Chapter 27 The One that Got Away
Chapter27 The One that Got Away
The Mother of the Bride
Six weeks! Six weeks! Penny had been ghosting her for six weeks. Her own mother! After the original call at La Mariposa, Alexa
hadn’t been able to reach her daughter by phone at all and had received only a handful of texts. Penny had announced that
she was “going offline” to “disassociate from relationships and focus on work,” but Alexa didn’t think she really meant it,
not with her anyway. She couldn’t remember a day since the advent of smartphones when Penny hadn’t at least sent her a funny
meme or heart emoji, a daily reminder that they would always be a team. But six weeks and counting without a decent phone
conversation, barely even a text. Around week three, Penny responded to a text inquiring about her health with “Am OK. Need
space.” She added a rocket ship emoji for emphasis.
Space! How much more space did her daughter need? Her annoyance in weeks one and two turned to true heartbreak by weeks three and four and nonstop worrying by week five. Now at week six, she turned to the internet to search “signs of depression,” “Can calling off a wedding lead to a medical condition?” and “Is it common for thirty-year-old daughters to resent their mothers?” The internet provided many theories but few answers, and Alexa used work to distract her from the fact that Penny had abandoned her.
Alexa had led three trips to Southern Italy in the last month for groups of families and friends celebrating birthdays, anniversaries,
and reunions. Even though she remained parked in Italy while the groups flew in and out, it was still a nonstop pace. She
was starting to feel her age when these tours ran back to back and she was trekking the familiar streets of Palermo or Taormina
with groups of first-timers who asked the same questions over and over again. She needed to cultivate some new trip leaders
who could take her place on the tours while she stayed stationary for the summer on Patmos, running the business off her laptop
in the lobby of the family’s hotel.
Despite the fatigue and cranky knees, she was thankful that it had been a successful summer for Odyssey Vacations, without
any major fiascos. “Every trip without a broken hip on those ancient cobblestoned streets is a miracle,” she always told her
staff. But despite the distance, all Alexa could think about when she closed her tired eyes at night was Penny and Chase’s
canceled wedding.
According to Abigail—who was using Sarah as her primary source—Chase had barely divulged any information except that the two
of them were still not back together, by mutual agreement. They “decided to decide” about next steps once Penny had completed
her work project and Chase had gotten the mayor and the city through the UN General Assembly. By Abigail’s calculation, that
would be later in September. But as each week ticked by, Abigail evolved from hopeful to hope-adjacent to nearly completely
without hope, texting to Alexa, “I’m going to have to let Aunt B know by the end of September. She’s making travel plans soon.
I don’t want to lead her on any longer.”
The Merry Widows checked in from their summer retreats in Maine and Whidbey Island, filling the group text chain with questions and pitching ideas to reunite the young couple. Toots was convinced that this would require an all-hands weekend in New York to work their magic in person. She was formulating a plan to hitch a ride on her stepson’s corporate jet. (“The empty seats are just sitting there.”) Alexa knew there was a germ of an idea there, but what could they do that wouldn’t be labeled entrapment?
“You say entrapment like it’s a bad thing,” Ming texted back.
And the clock ticked louder.
Back in Montecito and aware that final deposits would be required in a few weeks, Alexa had tried to work, but it was no use.
She was deflated, and jet lag was catching up to her. She knocked off early, went home, and poured herself an afternoon glass
of wine, something she never did. Then she sought counsel.
“Is it my fault?” Alexa asked Simon Fox. She was once again at the island in her cozy kitchen on Zoom. It was nighttime in
England and Alexa felt a touch guilty that she was interrupting his couple time with Hazel, but she needed his perspective.
No one knew her like Simon and no one who knew her had spent as much one-on-one time with Penny. “Was I a selfish parent who
never taught her about loving relationships?”
“Were those her exact words?”
“Very close.”
“That doesn’t even sound like Penny. I’ve never seen any large-scale resentment in her that would make her lash out at you
like this. I’m not saying it doesn’t come from somewhere, but I don’t believe you’re the cause. She understands the choices
you made. We’ve had that conversation.” Simon was succinct and to the point, as if briefing his constituents.
Penny’s lengthy stays at Simon’s orchards must had led to plenty of time for deep talks. Still, it surprised her to hear Simon
reveal the content of their conversations with words like “large-scale resentment.” Alexa had to ask, “Is there small-scale
resentment?”
He avoided answering the question by responding, “You said she nearly had a panic attack after the dress fitting. Could it
be as simple as nerves?”
“She was panicked about the wedding itself but not the groom, not the concept of commitment. She had a long list of things she didn’t want to do, like first-look photos. But overall she seemed very secure in her choice to get married, no matter how she felt about the wedding itself.”
“I’m not even going to ask what a first-look photo is.”
“It’s the photographer’s way of ruining the only interesting moment in a wedding, when the groom sees the bride for the first
time. Now, it’s a staged photo op at a secondary location.”
“Ah, sounds performative. My least favorite kind of behavior,” Simon declared. “It’s a shame, really. I like Chase. I thought
they complemented each other well. I’ve been on the phone with him quite a bit lately and I’ve been impressed.”
“You have? Why? How?” Alexa deliberately poured another half glass of wine off camera, as if Simon would care.
“Remember when the mayor showed up at the party? Well, he slipped me his card and said if I ever needed anything to call.
I had a couple of questions about that distributor in Brooklyn I’d been working with and needed to smooth out some sales permit
issues. New York State has their own hard cider business so I was getting some pushback as an import. I thought the mayor
might have some thoughts on who I should petition. We had a good long conversation, then he handed me off to Chase to close
the deal.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“It’s business. Beverage distribution in the State of New York doesn’t seem to be your thing.”
“How about my possible future son-in-law calling off the wedding? That’s my thing.”
Simon shook his head. “I don’t think we exchanged more than five words about that.” He paused and then said, “But maybe I
should have.”
“What does that mean?”
“Normally, my British self wouldn’t get involved in someone else’s relationship. Too personal. But Chase reminds me of me. He feels strongly about his community, about service. And I like to think I have the same edge he has. At least I used to. Remember, I was ambitious once. I don’t want him to regret not pursuing Penny hard enough. She could become the one that got away if he doesn’t do something soon.”
“That is the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard you say. And I’m Greek so I know emotions.”
“Do you remember that girl Vanessa I was with in my late twenties? Dark hair, the red lipstick?”
“I was so jealous. Of her. Not you. She was so confident. And she had that great leather jacket. And that car! I liked her.”
An image popped into her head of the three of them in Vanessa’s Austin Mini Metro zipping around London in the eighties. Vanessa
could smoke and drive a stick shift at the same time. Those were the days.
“Well, I was doing the music writing in London and sure I was going to break through any minute. And she was a journalist
in world affairs. I was crazy about her. We weren’t together that long, but there was something there. Then she got this big
opportunity at the Times desk in Hong Kong and we split. We both wanted to establish our careers before we committed, so she went to Hong Kong and
I stayed in London. And that was it. But the day she left, she came to say goodbye to me. My mates were at my place watching
football. It was awkward. I blew it. And instead of walking her downstairs to say a proper goodbye and tell her how I felt,
I just waved from the couch and watched her leave. Like a wanker.”
“And she was the one that got away?”
He nodded.
“Oh, what a relief. I thought I was the one that got away.”
“No, you were the one that stuck around because we hadn’t made it messy. Well, not too messy.”
“Do you think she feels the same way? That you were the one that got away?”
Simon thought for a minute. “That’s the imaginary conversation I have with myself when I’m out walking the orchards. That we see each other at a coffee shop or in a dimly lit hotel bar and revisit that day. I’ve convinced myself that Vanessa knows what I know... that we could have had something.”
Poor Hazel , Alexa thought. Does she know her husband is still dreaming about a woman he slept with forty years ago? Probably. Hazel was a very practical sort, more concerned about drainage in the orchards than spicing up the bedroom. Alexa
always had the sense that Simon and Hazel’s marriage was more of a real estate deal than a love match. Her family owned the
property next door and had proper money; he had a title and most of his hair left. They were companionable together, but they
never sizzled, not even in the early days. Everybody made accommodations, Alexa knew, and she suspected that Simon and Hazel
had agreed to their own arrangement. She would never ask him directly because they still had boundaries and because he respected
Hazel even if he no longer desired her. So back to the topic at hand. “What does this have to do with Chase and Penny?”
“He needs someone to tell him to get off the couch and walk the girl down to her car. Metaphorically speaking. He needs a
nudge. One that may change the course of his life. You know as well as I do, work is not a substitute for a relationship.
It’s why you have Penny. And I married Hazel twenty years after I let Vanessa leave.”
That and the land. “I can’t tell Chase what to do.”
“No, you can’t. But the mayor can,” Simon retorted. “And you can work on Penny. Something has rattled her. You should fly to New York and find out what it is. Perhaps she’s not pining. Maybe she’s thriving. She’s a grown woman. She’s allowed to change her mind. Remember when you were thirty? You were managing million-dollar budgets on sets all over the world. She’s as capable as you. She may know exactly what she’s doing. Maybe she really doesn’t want to live in Queens. Or be a political wife. It’s not for the faint of heart. Even my wife, who barely registers my time in London, isn’t keen on attending any formal events. And, you weren’t exactly on board with this whole thing, as I recall, so Penny’s throwing you under the bus a bit.”
“That’s exactly what I feel like. Like I’ve been hit by a bus.” Alexa felt a heaviness in her whole body. “I feel like my
own choices are coming home to roost. What if I somehow ruined her for marriage?”
“You brought Penny into this world with love and intention. That’s the most any parent can do,” Simon said, visibly yawning.
Alexa felt tears prick in her eyes. She sometimes did wish Simon were Penny’s secret father. “Thank you, Simon. Lots of love.”
“To you too.” And the screen blinked off.
Alexa had been trying for weeks not to let Penny’s grievances bury her. Maybe Simon was right. This was her chance. She could
get Chase off the couch. And she had the Merry Widows, with a corporate jet in the wings, waiting for their assignment. Abigail,
too, who’d been adding thoughts and observations to her Google Doc like it was high-level oppo research: Chase looks thin. Chase came out to the house for Labor Day weekend for no good reason. Chase told Lloyd he regrets not sending
flowers the day after the fight.
It was time to act.
She opened the drawer in her kitchen where she kept all the cards of service people who had fixed her appliances or installed
a new garage door opener or washed her windows. The men who had come into her life to perform the tasks she didn’t want or
know how to do and then disappeared. Next to those cards was the one she had tucked away after the engagement party in Connecticut.
The card read Timothy Lynch , and then a private cell phone number. “If I can ever be of service,” he’d said with a wink, slipping it into her hand as
she passed him on the way out the door.
The card stock was heavy and the printing clean and sharp. Alexa took another sip of wine and dialed the mayor’s number. It
was time to intervene. Operation Butterfly was a go.