Chapter Four #2
My heart lands back in my chest, but not without a little turbulence. It’s not ideal, but it’s not worth stressing out the bride over. I’ll figure it out. It’ll just be a really busy, really emotionally exhausting week for me that I’ll somehow survive. Sober. No problem.
“What’s the problem?” Gin asks. She can read me like a piece of sheet music.
“Nothing! I thought there might be something, but it’s nothing.” I set my phone down and keep my spirits up. “I’ll be in Galena earlier that weekend, but I’ll figure it out. Zero worries.”
“Okay, good.” Gin sighs, and her shoulders relax. I wait for her to ask about Galena; instead, she prods a samosa with her fork before picking it up and biting into it like a chicken nugget. “God, Alice. I’m so excited. Virginia Bhat. Doesn’t that sound good?”
“You’re taking his last name, then?”
She nods while she chews. “I’m more than happy to drop any affiliation with the Bennetts.”
Gin doesn’t discuss her parents much, but they’ve crossed my mind more than once recently.
Last I heard, the Bennetts were still living in the same Memphis suburb that Gin has never returned to.
Unless things have radically changed, Mr. and Mrs. Bennett are liable to interpret their daughter marrying a man as clear evidence you really can pray the gay away.
I try to sneak up on the question without ruining the mood. “Are your parents invited to the wedding?”
Gin scoffs. “No way. They don’t even know I’m engaged.”
Grief begs me to shake her by the shoulders and shout, INVITE THEM! YOU COULD REGRET IT WHEN THEY’RE DEAD! But I know better than to extend too much grace to the parents that called Gin “a lost soul” when she came out as bi.
“Let’s talk about something else,” she mutters, and I’m grateful for it. We have so much more ground to cover, but Gin beats me to our next topic. “Let’s talk about the bachelorette party.”
Not exactly what I had in mind, but I sweep up my minor frustration and stuff it away. I had plenty of months to vent about Dad. It’s Gin’s turn to talk through a life-changing event.
“Have you done the survey yet?” Gin asks. “Renee and I got drinks last night, and she wouldn’t tell me what was on it.”
“Did she tell you it was almost fifty questions?”
“Thorough,” Gin remarks.
“Exhausting,” I correct her. I reach for my phone. “I can show you, if you want.”
Gin’s smile tucks in at the corners. “I think Renee wants all those details to be a surprise.” She swigs her seltzer, then adds, “She lives really close to here, you know.”
My body reacts like I’ve just been told my building was constructed on top of a sinkhole. I assumed Renee Roberts lived in a high-rise downtown or at the top of a very, very tall ivory tower on the North Shore. “How far from here?”
“Like, three blocks? Closer to…what was that bar you used to love? Tweedy’s?”
I force a small smile and a polite “Oh, no way,” but my mind has been abruptly ejected from this conversation and into a map of my neighborhood, trying to determine the probability that Renee has been strategically avoiding me for as long as we’ve lived within walking distance. If she has, I hope she keeps it up.
“I wanted to talk to you about her.” Gin shifts in her seat, less comfortable with this than she was about her parents. “I want things to be good between the two of you. I know at the engagement dinner Renee was a little…short with you.”
A little short. What an interesting choice of words.
Whatever Gin says next, I don’t hear it over the blood pounding in my ears.
A little short. The timeline between now and Gin and Rishi’s Labor Day–weekend wedding could accurately be described as a little short, but the way Renee spoke to me—and just as bad, the way she didn’t, how she turned her back and boxed me out.
That wasn’t a little short. That was pure mean-girl behavior, which is exactly what I’ve come to expect from Renee Roberts.
I tune back in for the tail end of Gin’s impassioned speech. “You’re both totally different people from when you first met.”
I give a noncommittal shrug. She’s right that I’ve changed, but it’s tougher for me to believe that about Renee, given our last exchange.
This is the same woman who used to show up to Gin’s birthday parties early to redo my decorations, then insist on Gin opening her present during the party so we could ooh and aah over the best, most thoughtful gift of the evening.
I wouldn’t be shocked if present-day Renee pulled the same crap at Gin’s bachelorette.
Gin sucks in a long breath through her nose, and it sputters back out through her lips. “Look. It would really mean a lot to me if you just tried,” she says. “You can at least be nice and just try with Renee, right?”
She stares at me, eyes rimmed with hope. I can’t extinguish that hope. That’s bridal hope. Matrimonial hope. That would be a crime.
“Alice?” Gin presses. “I really think you guys might actually get along once you get to know each other.”
“I’m sure we will,” I say, but even to me it sounds hollow; two lies in one evening is more than I’m equipped for. The next part, though, is honest. “I’ll try,” I say. “I promise. I mean, hey. We have you in common, right? That’s a good start.”
“Right.” Gin sighs with her entire body. “Thank God. Because you’re both really, really important to me.” She squeezes my shoulder, her eyes wide and glassy. “You guys are my family.”
My stomach plummets to my kneecaps and rebounds to my throat. I, of all people, understand exactly how important family can be.
Mom
Did you see this?! They’re making a musical about The Handful!!
Alice
I think that’s fake, Mom.
Mom
Really? How can you tell?
Alice
Look at the name of the website. Not legit. And they spelled broadway wrong.
Alice
Also, look at Dad on the poster. His hands don’t look right. I think he has six fingers.
Mom
Dang! You’re good! My old eyes don’t catch that stuff
Mom
I’m glad I sent it to you before I shared it! Do you have time for a quick phone call this week? Or maybe we could get lunch if you’re not too busy. My treat!