Chapter 13 The Engagement Party
Chapter13 The Engagement Party
The Mother of the Groom
“Welcome to Fair Harbor,” Abigail said as the bride, groom, mother of the bride, and the impossibly handsome godfather of
the bride made their way up the front walk. Sarah and George stood next to her, dressed in exactly what Abigail had instructed
them to wear: the raspberry linen sheath for Sarah and the green gingham tie from their wedding plus a blue blazer for George.
Abigail, in a Samantha Sung floral-print dress secured through Poshmark, stood at attention, all five feet three inches of
her. The Blakemans were ready to receive their guests.
The New York Contingent, as Abigail had been referring to them all day, arrived a half hour early as instructed, so the families
could have time to connect before the crowd descended. Chase had assured her that Penny’s family always ran on time because
they were in the business of getting to the airport early or meeting in the lobby at a specific time, but Abigail had her
doubts. She was grateful, and a touch envious, to see the big black town car pull up at the appointed hour. At least she wouldn’t
have to deal with what she saw as a significant character flaw: tardiness.
The afternoon was warm and slightly humid for June, a teaser for the July weather to come. The heat of the last few days had pushed Abigail’s roses to a first bloom, and she couldn’t have been happier. Her own dress featured pink roses, and she thought she looked smashing, matching the landscaping. “We’re so happy to have you here at our home for this wonderful occasion.”
She was laying it on thick, but the presence of an actual British lord thrilled her. Even as a proud Daughter of the American
Revolution, she was a sucker for members of the peerage. But first Abigail had to make her way through Penny, Chase, and Alexa.
The MOB was dressed in yellow palazzo pants and a matching top with sparkling but sensible sandals and enough gold jewelry
to sink a galleon. She had a vintage striped market bag in her hands, which she handed to Abigail.
“Thank you for hosting. Please accept some olive oil and very special honey from my home island in Greece as a token of our
appreciation,” Alexa claimed in the same sort of forced language that Abigail had used. Then she loosened up. “Our family
on Patmos keeps us well supplied, but we only share with people we like because the honey is credited with the amazing longevity
of the Diamandis clan. And the olive oil is so pure, I use it on my skin. It’s luscious.”
Abigail was mesmerized, both by the fact that she was right about Alexa being dipped in olive oil and by her use of the word
“luscious” in conversation. Had Abigail ever experienced anything luscious in her entire life? Did the Yankee pot roast at
the Sturbridge Inn count as luscious? Snapping back to awareness, she made a mental note to find a signature Fair Harbor product
to give to Alexa the next time they met. There must be Fair Harbor salt or mustard or cranberry sauce. Abigail nearly laughed
out loud thinking of Alexa rubbing the cranberry sauce all over her skin. She had to get ahold of herself. “How thoughtful
of you. I’m looking forward to trying both.”
George cut in. “Well, don’t slather yourself with honey. You may stick to the couch.” There were polite laughs all around, except from his wife, who had the sudden urge to smother him in honey.
Alexa turned to her companion with a broad smile. “May I introduce my dear friend and Penelope’s godfather, Simon Fox.”
When the handsome man in the sharp blue suit stepped forward with an outstretched hand toward Abigail, to her horror, she
almost started to curtsy. George, in an astonishing moment of awareness, grabbed her elbow and pulled her upright.
He had met these British types before on the bridge circuit, the type who charmed you out of your mind at the beginning of
the match so that you made careless mistakes before you realized that the British Empire hadn’t colonized the globe because
they were gentlemen. He wasn’t going to let this Brit get in his head. Or undermine his damn drinks party. There would be
no class system here.
George believed deeply in the concept that all men were created equal, even though he personally had benefited greatly from
the reality that some men were more equal than others. “Great to meet you, Simon. Come in! Let me get you a drink and then
we can take a stroll around the neighborhood. Your people burnt down quite a few houses in this town a few hundred years ago.
You should see what we’ve done with the place since then,” George boomed.
“Well, I’m sorry to report that I’m not in a position to make reparations, but I do come in friendship,” Simon shot back in
return, nodding knowingly to Abigail as he followed George to the bar that had been set up on the patio.
The rest of the New York Contingent followed Sarah into the house. Abigail eyed the beautifully wrapped gift in Penny’s hands,
assuming it was for her. But then she heard Penny say, “Sarah, can I speak with you for a moment? I have something I’d like
to ask.” And then squeals of delight.
How lovely, Abigail thought. Penny must have asked her to be a bridesmaid. What an unexpected gesture. Abigail knew that Penny had been in a sorority and must have had a dozen women she could have asked. To choose Sarah and to bring a gift was very... well-mannered. Old-fashioned. She was pleased that Sarah would have an official role in the wedding. She filed the kindness away for future reference. She heard the voices trail off as Sarah led them out onto the patio.
Abigail stood for a moment, alone on her front porch, holding the bag of olive oil and honey. Showtime.
***
The party was well underway. The patio was filled with thirsty neighbors and friends who had managed to pull themselves together
after a day of sailing or golf to toast the happy couple. The lawn was dotted with some of the younger crowd, peers of Chase
and Sarah, who arrived in flip-flops and sundresses and still managed to look lovelier than any of the older set, simply because
of their youth.
Her generation was represented as well in similar dresses but better shoes. Abigail spotted her former tennis partner Janice
chatting up her former garden club ladies. The DAR was represented by Martha, Pru, and Lucinda dressed in various red, white,
and blue combinations. Others were paired up by area of acquaintance—the neighbors, the sailors, the bridge players, the lacrosse
moms. She was pleased to see that almost everyone who’d RSVP’d yes had shown up, so unusual in today’s last-minute-bail culture.
The result was a festive summer event on the flagstone patio with lawn rolling down to the water and the harbor beyond with
sailboats on moorings. For sure, it was a three-million-dollar view today.
By Abigail’s timeline, George was scheduled to do a short toast in ten minutes, followed by another half hour of socializing. She had hired two former students as bartenders and serving help, because someone needed to replenish those warmed nuts and their rates were reasonable. Once the toast ended, guests had a few minutes for another drink and then they’d be on their way home to dig through their own refrigerators for Sunday dinner.
“This looks like a magazine spread, Abigail. What a special home you have. There is nothing like being on the water to make
everything beautiful,” Alexa said as she joined a grouping that included Abigail, Sarah, and Bernadette, the prep school roommate
turned wedding journalist who had not missed a single detail of the party, including the tussie-mussie in the guest bathroom,
always her first stop at any event.
“Isn’t this the same pink we wore at your wedding?” Bernadette asked Abigail, holding up her glass of rosé and not even bothering
to introduce herself to Alexa. She was confident that Alexa had been read in on the guest list by her daughter, so the tone
she took with her was conspiratorial, as if they’d been friends for ages. “I was a bridesmaid at Abigail and George’s wedding.
Pink and green color scheme. Those were the days!” Ironically, Bernadette, a midsize woman with aggressively dyed black hair,
impeccable makeup, and skin almost as well aged as Alexa’s, thanks to her Italian heritage, was wearing a well-cut kelly green
linen dress and chunky gold and pink jewelry. Yes, Alexa thought, Bernadette was still repping pink and green.
On the car ride out from the city, Penny had explained several times who Aunt B was and what it would mean for Penny and Chase’s
wedding to be featured on her site. Penny used the phrase “jump-start our coupledom,” and that concerned her mother. Did they
need a wedding site to validate the partnership?
Alexa took in this potential ally with a quick scan. Bernadette reminded her of many of the women from Seven Sisters alumnae groups she’d taken on tour to Mycenae or Oxford: sharp, engaged, and aware of their place in the hierarchy as highly educated white women. The interesting but not quite pretty looks of their youth replaced by the expensive hair maintenance and good tailoring of middle age. Alexa knew how to communicate with the Bernadettes of the world by adopting a warm but informed tone and speaking to them as an equal. Her daughter instructed her be “accommodating,” as if Alexa was normally standoffish and her attitude needed work. She turned on her professional charm. “You still look lovely in those colors. I’m Alexa, and you, of course, are Aunt B. I’ve heard so much about your work. I’m happy to make your acquaintance.”
Bernadette nodded in faux humility, accepting homage from her fan.
Thankfully, Sarah stepped in on the conversation. “Mom was trying on her wedding dress yesterday, Bernadette. She can still
rock it,” she said, much to her mother’s chagrin. Abigail was mortified, as if her own daughter had revealed her Valium usage
or her shoplifting record from 1981. Trying on the dress had only been a bit of fun, nothing more. “I think she wants Penny
to wear it!”
“Oh, no—” Abigail started to object.
“Wants Penny to wear what?” Penny interrupted, stopping her circulating for a moment, then noticing Bernadette in the circle,
turned on her public relations voice. “You’re Aunt B! I’m such a fan. I love your columns and your site. I’ve learned so much
from you about weddings. Etiquette, human behavior. You should teach a class at the New School! Chase told me that you’re
old friends with Abigail. Thank you for coming.” Penny reached out her hands for the two-handed clutch, understanding that
a hug would be too intimate for a media contact who could add an important public relations spin to her wedding.
“Please call me Bernadette. You and Chase make a beautiful couple. My, you and your mother look so much alike. Both Grecian
beauties. Any of your father in you at all?” Bernadette said, nodding in Simon Fox’s direction.
Abigail knew this was a test. She had given Bernadette the background on Penny’s godfather, but clearly, she was getting the same hint of something afoot as Abigail. Simon and Alexa had a palpable chemistry, looking cozier than old friends, more like old lovers. Could they have made some bargain thirty years ago to keep Penny’s true parentage to themselves? Abigail vowed to keep an eye on those two.
“Simon is my godfather,” Penny said adroitly. “We only share a love of Scrabble and ocean swimming,” she added, avoiding the
question while passing the propriety pop quiz. “Now, what am I supposed to be wearing?”
“Nothing, dear. I mean, Sarah is mistaken,” Abigail said.
“My mom hauled out her wedding dress yesterday. In case you wanted to wear a throwback from the nineties. As your newly appointed
bridesmaid, I feel I need to warn you that it has a little cape!”
“Capelet,” Bernadette and Abigail corrected at the same time.
“And how hilarious would it be if I wore Bernadette’s bridesmaid’s dress? So funny. We should do it as a joke anyway. Like
at the bachelorette party, which I am now in charge of!” Sarah cackled, truly misreading the room.
“Penny’s already found her dress. We had such good luck yesterday, didn’t we?” Alexa said, looking at her daughter too late
to notice the burning in her eyes.
“We did. Total spur-of-the-moment decision! One of my favorite designers from Athens, Kalliope Moon. We happened by her shop
in SoHo and they were having a trunk show,” Penny explained a little too desperately.
Alexa stared at her daughter, wondering where this fiction had come from, then she turned to Abigail, who was clearly shocked.
Of course, Alexa thought. Abigail expected to be invited to the dress hunt. That’s why she was trying on her dress; she was
preparing for the invitation. Even Sarah looked a little forlorn to be left out, despite being asked to be a bridesmaid. Alexa
felt awful, truly awful. She wanted to bail out Penny, so she used a little language trick. “Yes! Such... what’s the word
that means good luck but is much longer?”
“Serendipity,” Abigail answered, not believing for one second this woman didn’t know that word.
“Kalliope Moon is quite an up-and-coming designer,” Bernadette said. “I heard that sale was a madhouse. I have people everywhere
and they said the line was around the corner. Do you know her?”
“Yes, we both do. From Athens,” Penny explained. “We’ve taken clients to her shop when we do tours. It was great luck that
Kalliope herself was there to do the fitting.”
“And you bought the dress?” pressed the reporter.
That seemed like an odd question, Abigail thought. Bernadette was a journalist, and it was her job to ask tough questions,
but at an engagement party?
Penny did not miss a beat. She understood the subtext even if her future mother-in-law didn’t. “Oh, yes. I’m not an influencer
or looking for trade-outs. I love Kalliope’s designs and I’m happy to support her work in any way possible. In fact, my mother
found a dress, too.”
Abigail felt apoplectic. Her plan was to scour secondhand shops and hope to get lucky while her counterpart was being fitted
personally by European designers? Why had they run out of money for this part of their lives, the fun years? All that cash
they wasted on Legos and math camp and homecoming limos when they should have been stockpiling money for this exact occasion.
“What serendipity indeed!”
Sarah, once again oblivious to her mother’s distress, said in a dreamy voice, “Do I get to wear a Kalliope Moon bridesmaid’s
dress? I’ve never heard of her, but it’s got to be better than that Laura Ashley number Mom made you wear, Aunt B. Actually,
I wouldn’t mind wearing this,” she said, indicating her sheath, which was both too casual and too raspberry.
“You’ll be in blue,” Penny informed her. The command was another blow to Abigail, who thought she might be consulted about what her adult daughter should wear. Though, it was hard to object to blue. Sarah looked lovely in all shades of blue.
“Care to share any details about your dress, Penny?” Bernadette asked, again in a voice that was far from innocent.
“How would you describe it, Mom?” It was the sweetest tone Penny had taken in days with her.
“Ethereal. Aithérios,” Alexa said, taking Penny’s hand and squeezing it. “You looked like the beautiful sea. ómorfí thálasa.
Magical, my dear.”
Abigail and the others watched as Penny’s eyes welled up. Suddenly, Abigail felt ashamed by her disappointment at being excluded
from the dress shopping. And by her silent internal rant. She had her own daughter, who loved her mother’s expertise in this
area. That was enough. She shouldn’t be greedy and want more than what Sarah would give her. Penny and Alexa obviously had
a deep bond, a connection that she could never breach, nor would she want to. Abigail took a deep breath to take in the moment.
She had a chance to make this right, to undo the wrong of her reaction to the engagement. “I’m sure you will be the most beautiful
bride. I look forward to being as surprised as my son when you walk down the aisle. How wonderful. You’ve checked that off
your list. Both of you!”
Sarah looked at her in wonderment, shocked at her mother’s genuine response.
Bernadette looked at her in astonishment, as if she’d never heard her friend of forty-plus years say anything that sweet.
Alexa looked at her in gratitude, as if she appreciated Abigail rising above her bruised ego at being left out of the dress
shopping.
And Penny looked at her with more tears in her eyes and rushed at her with open arms for a hug. “Thank you, Abigail.”
Once the embrace had ended, Abigail stood back, feeling victorious. She had said the right thing to her future daughter-in-law, and it felt like a triumph. Hopefully, that made up for the law school remark. She would take the win and walk away, not wanting anything unexpected to shift the perfect vibe at the party right now. “I need to herd George to say a few words. Penny, can you round up Chase? May I invite you all to step closer to the front of the patio? I need to tell Chip the bartender to pass out the champagne. Excuse me.”
***
“I ask your indulgence because I’m going to start my remarks by quoting Aristotle. Especially yours, Penelope. And Alexa.”
George tipped his head to Penny and her mother, who both smiled and nodded. This was the sort of spotlight for which a man
like George Blakeman was uniquely qualified, having grown up in a pretentious family where toasts were common at holidays
or special occasions or Tuesday night supper. George carried on the tradition by nabbing prizes for public speaking at school.
He often stood at his dining club in college to give a welcome speech. And during his professional life, the partners always
let him give a rousing victory hurrah at the annual sales meeting, the only task he was truly superior in executing. For George,
any day could be his personal St.Crispin’s Day and he was going to savor the moment.
“Abigail, Sarah, and I welcome you to this humble gathering for our star couple, Penny and Chase. Aristotle wrote, ‘Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies.’ And now that you’ve all had a chance to meet Penny and to see our son and his future bride together, you understand why that is the quote I chose to start with. To Penny and her mother, Alexa, we welcome you into our family and we are honored to be connected with yours. Love gives us the extraordinary gift of expanding our world in so many ways. And now we can say that we have family in California and Greece. And you can claim a branch here in Fair Harbor. We’re all the bigger for their love. To Chase, your mother and I are proud of all you’ve accomplished in your work life. But your choice of a life mate in Penny will count as your greatest accomplishment. Well done. So, if you please, lift your glass to Penny and Chase—two bodies, one soul—and their bright future. Yiamas!”
The crowd roared back in various versions of the traditional Greek toast. Abigail beamed at her husband, joining him at the
front of the crowd. He surprised her sometimes with his confidence. You would never know from looking at George, in his blue
blazer and the green gingham tie from his own wedding, that their world was collapsing around them, both in terms of their
personal finances and place in society. Fewer and fewer people cared about the opinions of a man like George Blakeman, too
old, too pale, and too privileged. But on this day, he was triumphant as lord of the manor. Even in the presence of a real
British lord.
Suddenly there was a blast of three boat horns and the distinct booming of an amplified accented voice. “Ahoy, Blakemans!
Can I get a wee hand?”
The entire crowd turned from the triumphant father on the patio to the harbor and began moving en masse toward the water’s
edge to take in all the commotion. Approaching the dock in an antique Chris-Craft motorboat was the distinct figure of the
mayor of New York, Timmo Lynch. He stood in the stern of the boat, tall and thin, dressed in a blue shirt, red pants, and
dark sunglasses, bullhorn in hand. His thick head of gray hair was windblown, downright sexy, like the Platonic ideal of a
head of hair for a seventy-year-old man. He put down the bullhorn and picked up the line to tie the boat off to the dock,
letting the young man at the wheel do the real work of docking the boat.
One of Sarah’s friends, who had sailed at Brown, raced down the gangplank to lend a hand. She caught the rope, executed the knot, and the mayor of New York climbed out of the boat, hopped onto the deck, and declared, “Fine day for an engagement party. I come bearing sandwiches because Tony at Santini’s Italian market near my place in Northport loves love so much, he insisted on making up a couple of platters when he heard I was bringing the boat over here. Who can help me pass these?”
The famished partygoers burst into applause, as if the mayor were a magician who had completed his grand finale trick of producing
subs out of thin air. But Abigail was horrified. Plastic trays? Common white deli napkins? Mortadella? She watched her son
abandon his fiancée and his drink to sprint across the lawn to assist his boss. He was still the chief of staff even at his
own engagement party.
Abigail scanned the partygoers to take in their expressions. Hadn’t it been George’s finest hour a second ago? Now all eyes
were on Timmo. This was not what she intended. She wasn’t a fan of surprises. Or the mayor. She hoped to find sympathetic
nods in her direction. But instead, she caught two distinct reactions to the arrival of Hizzoner: Bernadette’s mouth agape
and Alexa’s intent stare. She knew in that moment that Bernadette was on board to cover the wedding. And that Alexa had more
life in her than she suspected.