“Where is everyone?” said Emma. “It’s time for the Rehearsal Dinner!”
“Emma, it’s a long story….” Cleo began.
“Also,” announced Emma, “I’m drunk!”
PART EIGHT
BADLY BEHAVING GROWN-UPS
1
Rehearsal Dinner Menu
Lakeland Dexter, Smoked Marrow & Caviar
Pickled Cockles & Mussels
Poached Lemon Butter North Sea Cod
A Sauce Made from Nasturtium & Buttermilk
Venison Larb in Baby Gem Cups
Fig, Sweet Cheese & Lemon Verbena
First of the Season Strawberries with Victoria Sponge
Liquorice Parfait with White Chocolate & Sweet Cicely
2
Emma
-$54,080.12
Emma wanted to hug her big sister. Poor Cleo, standing in the doorway, her face wrinkled on one side as though she’d just waked from a nap. Emma remembered how Cleo could always fall asleep anywhere, even on a picnic blanket or the carpet in front of their childhood TV with the rabbit-ear-shaped antenna. Cleo hadn’t changed from her birdwatching outfit; her fancy boots were caked in mud.
Emma stood up from the table to console her lovelorn sister—they’d all heard about Danny’s failed proposal—but knocked over her own heavy wooden chair. Emma stared at the chair, then realized she was holding a delicious warm roll in one hand and a silver goblet of red wine in the other. A porter or bellhop or what was he called—serving wench?—rushed to Emma, taking hold of her elbow and tilting her upright. “Thank you…sir,” said Emma, unsure of how to address a servant.
The man looked annoyed, and Emma felt ashamed. As usual! She always,alwaysfelt ashamed and she was SICK OF IT. She took another sip from her goblet. It was possible that her sloe ginpregaming (and champagne in her claw-foot tub) had been excessive. Again, here came the shame.
“Oh, gosh, Em,” said Cleo, trying to take the goblet from Emma’s hand.
Emma yanked her arm free, sending Cabernet all over her thrift-store velvet dress, the white tablecloth, and a certainly priceless rug. Maybe it had once been Anne Boleyn’s rug. “I’m just having somefun,” she said, leaning over the stained tablecloth to pour herself more wine. “And where the hell is Sylvie?”
Unlike their childhood days, when Cleo’s motherly impulses seemed indefatigable, Cleo let go of Emma’s arm and sank into the chair next to her sister. When Emma put the wine bottle down, Cleo filled her own glass. “Danny’s gone,” she said, quietly, while the others fussed with settling the children.
Emma felt so sad for Cleo. “Mom told me,” she said.
“Of course,” said Cleo bitterly.
“And Mom said you don’t want kids?” said Emma.
“I don’t know,” said Cleo. “I mean, if you look at Mom, it doesn’t seem like motherhood is the best idea….”
“But look at me,” said Emma, fury rising in her esophagus.
Cleo was silent.
