Cancel the Wedding

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Cancel the Wedding Page 12

by Carolyn T. Dingman


  Another half hour went by before I dialed Georgia. She answered without a greeting, as we always did with each other. “Is Lo with you? I can’t find the remote for the movie thing in the car and I need it for—”

  I cut her off. “She’s not with me.”

  “You sound weird. Are you okay?”

  The words all just spilled out of me. “I honestly don’t know. I’m feeling confused about a lot of things. I’m . . . I’m having a hard time thinking about Leo. And marriage. I just don’t know if this is the right thing for us. And I keep calling to talk to him but we can’t even have a conversation about today let alone get far enough along to talk about the future.”

  “What are you saying? Are you thinking about canceling the wedding again? Because I honestly don’t think he’ll handle that very well.”

  “Oh my God, how many times do I have to tell you people I did not cancel the wedding last time? Mom got sick. She was dying! It wasn’t a great time for a party.”

  “Don’t yell at me! You did postpone it. I’m not saying it wasn’t for a good reason, but don’t rewrite history. I’m just reminding you how excited Leo was when he booked the chapel; that’s all.”

  “I know. It worked out so nicely, tucked in there between the end of the Feldman case and the firm’s trip to Kauai. So perfect!”

  “You sound like a lunatic. What is going on?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “So start at the beginning. And don’t cry; you’re an ugly crier.”

  That made me laugh and cry at the same time. I started telling her everything I had experienced with the burned-out house and the strange reality of the drowned town. I told her what it felt like to be standing in the family graveyard. And about the ties to a vanished family we had never known about. I wondered, out loud, if Leo and I should really go through with this wedding.

  Georgia said, “You’re practically married anyway. The wedding is just a formality, a celebration. With jewelry.”

  “Not funny, Gigi.” I wondered if things would change, get better, once we were married. But when he surprised me with the date and had booked the chapel it sent me reeling. Instead of feeling excitement or relief at having the date looming I went into a panic and fled. I knew that was a bad reaction. I just had to figure out what it meant. “I don’t think we should get married just because it’s what comes next. If it’s not right we shouldn’t go through with it.”

  “How long have you been feeling like this?”

  “I don’t know. A while.” I could pinpoint it to the day we canceled our therapy session because he had the draft for his Fantasy Baseball team. It wasn’t the draft that bothered me; it was the fact that we were going to a therapist and we weren’t even married yet.

  Georgia was using her most calming mother voice with me at this point. “You’ll be back in a few days. You can talk to him when you get home.”

  “Actually, I’m thinking of staying longer. I want to stay down here until Mom’s birthday when we scatter the ashes.”

  Her calm demeanor vanished. “Olivia, that’s weeks away. You can’t hide out down there and avoid your life.”

  I shook my head, as if she could see me. “I’m not avoiding it. I’m trying to understand it. I want to stay here. I want to find out about Mom. I’m not ready to leave.” And here comes the kicker. “And I think I might have a tiny crush on Elliott.”

  Georgia sounded baffled. “You mean the old newspaper guy?”

  I got up off the bench and started to wander the streets of Tillman. “Did I give you the impression he was old?”

  “Yes, you did. Deliberately.”

  “Actually, he’s my age. Well a year older.”

  “Olivia.”

  “What?”

  “Really? You can have a crush, but that’s it. You can’t act on it. And if you’re having this many second thoughts about Leo then you need to talk to him.”

  “I’ve been trying to talk to him. I tried for weeks before I left. I’ve been calling him since I got here. I even asked him to come down here, but he’s busy.”

  She was silent on the other end for a long time. Finally she said, “Do you think it’s just you? I mean just what you’re going through with everything about Mom because you took that really hard. Or do you think it’s really that you’re not happy with Leo?”

  That was the million-dollar question, wasn’t it? “Losing Mom was horrible and seeing everything down here has been unsettling but . . . I don’t think that’s it. I really just wonder if I’m supposed to be with Leo at all. I just need some space to figure out if this is real or if I’m just—”

  “Completely nuts.”

  “Thanks, Georgia. That’s very understanding of you.”

  “Look, I just think if you do this to Leo it will be awful. Awful for him, awful for you, awful for us. He’s been a part of our family for a long time. He knew Mom and Dad. But no matter how awful it is, if it’s what you need to do . . . then I’ll stand by you. Of course.”

  I was crying again. “Thanks.”

  “Feel better?”

  “No.”

  “I’m sorry, sweetie. I know this is hard. But you know I’m on your side. Whatever you decide.”

  “Thanks. I know.”

  “And you know you sound like an idiot, at your age, saying you have a crush on this guy, right?” I could feel her doing air quotes around the word “crush.”

  “Yes, but thanks again for spelling it out for me and making me feel stupid.”

  She felt bad for scolding me. “I’m not trying to make you feel stupid, but try to remember how bad it was when Leo had a crush on that girl at work.”

  She knows we don’t talk about that. “I can’t believe you brought that up.”

  She paused for a second and then her voice got tight; she was getting to what she thought was the real problem here. “You know, not everyone gets to have what Mom and Dad had. That was just special. You shouldn’t think that because you and Leo are different that it’s not good enough.”

  That was meant to make me feel better. It didn’t really work. “I’ll call you later, Gigi.”

  I thought back to when our mom got sick and I decided to postpone the wedding that first time. When I told my mother my plan she was not pleased. We had been digging through her attic in search of my sister’s wedding veil when I broke the news to her that I felt like we should wait on the wedding. She paused for a minute then got right back to work finding the veil.

  My mother dug down to the bottom of one of the cedar chests tucked under the dusty eaves of the roof. “Livie, don’t delay your life because I’m sick. If you love Leo then get married, have children, or adopt a dog, whatever. Live your life.”

  I held the lid of the chest up while she pulled out old Raggedy Ann dolls and Girl Scout uniforms. “Mom, I just don’t want to have to deal with a wedding, with a giant party, right now.”

  “He’s a good man. He’s very, what’s a good word for him . . . stable. And he loves you. Ah-ha! I found it.” She pulled out the enormous piece of tulle, folded and wrapped in tissue. She snapped it out to its full length.

  “Stable? That makes him sound like a Chevy.”

  She cocked her head to the side, which told me not to make light of a serious conversation. “Do you love him, Livie? That’s all you need to know. If you love him and you need him then get married. Start living. Don’t wait for it, not because of me.”

  “I don’t need him. I mean I don’t need anyone to take care of me.” I lowered the lid of the chest and stood my ground with her.

  My mother took me by the hand guiding me to an old cracked mirror leaning against a rafter. She stood behind me putting the airy veil on my head, testing different positions. She said, “It’s not a weakness, Olivia.” She kept trying to pat down the voluminous veil to make it lie more flat. “It’s a good thing to need and to be needed in life. You should need him so much that without him you can’t breathe.”

  All of m
y instincts recoiled. How weak a person do you have to be to need another person in order to breathe? “I don’t need someone to rescue me like that, Mom.”

  She shook her head the way she always did when I didn’t understand something. “Olivia, I loved your father, but he never rescued me from anything. I rescued myself. You don’t need someone to hold you up, but you could use someone to hold your hand. I was holding my breath for a long time before I met your dad and when he came into my life, well, I could breathe again.”

  She and I both stared in the mirror at our reflection. I had always looked so much like her, just a younger version with lighter hair. But now she was losing weight and had an unnaturally pale pallor to her skin. Now we resembled a before and after ad.

  “What does that mean, Mom? I wish you’d tell us some of these things you keep hidden.” I was never good at pushing her for answers, even before she became frail and sick, but I could feel our time running out.

  She put her hands on my shoulders. “I really miss your dad.” There were tears in her eyes, which made me feel horrible for pushing her, even ever so slightly. “There will always be things you can’t know about a person and that has to be okay. But I loved your father. I never once questioned it. I was supposed to find him . . . after everything.” She stopped herself from saying more. “If you love Leo that way, if you need him and want to be with him, then let’s do this.”

  The veil was really beginning to puff out now and with every movement it managed to get bigger. It was hideous. She tried to push it down again and it sprang back up.

  She hugged me from behind, silently ending that conversation, and pulled the veil off my head. “We are telling Georgia that we couldn’t find her veil. You will have to wear something else because this is the God-awfulest thing I have ever seen. I don’t remember it being so big when she wore it. On you it looks like some kind of volcanic ash is erupting from your head.”

  I smiled remembering her like that, and I wondered if maybe I had missed her point about the way and the depth that you could need another person.

  I pulled myself back to the present and made my way slowly back to the inn, clearing all of the work e-mails and messages off my phone. When I got to the inn I waved to Graham, who was manning his post at the valet stand. He was getting ready for the dinner rush at the inn’s restaurant. There would be three, maybe four cars pulling up within the hour. He straightened his collar in preparation and I had to laugh. I sat down in one of the rocking chairs lining the wide porch.

  Now that I had decided to stay I needed to deal with the office. I called my team first to tell them I was trying to get a leave of absence for a few weeks. They were supportive, as always. Then I had to do the difficult task of calling my boss to actually get permission.

  He was strangely amenable to the idea. In fact, it almost sounded as if he’d been making plans for my departure. When I made a joke about it he said, “Well, I need to see if Jeremy can handle that team while you’re gone. Now that you’re getting married you’ll probably be pregnant any minute and we’ll need someone to step up. You women don’t always come back once the baby comes.”

  I was too shocked to have an appropriate response to that so I just thanked him and hung up. His comment probably violated several different human resources rules, but I was too relieved to have gotten permission for the leave of absence to care about that.

  My phone pinged. It was a text from Leo: Sorry I couldn’t talk. Have to have dinner w/J. I’ll call you tomorrow. Love you.

  THIRTEEN

  I dragged myself back up to our room at the inn, flopped down on my bed, and crossed my arms over my face. I was exhausted. Emotionally and physically.

  After a few minutes of blissful, quiet darkness Logan threw a pillow at me. I didn’t move, but I said, “What?”

  “Are we going to dinner or can we just chill?”

  “Oh yes, by all means, let’s just chill.” I had a splitting headache and a tiredness that had seeped all the way down to my toes. I kicked my shoes off and stared at the ceiling. I heard a crunching sound and looked over at Logan. “What are you eating?”

  “Doritos.”

  “Where’d you get them?”

  She handed me a tote bag and said, “They’re left over from the car ride.”

  I dug through the bag and found some Fritos and strawberry Pop-Tarts. I said, “Excellent. We’ll have road trip snacks for dinner.”

  She was licking her fingers. “Do you want a drink? I could go to the soda machine.”

  I thought I needed something stronger than soda. I put my shoes back on. “I’ll go. I need to drop the thank-you candle at the front desk for Mrs. Chatham anyway.”

  I left the candle and note with the woman at the front desk, then went to the bar to get a drink to go. I got back to the room and opened my dinner of Fritos and Pop-Tarts. That covered corn and fruit. And there were limes in my vodka tonic. A well-rounded meal.

  Logan and I sat on her bed while she filled me in on all the drama happening with the rising junior class. It was a nice distraction from the drama happening in my head. A lot of it also sounded annoyingly similar. Great, now I was acting like a teenager in heat.

  She seemed to have forgotten all about the boy she had been dating at the end of the school year and was focused solely on Graham. It was so easy to fall in and out of love at her age. I wondered if it were just as easy at my age. Maybe what made it so difficult was just the complexity of extricating yourself from all the trappings of an adult relationship.

  “I need another drink.”

  Logan said, “No you don’t. What’s up with you and the vodka?”

  I thought, It’s not as fattening as beer and I like it more than wine. I said, “I’m on vacation and I’m having a cocktail. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  “You’re burying your dead mom and you’re sitting in a hotel room with your niece. It’s not like you’re on the lido deck.”

  I patted her on the back. “Nice. More and more like your mom every day.”

  Her phone beeped that she had a text message and I was mercifully ignored. She was busy with her cyberlife so I spent some time tidying up the room. There were clothes scattered all over the place. It was as if Logan selected her outfit by flinging several things into the air and then choosing whatever hit the bed. While I was in the bathroom brushing my teeth, Logan asked, “What are we doing tomorrow?”

  I came back in the room and just shrugged my shoulders. I had no idea what we were doing tomorrow. I checked things off on my fingers. “Let’s see, drowned town? Check. Burned-out house? Check. Random family graveyard full of people we’ve never heard of? Check. I guess we could hit the cemetery. I might look at some houses to see if there’s something I can rent for a few weeks.”

  She rolled her shoulders up to her ears like she used to do when she was little and wanted ice cream. “Would you care if I went out on the lake with Graham? A bunch of his friends are going water-skiing tomorrow and he asked if I could go.” Then she raised her little eyebrows. Pwease Aunt Lib, pwease can I hab some ice cweam? I kind of missed her little speech impediment.

  I figured Georgia would let her go, so I gave my permission. “Sure. That sounds fun. Of course you can go. Just no drinking, drugs, or sex on the boat. Or off the boat. Or really anywhere.” I couldn’t remember all of Georgia’s rules, but that probably covered most of the bases.

  She was immediately texting on her phone again. “Okay. And no drinking, drugs, or sex for you either tomorrow.”

  “You’re hilarious.”

  The next morning I helped Logan get ready for her day on the boat with Graham and his friends.

  When we went downstairs to meet up with Graham I felt the need to act like a parent. I asked who would be on the boat and who was driving it. I made him assure me there would be no alcohol, which horrified Logan. I waved to them as they walked down the sidewalk toward the lake.

  I walked to Jimmy’s and spent an hour just sit
ting in a chair staring at the wall. It’s amazing how completely still the body can be when the mind is racing. I felt like I had to decide: Do I really stay here for a few weeks researching my mother’s life, and incidentally run the risk of seeing Elliott every day? Or do I just sprinkle the goddamn ashes already and go home to my life? Yesterday I had felt so sure, but today I was waffling.

  Jimmy eventually came over to refill my coffee mug. “You okay?”

  I laughed a little. Was it that obvious? I said, “No, not really.”

  “A lot of that going around this week. Anything I can do?”

  Some part of me knew this tiny window was precious and I shouldn’t waste it. I was in this strange bracket of time between the anniversaries of my mother’s death and birth. Right here, right now I had to find out what I could about her. This opportunity wouldn’t come again. Before my brain realized that it had made up its mind I said to Jimmy, “Yes, actually. Do you know of any lake houses for rent?”

  “The resort section of the marina has rental lake cottages. I think they call them villas.” Jimmy said “villas” in a way that led me to believe he found the name ridiculous.

  I didn’t want to be anywhere near that marina and run the risk of seeing even more of Emory. I probably needed to stay in town. “I was thinking maybe something closer to the square.”

  Jimmy sent me to the real estate office on the next block where I met with an agent and got the list of everything that was open for the next few weeks.

  I spent the day looking at property. I drove by all the houses available. I crossed off all of the brown cedar mountain houses. They looked somehow depressing to me. I needed light. I needed open. I wanted a bright open space.

  At the fifth house on my list I found what I was looking for. I parked the car on the street in front of the little white house. It was an old lake cottage just one block off the town square.

 

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