The Rehearsals

by Annette Christie

  The second detail he noted was also song-related: a sign at the entrance of their private room that said BETTER TOGETHER. He remembered strumming the Jack Johnson song on his ukulele and singing it to Megs. Before he could get too choked up, he turned his attention to all the guests who’d traveled here to wish the two of them well. He wandered through the tables, greeting relatives and friends, lingering a little longer at Paulina’s and Hamza’s seats so he could tell them just how much he’d appreciated their support and sanity over the years. Tell them that London, to this day, had been one of the best trips of his life.

  When Paulina pulled him in for a hug, the baby hiccupped between them, a small comical miracle.

  “I’m so nervous to be a dad,” Hamza confessed. “But people keep saying kids are hilarious—sometimes by accident, sometimes on purpose—and that’s getting me through.”

  An ache in Tom’s chest pulsed, a mourning call for the kids he thought he’d one day have with Megs. The little one growing inside Paulina would’ve been his own child’s playmate. Someone to make mischief with at family gatherings.

  At the center of each table was a picture frame featuring a carefully selected photo of Tom and Megan: the two of them posing with the lion statues in Trafalgar Square; Megs, on the day they took possession of their SoHo apartment, trying to carry a large box that, on close inspection, revealed a folded-up Tom (only partially blurred by their laughing neighbor’s fingers); Megs and Tom kissing on a Boston duck boat sightseeing tour; the outtakes from their engagement photo session that scandalously depicted Megs grabbing Tom’s ass (that photo was placed at her grandparents’ table, which made Tom laugh).

  When had she had the time to go through twelve years of pictures? A prickle of guilt rippled up his spine. Because he knew he hadn’t just abandoned her in the wedding planning; he’d abandoned her in a hundred different pocket-size ways.

  His eyes were drawn to Megs as soon as she entered. She looked fresh, beautiful. Calm in a way she hadn’t in ages. But he knew her so well, he could see the telltale signs that she’d cried before reapplying her makeup. Her nose always turned bright pink.

  For a millisecond, before guests swarmed her, a thread connected them. Like those telephones made from tin cans and string. Time slowed as they each sent a message along.

  We made it, it said. Survived another day.

  If this was indeed a day to be their best, then this was going to be the rehearsal dinner they’d wanted, not the result of a million compromises.

  Tom took his seat beside his mother. “Is Dad coming?”

  “He’s talking to your aunt Florence. Is this dinner really being served family-style?” When Tom nodded, the tiniest of shudders rippled through Carol.

  “I’ve asked the kitchen to make you up a separate plate.” Megan sat down on the other side of Tom.

  Carol wasn’t one to show emotion, but a small approving nod told Tom she appreciated Megs’s thoughtfulness.

  They’d never discussed his mom’s debilitating germaphobia. Megs had obviously seen it on her own. It was a very Megs thing to do.

  When he’d called off the wedding the first time, he hadn’t actually sat down to make a ledger of all the things he’d miss about her. The list had formed on its own and now it seemed infinite.

  “Ah, Tom. You’re here.” John loomed over the table, waiting to belittle his second son before sitting down. “I wondered if you were quitting everything today.”

  Before Tom could formulate a response or give Megs a reassuring look, Brody and Emmeline appeared. Tom stood to kiss Emmeline’s cheek and give Brody a hug. “You okay?” he asked. Not because he was trying to do things right, but because he was seeing his brother for what he was: a facade of success covering a man who didn’t know who he was.

  “Fine, Spare Parts. Why? You wondering if I’ll be needing any of your organs anytime soon?” Brody replied a little too loudly. Then he stage-whispered, “Has Mom said ‘two planes and a ferry’ yet?”

  Megs stood to greet a very somber-looking Donna.

  “I suppose if anyone’s allowed to be late for the rehearsal dinner, it is the mother of the bride,” Carol trilled.

  “She isn’t late, she’s right on time.” Megan delivered the polite but clipped response through a tight smile.

  Had this been two days ago, Tom would’ve been sweating, worrying about juggling the many unpredictable personalities throughout the dinner. Tonight, Tom knew he was at a table of adults and he couldn’t be responsible for arranging an armistice among them all.

  But he could still stand up for what he believed.

  “Ease up, Mom.” Tom was keeping his voice low, though he felt Megs shift beside him.

  “Watch your tone with your mother,” John said, also keeping his volume low so as not to cause a scene.

  “For years I’ve listened to you criticize my fiancée and her family.” Tom’s voice was steady. Grave. “That ends now. You’ll treat them all with respect or you’ll stop seeing us.”

  Tom heard Megs inhale sharply beside him and risked a glance at Donna, whose cheeks were flushed, eyes glassy with emotion. Brianna gave him a thumbs-up and mumbled something about glass houses.

  Brody, meanwhile, gave him a small wink and appeared to be smiling behind his drink.

  His parents said nothing.

  As people found their seats, and salads began circulating, Tom stood, tapping a fork against his glass. The room hushed.

  “We’d like to thank everyone for coming this weekend. Travel days, like relationships, are rarely smooth, and so we want to acknowledge the efforts you’ve made to get here.”

  “Two planes and a ferry!” Brody bellowed, raising his glass, clearly deciding he no longer had to wait for Carol before he could drink.

  Tom raised his own glass good-naturedly to his brother. He scanned the room of family and friends before landing on the most important person. “Most of all, I’d like to thank Megs. There are a thousand details in this room that are a testament to her capabilities, her dedication to those who are lucky enough to be loved by her.”

  He smiled sadly at his once bride-to-be and saw the gratitude in the quirk of her mouth, the soft blush in her cheeks.

  “Whatever happens, whatever else the universe has in store for me, I am grateful now for the journey I’ve taken to get here. For the many ways my partner of the past twelve years has taught me to be a better person, even if I didn’t always listen.”

  A murmur of soft laughter rippled through the crowd and they applauded.

  Tom took his seat just as John stood.

  He felt his fingers grip his seat, his body on high alert, ready to interrupt or attack.

  “My second son,” John began, his impressive baritone carrying through the restaurant—this was a man who needed no utensil to get the crowd’s attention—“has never been what I expected. Always trailing behind his older brother, Broderick, never making his own decisions—until he met Megan Givens, a young woman from a town in Montana who made him happier than we’d ever seen him.”

  In his peripheral vision, Tom saw Megs blush.

  “I’ve given my son everything. Tonight I planned to announce I was even going to give him a house in Kirkwood, Missouri.” There was a tittering among the crowd. “But then he stomped onto the golf course this morning and quit his job.” He held a hand to the side of his mouth as though he were telling the crowd a secret. “I hear his boss is a real hard-ass.”

  The crowd laughed nervously.

  “I will say, despite the audacity of his tone and the surprise I feel about Thomas leaving Prescott and Prescott, I’m proud of him. Because he is clearly determined to pave his own path. And he couldn’t have a better woman at his side as he does it.”

  John raised his glass and the guests joined him, applauding.

  He’d done it. Tom had finally gotten his dad’s approval. He tried settling into the victory of the moment and was struck with a surprising epiphany: He didn’t actually feel
any relief. And perhaps this was the greatest gift his father could have given him today.

  “Well, that was some speech.” Brianna, who’d scurried off to lurk at Paulina’s table, retook her seat. “A tad heteronormative at the end, but nice.”

  “Agreed,” Megs said to her sister before raising an eyebrow at Tom. He was about to respond when Alistair walked in.

  “It’s sure quiet in here for a party! What’d I miss?”

  Donna bolted to his side, weeping and calling him her baby. Apparently whatever had happened to her over the course of the day had left her more emotionally unstable than usual.

  Remembering Megs’s accusation that he’d left her alone to deal with their families, Tom crossed the room to greet Alistair. Clasping his right hand firmly and sneakily guiding his shoulders with the left, he led Alistair and Donna to the table.

  “You have no freaking idea what it took to get here,” Alistair said, indicating his story of intrigue and terrible decisions was to follow.

  “We don’t, Al. But we’re sure glad you’re here. Let me get a plate started for you.” Tom heaped food onto a dish, knowing that if Alistair’s mouth was full, he’d be less likely to embarrass Megs.

  She squeezed Tom’s hand under the table.

  Once again he got the strange feeling that even though they might have unlimited hours in this day, there wasn’t enough time to fix everything that needed fixing, to say everything they needed to say.

  But this day wasn’t over yet.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Megan

  There was no perfect rehearsal dinner. If there was one thing Megan had learned over the course of this repetitive hell, that was it. And yet tonight had been the best version she could’ve hoped for. Every now and then, particularly when she caught her grandparents holding hands under the table, she let herself imagine the dinner as the beginning to her own happy ending. That one day she’d be holding the hand of someone she’d spent a lifetime with.

  It occurred to Megan that Begin as you mean to go on wasn’t the catch-all mantra she’d thought it was. Because beginning as you meant to go on was setting yourself up for stasis. Complacency. Her new mantra was Do your best and fuck the rest. Not as poetic, perhaps, though it had so far proven efficient.

  Guests lingered over their desserts, mingling, discussing the wedding they anticipated the next day. A raw melancholy tugged at Megan’s chest. Even if tomorrow arrived as it should, she knew there could be no wedding. The Tom and Megan who had agreed to pledge themselves to each other were not the same people who sat here now.

  She made her way around the room, chatting with family members, sharing jokes and anecdotes, all the while stealing glances at Tom.

  Why did he have to look so devastating in that midnight-blue suit? She kept imagining running her fingertips along the collar of his dress shirt, nuzzling against his chest and smelling his familiar aftershave.

  Between the day they’d shared in Sidney and the bold choices he’d made today, there was a newness to him. He was still the steady, sweet man she’d fallen for, but now there was an air of adventure, of unpredictability.

  A 1990s R&B song came on that Megan and Brianna used to dance to in Donna’s kitchen, using whisks and spatulas in place of microphones, and she caught her sister’s eye.

  “You never let me take the high harmony,” Brianna teased.

  “I know. Controlling little thing, wasn’t I?”

  “The mother I never had,” she said with faux wistfulness. “You’re still a controlling little thing, just with bigger boobs and a steady paycheck.”

  The fondness for Brianna that Megan had been rediscovering that afternoon blossomed. Her life might be riddled with unhealthy relationships, but that didn’t mean she had to accept them as they were. And that’s why she turned to her sister and said, “Want to take a walk?” and held her breath until Brianna said yes.

  They took off their heels and made their way down to the docks to where Happy Accident was moored, correcting each other’s reminiscences of summers past and laughing at who they’d been. They listened quietly to the trumpet music from the colors ceremony, sharing looks as they recalled the many nights they’d heard this same evening tradition as kids. She’d somehow missed it every other night.

  “Do you think if Mom had been less of a lunatic, we’d be closer?” Megan asked her sister after the cannon shot boomed through the harbor, signaling the end.

  “Maybe.” Brianna climbed aboard the old sailboat, took a seat behind the helm. “But if Mom’s a lunatic, that means you think I’m a lunatic too.”

  “What are you talking about?” Megan’s surprise was genuine.

  “Come on.” Brianna gave Megan a light shove to the shoulder. “All those comments you make when you’re trying to keep up with my dating life. You think I’m exactly like her.”

  “No, I don’t.” The words didn’t feel right coming out of Megan’s mouth, something Brianna picked up on.

  “Yeah, okay. I’m sorry I couldn’t be mature and self-possessed like you.”

  Megan didn’t want to fight with her sister. Not tonight. Not perpetually. Without thinking about it she replied, “I’m sorry I came out of the womb a middle-aged woman.”

  Brianna laughed, breaking the tension. “You did.”

  “Someone had to be the mom in our house.”

  They grew quiet, likely reflecting on the same highs and lows. Yes, Megan and her sister had a lot of happy memories from their childhood. They also had plenty of memories that bordered on trauma.

  “Whenever Mom cornered me to gossip about some horrid thing you’d done, I jumped right into that ‘Isn’t Megan So Uptight’ cesspool with her.” Brianna rested her feet against the helm, pretending to steer with her toes. “I hate that I did that.”

  “You weren’t the only one who fell for Mom’s little gossip traps. But don’t you think we were just so desperate for her attention, we took what we could get?” Megan turned to her sister. “We were kids, Bree. I’m actually pretty impressed with how we turned out considering what we had to work with.”

  Brianna laughed again, a little bitterly this time. “Yeah. Speak for yourself. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but my entire adult life has been a train wreck. And let’s not even get started on my teens.”

  Megan thought about all the things Brianna had started only to quit them. The money she’d poured down the drain in an attempt to find a vocation she could stick with. Megan had been judging her sister rather than trying to help her find the root cause. To look after her.

  “I don’t know if Tom and I will be in that SoHo apartment for long,” Megan said after a pause. “But I’d like to get you set up there, no matter where I end up. And if you need help with money…”

  In the distance, yacht rock carried over, punctuated with faraway laughter and whooping. A group of weekend boaters were drunk and having a great time.

  “I’m okay,” Brianna eventually replied. “I don’t know that I really want to be a filmmaker so much as I wanted…”

  When she didn’t continue, Megan gently prodded, “What?”

  “God, this is so embarrassing.” Brianna cast her eyes upward. They were glistening with tears. “I wanted to be less like Mom and more like you.”

  An incredulous bark of a laugh escaped Megan’s lips. “Really?” Megan was touched. She never knew her sister had been turning to her, looking up to her, the same way Megan had looked up to Paulina.

  Brianna shook her head. “We were raised in the same dysfunctional house and yet somehow—I don’t mean somehow, I know you worked hard—you wound up at an Ivy League school with a well-adjusted boyfriend who loves you. And then you got this cool artsy job at GQ and this apartment I’ve always wanted to move straight into. It just…I feel like a walking hot mess. Like you got all the shit-together genes and I ended up with the ones that made me a full-on disaster.”

  “I think it’s obvious those disaster genes mostly went to Alistair.”r />
  The sisters laughed, full-bellied and free.

  “You got to be the opposite of Mom,” Brianna said, her voice thickening with emotion. “Leaving me to be like her.”

  “Hey.” Megan put her arm around Brianna, overwhelmed by a sudden feeling of protectiveness. She could be Brianna’s Paulina. She’d be honored. Their heads tilted toward each other. “What if you and I stop defining ourselves in relation to Donna Givens altogether and actually just try to be ourselves?”

  “Not to be all emo”—Brianna blew her bangs out of her eyes—“but I’m not totally sure who that person is.”

  Megan’s heart ached for her sister. “You’re one of the funniest people I know. I wish I had your courage and sass. And whatever you decide to do, I’ve got your back.”

  Brianna sank into the hug before pulling away. “All right, all right, future Mrs. Givens-Prescott. That’s enough nauseating honesty. Let’s get you back to your party.”

  The first thing she saw when she finally arrived at the hotel suite was Tom looking more relaxed than he’d appeared in days. Perhaps even years.

  He was seated at the table by the window, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, sexy-sensible hair in place, carefully taking off his watch.

  Looking at him, Megan imagined a world in which their lives hadn’t imploded, this day hadn’t repeated. A world in which they would’ve proceeded with the wedding as planned.

  There would’ve been love and happy memories. But one day, they’d find themselves sitting wordlessly side by side at the dinner table, realizing they’d allowed themselves to become another John and Carol or Brody and Emmeline or Donna and Whoever, their lives full of what-ifs.

  She knew then that, as excruciating as reliving this day had been, the repetition had saved them from something much graver. Mistakes they wouldn’t ever have been able to correct.