Epilogue
Six Months Later
Chloe’s reception is not held at the Oak Room of the Laerke Inn, but rather a chic little marina club on the coast after a breathtaking ceremony on the beach.
The walls of the club are lined with her ersatz food stalls, and the guests are raving.
Accessible options like tacos, street corn, and crêpes of every possible variety are available, as well as more adventurous choices like Chinese dumplings and shawarma from the Middle East. The best part is there is not a discernible scrap of seafood in sight and Chris is in no danger of spending his wedding night in the ER.
Robin stands at the periphery of the reception, shaking her head.
I’d been worried she’d try to make some sort of scene, but so far we’ve been lucky.
She didn’t show up in mourning weeds or find a moment to object to the wedding like they do in movies.
Nothing so crass. She’s dressed in an appropriate mother-of-the-bride dress in her signature robin’s-egg blue (pun fully intended, though she’d never admit it) and she looks beautiful—stunning, really—without overshadowing Chloe, who is swaying to the music in her new husband’s arms in a cloud of lace and tulle.
Reluctantly, I break free from Nikolai’s embrace, walk up beside Robin, and place a hand on her shoulder.
I force myself to use a conciliatory tone.
There aren’t any magical redos anymore, though I’m actually more worried that Robin will wish for one when she looks back on today.
“Please don’t do this. Not today. Chloe will see you. ”
She doesn’t shoot me her usual daggers, but she doesn’t soften her glare either. “I don’t see why it matters. Clearly she doesn’t care what I think, so she won’t be offended if I don’t approve.”
Instead of pulling away, I wrap an arm around her. “You know she cares what you think. Probably more than she should. But that doesn’t mean you’re always going to get your way.”
She stiffens under my touch. “It’s not her I’m upset with. Not really.” She twists out of my embrace, and her cold steel-blue eyes lock with mine. “How could you convince her to gang up against me?”
Of course this is my fault. I set my teeth but do not growl—no matter how desperately I might wish to.
“I did you a favor. If I’d stood aside and let you steamroll her, she would have resented you for the rest of her life.
She deserves to do as she likes for her own wedding.
Especially since she and Chris are footing the bill. Can’t you understand that?”
She purses her lips in response.
I keep my blood pressure in check. Barely. “Listen, Robin, I can only imagine how hard it is to watch your nest empty out, but you’re helping your cause here. I don’t want to see them cut you off because you stomped on their toes one too many times.”
She crosses one arm over the other. “It’s all the same nowadays.
A parent can’t express a simple opinion without an adult child crying about boundaries.
” She spits the word like it’s gone rancid on her tongue.
“Next thing you know, they won’t even take your calls, and you find out about the birth of your grandchildren from a second cousin who’s still allowed to follow them on Instagram. ”
I refrain from pointing out that she never “expresses a simple opinion.” She proclaims gospel and expects us all to fall in line and live it.
The Book of Robin. But if I point out a truth that pointedly, I’ll lose her.
Instead, I adopt a tone of concern. “That’s precisely the fate that awaited you if I’d let you have your way.
Chloe might tolerate your intrusions now, but Chris won’t be as accepting. ”
I can envision how things would play out. Chloe adores Chris, so when Robin oversteps at some point in the not-too-distant future and Chris holds up a mirror to the way Robin treats her, Chloe won’t hesitate to go low-contact.
And that’s the way it should be when two people love each other.
I think of my own experiences with Rian’s mother. I’d done my best to hold up that same mirror, but he’d refused to look. It hurts now knowing that he hadn’t cared enough for me to take my side, but as I see Nikolai making small talk with my great-aunt Carlotta, I know I’m better off.
Robin chooses not to respond to my premonitions of their future falling-out, so I change my tactic. “I’m honestly curious: You didn’t commandeer Annabelle and Brian’s wedding. Why do you feel the need to take over Chloe’s?”
Her pinched expression slackens by a minute fraction.
“That’s not the same at all. The mother of the groom’s responsibilities are .
. . different from those of the mother of the bride.
Annabelle has living parents, so I couldn’t very well .
. . influence things . . . the way I ought to be able to do with you girls. ”
I almost snort. Influence things. That implies the bride still maintains a measure of agency, which would not be the case if Robin got her way. Six months ago, I probably would have given my very best snort of derision. But as fun as it would be in the moment, it won’t help reach her.
I lean a little closer to her. “Who planned your wedding, Mom?”
Her eyes widen. It’s been a long time since I’ve called her that. She looks out at the guests milling about, every face but hers smiling, and her eyes grow misty.
Whenever Chloe, Brian, or I asked about pictures, Dad would describe the day as though Walt Disney himself had been summoned to design the perfect day.
Blue skies with only decorative fluffy white clouds and melodious birdsong filling the air.
One could almost imagine little woodland creatures carrying the train of Robin’s gown.
Dad’s over-the-top descriptions were so entertaining, none of us realized the pictures never materialized.
In perfect Robin fashion she blinks the mist of nostalgia away. “What wedding? Your father and I got married. A simple affair at the courthouse. No fuss, no reception. No pictures. Not even a cake.”
There is no mistaking the regret in her voice. I knew Robin had been young: twenty-two and fresh out of college. Dad had only been in the States a year when he met her and was working low-paying odd jobs, trying to establish himself in his new country.
“Your grandfather had just passed, and there wasn’t much money,” she continues.
She’d lost her father too young, just as Chloe, Brian, and I had.
He just hadn’t had the means to plan ahead the way Dad had done to ensure we’d be taken care of if something happened.
More likely, Robin had insisted on better savings and life insurance so the same thing wouldn’t happen to her again and, by extension, us.
“That must have been hard.” I want to wrap an arm around her again, but I know she wouldn’t respond well to it.
She doesn’t seem to register that I spoke but continues to reminisce.
“I borrowed a hideous dusty-rose dress from a friend of mine. It was the most bridal thing we could come up with since I was the first of my friends to be married. Your grandmother didn’t know why we wouldn’t wait a few years so we could save up and ‘do things properly’ as she called it.
But we were kids. Impetuous and in love.
I’m pretty sure she was shocked—and secretly delighted—that your brother had the good manners to wait until a full year after the wedding to make his appearance. ”
Now I do laugh. Robin’s mother was a formidable woman, even more so than Robin herself. I can’t imagine she’d have looked too kindly on her daughter having a seven-month baby.
“Do you regret not having a big wedding?” I try to push gently. It’s only a matter of time before she closes up again.
She shrugs, noncommittal. “If I had a magic wand? Sure, I’d give us the money for a nice to-do.
I wish we’d had real pictures. Not the snapshots your uncle Phil took with his old Kodak.
Lord, we were so broke, I’d had to save up for the roll of film and save again to develop it.
” A smile actually flashes on her face for the briefest of moments.
I lower my voice another degree. “Why have you never shown us the photos? We asked a dozen times when we were kids.”
She exhales deeply. “Pride, I suppose. I keep them hidden in a shoebox in the hall closet and made your father swear never to show you kids. It was a shabby little affair, and I confess I felt a little ashamed.” A shadow passes over her face.
“Your father had promised me a grand renewal ceremony for our twenty-fifth anniversary, but you know how that turned out.”
She didn’t have to say it—his accident happened shortly before their twenty-fourth and the party never happened.
I swallow back a whole pile of platitudes that rise to the surface.
How Dad probably thought their little courthouse wedding was perfect.
How the important thing was that they ended up married.
How lucky they were that they had found each other.
All those things might be true, but it didn’t mean that Mom hadn’t suffered a loss, and minimizing it wasn’t the way to help her move forward.
“I’m sorry that never happened for you. It would have been beautiful.” And I have no doubt it would have been. Mom did have fantastic taste, even if it wasn’t mine.
She doesn’t look at me but keeps her eyes on the mingling crowd.
She affixes a Plasticine smile to her face, and though I know it doesn’t go any deeper than her lips, I am grateful she’s making an effort.
I see a sparkle in the corner of her eye, and I’m terrified all this Dad-adjacent talk will make her sob in front of our nearest and dearest. She would never forgive me.
“This Nikolai of yours seems like a nice man.” It’s the closest thing to a compliment she’s paid me in . . . perhaps years?