Chapter Eleven
Heron
Heron ached to kiss Charlie the second she spotted him at baggage claim, looking handsome in an ivory cable-knit sweater and a black wool car coat she’d never seen before. Before she could, Charlie’s parents swept toward her, each of them leaning forward in turn to give a dry kiss to the air near her cheek.
“Look at this pretty little bride,” Charlie’s mom (“call me Julia, dear”) exclaimed as she hugged Heron while hardly touching her, before launching into a monologue about the schedule she’d made for the visit. “I can’t wait to show you the reception space at the country club. They’re squeezing us in for a menu tasting on Boxing Day. Of course, you’ll see the church on Christmas Eve, and we have our photographer coming tonight to take a family portrait and so you can meet him. Don’t worry, there’ll be plenty of time for you to freshen up first.”
Heron had flown into Westchester instead of one of the New York City airports. Charlie said they would take the train into the city to window shop and ice skate under the Rockefeller Center tree, but picking her up from JFK would be “a nightmare.” The baggage claim area in Westchester was small and low-ceilinged; there didn’t seem to be enough space between the clay-colored industrial carpet and the buzzing florescent lights for all these jostling holiday travelers to breathe.
Once Charlie found her bag and they were outside, Heron slowed her steps, using the moment it took to put on her coat to take three deep breaths: inhaling mindfully, exhaling slowly. When she’d packed her carry-on, she made sure to keep the anti-anxiety medication she was supposed to take as needed in an easy-to-access pocket. Flying wasn’t usually a problem for her, but since it was just a few days before Christmas, she hadn’t been sure about the extra crowds. As a matter of fact, she’d enjoyed her flights and the cheerful, busy atmosphere of instrumental holiday music playing over the sound systems between airport announcements, other travelers’ bright sweaters and bits of wrapping paper poking out of bags. Now, all the noise and activity was starting to grate but she was probably just tired after her long day of travel.
Charlie turned back to check on her and extended his hand. Heron hurried to catch up, reaching for the solid grasp of his fingers. This was all fine. Charlie’s family were nice people, it would be a busy time, but she could handle it. She could handle anything with him at her side. She still longed to kiss him, but he seemed aloof, which was understandable in front of his parents.
It was going to be so much fun filling Charlie in on how well their plan for Bea and Ben was working. Waiting for her connecting flight in Seattle, Heron had texted to get the scoop on her cousin’s evening with Ben. The rundown included an admission that Heron seemed to have been right about Ben’s New Year’s hints. It seemed she’d been right about everything where Ben was concerned. Ha. It was too bad she’d miss seeing them together at the winery New Year’s party, but the gala she’d be attending at Charlie’s country club was going to be even more exciting.
In the backseat of Mr. Brewster’s BMW, she laid her hand, palm up, on the seat between them for Charlie to take, but he didn’t seem to notice, turning to look out the window instead as his mother chattered on about flowers and the Christmas Day cocktail party they held every year.
“It will be wonderful for you to meet all of these people, Heron, the timing is perfect. I am sorry we won’t be able to come to the little shower your cousin is throwing, but it’s such a slog to get all the way out there to Millet, and we’ll be there soon afterward for graduation.”
Bea was throwing her a shower in March, right before spring break. When she’d discussed this with Bea, they had both remarked on the oddity of Charlie’s parents, extensive travelers, balking at two cross-country trips in a three-month period. But Heron hadn’t wanted to think ill of her future in-laws. “This will be so much more fun,” Bea’d said, “just your friends and family so we can keep it casual. I have a feeling Charlie’s mother is the type to be scandalized by a co-ed shower.” Taking in Julia’s sleek, artfully highlighted bob, pearls, and cashmere twinset, Heron smiled a bit at the accuracy of Bea’s assessment.
Charlie caught her and smiled back. “What are you grinning at over there?”
“Oh,” she said, “I’m just so happy to be here.”
“We’re delighted to have you, my dear,” said Charlie’s dad, pulling into a circular drive in front of a sprawling Tudor home. “Welcome to the Brewster family.”
“Thank you so much, dear,” Charlie’s mother said, when Heron presented her with two bottles of her dad’s best Pinot Noir, “but we’re serving fish. I’ll put these away for another time.” The wine disappeared into the pantry. Should she have known to bring a white? How?
Charlie’s siblings were both older and out of the house, but they came for dinner. His sister, Emma, was in medical school at NYU, and his brother Will was married and lived a few blocks away. Will’s wife, Andrea, continually allowed her hands to drift toward her lower abdomen, cradling it. “I’ll either be as big as a house at your wedding,” she said when she gave Heron a brittle hello hug, “or nursing.”
“Oh!” Heron said. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you, you too. They’re catches, these Brewster boys.” Andrea flicked her eyes in Will’s direction. “All this doesn’t hurt, either.” She let her gaze drift around the elegant living room, where they were having cocktails (cranberry juice and club soda for Andrea).
Heron hadn’t ever given much thought to Charlie’s family money other than to be intimidated by it, but since their engagement this sort of comment had cropped up from time to time, from Jason, Maggie, Bea. Even her mother had said not to let Charlie’s money turn her head, as if anything could go to her head more than the simple fact of who Charlie was and how much she loved him. Now, she didn’t know how to respond to Andrea, so she changed the subject. “When is your due date?”
“Sometime around the third week of June.”
“Aw, the baby will be a Gemini, like their uncle Charlie,” Heron said. “A social butterfly. Or possibly a Cancer. Very loyal.”
Andrea let out a tinkly cascade of a laugh. “How wonderful,” she said, “our own family astrologer. I’ll have to ask you to do my chart later.”
“I can try. Do you know what time you were born?”
Andrea laughed again. “You’re too much!”
Heron wandered away to peruse the bookshelves full of leather-bound classics with uncreased spines. Emma came up beside her and whispered, “Don’t pay any attention to her. None of us can stand her but Mother. I think even Will is sick of her half the time.”
Oh. Andrea wasn’t being sincere. “It’s fine. I don’t mind.” Although, if she wasn’t interested in astrology, she could have just said so.
“The bridesmaid dress you picked is very pretty,” Emma said. “I’m sorry I can’t stay to go to some of these appointments with you and Mother. I have a feeling you could use a buffer.”
“That would be fun,” Heron said, “but I’m sure I’ll be fine.” The idea of spending so much time alone with Julia Brewster was intimidating, though. Emma seemed to be the only member of the family, except of course for Charlie, who was easy to talk to.
Over dinner—a seared swordfish with broiled tomatoes that would have gone very nicely with a light red wine, in fact—Charlie’s father said, “Heron, it’s very nice to have you here.”
“Thank you,” she said.
“But,” he raised a finger, “I hope you won’t let Charlie get too distracted from his studies. He needs to buckle down if he’s going to improve on a 160 next month.”
She hadn’t realized he intended to take the test again. He hadn’t even told her he’d gotten his score back. A 160 was okay but much lower than they’d been hoping for. Softly, she asked Charlie, “When are you taking it?”
“I was going to talk to you about all this later. I can sit for the test again on January tenth. So, I’m going to do that here before we go back to school.”
Her food turned to cement in her stomach as she processed this new information. They’d planned to fly back to Millet together on January twelfth, which meant Charlie would be studying nearly the entire time she was here. She’d just have to make the best of it. “Oh. Okay. I can help you study.”
Charlie’s dad chuckled. “I think you’ve helped him study quite enough, little lady, hence the mediocre score. I’ve got an empty office set aside at my firm for him. It’ll be good practice, studying like it’s his job. Which, it is.”
Wow. Charlie would be in the city all day, while Heron was left to her own devices here. For nearly three weeks. They’d had so many plans; skiing in Vermont, sightseeing in Manhattan, drives up the coast. She supposed she could do some of it on her own; there was a midcentury fashion exhibit at the Met that was relevant to her thesis research, and she would love to study in the famous New York Public Library. There was also the public library in Darien. That was it; if Charlie was busy studying, she could, too, and at least make some headway on her own.
“Does one of you have a library card I can borrow?” she asked the group. “I can get some of my own schoolwork done.”
Charlie’s mother let out a peal of laughter. “Oh no, dear. While the boys are in the city, you and I will get this wedding all planned. We may even have time to take you to Tiffany’s to register.”
Across the table, Emma flashed Heron a sympathetic grimace.
“We really don’t need very much,” Heron said, “I thought we’d register at Target. I can do that in Millet.”
Mrs. Brewster and Andrea both broke into laughter as if she’d told a very funny joke.
“Good one,” chortled Andrea, delicately dabbing her eye with the corner of her napkin. “What are you going to register for, potato chips and toilet paper?”
Heron looked to Charlie for affirmation, but his eyes were focused firmly on his fish. “I only meant we don’t need anything fancy.”
“Don’t be silly, dear. You’ll be entertaining soon enough, and if Charlie gets into Columbia—”
“Charlie will get into Columbia,” Mr. Brewster interrupted. “Having to settle for Messiman instead of an Ivy was a big enough disgrace.”
“Be that as it may,” Mrs. Brewster said, “if Charlie is in school in the city, you’ll be staying in our apartment there, and you should start out with good quality things that last a lifetime. You want heirlooms, not…picnic-ware.”
“City apartment?” She must be misunderstanding something. She’d always felt very fortunate the winery did well enough to keep her family comfortable, but the extent of the Brewster family’s wealth seemed to keep unfolding before her eyes. She’d been imagining herself and Charlie in a tiny student apartment, the kind of romantically shabby place where her things from Millet would be at home. Doing things she’d seen in the movies, like finding antiques on the street, riding the subway, sitting on a fire escape on summer evenings.
“Yes,” said Mr. Brewster, briskly, “it’s mostly an investment property. We stay there from time to time if we go into town for a show. Will and Andrea lived there for the first few years of their marriage.”
Wow. “But shouldn’t Emma use it?”
Once again, it was as if Heron had made a joke. She blinked in confusion. Under the laughter, Emma said, “No free apartment for the single daughter. I have a studio near the hospital.”
“Emma doesn’t need to do the sort of hostessing Andrea did, and you will do, dear.” Mrs. Brewster said. “Even a first-year law student is making connections to last an entire career.”
“I see.” Heron said. Hostessing? She liked making people feel at home, but this was all starting to sound so different from what she’d pictured. She’d get Toni to show her some more recipes, she supposed.
“Don’t let my mother freak you out with all the talk about entertaining,” Charlie told her later as they were getting ready for bed. (At least his parents weren’t old fashioned about having them sleep in separate bedrooms: “You’re engaged, for heaven’s sake. We may be a traditional family but we aren’t sticks in the mud,” his father had said.) “It’s easier to let them think we’ll be throwing cocktail soirees for my classmates, but if you can order pizza for a study group, that’s all the help I need.”
“Phew,” she said, then went to sit next to him, laying her head against his shoulder. “Hey, I’m sorry about your test. I’m sure you’ll do better next time.”
“I’m sorry, too. I know you wanted to see the city and do fun tourist stuff, but we’ll be able to do that next year, I promise. We’ll do it all the time.”
She wondered. If Charlie was starting school in the fall, he’d be studying next Christmas too. But there would be plenty of time, someday. “It’s fine. I just wish I’d brought more of my notebooks so I could make progress on my thesis.”
“Oh, my mom will keep you busy.”
She laughed. “Yeah, I’m kind of afraid of that.”
It was a strange feeling to be with someone else’s family on Christmas morning. Over the years, Heron’s childhood tradition of racing downstairs at the crack of dawn had turned into a slightly more sedate mid-morning affair with her dad, Toni, and Bea. They all enjoyed spending a relaxed morning in their pajamas, opening stockings over coffee and presents after breakfast.
Charlie’s family all dressed before going downstairs, and they didn’t have stockings. “Oh, we did them when the children were small, but they clutter up the mantle so,” his mother said.
She hadn’t had the foggiest idea what to get any of the Brewsters, and when she asked Charlie, he’d said not to worry about it, but she couldn’t bring herself to show up empty handed. Heron sewed small cosmetic kits for each of them. Masculine stripes for Will and Mr. Brewster, tropical florals for Emma, Mrs. Brewster, and Andrea. She’d filled them with a few travel size toiletries.
“How darling,” Charlie’s mother exclaimed. “You made these? Imagine that.”
“I know you all do a lot of traveling, so I thought they might come in handy.”
“This is awesome,” Emma said, “I’ve been needing something like this for my locker at the hospital.”
“It’s only something small,” Heron said, “meant to be a stocking stuffer, but, you know, no stockings.” She gave them a self-effacing shrug.
“My goodness,” said Mrs. Brewster, “we’d better get the stockings back out next year. I didn’t realize how attached some people could get to these childish traditions.”
Would it be rude to point out that next year, there would actually be a small child in the family?
Andrea said, “Oh, this is so…sweet, Heron, but I’m afraid my skin is too sensitive for these products. The chemicals in drugstore cosmetics aren’t the best for baby, you know.”
“I’ll take your shampoos and things,” Emma said. “I can always use more of those.”
Andrea handed the whole bag over to Emma as if it was dripping toxic waste.
“But you should keep your bag,” said Emma. “It’s so cute. You love orchids.” Andrea’s bag had been made using the last of a fabric Heron had particularly loved, printed with vanilla orchids in creamy shades of yellow and pale green.
“That’s all right. Those harsh chemical scents tend to linger. But thank you, Heron, so much for the lovely thought.”
Heron got a cashmere sweater in a gorgeous shade of sapphire blue from Charlie’s parents; some nice loose-leaf tea and a Mary Oliver book from Emma, who followed her on social media and knew she liked tea and poetry; and a gift certificate for a facial at a local spa from Andrea and Will. “It’s never too soon to start taking proper care of your skin,” Andrea said. “We can go together on Friday.”
Heron gave Charlie a vintage tie clip, and he gave her a Tiffany bracelet engraved with her future initials, HIB. The family clapped as he fastened it around her wrist.
“It’s beautiful,” she said. It felt rather heavy, but she supposed she’d get used to it. “I…had been thinking I would keep Hunter as my middle name, though. I never liked Irene.”
Andrea snickered and Charlie’s mother said, “No, dear, the women in this family don’t do that. Once we are Brewsters, we are only Brewsters. Now”—she rose briskly—“let’s straighten up; the caterers will be here soon, and we don’t want expensive gifts sitting out while they’re milling around.”
Heron had never heard of such a big party on Christmas Day, but Charlie explained that his mother liked to give their housekeepers the days surrounding Christmas off, so it was a good time to bring outside caterers in. “My dad says it’s nice to give them some business on the holiday,” he said. “Since most people don’t have parties right on Christmas.” Heron wondered whether the caterers might prefer being home with their own families; her dad always closed the winery on December 23 and kept it closed through the holidays. Len and Toni did all the preparations for the New Year’s Eve party themselves and invited the staff to attend as guests.
“Damn,” said Andrea as she rose, clutching her skirt at the hip.
“What’s the matter dear?” Charlie’s mom was at Andrea’s elbow in a flash.
“I popped the zipper. I suppose I need to buy my maternity wardrobe soon.”
“Oh dear. Will, you’ll have to run her home to change before the party.”
“Can’t you just safety pin it or something?” Will said. “We want to catch this game.”
“Don’t pin it!” Heron said. “That’s shantung silk, a pin will pull and ruin it. Let me see.” Andrea allowed Heron to bend down and examine the damage. “I can fix it. Come with me please, Andrea.”
They went upstairs with Emma, who had a pair of scrub bottoms for Andrea to change into. “I feel ridiculous,” she said, sliding them over her pantyhose. “And I look like a cow.” She thumped the smooth curve of her stomach, which pushed against the drawstring waist of the scrubs.
“You look great,” Heron said.
“Yeah,” said Emma, “this is normal. You can’t expect to stay a size four when there’s another person in your pelvis.”
Maybe the tense morning had made her loopy, or maybe she’d spent too much time around frat guys, but Heron couldn’t contain her snort of laughter, and she arched a brow at Emma, who collapsed into giggles and said, “Gross, that’s my brother.”
“Honestly,” Andrea huffed. “I’m going to the kitchen to see if Julia needs any help directing the caterers. Thank you, Heron.”
The Brewster family didn’t seem to have a sewing box. Heron supposed they sent all their mending out. Fortunately, she found a good enough match for the thread color in the little kit she kept in her travel bag.
“You can bring that down to me when you’re done.” Andrea made an attempt to exit the room regally, but Emma’s scrubs were a bit too long and she stumbled over the hem.
When she was gone, Emma wrinkled her nose and said, “Yeah, she’s kind of a bitch. I’ll spare you from having to be the one to say it.”
Heron tried to give Andrea the benefit of the doubt. “She’s pregnant.”
“Please.” Emma waved the excuse away. “She’s been like this for years.”
“I’m trying not to embarrass myself. Your family is very different from mine.”
“Yours aren’t the snobbersons?” Emma continued over Heron’s laughter. “I’m sure they’re lovely and I can’t wait to meet them at the wedding. Look, I love my family, but they can be a bit much. Don’t let them get to you, okay?”
“Thanks.”
Emma stood up and dusted off her trousers. “I’m going to see what the boys are doing and raid the liquor cabinet. Can I bring you anything?”
“I’m good. Thanks. I’m almost done.” She needed a breather, a little time alone with a needle and thread before facing the Brewster clan again.
After Heron finished mending the skirt, she made her way down the back stairs to the kitchen. She didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but as she reached the landing, she heard Andrea say, “It’s nice to have an on-call seamstress, at least.”
Heron stopped cold three steps from the bottom when Mrs. Brewster said, in an exasperated tone, “Honestly. Did I tell you she’s sewing her own dress for the wedding? I told Charlie we’d be happy to pay for a proper gown if her family can’t afford one, but he said she wants to do it. She ‘enjoys’ it.”
Heron felt like she’d been slapped. Of course, her father could and would have bought her wedding dress if she wanted him to. The fabric for hers cost almost as much as a gown from a traditional bridal shop, anyway. She only wanted the dress to be special, exactly as she envisioned it, with her love for Charlie in every stitch.
Heron heard the clink of ice cubes in a glass, then the sound of liquid being poured. “At least she isn’t making Emma’s dress, although apparently it’s coming from some strange boutique. Look at the card.” There was some rustling of paper from the small desk near the pantry.
Andrea let out a hoot of laughter as she read the card from Lucy’s shop. “‘Upcycled Occasionwear.’ What does that even mean? Second hand? Goodness.”
“Emma says the dress is lovely, but you know her taste. She’d wear pink scrubs to the wedding if she could. I can only hope it isn’t too much of a spectacle, the homespun gown and the second-hand bridesmaids’ dresses parading down the aisle of our family church and through the Maple Room at the club.”
“Well,” Andrea said, “she is a sweet girl.” Andrea’s tone was a clear indication of where she placed sweet in the hierarchy of virtues. “Unusual name. Did Charlie tell you where that came from?”
“It’s very west coast hippie-dippy. Charlie said she’s named after a song. About the birds, you know. Some local band her mother liked.”
Heron heard the scorn in Andrea’s voice when she said, “Good lord.”
“Charlie told me her family calls her Birdie. That’s kind of cute, don’t you think? I had a friend in prep school, Birdie Douglas. Hers was a nickname for Elizabeth. I’m hoping we might be able to…work that in. Birdie Brewster has a nice ring, doesn’t it?”
“Mmm, yes. It sort of suits her. A drab little magpie flitting about, bringing everyone sad little offerings.”
“Andrea,” Mrs. Brewster’s laughter was a musical peal. She sounded delighted. “Stop it. You’re terrible.” She sighed. “Leave it to Charlie to go out to the wilderness and find a stray to bring home. Still”—Heron heard another clink of glass—“she is a nice girl, and God knows he needs a stabilizing influence to get him through law school. She’ll be an adequate first wife.”
Andrea said with a smug note, “I noticed she didn’t get one of the grandmothers’ rings.”
“Well, it is the ring Charlie’s father proposed to me with. I’m not sure Charlie knows I only wore it a month before it was replaced with this bigger one. I do think a modest stone is more becoming for someone like Heron, though, don’t you think?”
As Andrea said, “Indeed,” Heron looked down at her ring, sparkling against the deep blue luster of Andrea’s skirt, clutched in her hands. She’d been enamored with the oblong stone and old-fashioned white gold setting since she found it in Charlie’s things. When he slid it on her finger, it had made her feel cherished and special. His mother and sister-in-law made it sound like junk.
“Well,” Charlie’s mother said, “it will be time for an upgrade in a few years. Either for Heron, if she turns out to have staying power after all, or the next one. Charlie always did take a few tries to get things right.”
Their laughter trailed them out of the kitchen. Heron stood, stunned, on the step for a few more moments, then crept back upstairs. It didn’t matter. His family might be horrid, but Charlie was Charlie. The two of them were a team, they could do anything together. And, in a few years, if she was offered a different ring, she would proudly say this one was “more becoming for someone like me.”
She draped the skirt over a chair in the guest room, then went down the grand front staircase to find the other women in the foyer, Mrs. Brewster directing caterers like an orchestra conductor while Andrea looked on.
“Your skirt is fixed,” she told Andrea. “It’s up in the blue guest room if you’d like to go change.”
Andrea rushed forward and squeezed her arm. “Thank you so much, you’re an absolute doll,” she said, and bustled upstairs.
“Can I have someone get you a drink, dear?” asked Julia.
“Don’t go to any trouble on my account,” Heron replied. “I can get it myself.”
In the kitchen, she found the bottles of wine her father had sent on a back shelf in the walk-in pantry. She opened one and poured a glass, letting the essence of fruit tended by her family and the oaky flavor of her father’s cellar flood over her tongue. The taste of home was what she needed to wash away the snide words from Charlie’s family.
Clearly, the visit with Lauren, the events coordinator at the country club, was merely a formality. Charlie’s mother had already planned the menu: a filet mignon and lobster tail duet.
It sounded very nice, but, “What about vegetarians?” Heron asked.
“This isn’t California, dear. Although…are your people vegetarians?”
Her people? “Not my family, no, but a few friends.”
Charlie’s mother pursed her lips for a moment. “We can ask the staff to bring them an extra salad to fill up on. Why don’t you choose one?”
Half the salads on the club’s catering menu had bacon or seafood on them, but there was one with spinach, strawberries and almonds that sounded nice.
Lauren smiled. “Good choice. It will be perfect in June. Unfortunately, we don’t have in-season strawberries to make a sample for you now.”
“That’s fine,” Heron said, “I’m sure it will be delicious.”
“Surely, they have strawberries at the market, from a hot house or something. Why don’t you send someone out to pick up a few?”
“Oh, but Mrs. Brewster, they won’t taste anything like our own local strawberries when they’re in season.”
“Do you expect the girl to put something like this up to chance?”
“Really, I can tell from the description it will be lovely. I’m sure the chef wouldn’t have it on the menu if it didn’t taste wonderful.” Heron hoped she sounded assertive enough but not too sharp.
Julia bristled. “If you say so. You’re the one who made such a fuss about having a salad for the vegetarians. Now, about cake. Charlie’s favorite has always been banana and they make his favorite here. It has a wonderful caramel filling. We should definitely go with that.”
Heron knew how much Charlie liked bananas and sometimes baked banana bread for him, even though they were one of the only foods she couldn’t stand. Still, if she agreed she’d be out of there faster. Brides didn’t get a chance to eat much cake on their wedding day anyway, did they? She was sure she could suck it up for the one bite she’d take when they did the cake cutting.
It was tempting to suggest a cake with strawberries to see what might happen, but she said, “That sounds fine.”
It was like this for everything over the next three days as Julia carted her all around to the wedding vendors she’d already chosen: flowers, photographs, music, place settings. None of it was especially to Heron’s taste, but it was easier to let Julia go with what she thought would make her son happy. Heron still had the reception her dad was throwing them at the winery. She knew he would encourage her to choose whatever she wanted.
Charlie was up and out of the house early each morning with his father; she never saw him until dinner. After dinner and after-dinner drinks, conversation with his parents during which Mrs. Brewster presented all the wedding planning decisions as Heron’s, they retired to Charlie’s room in time to maybe snuggle a little while watching a video on his laptop, during which he inevitably fell asleep. Then he was out the door the next day before she was fully awake.
It wasn’t so much that Heron missed physical intimacy with Charlie. Honestly, she felt a bit uncomfortable about sex in his family home. She just missed him. She’d been here almost a week and it seemed like they’d barely had any time alone together. She felt like she was hanging on to the edge of a cliff by her fingernails. Charlie, usually the one to pull her back from the edge, wasn’t there to help. She just needed to hold on a few more days, then she could fly back to the safety of school, the winery, and the kindness of her own family.