Chapter Three #2
she didn’t want to make their wedding day a drain on anyone’s finances, as a lot of her friends were artists and students.
Sarah was having a “butchalorette” party in the city tonight, joining us at the beach on Saturday. I loved Sarah. Picture
the most easygoing person on earth, a sweet joker who looked like she could beat anyone at pool. That was Sarah. She earned
two advanced philosophy degrees and then became a real estate agent, which only sounds strange if you haven’t paid Toronto
rental prices. Sarah and Kate were both future-oriented and eager to pledge forever and always, in a serious way. Marriage
didn’t make them think about death or constriction, only certainty and security. I admired it.
When we got off the highway, the sun was just starting to set. Signs for farm-fresh asparagus and strawberries popped up on
the roadside and clusters of villages beyond the two-lane highway made me curious about the kind of life people might have
here. I commandeered the music to play Sufjan Stevens and everyone chilled out. Eventually, the shores of Lake Ontario appeared
in blue between the trees and houses, through the long windows of the limousine.
Katie and I hadn’t always gotten along in adulthood.
She didn’t have the kind of anger I held against my mother, and I could get irritated with her loving patience.
Her work as an emergency room nurse also gave her a sense that life is truly short, that love and family are all we have.
And while I might share that point of view, deep down, I am a narrative thinker.
I think in terms of action and consequence, true character and choices that impact people around you.
I write simple movies about love. But I hope, eventually, that I’ll write something complicated and beautiful about love; I just haven’t made it happen yet.
Kate thinks about bringing people together, and I think about how they might break apart.
So it’s no wonder she is getting married, and I am writing love stories, trying to find the formula and understand it from all the angles.
We slowed at a four-way stop, and I was staring out the window, watching a family running around in their giant yard with
a golden retriever, the kind of dog that makes me say “I’m going to have that dog one day” to whoever is around me. Marlon
looked at me and said, “What are you thinking about right now? You look very serious.”
“I’m thinking about how whenever I’m in a place like this, I think about changing my name to, like, Rebecca and getting a
job at the local restaurant or farmers’ market and just starting a brand-new life.”
“I never think that. This place looks nice for the tourist but you know there’s some sinister rural church shit going on behind
the scenes.” He pointed to a blue electoral sign on the side of the road.
“I don’t know, a lot of these restaurants have rainbow flags,” I said.
He kept talking as I gazed now at the small village we were driving through. One bakery, a small stone church, a sign that
pointed to the beach. I could slow down here, said a voice that sounded like inner wisdom, the kind of voice I’m usually never quiet enough to hear.
Just outside of Bloomfield, we drove down a gravel road, closed in on all sides by the forest, the perfect setting for the
prestige horror film that I was going to make one day. We arrived at our beautiful, rented house, two stories with white siding,
black window frames and doors, ultra chic with a beautiful in-ground pool out back. Lila, a young woman with long brown hair
tied in two braids and wearing a cute denim dress, greeted us. She was owner of the house, which specialized in bachelorette
weekends. She held a tray of champagne flutes like the hostesses on Below Deck.
“Welcome.” She handed us our drinks and asked, “Who’s the bride?”
Kate raised her hand.
Lila handed her a decorative flower crown and complimentary Bride-to-Be T-shirt that she pulled over her romper. She shot me a look that said omg a bit corny, and I whispered, “Go with it!”
“OK, let’s put your things on the porch for now and then I’ll give you a tour.”
The house was just as gorgeous inside. Once through the coatroom, it opened into an expansive room with two-storey ceilings,
a stone fireplace, a gigantic dinner table, and a sectional sofa set against a large bank of windows that overlooked the water.
The adjacent kitchen had a stately island counter. A staircase in the centre of the open concept living room and kitchen area
went up to the second floor, where guest room doors faced the balcony railings that overlooked the downstairs. As Lila was
explaining the dishwasher, Katie poked me and pointed to a print on the wall, a cute dog lying on a porch, sunset in the background.
I had the same artwork—so do a lot of people who shop at HomeSense for cheap but tasteful decor. I laughed. But if I could
live in a hotel, I would.
Lila took the group out onto the porch to give us the outdoor tour, and I hung back to unpack the coolers.
I was stacking several containers of hummus and artichoke dip when it hit me—I got fired.
I got fired? I’d never been fired in my life.
Ever since I got my first job at fifteen, working at a movie theatre concession stand, I’d
been getting feedback that I am indispensable, irreplaceable even. I’d stayed late and arrived early at every gig. I was front-of-house
manager of that theatre by the time I was seventeen. I got A’s in film school and was hired right out of my first internship
as a script coordinator on a TV show. How could I have been fired from a Christmas movie, the very genre of film I was using
as a stepping stone toward becoming the next Nicole Holofcener?
I got hit with a wave of sadness. The kind that makes me want to lie down and not get up. I was always so energized, raring
to go, so whenever sadness like this hit, it was so foreign that it felt like getting the flu. My legs were made of lead.
I brought my bag up to the rooms, picked one with a single bed that was probably meant for a child so that I was far away
from noise. I filled up my reusable bottle with tap water in the bathroom next to my room. It had a Jacuzzi tub. I climbed
inside, fully clothed. I stared at the ceiling.
What am I going to do?
I couldn’t call Jeff this late, but I wrote him a long email begging to let me apologize. The idea of not having a job to
go to on Monday made me feel as though I was about to jump off a cliff into a kind of noiseless abyss. I heard the revelry
start again downstairs, bass pumping through the floor. A few minutes later the music cut out.
“OK, everyone! We’ve got fifteen minutes before we have to leave for the winery!”
I went into the hallway and peered over the edge of the wooden banister.
Katie looked up, gave me a you OK? look.
I gave her a thumbs-up and pasted on a party smile.
I opened up my weekender bag and discovered I’d packed so nonsensically.
Thanks, gummy! Three dresses, one a prom dress I’d worn to a wedding, two T-shirts, a bathing suit.
No sweaters. No PJs. I put on a floral sundress and the sandals I would wear if I wasn’t always wearing my work Crocs, and shoved my fanny pack into the leather purse I had brought along to look presentable.
I put on some red lipstick that Kendra in makeup had told me was definitely my colour and slipped into my fanny pack as a gift.
She said that wearing red lipstick when you feel tired and aren’t wearing any other type of makeup can be transformative.
I glanced in the mirror—she was sort of right.
“Let’s do this!” I yelled at the top of the staircase, before stumbling down the first three steps like a baby colt who just
got legs. The shock of it made me burst into tears. I gripped one of the banister posts for dear life. Everyone turned and
looked.
“There’s always gotta be one hot mess, right? Or else it wouldn’t be a wedding?” I said.
“What’s wrong?” Katie asked, helping me down to solid ground.
“I haven’t been sleeping much, sorry. I’m OK!”
Hazel handed me a glass of rosé that was noticeably less full than the others. Marlon, Kris, Val, Yasmine, and Katie circled
around her like a sports team. “I want to say a cheers to Kate, and the beautiful life ahead for her with Sarah. But first,
one last night of singlehood and mayhem! Cheers to love and mayhem!”
“To love! And mayhem!” we said and made our way toward the exit and to Rocco, ever patient, who was opening the limo door
for us. Hazel whispered to me as we settled into the bench seat, “No mayhem from you, though. I don’t know what’s going on,
but this is Katie’s weekend, right? No drama.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I don’t bring any drama. I’m usually in bed by nine thirty.”
“Marlon basically had to Narcan you to get in the car earlier.”
“It’s a long story. But ultimately not very interesting.”
I resented the implication that I was capable of providing any drama—I would be at home reading if I wasn’t so supportive of my sister. But Hazel didn’t really know me. The only person here who did was Marlon. But I smiled to reassure her again, no worries. I wasn’t going to wreck anything.
Her warning to me was ironic because Hazel and Katie are emergency room nurses, and when they are off the clock they are really off the clock. I drank the one glass of wine in the car slowly, as they finished off several. The last time I had a full glass
of wine was probably at a wrap party months ago. When we spilled out of the limo, Rocco was starting to look wary. I gave
him my number for the ride home and said I’d likely be the most reliable one on text. Take that, Hazel.
Our main event for the night was at an outdoor winery, up a rocky hill that overlooked fields of wildflowers and fruit trees.
Each cozy, low table with plush seats had a little firepit of its own. Lila had pulled out all the stops—we were seated in