Chapter 5
LAURA
How I wish I were anywhere but here! I realize that David had to come since it’s his own brother who’s getting married today, but I would’ve done absolutely anything to get out of this weekend. I even tried to convince David that Amy was coming down with a bug yesterday. Unfortunately, he didn’t fall for it. Our little Amy, who turns two months old next week, is the picture of health. You’d think I’d at least be happy about that, but I felt so desperate that I actually wished she were running a slight fever. Nothing serious, mind you, but maybe a result of teething since I’ve heard that sometimes happens, although this is pretty young. But, no, Amy was perfectly fine.
What kind of mother am I, anyway? Wishing ill health on my only child just to avoid David’s brother’s wedding? I am truly pathetic. Maybe that’s it. Maybe it’s knowing how most of the people here really do consider us to be pathetic, pitiful, clueless—whatever adjectives they use to describe us behind our backs. And not only behind our backs, because I’ve heard them say things—things like, “Too bad David hasn’t done as well as Michael,” or, “You’d think that David, being the older brother, would’ve followed his father’s example and …” Blah-blah-blah, off they go, discussing our personal lives as if we were germs under a microscope. I have no doubt that most of the guests here are convinced that David and I are second-class citizens or less. Something to be pitied by the “upper” class—and only because David opted to follow his heart instead of his daddy’s checkbook.
“I saw your baby this morning,” says Jennifer’s friend Ingrid, dredging me out of my depressing thoughts. “She’s absolutely adorable.”
“Thanks,” I say, attempting a feeble smile.
“You have a baby?” asks the older woman, who I believe is Jennifer’s grandmother. I haven’t been paying close attention, but I think I heard Ingrid calling her Mrs. Simpson, and that’s Jennifer’s last name.
I nod and set down my fork. “Her name is Amy. She’s almost two months old.”
“That’s such a sweet age. I hope you’re taking time to thoroughly enjoy her. Goodness knows, you barely turn your back, and the next thing, they’re heading down the aisle themselves.”
I give her the blank look that I give every older woman who says something like that to me. Honestly, it’s almost a daily thing. “Well …,” I begin slowly, “it’s a little hard to take the time when you barely have any time to begin with.”
Mrs. Simpson nods. “Yes, I understand completely. You’re very busy when you’re caring for an infant. So much to be done, and they require a great deal of attention. But, trust me, she’ll grow up much faster than you expect.”
I sigh, knowing that on some level this woman is probably right. “I suppose so,” I say, but to be honest, I guess I do hope it goes fast. I’m so tired most of the time that I can barely see straight. I’m probably dangerous on the road, and I know that my performance on the job has been less than marginal, and I question my mental state for agreeing to teach summer school this year. Oh, I know we can use the money, but it’s making a complete basket case of me. And poor David. I either grump at him or totally ignore him. I’m wondering if our marriage can actually survive a baby. I feel as if I’m failing at everything right now. And some days I get up and feel so completely helpless—and hopeless—that I’m not even sure I can go on. But I do.
Like this weekend. I was certain I couldn’t possibly pull it together to come, yet here I am. I suppose it was the promise of a baby-sitter (provided by David’s parents) that finally lured me here. Of course, this baby-sitter is hired to watch Amy only during scheduled activities. The rest of the time she is mine, all mine.
So despite my little “breaks,” it still feels like a slow and hideous form of torture to be stuck with these people. Everyone is focused on money, careers, success, designer clothes, expensive cars, dream vacations—it’s like being on another planet. Well, except perhaps for Jennifer’s grandmother. I suspect she’s an earth-ling, and she actually seems fairly well grounded. On a good day I might even like her. I suppose this should give me some hope about my sister-in-law-to-be. But I have to admit, my first impression was that she’s little Miss Perfect. And who else would be good enough for Michael Fairbanks—heir to the throne that my David declined?
Okay, maybe she’s not as bad as I thought. I look up at the head table to see her smiling for the photographer. There’s no denying that she’s exceptionally pretty. The Fairbankses must be pleased at such a prize. At the moment David is standing next to his brother, the happy groom, but you’d hardly know the two were related. Michael is a tall, blue-eyed blond, just like his mother, whereas David is a little shorter and stouter and dark enough to pass as Italian (just like his maternal grandfather, I’ve been told). David is grinning and, I suspect, cracking lame jokes that Michael is, I suspect, pretending to laugh at.
It’s hard to believe this was David and me only three years ago. Can that be? Certainly our wedding wasn’t anything as grand as this. Despite the pressure from David’s parents to go all out, we opted for a simple wedding in my family’s church. I’m sure David’s mother still hasn’t forgiven me for having our reception in the church basement. But David and I believed we should focus more on the marriage than the wedding. After all, a wedding lasts a day, but a marriage is supposed to last a lifetime—right?
Oh my, sometimes I wonder if I can last that long. Right now I am so tired I can’t imagine making it through this long, wearying day only to end up having to get Amy to sleep in that flimsy portacrib that’s set up in our room. Last night it squeaked and creaked, keeping both Amy and me mostly awake. When I’d barely drift off to sleep, it would be time to get up and nurse her again, and again, and again. Amy still eats every two hours at night. It’s thoroughly exhausting.
I gaze at the wedding party members. They all look so fresh and lovely, every hair in place. I, on the other hand, feel wilted and faded and tired and old—and I’m only twenty-seven. Oh, how I wish I were anywhere but here.
“Do you plan on having other children?” asks Mrs. Simpson.
At first I assume she’s just been making polite small talk, taking pity on me since I’m sitting here pretty much by myself after a couple of the other women from our table made a quick exit. But when I look at her more closely, I see kindness in her eyes, and I sense she’s actually interested.
“We always thought we’d have more children,” I admit. “But right now it doesn’t sound terribly appealing to me.”
She nods. “It’s always hardest with the first one. So many new things to learn, and you want to do everything just right. But, trust me, it gets much easier with the second one.” She smiles, as if remembering. “And by the time the third one comes, why, it’s old hat, like rolling off a log.”
“You mean, instead of having the log rolling onto you?”
She laughs. “Yes, I’m sure it seems like that to you now.”
I sigh again. “I just wonder when I’ll stop feeling so tired.”
“Are you going to take a nap today?”
I consider this. “Well, the baby-sitter is only set up to watch Amy during the times when activities are planned. So I’m not sure if I can—”
“Why don’t you let me watch her?” she says suddenly. “I simply love babies. I could have her in my room, and you could get a little rest.”
“Oh, I couldn’t possibly impose on you—”
She waves her hand. “No imposition. And if you don’t believe I’m good with babies, you can just ask your sister-in-law-to-be.” She nods toward the front table. They’re all laughing at something, maybe one of my husband’s jokes.
“But you probably need your rest too.”
“Oh, I can rest anytime. It’s you young mothers who need a hand. How does two o’clock sound? I could keep her for an hour or so.”
A nap sounds like heaven, so I agree. We make a plan for Mrs. Simpson to return to her own room after lunch. Then I’ll go and fe
tch Amy for her. And just as I’m feeling this tiny sliver of relief or maybe even hope, I feel something else too—breast milk. I’m suddenly leaking out of both sides, and before I can do a thing to stop it, I have these two conspicuous dark marks spoiling my orange silk dress. It figures. Oh, if I could be anywhere but here.
Chapter 6
INGRID
It’s hard to concentrate on being all nice and sociable at this luncheon when so many crazy details are running through my mind. On top of everything else, the bridesmaids’ bouquets still haven’t arrived, and when they do, I have to be there to make sure they’re soaking in water, and knowing the florist, I can only guess what condition they’ll be in. Then there’s this stupid mess-up with the cake. Instead of pale “barely pink roses,” they’re bright purple! Hopefully, the chef in the lodge will help straighten it out without turning the cake into a finger-painting disaster. These are just some of the complications of throwing a wedding so far from civilization. Not that it isn’t beautiful out here—it totally is. And I do happen to think destination weddings are cool. Although I’d want a smaller one. And maybe someplace tropical. Yeah, right. Like my family can afford something like that. Get real, Ingrid.
Even so, maybe I should ask Jason about waiting until next summer and finding a place kind of like this. Of course, even this would probably cost too much. And Jason seems so set on New Year’s Eve, which I have to admit is feeling closer than ever right now.
I wonder how Jason would react if I told him I want to postpone our wedding date. Would he suspect that I’m having doubts? Am I? I mean, I totally love Jason, I’m sure I do, but maybe we jumped the gun in getting engaged so soon. What if I was just caught up in Jennifer’s excitement when I said yes to Jason—back when we started planning this wedding, when it was still fun dreaming up all this chaos? I remember how cool it was to pick out our dresses and all the little things everyone says you need to throw a “perfect” wedding.
Okay, this might be exhaustion talking right now, but it feels like a big wake-up call to me, like having the “perfect” wedding is not such a great reason to get married. What if I’ve made a big mistake? I guess I’m glad that Jason won’t get here until later today. That not only gives me time to get these last-minute things under control, but it also gives me time to get my doubts and questions under control. If that’s even possible. But the truth is, right now—right this minute—I am actually thinking this may be the time to break it off with him. I mean, why let things go on if it’s all just a stupid mistake? But on the other hand, I could just be having a maid-of-honor meltdown. Who knows?
Now it hits me that my table manners could use some help when I notice the woman across the table from me has an empty glass, and the iced-tea pitcher is right next to my elbow. “More iced tea?” I offer. I came in after introductions, but I think she’s Michael’s sister-in-law, and judging by her expression, she’s not too jazzed to be here. I’ve heard that she and David are sort of the black sheep of the family, although Jenny isn’t sure why. But maybe this woman’s just tired. I mean, that little baby in the lobby was cute enough, but I’m sure she’s a handful, too. That’s when I notice the dark circles beneath this woman’s eyes, and I am certain she’s exhausted. Makes you want to think twice before having kids.
“Thanks,” she says as I refill her glass. Then I mention seeing her baby, and Jennifer’s grandmother begins talking to her about babies and how wonderful they are. A relief to me, since this is definitely not my forte. In fact, just seeing this poor woman makes me more certain than ever that I don’t want to get pregnant anytime soon. Which brings me to another thing, a thing I’ve tried not to think about too much. Jason keeps saying he wants to have kids right away. What’s up with that? Why can’t we just enjoy being newlyweds for a while? Like why do we have to go from two to three in maybe a year or less? And when I questioned him, he told me, “There’s no reason to wait.”
“What if I’m not ready?”
“Do you think anyone is ever ready?” he asked. And then he went into lecture mode, telling me about how too many women put off having kids until it’s too late and that he doesn’t want that to happen to us. Of course, he’s thirty-two, not to mention an only child who assumes that a big family will make him the happiest guy on the planet. “I want lots of kids,” he told me a couple of months ago.
“Define ‘lots,’” I said with real fear in my heart.
“At least four. Maybe even six. Man, that would be fun!”
Fun? Yeah, right. I was the youngest of four kids, and I’ve seen the good and the bad sides of big families up close and personal, and I honestly don’t think I’m ready for something like that. I mean, the earliest I’d want to have kids would be about five years or more, like maybe my midthirties. But even then I can’t imagine having more than one or possibly two. More and more I am thinking this is a great big mistake with Jason and me.
I chat with Jenny’s grandma a bit longer. She’s such a sweet lady. Doing a way better job of being hospitable than I am at this table. And then, out of the blue, Michaels boss’s wife leaves in what looks like a hissy fit, and after a couple of minutes, Jenny’s aunt stands up and leaves as well. Like did I miss something? And as a result I feel even more guilty. Maybe I should have been more involved. Why am I so checked out? But, then again, I can’t handle everything. Thankfully, Jenny’s grandma keeps the conversation rolling, and before long, the two men who seem to have been abandoned by their wives start talking about professional golf and Tiger Woods. What could be more boring?
Okay, maybe it’s the other conversation at this table. Jenny’s grandma and Michael’s sister-in-law (whose name seems to be Laura) are going on and on about babies as if they’re the most interesting creatures on earth. Bite me! Even so, I play the good maid of honor, pretending to be amused by all this baby talk, although I am seriously considering sneaking out of here to take a mental health break. After a few minutes Jenny’s grandma gets interrupted from her conversation with Laura by a relative who popped by to say hello, and I decide it must be my turn to be nice to Jenny’s soon-to-be sister-in-law. More baby talk.
“So, how old is your little—” But I stop in midsentence when I notice these two conspicuous, round, wet spots on her chest. At first I think she’s spilled her drink, but then (thanks to my older sisters, who both have babies) I realize she’s probably a nursing mom with a slight overflow problem. The sad thing is that she appears to be oblivious. Well, until she notices me staring, that is. Then she looks horrified. But I take my cardigan and stand up and move next to her. “Uh, do you want to borrow my cardigan?” I offer. Without waiting for her answer, I drape the lightweight cotton sweater on her, allowing the sleeves to hang over her shoulders and cover the growing spots.
“Thank you,” she says quickly, relief written all over her face. “This is so embarrassing.”
So I take the empty seat next to her and start telling her all about my sister Kate, who has this exact same problem. I even tell Laura about these weird-looking Swedish nursing cups that Kate uses and how they actually catch and hold the overflow.
“I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“Yeah, they’re pretty weird. My sister could pass for Wonder Woman if they just came with points.”
Laura laughs, and we talk a little while longer before she and Jenny’s grandma excuse themselves. Just then my cell phone, which I’d put in silent mode, begins to vibrate and buzz, and I hurry outside the tent to answer it with a quiet “hey” as I move farther away from the tent. It seems I have the only cell phone service that actually works up here, which is both a blessing and a curse—a blessing when you need to reach the florist in a hurry but a curse when you don’t particularly want to talk to your fiancé.
“Ingrid?” His voice is breaking up a little, but I know who it is.
“Hey, Jason,” I say, forcing a lightness I don’t feel into my voice. “What’s up?” I walk closer to the lake now and sit down on a wooden b
ench where my phone reception seems a little better.
“Just missing you, babe. How’s it going?”
I pretend I’m glad he called. And I tell him about the morning stress—how the cake’s still not right and the flowers haven’t arrived yet. But the weird thing is that he totally surprises me by seeming concerned. Usually he acts like all this is “girl stuff” and like he could care less. I’m slightly stunned that he’s somewhat consoling. What’s up with this? We talk for a while, and I suddenly wonder why I’m feeling so freaked about marrying this guy. I mean, what do I expect in a man—absolute perfection? And isn’t it true that I love him? And that he loves me? So I hang up feeling slightly confused. Like maybe I am having a maid-of-honor meltdown. That’s when I see the florist’s truck pulling up in front of the lodge, and I hurry over to check on the missing flowers. Hopefully they didn’t send over petunias or sunflowers or something else totally ridiculous!
Chapter 7
ELIZABETH
I walk a slightly inebriated Suzette back to her room, catching curious glances as we weave from side to side, and make sure she’s safely in bed. I’m not sure what else to do for her, but I suspect she’ll be sleeping this off during the afternoon, which might keep her out of trouble. Maybe she’ll even forget what happened to push her over the edge during lunch, and I can only hope she’ll forget all the things I told her about my own marriage, but I sort of doubt it.
As I walk back toward the luncheon, which I’m guessing may be over and done with by now, I decide I should give Jeannette a heads-up about this little incident with Suzette and her philandering husband. I certainly don’t want any emotional outbursts from Suzette messing up Jenny’s wedding.
“Hey, Elizabeth,” calls Ingrid as she carries a stack of teetering boxes through the large carved doorway that leads to the lodge.
On This Day Page 4