing by my side, “you look beautiful.”
“Don’t be silly,” I say, feeling my cheeks blush. “But you, my darling, look exquisite.”
“Oh, stop it,” Celeste says, spinning around. “You like it? Zach picked it out and bought it for me. I feel like a princess.” The silver gown is simple, hugging her perfect figure like a glove. A diamond solitaire sparkles at her neck.
“Love it,” I say. I want to say please don’t become spoiled, please remember who you are, where you came from, which will be hard in the midst of all of this. Celeste wants to be an attorney. I certainly hope she doesn’t give up that dream. She can have both, although I wonder if Roxy would be OK with Celeste as a working woman, not just a socialite housewife.
Celeste squeezes my hand and pulls me into the room. The long table is set with place mats and china; arrangements of white roses and greens spill out of crystal vases lining the center of the table. All of this for Zach and Celeste’s engagement party. Night one. A restored fireplace with decorative tile adds a cozy,warm touch to the room. I take a deep breath and try to appreciate the surroundings, if not the company. When Ryan enters the room, Roxy comes to life.
“Now that everyone is here,” Roxy says, clinking a champagne flute with her fork, “let’s please take our seats. You’ll find your name card easily.” I roll my eyes. Only Roxy would insist on name cards and assigned seats for a party of this size.
Roxy has changed into a vibrant blue full-length dress whose color, I notice, matches the silk place mats. It’s like she designed the table around herself, which I’m sure she did. Unfortunately, I must admit the effect is stunning.
“Beth, dear, you’re over here by me,” Amelia says, waving from the other side of the table. I’m used to being the odd man out, so to speak. For a moment in time, Celeste was my partner in crime. But now, she’s found her love and I’m back to just me. I’d better get used to it again.
11
Beth
I make my way around the huge dining room table.
“Be right there,” I say, although I don’t relish the notion of sitting next to Amelia. Sure, she’s a grieving widow, I suppose, and a newly single mom, which should leave us with plenty to talk about for a change, but I still don’t have anything to say to her. Celeste is taking her seat at the head of the table, farthest from where I am seated. I want my daughter back.
