Lee felt hurt, dejected, and frustrated that she felt hurt and dejected. When would her need to win Charlotte dissipate?
Lee scrutinized the photo of herself, applied a filter to brighten her face, and cropped. Then she instagrammed, facebooked, tumblred, snapchatted, and tweeted, captioning the shot,#jetsetter #offtoeurope #jimmychoos #bonvoyage!
For a moment, Lee savored the fact that she was living the life she’d imagined when she cut out magazine pictures during a vision-board workshop. She had actually visualized world travel. She’d meditated upon these very hashtags, when Jason had made her meditate every morning for three mornings in a row. And now they were hers.
Maybe everything was going to be okay. Lee did feel calmer after two weeks of home-cooked meals, Tylenol PM, and a captive audience (Charlotte) who hung on her every word and trusted Lee when she said she was on a hiatus before a big film project. The more Lee bragged about her career, the more she almost believed herself. Her stomach had stopped cramping, her racing thoughts had slowed a bit, and she’d bought a neon bikini at T.J.Maxx with Charlotte’s money that had been an absolute sensation when she waltzed around Marshwood Pool. The attention of men: Lee knew it was a makeshift and ultimately useless ice pack held to the burning fact that her life was a mess, but comfort was comfort, no matter how fleeting.
Lee had been afraid she’d run into Regan around the Landings—pass her on the golf cart path, spy her splashing down the waterslide with her girls at Franklin Creek Pool—but it never happened. She thought of stopping by the Willingham McMansion, but it just seemed easier to put off their inevitable reunion. They hadn’t spoken in ten years. Ten years! Lee had called Regan dozens of times in the months after the prewedding blowout, but Regan hadn’t answered, and eventually, Lee had been hurt enough to give up. This mess wasn’t her fault! Well, not entirely.
Still, Lee and Regan had been so close once. Lee could remember roller-skating with Regan, staying out until dusk. They would hold hands, whizzing along the streets of their neighborhood, the evening air warm across their faces.
What could Lee have done differently? For one thing, she could have kept Matt’s words to herself. Many times, she wished she had kept silent in the bathroom of Elizabeth on 37th, just given her sister a hug and whispered congratulations. But that would have felt as if she were hiding things from Regan.
Matt, in the rain, gripping Lee’s shoulders.I’d stop all this if you want me back. Please?
—
LEE SWALLOWED, TRYING TOquell a decade-old confusion. She glanced down at her phone. Her post was racking up the hearts and likes already.
“Regan!” cried Charlotte. “Regan’s here!”
Lee looked up and saw her sister. Regan looked resplendent—that was the word. She had put on some weight, but in a smart, black pantsuit and jean jacket, rhinestone-studded sunglasses holding back her auburn hair, she was stunning. Jealousy washed over Lee, a bitter wave.
“Over here!” called Charlotte, standing and waving. “Regan! We’re over here!” Charlotte hugged Regan, and Lee stood awkwardly next to them, unable to speak. There was so much she wanted to say:I’m sorry. I love you. You have everything I wanted. Please look up to me again.
Lee glanced down at her own tiny miniskirt, suddenly embarrassed by her skimpy attire. Seeing Regan embrace her momhood made Lee’s getup seem tawdry. What was she trying to prove? She closed her eyes and inhaled, summoning strength, remembering the way the Uber driver’s gaze had lingered on her legs as she climbed out of his Honda Pilot. What else did she have to offer, besides her attractiveness?
“There you are,” said Matt, approaching. To Lee’s surprise, his hair was thinning—he was almost bald. He wore an expensive suit and loafers.
“Are you wearing loafers?” said Lee. She wasn’t trying to be flirtatious, but it did sound that way.
Matt’s eyes flashed, pleased. “I am,” he said. “Do you like them?”
“I’m not the loafer-loving type,” said Lee.
Matt put his arm around Regan and pulled her close. “Regan bought them for me,” said Matt.
“Oh,” said Regan. She seemed to flinch in his embrace. “You said you wanted…”
“They’re fine,” said Matt sharply. Lee blinked. His voice sounded exactly like their father’s. My God, she thought, Matt’s turned into a balding Winston. Was that why she had chosen him a million years ago? Some sick need to be with her father, to make a better ending to that story?
From the moment she had first seen Matt (walking down the hallway of Savannah Country Day as if heownedthe place), Lee had been besotted. Matt—a scholarship kid, a running back, confident and well-spoken and utterly at ease in his own skin—was everything Lee wished she could be. Now, she felt a wash of fear. Regan did look pale. Was Matt unkind to her?
Regan looked at Lee, her gaze sad.
“You look beautiful,” said Lee.
“Oh, please,” said Regan. But she flushed, and as her cheeks reddened, Lee remembered Regan’s evening performances for her family. She would make little tickets to her “song show,” and they would all assemble on the back porch. Regan welcomed them, standing on the lawn in her nightgown. She took their tickets. And then she would sing in a clear and angelic voice. When she was finished, she’d look down, as she was now, growing flustered when they clapped.
Without thinking, Lee hugged her sister. Regan stiffened in her arms and pulled away. But she smelled the same: baby powder deodorant, strawberry shampoo.
IN HER FIRST-CLASS SEAT,a plush blanket across her lap, a bowl of warm mixed nuts on the tray table in front of her, Charlotte gazed at her daughters. Lee (who had begun drinking wine and chatting with her seatmate, a young man with a beard, as soon as she boarded) was dead asleep, her mouth open. Regan gazed out the window, lost in thought. What, Charlotte wondered, was Regan dreaming about?
Charlotte knew it wasn’t fair to feel a keen annoyance whenever she saw Regan in her showy, flowy clothing. Her daughter, wearing muumuus instead of going on a diet! It made Charlotte feel guilty, as ifshe’ddone something wrong.
Over the years, Charlotte had resolved to be nicer to Regan, who was, after all, the only child who had remained near her. But Regan’s servitude to Matt, her overparenting, and her drawstring pants made Charlotte’s stomach ache. Charlotte had learned some things the hard way, but Regan didn’t want to hear them. Regan thought Charlotte was silly, her opinions useless. Charlotte feared the same about herself, so being around someone who treated her like a child was painful.
Regan had known Charlotte at her worst—as a single mother, scrimping and saving, pandering to nouveau riche (and regular riche) clients. To Regan, Charlotte must have been a cautionary tale: See what can happen if your husband leaves you. You will end up alone. You will cry in front of your children. You will work hard, so hard, and fail. Now that Charlotte had regained a bit of dignity, she hated imagining what Regan thought of her, all the raw and broken moments Regan had seen.
