“I’ve been meaning to do this ever since I called things off,” she continued as we turned onto the road. “But it just makes things seem so permanent. You know?”
Before I could answer, she’d grabbed a tissue from the clump in the center console, pressing it to her face. She’d been crying when she pulled in, crying when I got in the car, and now crying again. This was also not giving me huge confidence in her driving. But I’d agreed to come, so here I was.
Also, I’d been the only one without other plans. Clark was headed to Bly Supply with Ben, who was still keeping his distance from me. Meanwhile, Lana had ridden back on thelast bus to the Tides with Cardoon, claiming Kasey had asked her to pick up a check and some vases from the bridal shower. (Kasey, hearing this after they’d departed, had clearly been surprised.) That left just me when Anne had shown up, again asking for company as she went by her and Jonathan’s place to retrieve a few things.
“He won’t be there,” she told me, for the second time. Repeating things in small spaces was apparently an inherited trait. “He has a work retreat in Eastville. It’s been on the calendar forever. We have this joke that his boss did it on purpose because we didn’t invite her to the wedding.”
“Right,” I said.
Her face crumpled. She picked up another tissue, the used one from her other hand joining the growing pile at her feet, then blew her nose. “I read this book, right when we started all the planning.Your Day, Your Way?”
I had noticed that each time Anne made this kind of reference, it was done as if I might also have read the book as well. Or at least heard of it.
“It’s essentially a series of assertiveness exercises,” she continued, putting on her turn signal. After a minivan with a stack of bikes on the back bumper passed, we pulled out and took a left. “Jonathan and I did them together. Every night after dinner. It was really…”
She took another tissue.
“… helpful.” Another wipe of her eyes. “Then in April, his mom came to visit and just ‘check in on the arrangements.’?” Somewhat alarmingly, she took both hands off the wheel toform sharp air quotes. “She was there less than twenty-four hours before she lined up a wedding planner. “?‘My treat!’ she said.” More quotes. This time the car lurched a bit to the left. “?‘You’ll enjoy it more,’ she said.”
“So much for your way,” I said, stealthily checking my seat belt.
“Right?” She put both hands back on the wheel. “Personally, I think she’d hired her as soon as we got engaged. But Jonathan doesn’t think so. He always wants to believe her intentions are good. It’s, like, the only thing we’ve ever really argued about.”
“Really?”
She bit her lip, nodding. “We get along great. It’s other people that cause problems.”
We slowed down, then turned into a neighborhood with a sign readingMAINSAIL ACRES.The houses were small and well-kept, many featuring decorative Fourth of July flags. We pulled up to a green house with black shutters.
“Okay.” She cut the engine before fortifying herself with the last of the tissues in the pack. “Let’s do this.”
With purpose—and some sniffling—she strode up the pebbled walk to the door. As she undid the lock, I noted the welcome mat shaped like a heart readingOUR HOMEat my feet. As it turned out, it was just a preview of the cuteness inside.
If Lana’s house had felt ominous in appearance even before Shannon arrived, Anne and Jonathan’s was the opposite. Like a cheery wink as opposed to a sneer. While the rooms were small—the living room and kitchen separated only by a comically narrow breakfast bar with two stools—it was obvious agreat deal of attention had been given to décor. There was an overstuffed navy couch with white-and-navy striped pillows. A vintage single red armchair that looked like it had once been Liz’s or in the Woods. And on the coffee table, next to a bowl of seashells, a framed shot of Anne and Jonathan by the lake in formal dress, both of them smiling wide.
“Our engagement party,” she said over my shoulder when she saw me looking at it. Heavy sigh. “I’ll just be a second.”
With that, she disappeared around a corner, first passing a tiny bathroom with yellow walls. Two matching hand towels patterned with daisies. Two toothbrushes side by side in a holder by the mirror. Of course I thought of Ben. Despite the current state of things, I would have bet there was at least one box of toothpaste, if not a backup as well, in the cabinet below.
When I turned back to the living room, I saw the bookcase. It was white, like the walls, and directly next to the door, which was why I had missed it previously. There were three shelves. Novels at the top—a mix of classics and romance, not surprising—then more pictures: Anne in a graduation gown; Liz and Travis as a young couple themselves; a group shot of them with both parents, which also looked to be from the engagement party. Below that was a row of books in varying shapes and sizes, hardback and paper. It didn’t take much scanning to recognize some of the titles.
Wild Love. Hope to Cope.Then several more covering various issues—codependency, reclaiming your inner child, using color for therapy—before, on the very end,Your Day, Your Way.Some people might have hidden all these books out of sight,worried about conveying a sign of weakness, or just that they were trying. But Anne chose instead to showcase them. As if the efforts deserved just as much attention, equal weight, to the results in the pictures above.
“Okay,” she said, coming out of the bedroom. For all the lead-up, she carried only a small oversized shoulder bag, plump with what could only be maybe one or two changes of clothes. “Let’s go.”
As she went over to the door, pulling it open, I looked again around the room. I supposed I’d also expected this part to be like the trip to Lana’s, that same sense of narrowing if not outright finality. Close to the end, though not there quite yet. But this place felt just as it had when we’d arrived. Like all we’d taken was time.
“Anne.” Kasey shook some blooms in her direction. “Here.”
It was later that afternoon, and we were at Kasey’s cabin, again trying to distract Anne. She’d been so morose after returning from her and Jonathan’s place that Lana and I had immediately started to brainstorm ways to keep her busy. A shopping trip to Bly Corners? (Maybe a bookstore? If there were books on planning weddings, surely there were ones on calling them off.) Lana suggested we go to Blackwood Station and let her take out her grief on the bumper cars or basketball shoot. Instead, Anne had spotted Kasey moving buckets of flowers from the truck into her place. When she’d drifted sadly that way, we’d had no choice but to follow.
My aunt, ever practical, had put us to work. We sat in a row on the couch, assembly line–style, putting bouquets togetherfor another floral gig, this time a dinner that night at the Tides.
Now Anne took the flowers from Kasey, distractedly adding them to the ones in her own hand. Then she just sat there. Lana and I exchanged a look: This had been the issue with our system from the start. I had to literally pull them from her, just to move things along.
“What are these ones, again?” I asked, nodding at the red blooms as I bound them with white-topped stalks.
“Scarlett burst,” Kasey replied. Then she pointed at the others, one by one. “Moonakis. And Bellflower.”
