Caroline zipped my dress. “Em, it’s all under control.” She raised her eyebrow. “Also, I don’t know where she ever got the idea that smoking would keep her from getting boobs and drinking would make her hair fall out, but I totally love it.”
I smiled, feeling calmer now. “Aunt extraordinaire and Grade-A liar.”
“Thanks for doing that for me,” she said. “I owe you.”
My eyes widened in surprise as I applied my pink lip gloss.
“Wow. You owe me? That’s pretty major.”
She laughed. “OK, how about you owe me a little less for all the years I paid for you to live in LA?”
“Ah,” I said. “That’s more like it.”
Caroline held her hand out, and I gave her the lip gloss. As she applied it, she cut her eyes at me in the mirror. “Could you please do one more thing for me?”
“Maybe.”
“Cut Mom some slack. She’s doing the best she can.”
“Is she?”
Later that night, a display from another mother would lend me an entirely new respect for mine.
IT WAS THE PERFECTnight for an engagement party at the Yacht House. The humidity had broken, the storm the night before had cooled things off a few degrees, and the sun was making its radiant descent. The huge barn doors were open to reveal an unobstructed view of the creek and Starlite Island across the waterway. As if they had been hired out for the party, the new foals on the island were frolicking merrily.
The exterior of the Yacht House was white clapboard like many of the houses around town, with a steeply pitched roof. The interior of the space was made completely of raw wood and exposed beams—a little bit rustic and austerely beautiful. Mom’s friends had had three huge chandeliers brought in to hang from the ceilings, and tall cocktail tables were adorned with arrangements of the largest pink and white peonies I’d ever seen. Light from the votive candles around them flickered in the reflection of the vases. The glamour juxtaposed with the rustic vibe was stunning. And though I was intent on holding a grudge, I had to realize that my mom had done this. It had her mark all over it. And I realized that Caroline was right. She had done her best. I felt myself soften toward her.
The band was set up off to the side, so as not to obstruct the view of the space, and as we smiled and laughed and said our thank-yous, Mark didn’t let go of my hand even once. He must have sensed how nervous I was.
We snuck out onto the deck for a moment to steal a kiss and a sip of a cocktail. “Do you think they’d let us dance?” he asked.
I laughed. “It’s our party, and we’ll dance if we want to.” I smiled at him, and for the first time in a while, I really saw him. No, Mark might not have totally understood me or the life I wanted. And I might not have totally understood why he couldn’t give in and give that life to me. But he loved me. And I loved him. It had always been so. And after next week, it would continue to be so forever.
The band abruptly stopped in the middle of a song, and as I heard a slurred “Excuse me, excuse me,” I could feel Mark’s body tense beside mine.
“Oh, God,” he said. “We have got to get her off that stage.”
As I walked back through the door, I felt my stomach sink. There was the Duchess, in all her glory, in a form-fitting white gown. She looked amazing, if not terribly overdressed and like she was trying to take focus away from the bride—which, let’s face it, she was. At least that was one fewer white gown she could potentially wear to the wedding. When she and Mom had been coordinating outfits for the ceremony, she told her she was wearing pale pink.
“So pale pink that it’s actually white?” I had asked.
Mom had laughed. “We should be prepared for that.”
Now the Duchess was swaying in time to, I guessed, the music in her head, saying, “I am so happy for my little Mark that he has finally managed to capture his one true love, the girl who dropped him like a bad habit and ran off to LA all those years ago.” Then she put her hand up around her mouth and fake-whispered into the microphone, “Let’s just hope history doesn’t repeat itself, right?”
That did it. Mark made his way to the stage and grabbed his mother by the top of the arm, like my mom used to do when we were toddlers.
“What?” she said, still into the mic. “It was a joke. It was funny.”
Mark glared at her.
“No, no,” the Duchess said. “I’m done. I’m done.”
Mark looked at me helplessly, and I honestly didn’t know what to do. I shrugged and motioned for him to come back to me, because he couldn’t very well just drag her off the stage like an old vaudeville act.
I put my arms around his waist and rested my head on his chest. “You can’t stop the train wreck, babe. You have to let the collision happen.”
He rested his ear on my head. “If you can love me through this, then you really love me.”
