Chapter Twenty-Seven
If I ever had romantic advice to give, it would be not to be having a personal crisis when your sister is getting married.
Schedule it for another day. But when Katie walked down the aisle to the song “Honey” by Kehlani, arm in arm with my dad,
I was toast. I could feel tears welling in my eyes just from the song. My mascara was waterproof but it still had to put up
a fight. Ben squeezed my hand. My sister was beautiful, and so happy, and I pinched the skin on my upper thigh just to remind
myself to be there. Be present.
Her dress was knee length seventies boho style, with a boatneck lace collar. The bouquet of yellow and purple wildflowers
she’d worried would look too casual ended up being perfect, especially in our new setting surrounded by trees. Her dark brown
hair fell in shoulder-length waves. It was hard to keep my eyes off her, I was so filled with emotion as I watched her taking
this big leap in life. The look on my fumbling father’s face was what sent me over the edge; he was always so stoic, but I
could tell he was about to cry, his eyes rimmed with tears and cheeks pink above his silver beard. I had not seen him cry
since my mother left us, a story now utterly reframed in my mind.
The sky was a perfect blue, and it shone through between the slow-waving tree limbs all around us.
The breeze was light, the temperature a mid-twenties, easy August heat.
Despite the stress of having to pull this new venue together, mother nature came through and nothing was overwhelming.
The slide show of photos, the centrepieces, the gift bags, everything went off without a hitch.
I needed to release all the pent-up stress from the nearly late rental-chair arrival, and the way Dave and I worked all morning
helping the catering staff to set things up. I felt like there was an invisible string between us; no matter where we were,
I could sense his body around mine, a coil that linked us. We worked with Val, Yasmine, Kris, Hazel, and Marlon, but it felt
like only Dave and I existed on that sloped lawn, making the best makeshift wedding out of what we could scramble together.
When we were helping to lift the chairs out of the truck, he caught my eye.
“I’m glad we’re set to talk later. I think I’m tired of this in-between waiting time. Unless, you want to talk before?”
“After seems more appropriate, let’s stick to that.”
I wasn’t going to get dumped before my sister’s wedding. Not on your life. I’d had an hour to get dressed, for the hairdresser
to do some light beachy waves; the cabin had become the pre-stage area and I was buzzing with nerves. Crissy’s camper van
was Sarah’s backstage area.
After Ben showed up, in an even more impeccable suit than the one he’d worn the night before, Dave got scarce. He was going
to take Finn to ride Snow while the ceremony was going on.
In the end, our makeshift solution looked beautiful, with long tables set up on the flat expanse of the lawn. The caterers
came through with all the flatware and dishes they would have used in the hall, the florist, too, was able to improvise.
The wedding itself went beautifully. By the time Crissy reached the “You may kiss the bride” moment, my tears of happiness devolved into more like self-pity, older-sister-of-the-bride territory.
Was I ever going to find a love as strong as theirs?
Would anyone ever stand up in front of everyone they love to declare they’d never leave me?
I felt ashamed to be wondering these things, but weddings seemed designed to both celebrate love and make single people really feel what they might be missing.
As everyone made their way toward the reception area, guided by Hazel and her husband, who were in charge of corralling the group toward the bar and tables, I excused myself to duck into the cabin to splash water on my face and take a beat to calm down.
When I emerged, Ben was walking toward me with a huge grin on his face, holding out his phone.
“Oh my god, Elise! I have news!”
“Did you just see a beautiful wedding?”
He laughed at my lame joke.
“Have you checked your messages? Your script made top-ten new filmmakers under thirty-five contest list. The guild sent out
a press release.”
“No, it didn’t!”
“It did.” He beamed at me. I looked over the announcement on his phone, running my finger over the title of my film. I’d spent
years writing it; the version I submitted was maybe the twentieth full rewrite that I thought I’d finally nailed. But then
my agent hadn’t been as enthusiastic as I’d hoped, and I’d lost confidence in it. Part of spending the whole summer writing
a new script was to let go of the idea of that one ever going anywhere. I hadn’t even checked my email with all the wedding
craziness. But now perhaps I could take some meetings and try to get some funding. Maybe it could really happen. I felt light and giddy with the thrill of that possibility. All of the winners had the opportunity to pitch
it to three producers. I handed the phone back to him, heart pounding.
“I am so proud of you, and you’ve already got a new one written, too.” He pulled me into a hug and whispered in my ear, “Told
you we’d be a power couple!”
I grinned right back at him, the feelings of sadness I’d been trying to quell inside the cabin bathroom growing smaller.
My heart was aloft, warm in Ben’s glow of pride.
This moment when Ben and I planned our future hustles would be all I needed if the ghost of Buckeye hadn’t been lingering around all summer.
Maybe this was a sign. Then I realized that Dave was literally lingering in my periphery, his face now full of—rage?
Disappointment? I couldn’t quite read him.
But he was standing in the buffet line, and when I caught his eye, we stared at each other so long and hard that I forgot where I was and what I was doing. Ben noticed and dropped my hand.
“I’ll go get us some drinks,” he said softly, perhaps a bit flustered, and wandered away.
“What were you and Ben carrying on about just now?” my mother asked, taking a generous sip out of her glass of wine as she
approached me. Likely looking to do anything besides stand in line for a meal.
“A script of mine placed well in a contest, the ‘ten young screenwriters to watch’ type of thing, in an industry magazine.”
The more words I said, the more blank her face became. “What’s with Charles? Did you forgive him?”
“No, not on your life. But I think my little tantrum is over.”
“You know, Ben and I were only fake dating so you’d get off my back about having a boyfriend.”
“I know. I’m not an idiot. But that guy does like you. So does the carpenter.”
“I know.”
“So which one makes you feel understood? And which one do you think would stick around when things got tough?”
I thought of how Dave left me when we were young. I thought of how a shiny thing might walk by and take Ben’s whole focus.
Neither were a safe bet. But Dave did understand me.
“Did Charles stick around when things got tough?”
“He did. But he’s an idiot. His whole life fell apart without me, and he begged me to come home. So, what else could I do,
really? Marriage is compromise.”
“You guys are married?!”
She looked at me like I had two heads.
“Of course, we eloped in the Bahamas years ago.”
“Are you serious? You didn’t invite your own children to your wedding?”
“You and your sister hated him. It would’ve been a disaster. And second weddings aren’t for anyone but the couple, generally.”
She had a point.
“So what should I do? Who should I choose?” I asked her.
She looked between Ben, pumping his arms in the air to the Indigo Girls’ “Closer to Fine” with Sarah’s friends, and Dave,
who was holding his kid on his shoulders, watching from the slow-moving buffet line.
“Who knows, maybe they’re both not good enough. Men will always disappoint you,” she said.
“That from the woman who’s always on me to stop being so single.”
“Being alone is hard.” She shrugged. “But it’s admirable, if you can do it. And you can do it. You’re stronger than I am.”
Charles approached us, gave me the awkward smile-and-nod combo. God, would I be that awkward with Dave’s kid? I left my mom
with Charles and I pulled my sister aside from where she was dancing.
“Did you know Mom and Charles were married?”
“You’re kidding.”
“She went back to him.” I filled her in on what Mom had told me during our fight—that she hadn’t wanted to leave us. That
Dad had given her an ultimatum and threatened to sue her for full custody. That he hadn’t wanted to solo parent, and he blamed
her. “I’m sorry to unload this at your wedding, but I’ve been holding it in, not wanting to cause drama before you got married.
But now you’re hitched, so, ha ha, I needed to tell you now?”
Katie had a much less emotional reaction to it than I had.
“I mean, that totally makes sense.”
“Aren’t you pissed off at Dad?”
We turned to look at him and Pamela, in their own world, feeding each other shrimp cocktail and ignoring everyone else seated
around them at their end of the long table.
“Our parents were fucking bonkers. They’re still bonkers. But you know what? We have to live our own lives and find joy in
the choices we make. Fuck those weirdos. I love ’em, but they aren’t going to define me anymore,” she said, “and it’s time
to eat.”
I’d never admired her more. I booped her nose.
Ben brought me my drink and then went to sit at the guest table, while I was seated at the head table. The DJ cut the music
and Hazel started the speeches. She blushed and fussed with her perfect hair before talking about how they’d first bonded
in nursing school when Katie and Hazel did an internship together, and Katie refused to let a more senior nurse bully Hazel.
“I knew right then that this Taylor Swift–loving sapphic white lady was my girl for life. And I couldn’t be happier that she and Sarah are going to have a beautiful life together.”