On This Day

by Melody Carlson

  She just laughed. “It doesn’t change who I am in the least. I just hope Michael’s mom doesn’t mind that I still like to shop at Target. Le Target, that is. I even considered doing a bridal registry there since they have some pretty cool stuff, but Mom thought that might be pushing things a bit with Catherine.”

  I had to chuckle at that. “Might do Mrs. Fairbanks some good to pay Target a visit. Might remind her of how the rest of the world lives.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  As I slip into my silky dress, I am reminded that my dear Jenny has both her feet planted firmly on the ground. And if she feels like a princess in a fairy-tale wedding for this one special day, well, good for her. Good for her!

  Chapter 16

  SUZETTE

  Elizabeth is giving me an impatient look. “I think you’ve had enough, Suzette,” she says in a slightly uppity tone, as if she actually thinks she’s superior to me.

  “I don’t happen to agree with you.” I hold up my empty glass and wave to the bartender.

  “That’s your third drink since we got here,” she says, sounding more and more like my mother, making me wonder why I dragged her along in the first place.

  “Who’s counting?” I toss back.

  Elizabeth checks the Bud Light clock above the bar, then frowns. “Well, at least have something to eat before you have another one.”

  “To eat?” I look around this disgusting dive. “You can’t possibly be serious.”

  She nods. “You cannot have another drink unless you put something in your stomach first.” She looks over to where the bartender is completely absorbed by some stupid sports show on the tiny television that’s blaring above the bar. “Excuse me, but do you have a menu?”

  He saunters over and looks at us as if we dropped in here from Venus. “A menu?” Then he laughs. “Nope. But we got hot dogs and chili and chips …” He scratches his balding head. “And let’s see—

  “We’ll take a hot dog and some chili,” she tells him.

  I make a face at her. “Are you insane?”

  “Or we can just leave right now,” she threatens me.

  “Sure, sure,” I say to the bartender. “Bring on the hot dogs and chili. Let’s parteee!” This makes him laugh, and I feel as if I’m rather entertaining. “See,” I say to Elizabeth. “Told you there were lots of fish in the sea.”

  Elizabeth groans and in a low voice says, “I think that ones been thrown back a few times too many.”

  I look over at the bar, where he’s working on something that involves a can of who knows what and a microwave. “Oh, you never know. He may have some deeply hidden qualities.”

  “Like what?” She looks as if she’s humoring me now.

  “Like maybe he has a few million bucks stashed beneath his mattress.”

  She kind of laughs. “Yeah, I’m sure he’s just raking it in with this bustling business of his.” Then she gets more serious. “Is that the main thing you look for in a man, Suzette? He has to be loaded in order to get your interest?”

  I consider this as I play with my empty glass. “It’s not the only thing on my list. I’m also somewhat into looks.” I reach for my Prada purse and dig around until I find my silver compact, then open the mirror and take a nice long look. I’m not sure if it’s the lights or just a cruel reality check, but I suddenly look old enough to be my mother. “Oh no!” I say as I snap the compact closed and shove it back into my purse.

  “What’s wrong?” asks Elizabeth, alarmed.

  “When did I get so old?” I gasp.

  “Old?” Elizabeth chuckles. “You’re probably barely pushing forty.”

  “Forty?” I nearly shriek. “You think I look forty? I’m barely thirty-eight, and I can usually pass for thirty.”

  “Good for you,” says Elizabeth. “That’s ten years younger than me.”

  “You’re forty-eight?”

  She frowns. “Yes, I suppose that sounds ancient to you. But haven’t you heard that age is just a number? You’re as young as you feel—all that bunk.”

  “But I feel old.”

  “There you go.”

  “Elizabeth,” I say in earnest, “what if I’m too old to catch a new fish?”

  “Huh?” She looks confused.

  “Here you go, ladies. Your hot dog and chili. Bon appétit.”

  “Thanks,” says Elizabeth as she pushes the soggy-looking paper plate toward me. “Eat up, Suzette.”

  So I poke around, taking a few bites, and to my surprise, it doesn’t taste nearly as bad as it looks. Even so, I feel completely discouraged now. “Is this what my life has come down to?” I finally say, pushing the half-eaten food away. “Suzette Burke, old and pathetic, eating disgusting chili and hot dogs at some greasy tavern along the side of the road?” I feel my voice choking. “Is this what I’ve become?”

  “Oh, Suzette,” says Elizabeth, “you’re just being melodramatic.”

  “No, Elizabeth,” I say in my most serious tone. “I am being realistic. If I let Jim get away, I could end up like this, alone and poor and … and …” Now I burst into tears.

  She reaches across the table and pats my arm. “It’s going to be okay, Suzette. Like you said, there are lots of fish in the sea. And you’re a strong woman, and—”

  “I am not strong,” I mutter as I wipe my nose on the cheap paper napkin. “And I’m not the least bit independent. I need Jim, and I can’t let him get away.” I make a fist. “I have to fight for him. I have to fight for my marriage. This is not over yet.”

  Elizabeth shrugs. “Yeah, whatever.”

  “No, I mean it. I have to make it work. I really do need Jim. And whether he knows it or not, he needs me just as much.”

  “So you’ll work things out.” Elizabeth looks at her watch again. “Maybe we should get going. If we leave now, we’ll have almost an hour to get ready for the wedding.”

  “The wedding!” I smack myself in the forehead. “Good grief, I almost forgot about that! And I have to look perfect for this. I have to stand by Jim’s side and make him proud to be with me. I have to make him see it’s me he wants—not some young bimbo secretary. Please, Elizabeth, you’ve got to help me.”

  She nods and stands, tosses some money on the table, then reaches for my purse.

  “Hey, what’re you doing?” I ask, confused. “You need more money?”

  “No. Your keys.”

  “But why?”

  Now she puts her face close to mine, looks me right in the eyes, and says, “Do you really need to ask that, Suzette?”

  I shrug. “Hey, I don’t care if you drive. Just don’t take it over ninety.”

  “Ninety?” She laughs and waves good-bye to the bartender, and suddenly we’re back outside in the glare of sunshine.

  I squint and look around the small graveled parking lot that melds right into the asphalt road, trying to remember exactly where we are and how on earth we got here in the first place. “What’s with all these trees?” I ask as we go to the car. “They’re everywhere!”

  Elizabeth just laughs. “You know, you really start to grow on a person, Suzette. Now get in the car, and let’s get out of here.”

  And get out of here, we do. I swear that woman must think she’s an Indy racer or something. But I keep my mouth shut and just hang on tight as we tear around these mountain curves.

  I can tell I’m a little lightheaded from the Cosmos, and I’m actually grateful Elizabeth cut me off when she did and encouraged me to eat something. Because if I’m going to do this thing—if I’m going to save my marriage—I’ll need my wits about me. I glance over at Elizabeth and think she might actually make a pretty good friend. Oh, I know she’s not exactly in my league, but she might be a person I could meet for coffee occasionally—when I need someone to talk to. Sort of a daytime friend.

  But at the moment, I need to focus on my own life. I need to figure a way to solve my own problems, and to accomplish this, I must get myself in gear to do whatever it takes to get Jim�
��s attention back on me. Oh, he may be enjoying a little hanky-panky with that cheap secretary, or whatever she is, but I seriously doubt he’d stick with her in the long run. Somehow I’ve got to make him realize this before the day is over.

  Thank goodness I got that new Gucci dress and those sexy Prada shoes for the wedding. I know I look stunning in that outfit. I reach up and touch my hair. I’m sure it’s flying all over the place. Why on earth did I put the top down today? But I should be able to rescue my coiffure without too much difficulty, thanks to Margot, my hairdresser. She swears this cut, color, and style can stand up to anything. It’s my face and my makeup that worry me. I still can’t believe how old I looked in that horrible tavern. Hopefully, it was simply a case of bad lighting. Anyway, I’ll spend the most time on my face. I really need to look my best tonight, and I need to focus my full effort on being engaging and charming with everyone. I must win them all over. Yes! I think I can do this. I think I’m up to the challenge.

  “Here you go,” says Elizabeth as she parks my car at the lodge and hands me the keys. “You want to put the top up?”

  “Not right now.” I grab my purse and get out of the car. “If I’m going to save my marriage, I’ve got some work to do.” Then I take off for the lodge without even saying good-bye or thank you or anything. Somehow I think Elizabeth should understand my urgency. Goodness knows, she’s in almost the exact same horrible predicament herself. Poor woman.

  Chapter 17

  LAURA

  It just figures that the first person I run into after leaving my room is my mother-in-law. And, as always, she is perfection with a capital P. Every platinum blond hair perfectly in place, skin so radiant she looks like an ad for Oil of Olay, and I hate to admit it, but her dress is absolutely stunning. Of course, I’m curious how Jennifer feels about it, since it’s almost white, and I’ve always heard that no one should wear white to the wedding except the bride. But as Catherine moves toward me, I notice the dress actually has some color in it; the shiny fabric has an opalescent quality. It shimmers with pinks and blues and lavender. Rather amazing really.

  “Oh, you’re here,” Catherine says, and I wonder what that’s supposed to mean. Does it mean, “I’m glad you’re here,” or “It’s about time you got here,” or “Too bad you made it here”? I’m not sure.

  “That’s a beautiful dress,” I tell her.

  Apparently that was the right thing to say, because she smiles. “Thank you, dear. I got it when we were in New York last spring.” Then she seems to examine me, and I can tell by her expression that I don’t quite meet with her approval. “Is that what you’re wearing, Laura?” she finally asks.

  She could’ve slapped me, and it wouldn’t have hurt this much. “Well, yes … uh,” I stammer, “it’s been hard to shop with the baby, you know, and before she was born, well, I was as big as a house, and I didn’t know what size I’d—”

  “You should’ve told me it was a problem. I could’ve picked you up something suitable in New York.”

  I take a deep breath and force a smile. “I just never thought of that, Catherine. But thanks for the offer, anyway.” Even if it is too late! God forgive me, but sometimes I want to strangle that woman!

  “Oh well, people should understand—you being the new little mother and all.”

  Now why does she have to say “little” like that? So degrading, such a put-down. But, determined to stay even keeled—for David’s sake—I smile even bigger and ask how things are going regarding the wedding. “Is there anything I can help with?”

  “No, dear.” The placating tone again. “Jennifer is incredibly organized. She seems to have everything under control.”

  I know I’m being overly sensitive, but I can’t help thinking that’s another slam, this one in regard to how things went at my wedding. Not that it was a disaster or anything, but David and I were pretty easygoing about it. Since were both teachers, we’d planned our wedding for the first Saturday of spring break—allowing us almost a full week to vacation in Hawaii (a generous gift from David’s parents). And because we’d both been busy with our jobs, David’s coaching, church activities, and life in general, we tried to keep the wedding details to a minimum. Besides that, we’re both fairly laid-back people—or we were before this baby came along. Now I can never be sure. Naturally, things didn’t go exactly like clockwork at our wedding. For starters, the musician (a friend of mine) was late. And my dad had sprained his ankle just two days before, so he was forced to hobble down the aisle with nie on one arm and an aluminum crutch under the other. And there were other things too. Just funny little oddities, like the flower girl who ate the petals instead of dropping them and my great-grandpa who fell asleep and let out a loud snort just before we said, “I do.” But David and I simply laugh about these things now. G wish my mother-in-law could see the humor in them too.

  “Jenny seems like a very together kind of girl,” I say. “I’m sure her wedding will be as lovely and picture perfect as she is.”

  “Let’s hope so,” says Catherine, looking over her shoulder, then lowering her voice. “This whole thing is costing us a fortune.”

  I feel my brows rise. Catherine never mentions money or expenses. And she certainly never complains about the cost of anything. Could they be experiencing some financial difficulty?

  “Hello there,” says my father-in-law, Alex, as he steps up and slips an arm around his wife’s trim waist. “You ladies are looking exceptionally lovely this evening.”

  Catherine nods as if she expects as much, but I say, “Thank you,” and am genuinely grateful for his generous compliment. Alex is like that. Unlike Catherine, he is usually kind and gracious to everyone. I’m sure that’s why David and Michael both turned out so well.

  “Where’s my little princess?” asks Alex.

  I know he means Amy, because he’s called her that since day one. “She’s with the sitter,” I tell him.

  He frowns. “You mean she’s not coming to Uncle Mike’s wedding?”

  I shake my head no. “Catherine hired a sitter for us.”

  “Amy is a dear,” says Catherine. “But all babies cry occasionally, and I wasn’t taking any chances on having a crying baby at this wedding.”

  “Oh.” Alex looks only half convinced. “Well, how about the dinner? Can she make an appearance then?”

  “Surely Amy will be fast asleep by that time,” says Catherine a bit too quickly.

  Alex turns to me. “Well, Laura, if she’s not asleep, you must promise to bring her down. I want to dance with my little princess.”

  I smile at him. “I do have a lacy pink dress for her.”

  He claps his hands. “Perfect!”

  Then the two of them move on, climbing back onto the social ladder, I expect—which can only go up after talking to me. I feel a mixture of frustration and hope as I watch them mingling with ease and confidence among their friends and relatives.

  “Hey, Laura,” says Ingrid as she hurries past me and toward the room where they are shooting some wedding party photos.

  “Looking good,” I tell her as I check out the back of her bridesmaid gown. Very pretty. The full-skirted dresses are pale pink satin with an elegant off-the-shoulder cut. And they look expensive. I’m curious what Jenny’s gown looks like but not comfortable enough to go and peek.

  Mostly I stand on the sidelines and watch as the photographer’s assistant calls various family members in for shots. As Catherine said, it seems to be running like clockwork, right down to the photography. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry when I think about our wedding photos. To save money, David invited a friend who had just been hired as a photographer for the local newspaper to do our photos. Of course, this guy was clueless about how to stage wedding photos, and while we got lots of great candid shots, we don’t have a single one with everyone in the wedding party present. Oh well.

  “The photographer wants everyone to head down to the lake now,” announces the assistant as she checks her clipboa
rd, as if she’s the director of a multimillion-dollar movie.

  I look around for David, hoping we can walk together, but he must still be in the room with the other immediate family members.

  “Come on now,” urges the girl. “Everyone who’s supposed to be in the large group shot, get on down there and get ready.”

  “Hello, Laura,” says Margaret as she joins me, taking me by the arm. “Do you mind if I walk with you?”

  “Not at all,” I say, relieved I don’t have to walk alone.

  “How’s our little Amy?”

  “Wonderful,” I tell her. “So good that I am curious if you and Elizabeth put some kind of magical spell on her.”

  Margaret laughs. “Just love. But I guess that’s better than magic.”

  “You look very nice,” I say as we go out the front door.

  “Thank you. I was about to say the same to you. I think your little rest worked wonders.”

  I notice that Margaret seems to be moving a bit slower than earlier today. “Are you feeling okay?” I ask as I match my pace to hers.

  “A bit tired, I suppose. I tend to wear down with the day.”

  “You and me both,” I admit. “But I figure it’s because of all my late-night feedings with Amy. Hopefully, that will settle down eventually.”

  “Oh, it will, dear.” She pats my hand. “It’s just a matter of time.”

  Margaret and I stand on the sidelines, waiting for the immediate family and wedding party members to join us. “There’s a bench over there,” I point out, “in case you’d like to rest while we wait.”

  She nods. “That’d be nice, dear.”

  So we go over, and I wonder if she feels as much an outsider as I do. But as I look at her expression, I don’t think so. I think it’s what she said—she’s tired. Just the same, I’m relieved to have her company. It gives me an excuse to sit comfortably on the sidelines. Let them think or say what they like. I know I don’t fit in with this crowd, and I probably never will. Furthermore, I’m not even sure I care anymore.