Chapter Thirty-Four
LUCY
Their suite had been transformed into a beauty salon with a side of charcuterie.
A veritable battalion of eager experts had filed into the place shortly after noon, pulling giant hard-sided steel cases on wheels behind them.
There were manicurists, makeup artists, and more hair stylists than seemed entirely safe.
(So many hot tools! So many overloaded plugs!) One tiny older woman with a thick Russian accent was exclusively handling eyebrows, apparently.
Shortly after the beauty army had invaded, sliced meats and cheeses materialized.
Men in white coats laid out massive wooden boards and champagne in deep ice buckets on the kitchen counter, before vanishing whence they came.
Tiffy had followed behind, fussing over little arrangements of summer flowers that she’d placed on basically any surface that wasn’t already covered in meat or curling utensils.
A wedding photographer was the pi è ce de résistance . She flitted around, clicking off hundreds of pictures of ladies who truly wished they could wait until after they’d been beautified to be memorialized for all time.
Lucy stood with her back against the living room wall, belly full of salami and brie, watching as a young person called Fire, with orange hair, neck tattoos, and a septum ring, arranged prim Mrs. Heylen’s coif in a perfect copy of Betty White’s curly gray/blonde helmet from The Golden Girls .
The juxtaposition was riveting. Also, Lucy was beyond curious about Mrs. Heylen.
Chandler’s mom was only two years older than Lucy and had gamely settled into a hairstyle that was favored by women Lucy’s mother’s age and older.
Lucy had no desire to give up her Cool Chestnut Caramel, thank you very much.
(Lucy’s gray hairs could go straight to hell – if only the Church of Satan would return her calls.) But she did find it fascinating that some women just pointed themselves in the direction of whatever their age meant to them.
Chandler’s mom clearly believed midlife Betty White circa 1985–1992 was what her late forties required.
Lucy thought the process must go something like, ‘Well, I’m a woman of a certain age now, better chop off all my hair and get a perm.
Quick, QVC, send me the orthotic walking shoes!
Also need a velour nightgown and a cardigan with cats embroidered on it, STAT!
’ Lucy couldn’t imagine herself ever asking for a Betty White do; and embroidered cats had the ring of hair shirt to her.
She wanted to age like Cindy Crawford or Bo Derek, dammit.
If she was going down, she’d go down swinging, clutching an industrial-sized tub of Retin-A and a bottle of Clairol.
Lucy only looked away from Chandler’s mom because she felt the weight of eyes upon her. Assessing, judgy, Lady Boss eyes. She found Chloe and Kim whispering conspiratorially and side-eyeing her from the spot where Kim was getting a blowout.
She knew what they were talking about. Now that they both knew her secret, they had to hash out all of ‘The Breathing Room’ details between them and compare notes. It wasn’t surprising in the least, but it was uncomfortable.
Lucy pulled her phone from her back pocket and texted Kim.
Lucy: Could you two be *more* obvious?
KimmyR: Could you talk *more* like Chandler’s namesake?
She was too old for the eye-rolling emoji, right?
Lucy: Knock it off, okay?
KimmyR: Fine. For now. TBC.
Lucy watched Kim gesture in her direction and whisper something else to Chloe. Then they both winked and waved at her.
This was why Lucy hadn’t divulged the whole Nicky Broome melodrama to her daughter in the first place.
As a blushing bride, Chloe had this air of hopeful romantic goodwill about her.
It was a condition common to many blissfully happy coupled people.
They feel compelled to spread their love and drag everyone around them into their state of blessed harmony.
Lucy had seen it time and again during her various flirtations with singlehood.
It was exasperating. Especially from her daughter.
Particularly in relation to Nicky Broome.
‘We’re talking about it,’ Chloe demanded as she sidled over to Lucy’s hiding spot against the wall.
‘No, we’re not,’ Lucy replied, trying to sound commanding and not petulant. Mostly failing.
‘Look, you have to give me this. You’ve just completely reordered my entire childhood—’
‘Hyperbole, much?’
‘It’s not hyperbole, Mom. It’s fact. All those times you put earplugs in when I played Super—’
Lucy interrupted, ‘Hey, I also did that with the Jonas Brothers.’
‘Holy shit!’ Chloe’s eyes became saucers. ‘Did you sleep with the Jonas Brothers?’
‘No.’
Chloe clutched her chest. ‘Jesus, you almost killed me on my wedding day. I actually saw my life flash before my eyes. Anyway, don’t change the subject.
You still switch the station anytime Super comes on.
You can’t convince me it’s all in the past. Come on, you wandered into the suite last night all sex-drunk and goofy.
From his room. He’s coming to the wedding in a few hours.
With you. He wrote the greatest love song ever about you . ’
For me.
‘Keep your voice down,’ Lucy whisper-yelled.
‘All of that is past tense, Chloe. This thing with Nicky and me is just temporary. A vacation thing. It already has an end date, remember? Now, as you were so kind to remind me, it’s your wedding day.
Can we please just enjoy it and focus on you and Chandler? ’
Lucy was rapidly getting the same nagging feeling in her belly that she used to get when Chloe was little and begged for a second helping of ice cream, or a damn pony.
A sense that the prodding would go on for an eternity unless she broke down and gave in – or Brandon did.
Too bad for Chloe that Daddy’s AmEx couldn’t solve this one to her satisfaction.
Kim approached, hair gloriously smoothed to a high shine.
‘She’s being stubborn,’ Chloe said to Kim.
‘I’m shocked,’ Kim deadpanned.
‘It isn’t stubbornness,’ Lucy grumbled. She had to change tactics.
Logic had never worked for farm animals and double dessert, but perhaps (if Lucy had earned any good karma in her life) it might sway Chloe this time.
‘On Monday, he’s leaving for Europe. For a full year of touring.
A different city every … what was it, Kim?
’ Lucy asked her best friend. ‘Two days?’
‘Three,’ Kim replied flatly.
Lucy turned back to Chloe. ‘Tomorrow, I’m going back to Ohio where I begin a minimum of twelve months of interviews, meetings, evaluations, and general ass-kissing that I have been working toward for my entire professional life.’
Chloe inhaled deeply, sullen.
Lucy continued, ‘Now you tell me how those two things are compatible, Chloe.’
‘What about long distance?’ Chloe asked.
‘With a rock star? On tour? In Europe?’ Kim interjected.
Chloe looked to Lucy. ‘You don’t think he would be faithful? Is that it?’
Lucy shrugged, but she knew. He would be faithful.
Nicky was not that guy. Still. ‘Even if he would, Chloe, think about it. We see each other for the first time in forever, have a lovely week together, and then aren’t in the same room again for more than a year?
Does that sound like the solid beginning to a relationship?
To me, it doesn’t sound like a relationship at all.
It’s … it’s FaceTime pen pals. At best.’
Chloe groaned.
Yeah, welcome back to reality, kiddo. We’ve missed you here.
Lucy went on, ‘And then, let’s say that FaceTime pen pals is amazingly successful. The relationship survives, even thrives. Then what? Nicky moves to our tiny rural college town in Ohio?’
A sudden, intrusive vision of Nicky Broome sleepy and rumpled at her little breakfast table made her heart twist.
‘He might,’ Chloe exclaimed. ‘Did you ask him?’
‘No, I didn’t,’ Lucy replied. ‘Because after this tour there will be another.’
‘Six months in the US,’ Kim threw in.
‘Followed by an as-yet-unpublicized residency in Las Vegas that you can’t tell anyone about,’ Lucy added.
‘Shit.’ Chloe’s shoulders sagged. ‘Being an adult blows.’
Kim chimed in, ‘Fucking sucks.’
‘Yep,’ Lucy agreed.
‘I’m sorry, Mom.’
Lucy gripped her daughter’s hand and squeezed. ‘Nothing to be sorry about, Clo, it’s just … well, life’s a bitch and then you die.’
‘Wow,’ Chloe bellowed. ‘That is depressing .’
‘Wait, is that not a common saying anymore?’ Lucy asked, genuinely shocked.
Chloe tutted. ‘When was that ever a common saying?’
Lucy and Kim exchanged a look of shock.
‘Uh, they made T-shirts,’ Lucy said to Chloe.
‘And bumper stickers,’ added Kim.
Chloe griped, ‘ What? ’
Lucy couldn’t believe it. ‘It was practically GenX’s motto.’
‘The Nineties were a special, special time,’ Kim mused, gazing wistfully out the window at the bright desert sky. She turned to Chloe. ‘Doesn’t your generation have a motto?’
Chloe looked at them both like they’d sprouted horns and fangs.
‘Don’t worry, be happy?’ Lucy offered.
‘No.’ Kim shook her head. ‘That was the Eighties.’
‘Ah,’ Lucy said. ‘Yeah, that tracks.’
Chloe stared at them, mouth agape. ‘This explains so, so much,’ she said, gesturing between Kim and Lucy. ‘Also, it’s a miracle anyone in your generation made it out with their sanity.’
‘But did we really though?’ asked Kim.
‘Sanity is so subjective,’ Lucy quipped to Kim.
To which Kim quoted, ‘“Sanity is a little box. Insanity is everything.”’
‘Oh, that’s good. Who said that?’ Lucy asked.
‘Charles Manson,’ Kim replied matter-of-factly.
Chloe chuckled darkly. ‘ Aaaand that’s my cue.’ She patted Lucy on the back. ‘You two are twisted and not good for my mental health.’
Kim and Lucy nodded in agreement.
Chloe backed away. ‘I’m going to go get my hair done now.’
‘Love you, sweetheart,’ cooed Lucy.
‘Love you, too, you maniac,’ Chloe replied.
Kim leaned into Lucy, resting her head on the other woman’s shoulder as they observed the melee of beauty and wedding-day joy. ‘These younglings don’t know how good they’ve got it.’
‘Nope.’ Lucy sighed. ‘Lucky them.’