Bonus First Chapter
“And so it begins.” I leaned over to whisper to Gabby, my sister’s best friend, as my mother, Mrs. Evelyn von Dutton—yes, of the Grosse Pointe Shores Von Duttons—clinked her crystal champagne flute three times to get everyone’s attention. Her delicate, bird-like physique was accentuated by the golden cream silk dress that she wore tonight to upstage the bride in her stunning green. My mother and her magical superpower, her ability not to age. Flawless porcelain skin kept tight and elastic. Thick hair pulled up in a twist. We got the “are you three sisters?” question all the time.
It was a well-known secret that mother took trips to “rejuvenating spas” every couple of months and came back having shaved years off her appearance. Funny how the spa was located next to one of the country’s most renowned plastic surgeons. She used to be a deep brunette just like my sister and me, but after each of those refresher visits, she returned with hair a little bit blonder than before. Evelyn considered aging a congenital disease that we Von Dutton women inherited from her and were expected to fight to the very end.
My father stood to her left and slightly behind her with his hands resting on her hips in his stance of solidarity. He looked as handsome as ever in his silk Armani suit. He felt no need to cover the slight graying at his temples because for a man, especially a man of wealth and power such as my father, gray looked distinguished.
“Thank you all for joining us today to celebrate the engagement of our beautiful daughter Gretchen and her perfect match, Mr. Stanton McCain. Gretchen and Stanton have been in love for as long as any of us can remember. We are so pleased to finally be uniting our families.” My mother had a way of making every word out of her mouth sound pretentious. Like Mrs. Howell from Gilligan’s Island . I held an affinity for vintage things such as vintage television shows thanks to my defacto-grandparents Alessandra and Rochester our married housekeeper and grounds chief who’d taken me and my sister under their wings years ago—without my parents' knowledge—and given us, or at least me, a relatively normal childhood when our parents were simply too busy to parent.
Everyone clapped. Of course they did. My eyes slid over to where the happy couple stood, Stanton’s arm wrapped around my sister’s waist, both of them wearing huge smiles. Beautiful Stanton, tall and broad-shouldered, with a face like a movie star. He wore his deep chestnut hair styled business cut but his most defining feature had to be his storm-cloud gray eyes. I sighed, momentarily forgetting myself. My sister in her emerald green silk looked just like our mother, but still wearing her naturally deep brunette hair twisted up in a ridiculously expensive updo. I tended to do my own hair. It was fun for me to play with styles and I’d gotten good at it over the years. Only a professional could touch my sister’s locks. But maybe that was why she got Stanton.
Our fathers had done business together for years. Our mothers sat on boards for charities together and lunched regularly.
Stanton and Gretchen: the perfect couple. Not .
It wasn’t sour grapes. I was happy for them if this was what they wanted, but I’d just never understood it. Ant and I—Ant, the name I’d called Stanton since probably the first day we’d been introduced as kids. “Stanton” had seemed too stuffy. Ant, he and I always had more in common. He loved going down to Comerica Park to watch the Tigers play. I loved going to Comerica Park to watch the Tigers play. Gretchen only went to PGA tournaments and tennis matches. Ant and I both loved the travel channel and cooking. Two things that my sister would have nothing to do with. Forget about eating a drippy burger, Gretchen never ate anything without a knife and fork unless it was an hors d’oeuvre like caviar.
Seriously, only two years separated my sister and me. So it wasn’t like he’d be robbing the cradle. But for Ant, it had always been Gretchen. Maybe because of that more refined, highbrow nature or maybe because her boobs were about a half a cup larger than mine. It could’ve been her chiseled cheekbones or her deep, ocean-blue eyes. My cheeks had a bit more roundness to the apples and my eyes… Somehow, I’d ended up with a muddy brown.
The worst part for me had to be that my sister simply wasn’t nice. The world revolved around Gretchen. If by chance, you found yourself in the position where you outshined her in some capacity, big or small, her congratulations came in the form of an obvious backhanded compliment.
Matthews, our butler, because yes, our family had a butler, approached my mother. “Ms. Von Dutton, lunch is ready to be served.” He came to work for the family a couple of years ago after our first butler, Randall, retired. He was nice but kept to himself or the other staff, never engaging much in conversation with me. Tonight he wore his navy blue jacket with the family crest embroidered over the breast pocket. Again, yes , the family had a crest. My mother had the staff dress in uniforms at all times while out among the family and guests. Why? Just–why? But he learned the hard way, from what I’d been told after the fact because I’d still been away at school, that he learned the hard way to always defer to my mother in the presence of large groups. Parties were her artistic medium. Gretchen was the apple that didn’t fall far from the tree.
“If everyone would please make their way to the dining room. Lunch will be served,” Mother said.
Let me just say, the Von Duttons didn’t do anything on a budget. There were so many options from seared swordfish to grilled eggplant, two kinds of pasta, one Italian white truffle, and one with lemon and walnuts. Soup courses. Salad courses and more dessert options than a small island nation could consume in a year.
Gabby, Gretchen’s best friend, dropped into the seat next to me. She looked beautiful in black. She came from a well-respected Mexican-American family out of Texas. They didn’t come close to the wealth and prestige of the McCains or Von Duttons, but they had enough means to allow her to continue to be friends with my sister. “Have you tried the swordfish?” she asked. “It’s heavenly.”
I shrugged. “It’s not my thing.” My mother had us eating off personally monogrammed china she’d purchased specifically for this lunch—white porcelain with real gold edging and letters. Talk about OTT. “But I can’t wait to see how they top this at the wedding.”
At least we didn’t have to deal with a bridezilla. My family had the wealth to buy anything and everything Gretchen’s heart desired. With that kind of cake tossed around, people didn’t tell her no .
As we ate, more glasses clanked and the speeches started. Gabby’s face fell and she sighed.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Oh, nothing.”
“It’s not nothing , Gabs. You don’t sigh like that unless something’s bothering you.”
“Once she’s married, she won’t have much time for me. Your mother already has her life planned out. The charities she’s to join. All the dinner parties she’s to host.”
“You’re her best friend. She’ll always make time for you.”
“No. Your mother has already set up play dates with your sister and other married socialites.”
I popped out a laugh loud enough to catch the eye of Ant. I shrunk down in my seat and mouthed, “Sorry.” But come on, play dates ?
“What? I’m serious. She had lunch with Christina Rivers the other day. I’ve known Christina Rivers as long as Gretch has, but I wasn’t invited.”
“That doesn’t mean?—”
“Sylvie Sheridan was.”
“My sister can’t stand Sylvie Sheridan.” Secretly, I couldn’t stand Sylvie Sheridan either. If there was ever anyone on the planet to out-pretentious my sister, Sylvie Sheridan took that trophy.
“ Exactly ,” she practically shouted with exasperation. “The only things those women have in common are wealth and husbands. I have a little wealth, but not a husband and that makes me a lesser class.”
“Well, it’s not much of a consolation, but you still have me.”
She squeezed my arm. “The sister I never had.”
Here’s the thing. I really hoped Gabby was wrong about my mother, but as the lunch wore on, it became blatantly obvious that only the married couples got my sister’s and Ant’s attention for more than a few exchanges of “Thank you for coming” before my mother swooped in, shuffling them off to another table. Crappy, right?
Well, as it turned out, what they lacked in manners, my parents totally made up for with copious amounts of Dom Pérignon, of which both Gabby and I indulged until, for my part, I couldn’t feel my feet and walking seemed more of a concept than a tangible state of being.
Gabby leaned in conspiratorially. “She’s making a big— huge mistake.” Either her words slurred or my hearing slurred. Fingers crossed on her slurring because I never met anyone drunk enough to have slurred hearing. “She doesn’t want to marry him. He’s a good guy, but they have nothing in common.”
“That’s what I’m saying,” I slurred back, slapping the table hard, then I hiccuped because hello —classy. “You know she’ll never make him happy the way he deserves.” And I punctuated my point by waggling my finger in the air because nothing says ‘ I’m right’ like a finger waggle.
Ant looked so beautiful as he and my sister moved from table to table talking with their guests. In my opinion, nobody in the history of the world came close to everything that was Ant. As I scanned the room, I noticed a room full of tawny-haired men, but none of them had the richness of tobacco with the highlights and lowlights that I’d give almost anything to run my fingers through. The tiny flips and waves that never seemed to be tamable enough for my sister’s taste. He caught my eye again for the briefest second. Every time he looked at me, it felt like looking into a thunderstorm.
Ah, well… Look at me waxing poetic.
It took them long enough, but they finally made their way over to Gabby and me gliding into the two empty chairs at our table to take a necessary reprieve from being the perfect couple entertaining their guests. Why did every thought in my head make me feel like a terrible person? I should be happy for Ant, finally getting what he’d always wanted.
“What are you doing?” my sister snapped at me low so only those of us at the table could hear.
I looked at her, dumbfounded. “Celebrating your engagement? Just like everybody else.”
“Everybody else doesn’t look a second and a half away from falling off their chair.”
“Oh, no… I’d need to be way more drunk to fall off a chair.”
Ant snickered and my sister shot him a “don’t encourage her” glare that he completely ignored because we’d always been friends and I’d been making him laugh most of his life. Strangely, Gabby just sat there silently glaring at both Ant and my sister. She was really upset by this marriage. I understood. The four of us hung out all the time. The three of us—me, my sister, and Ant—growing up. Gretch met Gabby in college. Ant and Gretch applied and got into the same college, Brown University, the one I’d applied and gotten into two years later. Sure, my other friends or Ant’s other friends would join us, but at the core were the four of us. Not that I particularly liked hanging with my sister all the time, but given the incomes of my friends in high school, my parents didn’t trust my friendship decision-making skills. And now? We’d hit the end of an era. I doubted it would be too long before my sister pushed out those anticipated 2.5 kids, widening the gulch between us. That angered me even more. I wasn’t ready to lose Ant to his responsibilities. I needed more time. Gabby needed more time–see? I wasn’t being selfish. Altruism at its finest.
I cleared my throat and with a newfound sense of drunken stupidity or clarity, the jury was still out on which, I said, “I don’t think you should do it.”
“Do what?” Ant asked.
“Get married, duh . You’re twenty-five. Why rush?”
“This is where it was always leading,” he answered paradoxically. Why paradoxically? Because his lips tipped up in the corners indulgently as if speaking to a kid sister, but his eyes–if I had to give the look in his eyes a label, I’d call it resigned. “So why not now?” he finished.
Because I’m not ready , I wanted to scream yet I held my tongue saying nothing. Go restraint!
By his reaction, I didn’t appear to have ticked him off, even though I internally kicked myself for blurting that out. My sister, however… Her face darkened to this beet shade of anger.
“Pen,” she hissed, “just go.” But Gabby placed her hand on my sister’s arm, causing Gretchen to close her eyes and compose herself. “You don’t have to go, but for God’s sake, sober up.”
She stood up to leave. Ant stayed seated a moment longer before joining her. “I’m done,” I said to Gabby, pushing up from my chair. I’d be lying if I denied that my gaze lingered on Ant as he and my sister laughed at something some other guest had said.
Today totally sucked.