The Wedding Sisters Page 22

  She nodded.

  He raised his glass. “To old friends,” he said. “And new beginnings.”

  They touched their glasses together, but she knew no matter how intrigued she was, the show would never happen. No one would agree. So why did she keep talking to Scott about it?

  She just wanted an excuse to keep seeing him.

  * * *

  The apartment was dark by the time Meryl walked in at ten thirty.

  It was possible Hugh was still awake, watching TV in bed. But she hoped not. She wasn’t drunk, but she wasn’t exactly sober. She realized now, in the quiet stillness of her home, the excitement of the evening behind her, that she shouldn’t have lied about whom she was meeting. The next time she saw Scott—and she was sure there would be a next time—she would tell Hugh the truth. She had nothing to hide.

  “Well, well—look what the cat dragged in.” Her mother switched on the living room light.

  “Jesus! You scared me. What are you doing sitting there in the dark?”

  “Don’t try to change the subject.”

  Meryl shrugged off her coat. “Mother, I’m not in the mood for this. I’m going to sleep and you should too. Good night.”

  Rose followed her through the hallway. “You are a married woman,” she said.

  Meryl turned and walked back into the living room. “Mother, since when do you care about my marriage?”

  “I care about marriage as an institution!” she said.

  “Shhh! Hugh is sleeping.”

  “How convenient for you. Were you out with that lifeguard?”

  Meryl sighed. “Don’t say it like that. I wasn’t out with him in that sense. And he’s not a lifeguard anymore, Mother. He happens to be a very successful TV producer.”

  “You shouldn’t lie to your husband.”

  “Oh! That’s rich coming from you. You know what, Mother? You shouldn’t lie to your daughter.”

  “I don’t lie to you. I tell it to you straight—even when you don’t want to hear it. Like right now.”

  “Really? You know what I want to hear? I want to hear why you were in Poland as a teenager when you told me you moved here before the war.”

  It came out before she could stop it. It came from a place of pure hurt and frustration—all the years of being judged by her mother, all the years of being held at a distance yet smothered at the same time. And it came too from a place of worry that something was deeply wrong—had long been deeply wrong—with her mother.

  Her mother sat down, her lips pressed together in a thin, white line. Clearly, no response was forthcoming.

  “Mother, I’m not angry. I want to help you. I just want to know the truth.”

  Still, nothing. Meryl, trying to stay calm, walked back to her bedroom. It was almost dark, but the TV was still on and the room was lit by the glow of Last Week Tonight on HBO. Hugh was still propped up on his pillows, his reading glasses on, a library book folded open on his chest. Moving slowly and quietly, Meryl opened her closet and retrieved the manila envelope from its hiding spot under a pile of shoe boxes. She tiptoed across the room and closed the door behind her.

  A part of her wanted Hugh to wake up, to be by her side. But would it be any comfort, any support? She didn’t know anymore. She’d forgotten what to expect from her own marriage.

  Her mother had left the living room. Heart pounding, Meryl slowly walked to her bedroom. She couldn’t put this off any longer.

  She didn’t bother knocking, and opened the door to find her mother sitting on the edge of the bed, in the same position as she’d found her in the times she was screaming. But she wasn’t making a sound, just staring straight ahead, her hands folded in her lap.

  Meryl swallowed hard. She wasn’t ready for this.

  And then Hugh appeared in the doorway. She was flooded with relief.

  She looked at him gratefully, and his gaze fell to the envelope in her hands. He nodded, squeezing her arm.

  Meryl opened the envelope and spread the drawings and photographs on the bed.

  “You went snooping through my things,” said Rose.

  “I was helping you pack the apartment.”

  “Some help.”

  Meryl picked up the photo of the eleven-year-old girl, the young boy, and the dark-haired couple. “Who are these people?”

  Rose barely glanced at the picture. “That’s me.”

  Meryl nodded. “You look just like Meg. Or, rather, she looks just like you. Who are the adults?”

  “Relatives.”

  “You said you came here when you were eight.”

  “What is this, an interrogation? So I was off by a few years.”

  Meryl tried to show her the photo of the teenager, but Rose refused to look at it. “This is more than a few years. You have to be at least fourteen here.”

  “You know I don’t like to think about the family that didn’t make it out of Poland. Why bring up the past when we have so much to look forward to now. Our family is the future—the girls and their marriages. If you can manage the wedding,” she said with a contemptuous glance at Hugh.

  “I’ll let you two talk in private,” he said.

  “No, you two go talk in private,” said Rose. “Meryl, clear your conscience instead of pestering me.”

  Meryl turned to glance uneasily at Hugh, but he was already gone. “Fine,” she said, standing up. “Have it your way—as usual, Mother.”

  twenty-one

  Jo stared at the image of herself on the cover of New York magazine. THE WEDDING SISTERS. It had been taken outside Monique Lhuillier, Meg in the center, flanked by Amy and Jo. Amy, the only one looking directly at the camera, was also the only one who looked happy.

  The tagline of the article: THE NEW FACES OF MARRYING WELL.

  “Don’t make any plans for next Thursday night,” Toby said, bringing a cup of coffee into the bedroom and handing it to Jo.

  “This article makes us sound like gold diggers,” Jo said.

  “American media is a funny thing. I kind of love it. Did you hear what I said about next Thursday?”

  “Yeah,” she said, reaching for the mug. “What’s next Thursday?”

  “My parents are coming to town.”

  She’d known she would eventually have to meet the count and countess. But the introduction had been abstract. Even Toby hadn’t seen them in close to a year, so she figured she had some time.

  “Apparently, they are quite eager to meet their future daughter-in-law.”

  “In a bad way?”

  “No—of course not. My parents are way too self-absorbed to give you too much thought. Trust me, this is just another thing to check off their to-do list before the next trip to Ibiza. Or Belize. Or wherever. Don’t worry—we just have to suffer through one dinner, and then we won’t hear from them again until they show up at the wedding. If they show up at the wedding.”

  “Oh, Toby. Of course they’ll be at the wedding.”

  But they had flaked on Toby’s college graduation, so who knew what these people were capable of? Jo felt bad that his parents were so detached. It had to be lonely for him. She had the impulse to invite him dress shopping with her and her mother, but it was bad luck for him to see the dress, so what was the point?

  “You’re right—they will be. I’m sure they’ll want to see with their own eyes that I’ve gone through with it.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Well, because of the trust fund.”

  “What trust fund?”

  “I come into my inheritance when I marry. We all do.”

  Jo dropped the magazine. “Is that what this engagement is all about?” she asked.

  “What? No! Jo, don’t be ridiculous. You know how I feel about you—how I’ve always felt about you. I’m not doing this for the money any more than you are.”

  Wow. Okay, that was fair. Why should she accuse him of ulterior motives when she was the one who’d done the complete 180?

  “I’m sorry. I
just … This never came up before.”

  He shrugged. “It’s not a big deal. A technicality. Oh—almost forgot.” He pulled out his black American Express card and slid it across the table. “For the dress.”

  “Toby—you don’t have to do that. Really.”

  “I want to. Maybe you’ll even let me see you in it before May. I’m not sure I can wait.” He smiled.

  “It’s bad luck,” she said.

  He kissed her. “I don’t believe in luck.”

  * * *

  Meryl rushed into Jane restaurant. Scott gave her a wave from his table in the center of the room.

  “I have maybe twenty minutes,” Meryl said, out of breath.

  “I know, I know—you’re in demand. But this is worth your time, trust me. You cannot imagine the number of calls I got this morning,” he said, hugging Meryl in greeting. He smelled painfully good.

  “I have a dress-shopping appointment at Marchesa in an hour. Or rather, a pants fitting. My youngest wants to wear white silk Marchesa skinny pants down the aisle.”

  “I love it! Now, here’s the deal: I got three calls from networks this morning asking me about a potential show with you and your daughters.”

  “Scott, I told you not to pitch it yet. I haven’t even spoken to my family.”

  He held up his hand. “I didn’t pitch it. The networks I’ve worked with came to me.”

  “Came to you? Why?”

  “Because this is what I do, Meryl. They thought I might be able to approach you. And yes, I’ll admit, when they called, I told them I happened to know you personally. But that’s as far as the conversation went. That’s why I needed to see you immediately. This is hot, Meryl. This isn’t just shooting the shit between two old friends. There’s real money here.”

  Was it indecent to order alcohol at eleven in the morning on a weekday? Probably.

  “I’ll have a mimosa,” said Meryl.

  “Just coffee for me,” said Scott.

  “Now you’re making me feel bad.”

  “If I had three daughters getting married in a matter of months, I’d be drinking too.”

  She laughed. “Yes, well—when you put it that way. So this is all because of the New York magazine article?”

  “That was quite a piece. Calling your daughters the modern-day Paley sisters?”

  Meryl beamed. “It’s very exciting. But the show just isn’t a good idea. Between you and me, sometimes I feel getting these three girls down the aisle will be the death of me.”

  “That’s not the way this article makes it sound.”

  “Yes, well—don’t believe everything you read.”

  “What’s going on? I mean, aside from the stuff with your husband. I can imagine it’s stressful for him to be unemployed when there is a wedding to plan. That’s why this show is such an opportunity, Meryl.”

  “He’s not … unemployed. He’s writing a book.” Suddenly Meryl felt prickly and defensive for Hugh. “We’re all just doing the best we can,” she said.

  “I get that. And this show can make your best all that much better.”

  It was tempting. But everything with her mother was making her anxious. She felt vulnerable. Uncertain.

  “It’s not a good time.”

  “Meryl, I didn’t get where I am by taking no for an answer.” He put his hand on hers, and she felt the familiar pull toward him, an attraction that had first set root in her when she was just a girl. But there was no place for that now, as much as she’d liked, for a fleeting moment, to believe there was.

  “I appreciate that. But this isn’t just about business. It’s personal.”

  “Yes—it’s personal, and it’s business. The two aren’t mutually exclusive.” He smiled.

  “Scott, between you and me, I have a lot to deal with now aside from the wedding. You know my mother—you must remember her from, God, when she was my age.”

  “Of course. Your mother always wore those enormous round sunglasses.”

  “She wears enormous round glasses, period. All the time. My girls used to call her Grandma Owl.”

  He laughed. “I can’t wait to meet them. So what are you saying? She needs to be on the show? We can make that happen.”

  “No—no. Absolutely not. Things have been difficult with her lately. At first I thought maybe she had dementia. Now I don’t know. Depression, maybe. And I have this feeling … a really distressing feeling that she’s lying to me about something.”

  “Lying about what?”

  Meryl found herself tearing up. “The past. Her past. I don’t know. There’s just so much going on at once. The last thing any of us needs or wants is a bunch of cameras following us around.”

  “I know you feel that way now. But in a few months, this stress will be behind you and you’ll change your mind. And if we don’t start getting footage now, it will be too late. This time leading up to the wedding is crucial. Meryl, I don’t want you to miss this opportunity.”

  She pulled back. “You don’t want me to miss it? Or yourself?”

  “That’s not fair.”

  She nodded. “Maybe. Maybe not. But I don’t need another thing on my plate right now. I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to pass on this.”

  “Meryl, as your friend, I think you’re making a big mistake.”

  Was he right? When all the excitement died down, would she be kicking herself for not exploring this?

  “Scott,” she said. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

  * * *

  Jo wanted to wear Marchesa because of an outfit she’d seen on Pinterest. It was a white satin minidress with scalloped layers in front paired with white satin skinny pants. She’d seen it over a year ago, long before weddings were even a thought. Still, she’d had the fleeting but unforgettable notion that she would someday get married in something exactly like it.

  Only three places in the city carried Marchesa bridal, and one of them was on Wooster Street in SoHo. She was due to meet her mother at ten, but she thought she’d get there a little early just to get the lay of the land before her mother swooped in and started micromanaging. She didn’t want to try on a dozen dresses. Jo knew how she wanted to look on her wedding day, and it was just a matter of whether or not this particular bridal boutique had what she needed to pull it off.

  “Jo!”

  She looked up automatically at the sound of her name, and then noticed a swarm of photographers advancing toward her. Flashes went off like mini explosions, leaving her momentarily paralyzed. She might have stood like that, a deer caught in the headlights—or in this case, flashing lights—but someone grabbed her by the arm and said, “Follow me.”

  It was the wedding planner, aka Chanel Boots. Aka Leigh Beauford. Aka the recent guest star in a few unwelcome but extremely hot dreams.

  Leigh was somehow equipped with an umbrella despite the clear weather, and she used it as a shield and buttress as they pushed through the throng of photographers to the front door of the bridal boutique. All the while, they were shouting Jo’s name, asking about Toby—she thought she even heard Caroline’s name.

  Once inside the shop, the sales rep locked the door and pulled down blackout shades.

  “Okay, that was insane,” Jo said. “We have to warn my mother.”

  “I’m calling her now,” said Leigh.

  “Tell her to ring the shop when she’s outside. We’ll open up for her,” said one of the saleswomen.

  Jo glanced at Leigh, who was talking intently into her phone. She wore a robin’s egg blue trench coat; a red, blue, and gray Burberry scarf; charcoal gray pants that flared at the bottom; and gray Louboutins. Her chocolate brown hair framed her face in perfect layers, cascading down her back. Her fair skin was flawless, her almond-shaped dark eyes intense. Jo looked at her hands, the long tapered fingers, the short nails polished the color of the inside of a conch shell. Jo imagined those hands on her body, and immediately shook the thought away.

  “I’ve called security to clear the perim
eter of the store,” said the first saleswoman, Jacqueline. “Your mother should be fine. Do you want to start looking at a few things, or wait for her?”

  Jo looked at Leigh.

  “We should probably wait for her mother,” Leigh said.

  Jacqueline drifted away. Jo and Leigh were left on the sales floor with a tray of champagne.

  “I didn’t know you were coming today,” Jo said.

  “Your mother asked me to help out. I think with the triple wedding, she’s more comfortable with the idea of outside support.”

  Jo nodded, fighting the urge to check her appearance in the mirror. Jo never felt self-conscious. She was nothing if not comfortable in her own skin. And damn this chick for throwing her off her game. What was her deal?

  Their first encounter in the shoe department of Bloomingdale’s had felt like a flirtation. But that was before Leigh had known there was any professional connection between them. Really, what were the odds? So whatever that had been—it didn’t matter.

  “It just kind of feels like a waste of your time,” Jo said. “I mean, I know what I want here, so—”

  “Think of me as being in a support role,” Leigh said coolly. “And I need to coordinate the entire event, so having a sense of all the moving parts is important.”

  “Okay. Whatever.”

  Jacqueline rushed back across the room. “I’m opening the doors for your mother and the photographer now.”

  “What photographer?” Jo and Leigh asked in unison.

  Meryl breezed in through the newly unlocked entrance to the salon, followed by two men lugging equipment.

  “Thanks, Jacqueline,” said Meryl. “You’re a lifesaver. And thanks for being flexible about the cameras.”

  “Mom? What’s going on?”

  “Hi, sweetheart. Hi, Leigh! It turns out People wants a few shots of dress shopping for the piece, and since Meg is already finished with that and Jeffrey doesn’t want his design revealed until the wedding, that only leaves today. Just pretend they’re not here.”

  Jo looked at Leigh, and they shared a spontaneous and unnervingly intimate glance.

  “Uh, don’t you think you should have asked me if I’m cool with it? It seems a little invasive,” said Jo. Somehow, everything that came out of her mouth right now was making her sound like a raging bitch.