Chapter 16
We go to our separate rooms back at the hotel, after we kiss thoroughly just inside my door. And then he scoots me in the direction of my bathroom. “Go get showered,” he commands.
I wrinkle my nose. “Do I stink?”
“No, you smell like you. It’s driving me crazy.” He kisses and nuzzles my throat again, and I lean my head back, indulging in the tingles that make me shiver. “I need you in perfume STAT, or I’m going to haul you to the room on the other side of that wall.” He nods at our shared wall.
“Well, in that case…” I move to the door to the hallway, and he gives me a little push back toward the bathroom, laughing.
“Shower. Hot dress. Perfume.”
I go laughing, and he sends me a wink as he closes the door behind him.
The dress I chose is a little bit shorter than I remember, and the back a little bit lower. But it’s a perfect fit, and the high neckline makes up for the extra leg, I tell myself. Once I have my hair twisted up into a chignon with about a million bobby pins, my gold, dangly earrings in my ears and my ultra-tall heels on my feet, I decide not to wait for Charlie to come get me.
He opens his door with a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth and a mouthful of toothpaste.
His eyes widen and roam over my body shamelessly. “ Mmmfffggg ,” he says.
The goosebumps that I thought I’d gotten under control return with a vengeance.
I saunter in, my confidence soaring to unseen heights, and Charlie disappears into the bathroom. After the water runs for a moment and I hear him spit, he’s back.
“Sweet Jesus, Daisy,” he says with a look of real concern. “You’re so gorgeous I’m going to be struggling not to kiss you all night.”
My chest squeezes almost painfully.
“Why wouldn’t you want to kiss me?” I blink innocently.
He waves a hand up and down my body in a sweeping motion. “I don’t want to mess up all your hard work.”
He’s looking delicious, his skin still slightly damp from the shower. He’s put some sort of product in his hair that makes it somehow look both tousled and sexy and tidy at the same time. A pale blue tie hangs around his neck, undone. His shirt is untucked from black slacks and the top three buttons are open, so that a triangle of tanned skin is only just visible. Just enough for me to want to put my lips there, at the hollow between his collar bones. I could spend a week studying each part of him. I would slide my hands over his shoulders and chest and back, kiss my way to his navel, and live there for a while. I want to bury my face in his hair, until I become inured to his scent and am able to function properly again when he’s around. Although I’m not sure that will ever be possible.
“You can mess it up,” I say. “I don’t care.”
It’s the first time in days I haven’t felt stressed about this wedding—about how I'll look or what people might be whispering when they think I don’t see. I’ve almost forgotten that my mom is going to officially become Michael’s wife in a matter of minutes now—the wedding is set to begin in exactly thirty.
Charlie holds his tie up from his neck and looks at it. “Hang on,” he says and opens his closet doors where a hanger of neatly draped ties displays a multitude of colors. It’s exactly what I expected his closet to look like. Rows of pressed shirts and slacks. A few suit jackets. Three pairs of shoes are lined up in neat rows like ducklings.
“How about this one?” He turns and looks at me, holding a slim, blue tie with little white dots stitched into it. “It’ll go better with the dress, right?”
I grin at him. It’s perfect.
He disappears into the bathroom again, and my feet are already feeling pinched from the shoes, so I sit down. My dress can have creases. I don’t care. It doesn’t matter . If people think I don’t look perfect, it’s not my problem. Everyone can stare at me and comment on the dress all they want. It doesn’t matter.
Charlie emerges after a minute, shirt tucked in, tie neatly done. He goes back to his tidy closet and pulls out a black suit jacket and hitches it up over his shoulders, and buttons the top button.
He turns to face me. “Is this good? Will Mother approve?”
He looks incredible. Tall and handsome. His freshly shaved jaw is cut like marble. “ Everyone will approve. Especially Peg.”
He chuckles as he walks over to where I’m sitting on the edge of his bed.
“There’s been something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”
A zing of apprehension runs up the back of my neck. “What’s that?”
He takes my hand. “I know these two people who happen to be getting married, and I was wondering if you’ll be my date.”
My head falls back as I laugh. “Are you asking me out, Beamer? Even though I’m an old lady in a twenty-six-year-old body who likes to knit and drags all her worldly belongings with her everywhere she goes?”
“It’s called crochet,” he says pointedly, “and yes, that is exactly what I’m doing. I’d like to be your real date. No pretend.”
I lean in and kiss him on his soft lips. I’ll have to reapply lip gloss and he’ll need a tissue, but it doesn’t matter, because he’s Charlie, and I’m quickly discovering that I can’t not kiss Charlie.
He runs a hand affectionately down my back and toys with the spot where the dress meets my skin. “No pretend,” he says.
We get up to go downstairs, and while he wipes his mouth clean, I go to my room to grab a tube of lip gloss—clear this time—and swipe it across my mouth.
“Okay. Let’s do this.”
“Nervous?” he asks. “Filled with dread?”
I think for a moment. I might be a little bit nervous, but the sense of dread, I realize, has been dissipating since yesterday. Since Charlie and I sat down and went over our story for the rehearsal dinner. I smile. “No. No dread.”
His eyebrows rise, and he looks impressed. “Alright. Let’s do this, little Mini.”
I lift a foot to display my towering shoes. “Not mini. Medium.”
The wedding is on the second floor of the hotel, where the ballroom is located, and a sweeping terrace is shaded with an elegant white canopy.
We file in with the rest of the guests, drawn to our seats by ushers, and I make brief eye contact with Walter and Peg. Peg waves enthusiastically, but Walter gives her hand a downward tug and she vanishes into her chair. We take our seats at the front. As predicted, the wedding is enormous. Michael is well respected, and my mother makes friends easily, so I imagine their social circle is substantial. Judging by the guests already present, the guest list must have included well over two hundred names. A stunning array of pink flowers arches over the minister and the spot where they’ll say their vows, and white linen curtains are tied back at each corner. Michael’s brother, Uncle Jack, stands to the right, with his hands clasped in front of him.
Charlie sits next to me and grips my hand in his lap, stroking my wrist with his fingertips, sending tickles up my arm. Rob and Gabby sit on the other side of the aisle, and she has her hand placed between his shoulder blades. For the first time I feel happy that Rob has someone here, supporting him, too. I think, if it weren’t for Charlie by my side, I wouldn’t be as calm and self-possessed as I am at this moment.
Music from a string quartet rises and falls, and then a woman with a headset dressed in all black darts over and whispers in the violinist’s ear and the music transforms into Pachelbel’s “Canon in D.” The low hum of the guests’ whispers sinks away. A little girl, Michael’s grandniece, comes toddling out through the double doors in a white cloud of a dress holding a little wicker basket filled with petals. Her round hands drop clumps of pink on the white carpet and stops at one point to pick one off a man’s shoe where it landed.
“I’m sorry,” she chirps in her light child’s voice, and everyone smiles and awws as she finishes tottering up the aisle where her mother takes her by the hand and kisses her proudly before leading her back to their seats.
Then, my mom’s matron of honor, Lydia, proceeds down the aisle in pink to match the flowers, and stands opposite Michael and his brother, waiting for the bride. And that’s it. The doors to the building close, and all rise. After a beat the doors open again, and my mother emerges, stunning in a narrow white lace dress with fluttery little cap sleeves and a sweetheart neckline. She’s radiant, her smile wide and eyes shining. My heart swells at the sight of her. Her happiness is undeniable, and it’s beautiful to see. It’s the first time since I learned of her affair that I feel truly, genuinely happy that she’s in love. Despite everything that’s happened—our difficult, tangled relationship, her demands and her needs, and the shame and guilt—in this moment, at least, my heart is full of nothing but love for her.
She glides down the aisle, her eyes fixed on the front where Michael stands, his own gaze locked on her, and the chemistry between them, the affection and love, radiates and sweeps through the onlookers like a gust of wind.
Unexpectedly—unbelievably—my eyes fill with tears.
“Their chakras are aligned,” Charlie whispers into my ear, and a little laugh-sob bubbles up and out of my lips. I don’t have a tissue. I never anticipated this and came unprepared, so I’m swiping below my eyes with my fingers, and a woman behind me taps me on the shoulder and passes me a hankie. I take it gratefully and dab at my face and my nose. My mother passes her bouquet—peonies and tumbling orchids—to Lydia, and turns to face Michael, who watches her with nothing but tenderness.
Maybe this is what it’s all about, after all. I don’t know what Michael’s marriage to Rob’s mother was like, but life is short. It’s a fleeting moment. A flash of brightness that vanishes back into creation before the universe even takes note. Maybe, when happiness finds us—when we find our person—we just have to take it and be grateful, and not question it too much as the fates weave into existence whatever future they have in store for us. I don’t know what my mom has been looking for all these years, but maybe she’s found it in him. Maybe she really did find her home, at last.
The vows are beautiful. They’ve each written their own, and my mother talks about the moment she knew she was in love with him, and Michael tells her she’s everything and promises to spend the rest of his days working to make her happy.
When they walk down the aisle together, her veil slips from her elegant updo, and she grabs it, laughing, and tosses it over her shoulder, more carefree than I think I’ve ever seen her. The photographer catches the moment in a snapshot that will be worthy of a frame.
I sniffle, and Charlie gives my hand a squeeze to make sure I’m okay, and I give him a squeeze back to let him know that I am. I’m okay. We’re going to be okay.
The guests mill about in the ballroom, sipping champagne and cocktails, and nibbling on passed hors d’oeuvres. Peg attempts to track Charlie down, and we flit about the room, dodging her while I giggle at Charlie for getting himself into this mess. He pulls me behind a human-sized arrangement of hydrangeas and presses his lips against mine in a soft glide that makes me giddy, and I slide my arms around his neck. “Thank you,” he whispers against my mouth. He presses his forehead to mine. “For letting me be here with you.”
I never imagined this. I never imagined being so happy on this day. Being so full, with love for my mother, tenderness and laughter and something else that I don’t understand and am afraid to question blooming within me. A fragile, tender sprout emerging from the hard soil, still frostbitten from winter, but softening and warming with the sun.
We emerge from behind the towering floral arrangement, and Rob comes over, looking downtrodden and miserable. He has circles under his eyes like he hasn’t slept, and Gabby grips his hand in hers, and she smiles although it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She still looks spectacular, and I tell her so.
“Dad wants us for photos,” Rob says to me. “Just us.”
I look to Charlie. “Are you going to be okay by yourself?”
He gives me his wicked grin that I know means he’s got something up his sleeve. “Peg is right over there, and I think Walter might be bored, so I’m going to be just fine,” he says. “Go have this moment.”
I walk off with Rob, a distance between us like we’re strangers, leaving Charlie and Gabby alone together, and I can’t believe I’m not bothered by it. But I’m surprising myself this evening.
Before we reach the terrace, where I see my mother and Michael through the open doors, smiling as Michael dips her, and the photographer’s shutter snaps as fast as a typewriter, Rob stops. He turns to look at me. He’s wearing a tortured expression.
“What’s going on?” I ask. “You look terrible.”
“Gee, thanks,” he says. “You, on the other hand, look beautiful. You’re glowing.”
Maybe I am. Maybe I’m finally coming to terms with this. With the bizarre family dynamic that I’m going to have to find a way to live with. I don’t want to let go of my mother. And things between us aren’t okay, but I want her to be happy. I always have.
“How can you be so happy, Daisy?” Rob says with accusation in his voice. “I watched you tear up during the vows. You looked like you did at Cara’s wedding. But this is just so…” He snorts in frustration and breaks eye contact for a moment before returning his gaze to me. “He left my mom for her. ”
I sigh, rubbing my hands down the sides of my dress. My little clutch dangles from my wrist and bumps against my thigh. “I don’t know why I’m okay with this right now, Rob. But I guess I’m just realizing that we have two choices. We can decide to accept what’s happened and move on, or we can be bitter and resentful and push them away. Neither choice will change what happened, but going with the first one might just stop the bleeding.”
He grips his hair in a fist and turns away in exasperation before looking at me again. “She destroyed our relationship, Daisy. Look at her.” He frowns in her direction, “It’s like she doesn’t even realize. Or she doesn’t even care what she did. And you are just okay with that?”
I shake my head. “Deciding to come to terms with the fact that it happened isn’t the same thing as being okay with it. I’ll never think what they did was right. Not completely, at least. But I think I might be finished being angry about it.”
I don’t know if that’s entirely true. There’s still so much for me to figure out. But I can’t keep being filled with the shame and resentment that’s been eating away at me like lye. None of this was my fault. Nor was it Rob’s. As Charlie has said repeatedly, she is the adult. Michael is the adult. It’s not the kids’ jobs to figure it out.
He frowns deeply. “You’re just enabling her. You always did. You were always afraid of making her unhappy, or trying so hard to make her happy and then hating yourself for bending over backwards for her. Your speech last night, and the way you’re smiling and… celebrating…” He closes his eyes, and his lip curls in disgust.
But it’s not just her, I think. It’s Michael too. And it’s certainly not me. Whatever my relationship is like with Mom, it didn’t cause this. It’s a separate thing. If Rob thinks it was just my mom, and her alone, who caused this, and if he thinks I somehow let it happen, he’s lying to himself. But maybe that’s what he needed to tell himself to bring himself to be here today.
I take a breath. Both frustrated and sympathetic, because while I understand his feelings, they can’t be my cross to bear, and I realize I can’t allow him to blame me just because it makes him feel better. I have a right to protect myself.
I huff a short breath, and steal myself for a moment before I speak. “Rob, I’m not the reason your dad cheated on your mom. I’m not the reason our parents had an affair. Your dad was part of it too. And,” I add pointedly, “I am not my mother. You keep seeming to forget that fact. You’ve been forgetting that fact since we found out about this whole thing. It’s time for you to get it straight and accept it. This isn’t my fault.
“I’m here, just like you, trying to muddle through this thing and come out the other side in one piece, with my relationships intact and my heart still beating. So, I’m sorry if I don’t have time for you to question my choices. You made yours already, and when you did that, you lost the right to question mine.”
Rob pales slightly and shoves a hand through his blond hair.
“Shit,” he mutters under his breath. We stand for a drawn-out moment. I watch him drag the toe of his shoe across the floor. The sound of the photographer’s hectic photoshoot has died down, and I imagine we’re being missed, but I wait.
“I’m not okay, Daisy,” he says finally. “And seeing you with…” He glances back to the ballroom where Gabby still stands waiting for Rob, and Charlie has meandered into the crowd. “Seeing you with him made me realize exactly how much we both lost.”
I worry for a moment that he’s going to ask to get back together, and I can’t believe that the possibility of him doing that has somehow stopped being a pleasant one.
“You know, Rob,” I say, “it’s okay for you not to be okay. I know how loyal you are to your father, but you’re allowed to say no. You don’t have to be here. If it’s too hard, he’s not entitled to your presence.”
Somewhere in my mind Cara’s voice is cheering and gloating, telling me that these are the things I should have been telling myself all along. Why have I never managed to articulate these things until I just said them to someone else?
“You’re right,” he says with a heavy sigh. “I know you’re right, Daisy. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be laying all of this on you right now… and I’m sorry for walking away. I just… I couldn’t.”
“I know,” I stop him. “You don’t need to apologize for ending things, Rob. I’m alright.”
“I can tell.” His eyes shift back to the ballroom where Charlie is undoubtedly now threatening Walter with an offer to read his aura. “It was just so complicated with us.”
I don’t need him to go over everything that happened again, but if he needs to, I can listen.
“And who knows if we would have even been able to have a healthy marriage,” he says, and I nod in agreement. “I mean… we’re stepsiblings now.”
We both pause and look at each other, and a hysterical little laugh slips out as the absurdity of it washes over me yet again. Rob chuckles ruefully.
“Well, after this wedding, Christmases are really going to be a hoot, right?” I try to lighten the mood, but Rob doesn’t laugh.
“I’m just still so messed up about this,” he says, “and I keep trying to leave, but Gabby is asking me to stay, and I’m confused. How could he betray her like that? How can I keep being his son after all of this?”
He’s talking about his mom. But he might as well be talking about my relationship with my mother. Because what she did, what they did, was a betrayal. They put themselves before their children, and they put Rob and me in a nearly impossible situation.
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “People do stupid, selfish things sometimes. And the rest of us are left to clean up the mess. But if you don’t want to clean up the mess, Rob, that’s okay. You don’t have to. If you need to leave, you should go. You should take care of yourself.”
As I talk, I begin to really believe the truth of my own words. It’s easy to know something on an intellectual level; it’s another thing to believe it in your heart.