Chapter 18 Rose #2
The fluttering in my chest picks up as I cross toward his table. Then Jo spots me, and before I can even raise a hand, she’s out of her seat and crossing the room, arms already open. She pulls me into a hug that’s tighter than I expected, both arms locked around me, and I sink into it.
“Oh, it’s so good to see you. I can’t believe what happened. We’re so glad you’re safe.”
Jo never had kids of her own, but she’s always had this maternal kind of affection, and I feel her concern just as I would have if she were my own mother.
I find her arms and ease back, holding her wrists. “We’re okay. I’m okay. And how are you? Ready for the big day?”
She scoffs and waves me off as we release, and she finds her seat again. Across the table, over all the chatter, she says, “It’s my third aisle. I was born ready.”
I laugh, and so does my dad. Pearl apparently doesn’t think joking about Jo’s previous two marriages is funny, and her face pinches like she’s bitten into something sour, which is even better.
I end up at the far end of the table beside my Aunt Brenda, a woman I see maybe once every few years, who’s hard of hearing in her right ear—which is, unfortunately, the side I’m sitting on. I consider switching seats, then decide against it.
Every time Brenda visited when I was younger, she would say gracias and other common Spanish words and phrases, the only ones she knew, to my mother, who was too polite to remind her she wasn’t Spanish.
Despite the hearing loss, Brenda runs a steady stream of conversation with almost no input required from me.
She tells me about her new physical therapist—fit, she says, tall with a perfect butt, and she can’t tell if he’s supposed to be touching her like that, but she doesn’t mind one bit.
I open my mouth to ask what exactly she means, but she’s already moved on, telling me about her heart monitor and the ablation she had done for her AFib.
I glance down at her plate, which is stacked impressively high with bacon and sausage, and decide against commenting. No one likes unsolicited advice.
The heart talk perks Dad up. He peppers her with questions, leaning in the way he does when something interests him, and then says, “You should have a conversation with Logan Wells while he’s here. He’s a world-class surgeon—one of the top under forty in the world.”
“Oh, you must,” Pearl pipes in. “He’s a brilliant doctor.”
Brenda waves them both off. “Yes, well. Maybe I’ll ask him. See if he knows my surgeon.”
“Logan will know,” Pearl says confidently. “His family knows everyone in their circle, and if he can’t treat you himself, I’m sure he can suggest an alternative if he doesn’t approve of your surgeon.”
Dad agrees with Pearl, both oblivious to Brenda’s irritation after implying her surgeon is potentially unqualified. Dad adds, “I barely saw Logan yesterday. How’s he doing?”
I open my mouth to answer when Pearl cuts in, “He’s really good.
We spent some time catching up in his suite yesterday, just the two of us.
I’ve missed him so much.” She sighs, pressing her fingers to her collarbone.
“I’m so glad he could make it, even though he had to drive and couldn’t just get on another plane. ”
She was in his room yesterday. Alone, just the two of them.
“Well, I wouldn’t want to get right back on a plane after that,” Jo pipes up in my defense.
“Oh, he was completely fine with it, actually. He’s used to high-stress situations.” Pearl reaches for her sparkling water. “He just felt obligated to drive, so he missed our golf game and the welcome cocktail party the day before—but he’s here now.” She smiles at my father. “Just in time.”
Dad nods, and the two of them settle into easy conversation, trading observations about Logan, his father, other members of their social circle, Pearl’s upcoming charity gala which I haven’t and likely won’t be invited to unless she wants Easton and his wealthy football player friends there.
It reinforces how outside of their world I really am. Outside of Logan’s world. Of Dad’s.
I push a piece of melon around my plate. Brenda and Uncle Charlie excuse themselves somewhere in the middle of it, and then it’s just the six of us: me, Pearl, Dad, Jo, and Jo’s sister and her husband, whose names I can’t remember.
“Pearl,” Jo says, folding her napkin into her lap, “I have to say—the bridesmaid dresses are stunning. You really outdid yourself.”
Pearl laughs, one hand lifting to her chest. “Thank you so much. The pictures are going to be incredible. And even with moving everything to the indoor atrium, the lighting is actually going to be better, I think. The staff is setting up now—I’ll pop over after breakfast just to make sure everything’s where it should be. ”
Jo smiles, but shakes her head. “Be easy on them. They’re working in these awful conditions.” She points above us, indicating the storm. “It doesn’t need to be perfect.”
“Oh, of course I’ll be easy on them, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be perfect!” Pearl laughs, then glances over at me with a tilt of her head. “Though—Rose, that bruise. Are you sure you won’t let me help with your makeup before the photos?”
“The cut is still healing,” I tell her again, touching my head. “I’d rather not put anything on it. And I don’t care about the bruise.”
“Well, you may not care, but—”
“It’s fine, Pearl. Rose is going to be in the pictures, and we’re not going to care about a bruise when we’re looking back at them,” Jo says.
“But every time you see it, you’ll think of the crash. That’s such a dark thing to carry into a wedding album. We could do a few with her and a few without, just to have the option—”
“Pearl, honey.” Jo sets her hand over Pearl’s. “They’re just pictures.”
Pearl draws back with a tight smile. “I know. I just want everyone to feel good about the decisions they make.” She looks between us. “Did anyone actually ask Rose what she wants? She might not even want her picture taken.”
“I’m fine,” I say to Jo, leaving Pearl out of it. “I don’t care about the bruise. And if seeing me in the photos is going to be a reminder that I showed up late and banged up—I understand if you’d rather I step out of a few. No big.”
“Well, you weren’t late because of the plane.” Pearl crosses her arms. “You were late because you chose not to come early and help set everything up with me.”
I open my mouth, then close it. Not only was I never invited to help set anything up, but she has made it quietly, consistently clear at every turn that she doesn’t want me around. And yet somehow she’s managed to sound genuinely wounded by my absence. Put out. Like I’ve let her down.
“Pearl,” Jo says, in a tone that is gentle but final, “Rose has had a lot going on. And you do this for a living—it was much easier for you to manage than it would have been for her.”
Pearl’s mouth presses into a thin smile. She reaches for her sparkling water.
Dad, who notices the tension but doesn’t call Pearl on any of it, clears his throat and mentions the weather. I’ve lost my appetite. I wait what feels like a reasonable amount of time—long enough that it doesn’t look like fleeing—before I fold my napkin and excuse myself.
“Pre-wedding photos in an hour!” Jo calls after me.
“I’ll be there,” I say. “I just need to get dressed.”