“I’m afraid your future mother-in-law has that effect on me,” I say. I still cannot believe that fate put these two lovebirds together. That they both picked Chicago for grad school isn’t a surprise, as there are a bunch of great institutions there. But of all the young men in Chicago, Celeste had to run into Zach at a party. Ugh.
“You’re going to be fine. I’m here,” Celeste says. “Ooh, the gates are opening! I cannot wait to see this place. Zach says it’s been a money pit but that his dad wanted everything to be restored to its former glory. Apparently, it was originally built in the 1920s as a private compound for a movie star. Can you imagine?”
As I drive down the winding gravel road I notice the mature landscaping. Palm trees and other tropical desert greenery shade our drive as we head toward the house, or rather a cluster ofhouses that look like typical Palm Springs abodes, with white stucco walls and low-slung tile roofs. It does feel like another era, another time. Sunshine and seclusion, a hideout for the rich and famous.
I once read that in the 1920s, Palm Springs society epitomized opulence and leisure against the stunning backdrop of the California desert. As the allure of the desert oasis grew, the elite flocked to this sun-soaked paradise, transforming it into a glamorous playground for the wealthy. Lavish resorts and exclusive country clubs dotted the landscape, hosting extravagant soirees at which socialites, Hollywood stars, and business magnates mingled beneath the swaying palm trees.
Polo matches, tennis, and golf became popular pastimes, showcasing the leisurely pursuits of the affluent. During Prohibition, speakeasies offered private escapes, adding an air of rebellion to the high-society scene. Palm Springs in the 1920s radiated an aura of indulgence and sophistication, forever etching its name as one of the “it” places when it came to glamorous American history. I suppose it is all of that still. I’m too wound up to appreciate it.
2
Roxy
I stand in the primary suite in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the winding driveway and the lush, perfectly manicured grounds. The view is incredible, especially with the palm trees swaying in the breeze. A glass of wine and a good chaise lounge, and I could probably convince myself it’s paradise, but there’s something about all this space that feels sterile. My guests will arrive soon. It’s not going to be pretty, unfortunately. I know my old sorority sisters will feel the same way. This place looks like the goddamn Desert Sunrise. There’s no denying it. My husband has spent nearly two years of his life re-creating a nightmare.
I paste on a smile and begin pacing the large room, the soft click of my heels on the polished floor echoing in the vast, renovated space. The walls are a creamy white, the kind that looks expensive, and the furniture is all clean lines and soft textures. But I can’t help thinking it’s trying alittletoo hard to impress.
On the wall above the sofa, there’s a massive Slim Aarons photo, the epitome of mid-century glam. This one’s of a pool party in some impossibly fabulous backyard, with bronzed women in bikinis and oversized sunglasses lounging like movie stars, and men in pressed linen shirts holding martinis. It’s staged, obviously, but it’s the kind of idealized setting that makes you want to crawl inside it and never come out. If you squint, you can almost feel the champagne bubbles tickling your nose.
To the left is the closet. The closet. It’s practically the size of my first apartment in Costa Mesa. Rows of designer clothes hang like trophies, every hanger spaced exactly an inch apart, every rack organized by color and season, just like at home in Newport Beach. Shoes are lined up like soldiers, glossy and perfect. And my jewelry that I decided to bring out here sparkles behind the glass cases—bracelets, necklaces, rings. Too much. There’s no way I could wear it all, but it’s nice to know I could try.
The bathroom might take the cake, though. The soaking tub is so massive it could double as a plunge pool. White marble everywhere, so pristine I feel guilty for even breathing near it. There’s a rainfall shower too, of course, with jets that could blast away ten years of stress. I imagine Ryan and me rekindling our romance in this luxurious bath, and it makes me smile.
Ryan and I have been drifting apart, no small thanks to this project taking up all his time. But I’m going to fix everything. After this weekend, and the engagement party, and the wedding, we’ll focus on each other. For now, I’ll focus on making Zach’s marriage one for the ages.
I pause in the middle of the room, taking it all in. It’s the kind of place someone like me is supposed to love—beautiful, expensive, excessive. I check out my reflection in the mirror: perfection that has come at a hefty price. But I’m worth it. I’ve made the Gentry name into one of the most notable in Orange County. I blow myself a kiss and walk back toward the front windows. I can’t shake the feeling that something about it all feels off. There are a lot of things wrong in my life, but I’ll deal with them after this weekend is over.
Today, I get to see Zach, and that’s all that matters. He’s my son, my only child, and together with my husband, these two men are my life. I mean, I love to host parties, and I raise so much money for charity in Orange County that I’m a legend. But at the heart of it all, it’s my boys I care about. And I’ll make this weekend perfect for them, for my boys and for Celeste too.
I hear tires on the gravel driveway as I move back to the windows. A car pulling up. It’s an old dumpy something or other that’s bright red. Horrible. I take a deep breath as I hurry out of the room to greet them.
Let the games begin.
3
Beth
“Looks like we have a welcoming committee,” Celeste says, bringing me back to the moment. I follow her gaze and see that Roxy has appeared. She stands in the middle of the circular drive, next to a gurgling fountain. Roxy Callahan Gentry. She’s sleek and refined and clearly as attention-seeking as always—gigantic black sunglasses covering most of her face, blond hair in blown-out beachy waves glowing in the vivid sunshine. The hair color must cost a fortune, and with the thickness, the extensions must weigh pounds. She’s wearing a vibrant orange silk dress in a style that is eerily a nod to the flappers of my imagination, low-cut to display her cleavage, as always, and so much jewelry I can’t begin to guess what it all adds up to. All in all, she looks like a bright desert Barbie mirage.
Wishful thinking. I blink and she’s still there.
I stop the car and Celeste hops out first, running to embraceRoxy, who resembles an orange slice in the beaming hot sunshine.
“Thank you for having us,” Celeste says. “I’m so excited for this weekend!”
“Of course, darling, and you should be excited. I’ve gone all out, some would say overboard, sparing no expense,” Roxy says. She turns her attention to me. “Beth, so good to see you after all these years. Our reunion will be unforgettable, and of course, it’s all because of your daughter and my son. True love bringing all of us Theta Gamma sisters together again.”
She reluctantly releases my daughter from their extended hug but holds her hands. “Celeste, I know your poor mom would gladly host a celebration like this if she could, but of course not everyone is fortunate enough to have the resources that we do. So, we’re happy to step in, for this event, the real engagement party next weekend for which we already have a hundred and fifty RSVPs, the bridal shower, the wedding, rehearsal dinner, all of it. What a joy, don’t you agree, Celeste?”
“Absolutely, Mrs. Gentry.” My daughter already knows it’s best to suck up to Roxy, to agree with whatever she says. We all learned that quickly in college too. I suppose my daughter isn’t faking it. Celeste is truly that kind.
“How many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me Mrs. Gentry, darling? I’m Mom now, or I will be soon enough.” Roxy steps around Celeste and gives me a less enthusiastic hug. It’s limp and, without any body fat to pad her bones, full of angles, like her. “How ironic the young people found each otherand brought us all back together,” she says in my ear. “I have to say, I’ve always wondered whether it was strictly a coincidence. Did you know my son was in Chicago? Did you happen to mention it to Celeste?”
“I’m afraid you’re giving me too much credit for matchmaking. This was all quite a shock to me too. When Celeste told me you’ve invited other members of the sorority, well…” I manage to say as we hug. Of course, I never would have guessed it either that my daughter would fall in love with Roxy’s son. The strong hair spray holding her perfect blowout in place tickles my nose, and I almost sneeze. “Who got the invite? Celeste didn’t know.”
“Oh, you’ll find out soon enough,” Roxy says. “And, yes, much too much time has passed, but now these kids have brought us back together. Love wins,” Roxy says. Her fingernails are long, perfectly manicured, and painted the same orange as her dress. One of her diamond-studded bracelets is digging into my back.
I’m so disoriented by the ambush that I missed seeing Ryan, Roxy’s husband, appear to greet us.
