14. Caroline Supermodel Type
caroline: supermodel type
They seemed thrilled. I hoped they were. Either way, I knew that the time he would want to sleep with them was fleeting, so I figured they’d look back on it with nostalgia.
Part of me patted James and me on the back for having such a mature, responsible separation. It was so grown-up of us to be able to coparent and be under one roof—well, one roof-ish. But the other part of me wasn’t really having it today. Something about his proximity was undoing me.
Mom, Sloane, Emerson, and I were having apple cinnamon hot tea—something new that Keith was trying for Peachtree Perk—on the front porch and going through all the final touches for Emerson’s wedding since it was getting so, so close.
James was putting Preston to bed in Mom’s room, which I appreciated, and Vivi was inside, sulking, watching TV.
I’d tried to get her to come out and wedding plan with us, to which she had said, and I quote, ‘How could I even begin to plan to celebrate someone else’s love when mine has fallen apart so spectacularly? ’
This would, eventually, lead to a lecture from me about how sometimes we have to put aside our pain and be happy for and celebrate with others.
But, well, I could sense this wasn’t exactly my moment.
So I refrained from the lecture on this particular evening and let her wallow in Dawson’s Creek reruns.
Now, Emerson was saying, “I just don’t want the flowers to look fally. You know?”
I was trying to be sympathetic, but maybe I was out of sympathy, which is why I said, “Well, then, perhaps you shouldn’t have chosen to get married in the fall.”
I opened the Dropbox folder on my computer and handed it to Emerson.
Mom gasped, and Sloane said, “Oh, wow!”
A new florist had come to town—thank goodness—and I had wanted to hire her on the spot.
Logistically, bringing a florist in from out of town could be slightly tricky.
It was one of the only elements I couldn’t truly backup plan for, so I liked the idea of having someone local.
I know my sister very, very well, and, as such, I knew we would be having this conversation.
So the florist had put together samples for me of work she had done in the past that fit the bill.
“We can’t just ignore the season, I don’t think,” I said. “So I love the idea of still focusing on whites and some deeper fall greens, but also using the romantic blush.”
“Wow,” Mom said. “I would have told you I hated purple, but these deep hues are just so elegantly interspersed.”
“They’re the perfect shades and so complementary to the rest of the scheme. I love those pale yellows too,” Sloane chimed in.
Emerson hadn’t spoken yet, and, obviously, she was the important voice here. So I said, “We can easily do all white and green and make it a nod to the season by adding eucalyptus and dahlias and—”
“No,” Emerson said, cutting me off. “They are spectacular. I would never have imagined I would want all that color at my wedding, but these are breathtaking.” Then she said something shocking, something that brides in general and certainly my youngest sister, whom I had been the designated caretaker for since she was born, rarely said: “Thank you, Caroline. I know this is a lot of work.”
Mom and I raised our eyebrows at each other, and Sloane covered her laugh by taking a sip of tea.
“Do we have anything else to discuss?” Emerson asked, looking at me. I didn’t consider it much, but our dynamic here was so formed that they simply knew I was handling every detail. No one ever asked what they could do or how they could help. Which was good. I really just wanted to do it myself.
I shook my head. “I don’t think so. I ordered one hundred and fifty clear umbrellas in case it rains.” I whispered the word rain. “The photographer, food, band, venue, tent, invitations, cake, and favors are all in hand.”
“Favors?” Sloane asked. “I thought you hated wedding favors.”
“Well, they’re kind of more like beverages for the after-party,” Mom interjected.
Emerson raised her eyebrows.
“I had three hundred mini Moet bottles printed with your engagement picture,” I said, half laughing. “They’ll bring them out with coolers and striped paper straws after the send-off, so people who are staying for the after-party can drink them and people heading home can take the bottles.”
Emerson laughed.
Whew. That one was a risk, so I was glad she liked it. “We also ordered personalized sunglasses, flip-flops, glow necklaces, glow bracelets…” I looked at Mom.
“Oh! The confetti cannons!”
“Yes! Mini confetti cannons. And I did clear those with the Historic Site.”
Emerson put her hands on her knees. “Wow. You guys have really thought of everything.”
“Hon,” Mom said. “You don’t seem all that happy.”
My thoughts exactly.
“No, no!” Emerson said. “I am. I really am. I’m just kind of tired.”
“And worried that Mrs. McClasky is going to murder your guests staying with her and store them in her bait freezer?” I asked. I was mostly kidding.
“Oh!” Sloane said. “Speaking of Mrs. McClasky, she said something really weird to me today.”
At that moment, the door opened. It was a miracle we had made it this long with no interruptions. Jack came out and sat beside Mom on the couch. “Just seeing if y’all need anything. More tea? Champagne?”
He put his arm around Mom, and she sort of leaned into him.
It mostly felt normal now for Jack to be here, on this porch.
But I did take just a moment to feel sort of sad.
Because our dad, Carter, would have loved Emerson’s wedding so much.
An ache around my heart—one I tried desperately to push away—took hold.
Jack was going to walk Emerson down the aisle, so that was a small consolation.
And we loved him. Truly. We were glad he was here despite how dramatic his entrance into our lives had been.
But seeing your mom with someone who wasn’t your dad, or, well, the man you knew to be your father, was sometimes a little weird.
“I mean… I wouldn’t turn down a glass of champagne,” I said. “When on the Peachtree porch?”
Adam appeared out the front door now too, James on his heels.
“All the boys are asleep!” James announced.
He and Adam high-fived, and, for just a minute, I forgot that James and I weren’t together anymore.
I forgot that he was only my husband on paper.
It felt so normal to have him here. I was forgetting more and more that we were broken up—and I had to admit that that was problematic. What did that even mean?
My phone dinged. When I looked down, my heart clenched, and I had to take a deep breath. Then again, when was the last time I had felt this excited?
“Hey, um, Jack was going to get some champagne,” I said.
“But you boys could do it while you’re up,” Jack said, sinking back beside Mom.
James laughed. “On it.”
He was always on his best behavior here, as well he should be. My family had definitely not forgiven him for breaking my heart. But had I? Hard to say.
“Oh! Get the little cranberries to put in the glasses!” Mom said. “And we really should have a sprig of rosemary—”
“Mom,” I said. “It’s fine. They can handle it.”
Really, I just didn’t want her to leave.
When the door closed behind Adam and James, I said, “You guys! I didn’t want to say anything until it was official, but I am going out with Chase Aarons tomorrow night.”
“Oh my gosh!” Emerson enthused. “Is that who just texted you? You’re getting a drink?”
“He wants to take me to dinner!” I said gleefully.
Jack put his hand up. “Wait a minute. You are going on a date with Chase Aarons, as in, like, the movie star?”
“As in my costar,” Emerson chimed in. “Lest you forget, I am also a movie star.”
“Wait,” Sloane said. “Is this, like, a you-bid-on-him-at-a-bachelor-auction situation?”
Mom, who was taking a sip of her tea, snorted and wiped her nose and mouth with her hand.
I was a little annoyed. “Excuse me. In case you haven’t noticed, I am still hot over here, okay. I do Tracy Anderson enough days a week that Chase Aarons would be lucky to go out with me.”
Sloane laughed. “Sorry. Sorry. I know. I see you. You are superhot. And he is the luckiest.”
“But isn’t he, like, really young?” Mom asked.
I glared at her.
“But you are also very young,” Jack said, gesturing toward me. He turned to Mom. “Ansley, Caroline is very young.”
She nodded. “Right. You’re right. I’m sorry. You are.”
I looked at Emerson. “Wait. Does he know that I’m, like…” I looked around and whispered, “Almost forty?”
“Aha!” Sloane said. “So you admit he’s young.”
“Yes, I admit he’s young! He’s twenty-nine.”
“He probably has, like, copies of your passport and Social Security card by now,” Emerson said.
“Y’all, she walked onto set, and it was like Chase’s world stopped.
He was a panting cartoon character with his tongue hanging out and his eyes popping out of his head.
He acted like I was some stale bologna sandwich and couldn’t fathom we were even related, which, I admit, is hurtful.
So, yes, I think you could say Chase Aarons is quite taken with all of—”
The door squeaked open, and Emerson stopped talking abruptly.
Comically, James said, “Oh! Are you talking about Chase Aarons? I love that guy. Who’s he hooking up with these days?”
I gave everyone very harsh stares. I didn’t want anyone laughing. For just a second, I had the overwhelming urge to tell James, to make him jealous. But I was bigger than that, I decided. I mean, just barely. But I was.
“Oh, uh,” Emerson said, “just the hot young supermodel type of the week. I mean, he’s Chase Aarons.”
I smiled as James handed me a champagne coupe and passed the rest of them out. Adam opened the bottle with a loud pop, which, personally, I loved. I knew it wasn’t proper, but champagne was a celebration. So was life, for that matter. We had to live it up.
Adam poured us each a glass as James said, “Wait. Emerson. You don’t have a thing with Chase Aarons, do you?”
She gasped. “James! I am getting married. How could you even suggest that?”
Just like that, all those warm, fuzzy feelings I’d been harboring toward him these past few weeks and months dissipated. Because that was who he was. A cheater. Someone who didn’t consider what his actions would do to his family.
He sat down in the chair beside me, and I wished he wouldn’t have. As my family chattered around me, James quietly said: “Car, I hate going back to that house all alone.”
His eyes were affixed to my face. I couldn’t look at him because, even when I was mad at him, he could soften me in a way that most people couldn’t.
But not tonight. Because tonight, I was hanging on to my anger that he had humiliated me on national television, my sadness that our family—our once stable, loving, perfect family—had been ripped apart, when I was pregnant, no less.
I mourned that my son had never gotten to have an intact mother and father.
How was this going to affect him? And I blamed James.
I did. Yes, there were moments that I thought maybe something could be repaired between us, but then there were others, like this one, where I knew the fissure between us was too deep, the resentment too strong.
I turned and said to him softly, “And that is precisely why my sister would never throw away her family for an affair with a hot costar.” He looked pained. I had surprised him. We had been so good lately, getting along so well. But he had pushed too hard on a bruise.
I stood up. “I’m going to go check on Vivi.”
“Car,” James said.
But I pretended I didn’t hear him. The tears stinging my eyes shocked me. But that was the thing about a permanently broken heart. Even when you felt like it had healed completely, every now and then, the wound could open right back up.