I must admit it has been fun to watch my sorority sisters’ startled expressions as they stepped into our vacation home. Ryan’s masterpiece. His gift to me, I told them. Aren’t I lucky, I gloated.
As if any of that were true.
I felt the same haunted chills yesterday, when I walked through this place for the first time. I hadn’t expected to find this at all. I knew Ryan had invested a fortune fixing up our second home, and I trusted, since he’d used my decorator and contractor, that I would love what I saw when I arrived. And he’d made me promise I wouldn’t set foot on the site until it was completed. I felt confident sending out the invitations without ever seeing this place.
I learned the truth when I arrived. That’s when I realized that Ryan’s remodel had created a vacation home for us that looks stunningly like the Desert Sunrise, that godforsaken hotelthat haunts all our memories. I’d looked at my husband, who had nothing but excitement and pride in his creation, with wide, mistrusting eyes. He frowned.
“What?” he’d asked, brow wrinkled. “It’s perfect. Don’t complain. For once, please, let me be happy. It’s my place. End of story. You’re the one who insisted on hosting this engagement party weekend here instead of at home in Newport Beach. If you’re uncomfortable, it’s your own fault. Not mine. I’m happy here.”
“Youknowwhat,” I’d said, crossing my arms. But I hadn’t said anything else. It was a fait accompli. It was ours, for better or for worse. And besides, this little project in the desert had kept Ryan content, much more so than he’d been for years. I told myself I could handle a weekend here now and then. I tried to tell myself the visceral reaction would fade over time, and all I would feel is the care Ryan put into restoring this home. I’d pretend it was his gift to me. I should be grateful, not haunted. This place, I decided, would bring us closer together again.
And now, as I touch up my makeup in the lavish primary suite bath, I’m resolved to relax and enjoy the weekend. This project makes perfect sense for him. Ryan always had an architectural preservation streak in him, and he was looking for a vacation home. This opportunity presented itself, and he jumped at it. That’s really all there is to it, so we all need to move on, should have years ago. I hear voices downstairs, touring the house with their welcome cocktails, no doubt. It’s showtime. One last time.
I think about them all. Greer and Jamie. They drive a Volvo,of course. Sensible, safe, predictable, and boring. That’s Jamie. She still wears her hair in the same blond bob she had in college. Speaking of boring, Greer is still nice enough looking, I suppose, although a little pudgy around the middle and completely bald, poor man. He’s always been overly nice, and boring too. They are perfectly middle-aged, almost content with it, and that sort of grosses me out. They’re turning soft and a bit wrinkly. They’d be perfect cast as satisfied customers in an ad for a fast-food burger chain. I will fight aging and plumpness with all I’ve got.
Amelia is still Amelia, and her date is ridiculous. Beth is dependable and malleable. She is, to her credit, the mother of an amazing daughter. I can’t wait until Celeste is a Gentry. I knew someday my son would choose a wife, and I’ve dreaded that day. But he picked her, and she is sunshine, truly. Like our beloved Sunny. She doesn’t seem interested in competing with me for anything, and she’s comfortable in her skin. I like that in a daughter-in-law-to-be. I really do.
I walk out of the suite and back downstairs, joining the group in the formal living room.
“It reminds me of that hotel we stayed in,” Jamie says. “So much. This gravel driveway, the sound of the crunch of the tires. And that entry. Oh my gosh.” She clutches her drink in both hands. I notice that she’s wearing athleisure black sweatpants and a black T-shirt. She knows better.
“What, the Desert Sunrise? Funny, you’re not the first person to mention that today. There are some architectural similarities, I suppose, but that’s to be expected from ’20s-erabuildings.” I am smiling as wide as I can as I go into my spiel about the house’s movie-star former owner and Ryan’s dedication to historical preservation.See, Jamie, it’s fine. Fine with me, fine with you. Get over yourself.
Jamie looks at Greer, and he shrugs. He doesn’t care. He wasn’t there. After a moment, she nods as if in acceptance. But her fingers haven’t relaxed their grip on her drink.
“Poor Ryan was making the two-hour drive back and forth two or three times a week to oversee all the renovations to this place,” I say. I decide to keep talking so Jamie stays distracted. I slip my arm through hers, like we’re best friends. “I finally convinced him that it’d be easier if he stayed on-site until the work was completed. He hated being without me, but all that commuting didn’t make sense. Now it’s done, thank goodness. The only thing we haven’t had a chance to upgrade yet is the pool.”
I see Jamie’s eyes wander past the refurbished stone fireplace, past the baby grand piano, and out to the pool beyond. She walks across the room and pushes a curtain aside to stare out at the backyard, I assume trying to catch a glimpse of the pool. She won’t be able to see much from there through the lush landscaping. I push away a chill and rub my arms. I guess I must admit it is eerily like the pool from spring break, but it was the style back then. All the finest hotels and private residences had a tiled pool. It was a status symbol, plus it’s hot in the desert most of the time. But it’s not the same pool. Period. I hope I’ve made that clear.
“Thanks again for hosting us,” Greer says, leading Jamie bythe hand. He’s still excited to be here. I appreciate that in a hamburger chain spokesperson.
“It’s my pleasure, of course. It’s going to be a perfect weekend, celebrating young love, new beginnings, and all of that.”
Jamie meets my eye. “Sure, OK, whatever you say. We’re here now.”
“This is going to be a lovely weekend. It will be a weekend to remember. I’ve planned everything, for months, and it was a lot of work. You could be a little more excited about it all,” I say. I might have a little more fire in my voice than I mean to, but I want her to realize how hard I’ve worked to make this weekend a success.
A little Theta Gamma Mu spirit would be nice to see. From all of them.
9
Roxy
I stare at Jamie as she puts on her best Theta Gamma Mu smile. I mean I know she’s got it in her. After all, she was my little sister and followed in my regal footsteps, becoming president of the chapter once I graduated. She knows how to fake it.
“You’re right, of course,” Jamie says, dropping her eyes to the original Spanish tile floor, no doubt admiring its sheen. “I apologize. It’s just, well, it, this place, has thrown me off. I can’t wait to meet Zach and Celeste.”
“That’s the spirit,” I say, relaxing a bit. Everything is perfect. Everything will be perfect. It must be. Zach is my only child. He picked Celeste, for some strange reason, and I’ve come to terms with his choice.
Besides, despite the rather unnerving but elegant setting, this is my chance to shine. I want all the attention focused on me. I especially want Ryan to see me in command, and crushingit, with beauty and poise. And I will, of course. Despite being way out here in the desert, everyone who is anyone will hear about this lavish weekend back home at the beach. And then I’ll one-up myself with the official engagement party. I can’t wait.
They’ll all wonder how I pulled it all together, every last detail of this special weekend, knowing there are more parties, more celebrations, on a much grander scale to come for my son and his wife-to-be. I’ve already tipped off the party and society pages of the magazines, and they’re waiting for photos. And I’ll supply them, making sure I look the best. I’m excited for what’s to come too. There will be over-the-top bridal showers, and a rehearsal dinner so grand it will take every guest’s breath away. Yes, the rehearsal dinner should be Beth’s to plan, but I’m glad she cannot afford what I want to do. It’s all mine.
Do I already have an outfit for each occasion, each celebration? Of course. For example, notice the bright orange Gucci dress I’m wearing now to welcome them, selected to match the Aperol spritz I hold in my hand. This entire weekend will be my own private fashion show, for this deliciously jealous group of sisters.
They say the mother of the groom should wear beige and be quiet throughout the wedding process. That color and that attitude do not suit me. In this case, the mother of the bride will fade into the background. Beth always has been in the background, even though she actually is more attractive than she thinks she is, with her natural dirty-blond hair and big brown eyes. She has an innocent look that turned a lot of headsin college; she just didn’t notice them turning toward her. I, for one, was not about to enlighten her and add to the already fierce competition back then.
I lead the boring ones and the rest of the party back into my gleaming new kitchen.
