We ate at the table in the backyard, off paper plates. My mother’s contribution: Brazilian beefsteaks, imported artichoke salad, and fresh Italian bread, baked just that day. Jennifer Anne’s: macaroni and cheese, salad with iceberg lettuce and Thousand Island dressing, and a Jell-O mold with whipped cream. Worlds may have been colliding, but as the conversation began to roll around to wedding plans and preparations, it was clear there was a common ground.
“I just have no idea where to start,” Jennifer Anne said. She and Chris held hands all through dinner, which was somewhat disgusting but a bit tolerable, considering the newness of their engaged status. “Reception halls, cakes, invitations . . . the whole thing. It’s overwhelming.” “It’s not that bad,” I told her, spearing a bit of lettuce with my fork. “Just get a folder, a notebook, and get second estimates on everything. And don’t use the Inverness Inn because they overcharge and never have toilet paper in the bathrooms.”
“Oh, weddings are always fun!” my mother chirped, sipping on her glass of wine. And for a second I caught her as a wave of sadness crossed over her face. But she shook it off, smiling at Chris instead. “Anything you two need, help, money . . . let me know. Promise you will.”
“We will,” Chris said.
I gathered up the plates as they kept talking, discussing possible dates, places, all the things that I’d been starting to think about this time last year, when my mother was the bride-to-be. There was something incongruous about one marriage ending the same day another began, as if there was an exchange program in the universe or something, a trade required in order to keep the numbers even.
As I pulled open the screen door, I turned around, looking again at the backyard, where the dark was now coming on. I could hear their voices rising and falling, and for a second I closed my eyes, just listening. Times like this it did seem real I was leaving, and even more that my family, and this life, would go on without me. And again I felt that emptiness rise up, but pushed it away. Still, I lingered there, in the doorway, memorizing the noise. The moment. Tucking it away out of sight, to be remembered when I needed it most.
After dinner and dessert, Jennifer Anne and Chris packed up the Tupperware and went home, armed with all the crap I’d kept from planning my mother’s wedding to Don—brochures, price lists, and phone numbers of everything from limo services to the best makeup guy in town. In my typical cynical fashion, I’d had no doubt we would need it again, and I was right. Just not in the way I’d thought.
My mother kissed me and headed off to bed, a bit teary but okay. I went up to my room and double-checked some of my boxes, reorganizing a few more items and packing up a few last things. Then I sat on my bed, restless, listening to the whir of the air-conditioning until I couldn’t take it anymore. When I pulled up to the Quik Zip, heeding the call of that Extra Large Zip Diet, I was surprised to see Lissa’s car parked in front of the pay phones. I snuck up behind her in the candy section as she stood debating whether to get Skittles or Spree. She had one in each hand, and when I poked her in the small of her back, she jumped, shrieking, sending both flying.
“Remy!” She swatted at my hand, the color rising in her face. “God, you scared me.”
“Sorry,” I told her. “Couldn’t resist.”
She bent down, collecting the candy. “Not funny,” she grumbled. “What are you doing out, anyway? I thought you were having a big family night.”
“I was,” I said, heading over to the Zip Fountain station. It was weird how even the smallest things were making me nostalgic now, and I had a moment of quiet respect as I picked a cup off the stack, then filled it with ice. “I mean, I did. Bigger family night than you would even believe. You having a Zip?”
“Sure,” she said, and I handed her a cup. We didn’t talk for a second as I filled mine, stopping at the right intervals to allow the fizz to die down. Plus, sometimes you got a new shot of syrup when you pushed in the Diet Coke button, which made them extra wonderful. Then I got a lid and a straw, as Lissa did the same with the 7UP. As I sipped mine, testing it for full flavor, I noticed that she looked very nice; she appeared to be wearing a new skirt, and had painted her toenails. Plus she smelled good, a light floral scent, and I was almost positive she had curled her eyelashes.
“Okay,” I said. “Confess. What are you doing tonight?”
She smiled slyly, dropping the candy by the register. As the guy ran it up, she said, offhandedly, “Got a date.”
“Lissa,” I said. “No way.”
“Three seventy-eight,” the guy said.
“I’ll get hers too,” Lissa told him, nodding at my Diet Zip.
“Thanks,” I said, surprised.
“No problem.” She handed the guy a couple of folded bills. “Well, you know that P.J. and I have been kind of circling lately.”
“Yeah,” I said as she took her change and we headed for the door.
“And the summer is close to over. And today, when we were at this craft festival KaBooming, I just decided the hell with it. I was tired of waiting around, wondering if he was ever going to make a move. So I asked him out.”
“Lissa. I’m impressed.”