But the heart of the action took place in the kitchen. Mira and Livvy were busy making the antipasto trays—provolone, roasted peppers, tuna fish, olives, bruschetta. Maria was layering homemade manicotti in porcelain baking dishes, and Angie was trying to make ricotta cream for the cannoli. In the corner, on the small kitchen table that had somehow once held the entire DeSaria family for casual meals, a three-tiered white wedding cake rose above a sea of napkins and silverware.
“Lauren,” Maria said, “start setting up the buffet in the dining room.”
Lauren immediately went to the little table and started picking things up. Silverware and cocktail napkins first.
She carried them into the dining room and stood there, staring at the huge table. A pale green damask tablecloth covered it. A vase full of white roses was the centerpiece.
There would be photographs taken of this table. She needed to do it right. But how?
“The silverware goes here, at the beginning,” Angie said, coming up beside her. “Like this.”
Lauren watched Angie arrange the silverware into a pretty pattern, and it struck her all at once, so hard that Lauren drew in a sharp breath: I’ll be leaving soon.
“Are you okay, honey? You look like you’ve just lost your best friend.”
Lauren forced a smile, said quickly, “I don’t think you should be setting the table at your own wedding.”
“That’s the great thing about remarrying the same guy. What matters is the marriage, not the ceremony. We’re only doing this for Mama.” She leaned closer. “I told her not to bother, but you know my mother.”
Angie went back to setting out the silverware.
Lauren felt her move slightly to the left, and it seemed suddenly as if there was a vast space between them. “Do you want a boy or a girl?”
Angie’s hand froze in midair, a pair of knives hung suspended above the table. The moment seemed to draw out. From the other rooms, noise surrounded them, but here, in the dining room, there was only the sound of two women breathing slowly. “I don’t know,” she said at last, then went back to placing silverware. “Healthy is all that matters.”
“That counselor you sent me to … she said I should feel free to ask you questions. She said it’s better to have everything out in the open.”
“You can talk to me about anything. You know that.”
“That adoption plan we made …” Lauren started to ask the question that had kept her up all last night; halfway into it, she lost her nerve.
“Yes?”
Lauren swallowed hard. “Will you stick to it? Send me letters and pictures?”
“Oh, honey. Of course we will.”
Something about the way she said honey, so gently, broke Lauren’s heart. She couldn’t hold it inside anymore. “You’ll forget me.”
Angie’s face crumpled at that. Tears glistened in her eyes as she pulled Lauren into her arms and said fiercely, “Never.”
Lauren was the first to draw away. Instead of comforting her, the hug had only made her feel more alone. She put a hand on her belly, felt her baby’s fluttery movements. She was just about to ask Angie to touch her stomach when David walked into the living room. She ran for him, let him take her in his arms.
The loneliness that had gripped her only a moment ago released its hold. She wouldn’t be alone after the baby. She’d have David.
“You look great,” he said.
It made her smile, even if it was a lie. “I’m as big as a house.”
He laughed. “I like houses. In fact, I’m thinking about architecture as a career.”
“Smart-ass.”
He looped an arm around her and headed for the food. On the way there, he told her all the gossip from school. She was laughing again by the time the music started and Maria herded everyone to the backyard, where a rented white arbor was entwined with hundreds of pink silk roses.
Conlan stood beneath the arbor, wearing a pair of black Levi’s and a black crewneck sweater. Father O’Houlihan was beside him, dressed in full robes.
To the strains of Nat King Cole’s “Unforgettable” Angie walked down the flagstone path. She wore a white cashmere cable-knit sweater and a gauzy white skirt. Her feet were bare and the wind whipped her long, dark hair across her back. A single white rose was her bouquet.
Lauren stared at her in awe.
As Angie passed Lauren, she smiled. Their gazes met, held for the briefest moment, and Lauren thought: I love you, too.
It was crazy.…
Angie handed Lauren the rose and kept walking.
Lauren stared down at the rose in disbelief. Even now, in this moment that was Angie’s, she’d thought of Lauren.
“You see how lucky you are,” she whispered to her baby, touching her swollen belly. “That’s going to be your mom.”
She wasn’t sure why it made her want to cry.
THIRTY
On a rainy Monday in late April, Maria decided that Angie needed to learn how to cook. She showed up early, carrying a big cardboard box full of supplies. No amount of arguing could change her mind. “You are a married woman … again. You should cook.”
Lauren stood in the doorway, trying not to laugh at Angie’s protests.