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My mother is the first person I spot as I enter the restaurant on the top floor of the hotel, Liam and Jules waving good-bye as Jules makes a beeline for Ben and Liam for his date, Angie, a leggy raven-haired beauty I just met yesterday.
“Kate!” my mom says, her sleek golden blond bob bouncing as she hugs me. “You’re here. I was beginning to wonder if you were going to show up.” She laughs, but the not-so-subtle disapproval drips from her voice like a leaky faucet.
“Well, I’m here now,” I say, straightening my back as I scan the room for Max. “Speaking of being here—”
“Did you get my texts?” my mom interrupts, awkwardly tugging at the hem of her knee-length dress despite the fact that it fits her slim figure perfectly. Her body is more toned than that of many women my age—including my own.
“Have you seen Max?” I ask, ignoring her question as I follow her wistful gaze to my dad and stepmom, huddled closely in the corner like they are the ones exchanging vows tomorrow. When my dad announced he was marrying Leslie, who is only twelve years older than I am, my mother had scoffed, promising he and the baby wouldn’t make it six months. But nearly twenty years later, they are still mad about each other, and I am still unable to admit to my mom that I have also come to genuinely love Leslie. She has kind blue eyes that still light up whenever she talks about my dad, and she always welcomes me with a warm embrace I can feel long after we’ve parted. It’s as if her sunny personality radiates through her skin and transfers onto mine.
My mother grabs a mai tai from a passing waiter and takes a long drink, her ruby-red lipstick staining the straw. “I haven’t seen him . . . I assumed you two were together.” She motions her cocktail glass toward the crowded room without taking her eyes off my dad, and I fight the urge to grab her by the shoulders and shake the bitterness out of her like a coin you try to retrieve from a piggy bank.
I scan the area again, noticing most of the guests have already arrived, wearing colorful leis around their necks, sipping cocktails with umbrellas, a warm bronzed tone to their skin from their first day in the sun—or in the case of my uncle Louie, a shade closer to lobster red—but there’s still no sign of my fiancé.
I frown. Max is never late. I think back to the morning we flew to Maui. At 6 a.m., he was already off on his daily six-mile run, his single black Tumi suitcase and garment bag sitting by the front door hours before we were scheduled to leave, his items thoughtfully and precisely packed the day before. Meanwhile, I was in our bedroom heaving my severely undercaffeinated body on top of my third piece of luggage, desperate to squeeze in one last sarong and pair of espadrilles just in case.
Where is he?
“Well, I’m sure he’ll be here any moment,” my mom says, as if she’s just read my mind. “It’s Max we’re talking about here, not your father,” she adds, an edge to her voice.
“Mom, please. Not tonight.”
“So about my texts. Do you believe the nerve of that woman?” She presses on anyway. “It’s a family picture!”
I bite my tongue, holding back the thoughts scrolling through my mind like the ticker at the bottom of a news program—that my mom’s palpable anger was not an invited guest to my wedding weekend, that her lipstick is three shades too dark for her ivory skin, that I’m truly sorry my dad fell in love with someone else and even sorrier that she refuses to let go of the anger that’s been eating her alive ever since. I shoot Jules a look across the room, letting her know I need her help.
“It’s not a completely unreasonable request—they’ve been married a long time,” I finally say gently, not wanting to hurt her feelings, no matter how foolish she is acting.
My mom starts to respond, but Jules intercepts her, swiftly grabbing her hand and guiding her toward the bar, mentioning something about the freshly shaved coconut in the pi?a coladas.
I turn on my heel to search for Max. I’m relieved when I finally locate him on the veranda, in deep conversation with Courtney, my friend and the other vice president at the advertising agency where I work.
“There you are.” My gaze is immediately pulled to Max’s empty wrist like a magnet. “Didn’t you get a special delivery from me today? Stella swore it was delivered—”
Max glances sideways at Courtney, then back at me. “Stella didn’t forget. I got the watch.” He runs his hand through his wavy dark brown hair and across his stubble-lined jaw.
“Then where is it?” I chew on my lower lip as I wait for his answer.
“It’s down in my room.”
“Really? Why?” I say, my mind spinning. “You didn’t like it.” My cheeks redden with embarrassment as I catch Courtney’s sympathetic stare. She looks away quickly. “I’m sorry, I thought—”