Chapter 7
Grace's mother called on Thursday evening.
That wasn't unusual.
Margaret Samson called every Thursday sometime between six and seven while she watered the flowers on her back patio.
Grace could almost picture the routine without asking.
Her mother would have the cordless phone tucked beneath her chin, the watering wand in one hand, and a glass of iced tea sitting on the wrought-iron table beside the petunias.
"What color are the bridesmaids' dresses?" Margaret asked after they had covered work, the weather, and Grace's reminder that her mother was forgetting to take her cholesterol medication again.
Grace smiled. "We haven't picked them yet."
"Oh." Her mother sounded surprised. "I thought you had."
"No."
There was a pause. "I could have sworn Luke's mother told Aunt Diane they were sage green."
Grace frowned. "Sage?"
"Yes."
Grace walked over to the refrigerator and leaned against it. "We haven't even looked."
"Hmm."
Margaret sounded puzzled now. "I wonder where that came from."
"I don't know." "Maybe Brooklyn?"
Grace's head lifted. "Why would you say Brooklyn?"
"Well..." Her mother laughed lightly. "I met her."
Grace blinked. "When?"
"At the charity luncheon yesterday."
Grace felt a familiar knot begin to tighten beneath her ribs. "I didn't know she was going."
"I don't think she knew I was, either. We ended up at the same table." Margaret's voice was warm with genuine affection.
"She is lovely, Grace."
Grace closed her eyes. "I'm sure."
"She talked about you constantly."
That surprised her. "She did?"
"Oh, yes. She kept saying how excited she was to finally have another woman around who loved Luke as much as his family did."
Grace's grip tightened on the phone. "What else did she say?"
"Nothing bad." Her mother hesitated. "In fact, she was almost... protective."
"Protective?" "She said wedding planning can overwhelm brides, and that she was trying to take as much off your plate as possible because your business has been so busy."
Grace stared out the kitchen window.
The late afternoon sun slanted across her backyard, catching the edges of the hydrangeas in pale gold.
"I see."
"I hope you don't mind me saying this..." Margaret's voice softened. "...but I think you should let people help more."
Grace laughed quietly. "I am."
"No, sweetheart." Her mother knew her too well. "I mean really let them."
After they hung up, Grace remained standing in the kitchen. She wasn't angry with her mother. Margaret had only repeated what she'd experienced. Brooklyn had been charming. Kind. Supportive.
If anything, she'd made Grace sound accomplished and overworked. She hadn't criticized her once.
And yet...
Grace couldn't shake the feeling that Brooklyn had accomplished something much more subtle.
She had introduced herself to Grace's mother as someone already deeply involved in the wedding. Without asking permission. Without saying anything untrue. Without giving anyone a reason to question it.
That evening, Grace met Paige for a drink.
They chose a quiet wine bar halfway between their homes, one with overstuffed chairs and enough background music to make conversations feel private.
Paige took one look at Grace's face and pushed the wine list aside. "What happened?"
Grace told her about the call.
Paige listened without interrupting.
When Grace finished, Paige traced a finger around the rim of her glass. "I've been thinking about Brooklyn."
Grace smiled tiredly. "That makes two of us."
"No." Paige shook her head. "I mean I've been trying to figure out why she bothers me."
"And?"
"I think I finally know."
Grace waited.
"She never asks permission."
Grace frowned slightly. "What do you mean?"
"Think about it." Paige leaned forward. "She doesn't ask, 'Would you like me to stop by the florist?'"
Grace nodded slowly. "She stops by."
"Exactly."
"She doesn't ask if she should help with the seating chart."
"She has an opinion about the seating chart."
Grace looked down at the table.
"She doesn't ask if she's welcome at dress shopping."
"She brings cupcakes."
The pattern settled over Grace all at once. Every time Brooklyn acted, everyone else was forced to react. If Grace objected, she looked ungrateful. If Grace stayed silent, Brooklyn became more established. There was no moment where Grace actually made a decision.
Someone else made it for her.
"My God."
Paige nodded. "She's always one step ahead because she's already done the thing before anyone can tell her not to."
Grace thought about Luke. About the florist. The photographer. The venue. The Instagram post.
Every incident had started exactly the same way. Brooklyn had simply... arrived.
"You know what the worst part is?" Grace asked quietly.
Paige shook her head.
"I don't think she even realizes she's doing it."
"I'm not sure I agree."
Grace looked up.
"I think she knows exactly what she's doing."
"You do?"
"I think..." Paige chose her words carefully. "I think she's spent twenty-nine years believing she's part of Luke's future. Maybe not as his wife. But as a permanent fixture."
Grace was silent.
"And now," Paige continued, "you're changing the shape of his life."
She reached across the table and covered Grace's hand. "That does make her dangerous."
On Saturday morning, Luke called. "Want to go furniture shopping?"
Grace smiled. "For what furniture?"
"The house we don't own yet."
She laughed. "I thought we agreed to stop planning twelve years into the future."
"This is six months into the future."
"That's different?"
"I've already measured the guest room in my imagination."
She could hear the smile in his voice. The ease.bThe man she'd fallen in love with. "I'd like that."
"Good."
"I'll pick you up at ten."
Grace hung up feeling lighter than she had in days. Maybe Paige was right. Maybe Brooklyn was simply going to have to become background noise.
Grace couldn't build a marriage around reacting to another woman. She had to build it around Luke. Around them.
At ten sharp, Luke pulled into her driveway. She stepped outside carrying her purse and sunglasses. He climbed out of the truck before she reached it.
"Morning."
He kissed her. Long enough that she forgot everything else. When they finally pulled apart, he rested his forehead against hers. "I've missed this."
"So have I."
He smiled. "No wedding talk today ."
"No wedding."
"No family."
"No Brooklyn."
Grace laughed.
"Especially no Brooklyn."
Luke opened the passenger door for her.
As she climbed in, his phone buzzed in the cup holder. He glanced down automatically. His smile faded. Grace looked at the screen.
Brooklyn
Luke didn't touch it. The phone buzzed again. Then a third time. He let out a slow breath and turned the phone face down. "It can wait."
Grace looked at him. "Are you sure?"
He reached across the console and took her hand. "I'm on a date with my fiancée." He backed out of the driveway.
For the first time in weeks, Grace felt something. inside her finally begin to settle.
Across town, Brooklyn looked down at the unanswered messages on her own phone. She didn't send another.
Instead, she opened Luke's family group chat.
Then she typed a very different message.
Does anyone know if Luke's coming to tomorrow's family barbecue? I don't want to make his favorite potato salad if they're busy wedding shopping.
Within thirty seconds, Elaine replied.
Of course they're coming. I'll make sure of it.
Brooklyn smiled faintly before setting her phone aside.
She hadn't texted Luke again. She didn't need to.
There was always another way in.