The air conditioning in the shop is set to arctic, so I rummage around my huge bag for my favorite pink cardigan that I bought three years ago from Zara and still love. One of the shop assistants shows Mom and me to a seating area and offers us champagne, while another takes Katherine off to get changed.
“How’s the bachelorette party planning coming along?” Mom asks.
“Good,” I reply. Now we have the house sorted, it’s been easy to plan around it. I’ve arranged for logs to be delivered just in case there isn’t enough dry driftwood to set a fire on the beach. I’ve got graham crackers and marshmallows for beachside s’mores, and a chocolate fondue fountain for intermittent snacking through the weekend. After trading messages with Hunter, we’ve arranged a restaurant for Friday night when we’ll have family members joining us, and a private chef to come to the house on Saturday night. We have flights booked into Martha’s Vineyard Airport direct, so Hunter’s flashy idea of a helicopter wasn’t necessary.
Hunter and I have been very civil in our messages. And he’s actually been pretty responsive. Our truce is holding.
“I hope it’s not going to be tacky,” Mom says as she shifts in her seat next to me.
“It’s not going to be tacky, Mom,” I reply. “It’s Martha’s Vineyard. It’s impossible to be tacky on Martha’s Vineyard.”
“I’m sure you’d find a way. Katherine and you have very different ideas of what a bachelorette should be.”
“No, we don’t,” I say. If I were going to organize my own bachelorette, I might not have chosen Martha’s Vineyard, but there’s nothing about the weekend I’mnotlooking forward to. And anyway, I’ve been completely focused on giving Katherine the weekend she wants. Any conflicting ideas we might have had, I’ve set aside.
“She said that you wanted everyone to go to New York.”
“I just said they have the best spas in case that’s what she wanted. It was only because we were having such a difficult time finding a house rental for the weekend.”
Mom rolls her eyes like I’m exaggerating how difficult it was to find something. “It’s the beginning of June.”
“Right, and things are booked up months in advance,” I say.
“You’re not going to take that cardigan, are you?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “Why?”
She gives me a look that says,Do I really have to tell you?
“It’s a really pretty color,” I say.
“But it’s seen better days. While you’re up here, you should go and see Felicity. She’s got some beautiful lavender knitwear in for spring/summer.”
Felicity is one of Mom’s friends. She owns an eponymous clothing boutique local to our childhood home. As much as I like Felicity and admire the way she’s had her own business for as long as she has, I wouldn’t be caught dead in anything from Felicity’s.
Mom must catch the skepticism in my expression. “You ask your sister. She bought a beautiful short-sleeved sweater from there this week.”
My stomach lurches at the possibility that my beautiful, perfect sister is shopping at Felicity’s. The clothes there are aimed at women over fifty. Katherine might be about to get married, but she doesn’t have to completely give up on being young, does she?
Luckily, our conversation about Felicity’s is cut short when Katherine emerges from the dressing room.
She’s sent me pictures before, but nothing could have prepared me to see her dressed up in her slightly off-white gown and veil. She looks like the fairy princesses we’d dress up as when we were little. Except more beautiful and a thousand times more sophisticated. I jump to my feet, unable to keep my eyes from welling up.
“You look incredible,” I gasp. “Perfect.”
She grins at me. “I love it.” She should love it. It’s completely perfect. “I hope Ed likes it.”
“Ed would think you look like a goddess in fishing galoshes,” I say. “He’s going to lose his mind when he sees you in this.”
Katherine smiles, her whole face glowing. “Do you think the neckline is too low, Mom?” There’s not even a hint of cleavage. Why would she think it was too low?
Mom shakes her head. “Not now they’ve brought it up a touch. You look beautiful.”
The bodice is strapless flat satin with a gathered skirt falling from the waist.
“Do you have the shoes on?” I ask.
Katherine pokes out her toe. “Yes, they always do the fittings with the exact shoes on.”
