I gave him a look to indicate that he should have taken the glass as we all followed my mother to the living room. Lauren sat close to my brother on the couch, clutching his arm in a death grip. My brother is a bit of a dork, too, but as I studied his girlfriend's sweatshirt with the Good Haven logo, acid-washed, cropped jeans, Keds with no socks (a look I couldn't even stomach during its brief acceptable stint in high school), I determined for the hundredth time that he could do better. Marcus and I took a seat on the opposite couch, and my parents took the two armchairs.
"So," my mother said, crossing her ankles. I assumed she was ready to interrogate Marcus. I felt nervous, but also excited, hopeful that he would rise to the occasion and make me proud. But instead of focusing on Marcus, my mother said, "Lauren and Jeremy have some news!"
Lauren giggled and threw out her left hand, revealing what appeared from my seat on the opposite couch to be a princess-cut diamond ring set in white gold or platinum. "Surprise!"
I looked at my brother. I was surprised, all right. Surprised that it wasn't a marquis cut set in yellow gold.
"We're getting married," Jeremy confirmed.
Marcus spoke before I could. "Congrats." He raised his beer.
Jeremy returned the gesture with his glass of Coke. "Thanks, man."
Jeremy shouldn't say man. He just can't pull it off. He hasn't a cool bone in his body.
"Congratulations," I said, but my voice sounded stilted, unnatural. I stood to survey the goods, quickly determining that although the diamond was a decent size, it was slightly yellowish. I pegged it as a J in color.
"Very nice," I said, returning Lauren's hand to my brother's knee.
My mother started to gush about a May wedding in Indy and a reception at our country club.
I told them how happy I was for them, my mouth stretched into a fake smile as I tried to suppress a stab of envy. I wondered how I could possibly be jealous of my dorky little brother and this girl with bad bangs and thick thighs shoved into acid-washed jeans. Yet incredibly, I was. I was bothered by my mother's enthusiasm. Bothered that Lauren was replacing me as the bride-to-be, my mother's focal point. And what annoyed me the very most was that their spring wedding was going to shift the focus from my baby and me.
"Should I ask her now?" Lauren looked eagerly at Jeremy.
"Go ahead." Jeremy beamed.
"Ask me what?"
"We want you to be a bridesmaid," Lauren chirped. "Because you've always been like a big sister to me." She looked at Marcus and explained further, "Darcy used to babysit for me."
"I never babysat for you. Rachel did," I said.
"Well, true," Lauren said, her smile fading slightly. Mention of Rachel sombered up the room. I liked the effect—liked reminding everyone of my suffering. But the result was short-lived. Lauren's grin quickly returned in full force. "But you were always there helping her. You were so fun."
"Thanks," I said. "I try."
"So will you?"
"Will I what?" I asked, pretending to be puzzled.
"Be a bridesmaid?"
"Oh. Yeah. Sure thing."
Lauren clapped and squealed. "Goody! And I want your help. I need your help."
She could say that again, I thought. And sure enough, she did. "I need you to help because you're so good at this stuff."
"Why? Because I'm the wedding expert now that I just spent almost a year planning one?" Another reminder of my pain.
Lauren flinched, but then recovered. "No. Not that. Just because you have the most excellent taste." She turned to Marcus again. "Incredible taste. Nobody has taste like Darcy."
This much was true.
Marcus nodded and then took another swallow of beer.
"So I need your help," she continued excitedly.
Okay. Let's start with those jeans. And the Keds. And your bangs.
I looked at my mother, hoping she was thinking the same thing. She was usually right on board with the Lauren criticism, recently ranting about her application of blush: two round circles of pink missing her cheekbones altogether. Not that Lauren had much in the way of cheekbones. She wasn't bringing the best genes to the table. But clearly my mother was not in her usual critical mode; she was hypnotized by the rosy glow of a new wedding to plan. She looked at Jeremy and Lauren adoringly. "Lauren has been dying to call you. But Jeremy and I convinced her to wait to tell you in person."
"I'm so glad you did," I said flatly.
"You were right, Mom," Lauren said.
Mom? Had I heard that right? I looked at Lauren. "So you're calling her 'Mom' now?" Pretty soon she was going to lay claim to my mother's jewelry and china.
Lauren giggled, pressed Jeremy's hand to her cheek in a nauseating display of affection. It looked like a bad Kodak commercial, the kind that's supposed to make you cry. "Yeah. I've felt that way about her for a long time, but now it feels right to call her that."
"I see," I said, with what I hoped was maximum disapproval. Then I glanced over at Marcus, who was finishing his beer.
"You want another?" I asked, standing for the kitchen.
"Sure," he said.
I gave him a look. "Come with me."