by R. R. Banks
Or, at least, what I had intended to give them. Now, she doesn't need the cut crystal punch bowl or the gravy boat in her chosen fine china pattern, despite its lovely delicate roses. Not that I honestly think Charlene would ever get near gravy, much less eat it. And in no way does she remind me of those delicate roses. I immediately feel bad for the thoughts going through my head. It isn't her fault she won't be opening these gifts with her new husband. That's why they are piled in my home instead of hers. Here, she doesn't have to look at them.
I look over at the blank card on the desk again, at a loss for what I should write. What is the most tasteful wording for returning a gift for a wedding that went up in flames the way Charlene's had?
Due to unforeseen circumstances, the wedding of Avery Lincoln and Charlene Devereaux has been canceled.
Unforeseen circumstances being Avery's ongoing, but recently discovered, fling with the cabana boy.
After much consideration, Avery and Charlene have decided that it in their best interest to not move forward with their intended marriage.
Much consideration being the loud and profane argument half of the wealthiest families in Richmond witnessed. Including me. No champagne toast was enough to cover that mess up.
They part with only the utmost respect for one another and hope to remain friends.
Charlene still didn’t understand why he couldn't marry her and just keep his sexual orientation on the down-low, so she could have his name and money.
Both thank you for the love and support you extended to them and appreciate your understanding during this difficult time.
Neither of them knew three-quarters of the guests that were invited and have most likely never met you. But thank you for the gift.
I finish the first note and wait for the peacock blue ink to dry. As I stare at it, I wonder if a somber shade of black would have been a better choice. The vibrant blue may seem a touch too jubilant for the occasion. But it matched what would have been Charlene's wedding colors, so in a somewhat backward way, it was the most appropriate choice. The final parting glimpse of the Wedding That Never Was. I sigh as I put the card aside and pick up the next in the giant stack. Even when I finish, though, this won't be over. This is only the beginning. The whispers have already started and before the guests even receive these notes, the story of Charlene Devereaux and Avery Lincoln’s scandalous canceled nuptials will be one for the history books.
That is something that will never change about the wealthy, powerful families that live here. Gossip falls as thick as the accents and sometimes just as sweet. It's much harder to feel judged when it's a beautiful, flawlessly put together woman calling you ‘Darling’ and ‘blessing your heart’ when she talks about you. Some people even misinterpret it for kindness. Those of us raised here, though, recognize the pity and know that ‘bless your heart’ is almost the same as putting a knife through it.
Of course, it isn't always like that. There are plenty of ladies who are genuinely as wonderful as they seem. It isn't those ladies Charlene is worried about. She's thinking about the ones who have been giving her the side-eye since they announced their engagement in the first place. They all said that he never loved her, that he was too good for her. Even as they lifted their glasses to their future relationship, they murmured that it was little different than an arranged marriage. Which might have been true, but some of us had better taste than to say it out loud.
Now she is putting on her best ‘Steel Magnolias’ face and trying to move forward. I know she has to feel humiliated and angry. She might even be hurt, though I'm not entirely certain Charlene has the capacity to be hurt. At least not by Avery.
My phone rings and I shake the stiffness out of my hand before answering it. It's Charlene.
"I was just thinking about you," I say.
"Because you are sending back my wedding gifts?" I try not to sigh. I remind myself that she is going through a stressful time. "This is why people shouldn't send gifts ahead of time. They should just bring them with them to the wedding. That way if there is no wedding, there's no need to send the gifts anywhere."
"I am almost finished. Then they will be off your mind."
"Good, because you have something else to be doing."
I can't think of anything else that she might need. I have already contacted all the vendors, personally visited the venue to talk to the manager, and canceled the announcement for the local paper. I have even disassembled the sample centerpiece sent by the florist and repurposed it in the dining room.
"What is it?" I ask.
"Packing your bags."
I stop writing.
"What?" I ask.
"You should be packing your bags. Our flight leaves in a few hours."
"What are you talking about?"
"Our girls' getaway."
She says it as though I was the one who had lost my mind.
"Girls' getaway?" I ask, as realization strikes me. "You mean your bachelorette weekend?"
I hate that I've said it even as the words leave my mouth. The fact that she was a bachelorette was not as cute now that she wasn't going to be a bride. As the childhood friend, formerly known as Maid of Honor, I really didn't need to be the one to remind her of that.
Charlene lets out a distinctly forced laugh, and I can imagine her hand fluttering as she acts like I'm being ridiculous.
"Not anymore. That was about celebrating my wedding. This is about celebrating my freedom. It's time to reclaim my life, Olivia. I can't just keep sulking around, you know. I can't waste my life."
They broke up less than a week ago.
"You're right," I say. "A weekend in the vineyards will be good for you."
She scoffs.
"Forget the vineyards. Who needs to be all covered up and sipping pretentious wine with stuffy people for two days? I want to have some fun and put myself out there again."
Not that she had really put herself away before…
I roll my eyes. "What did you have in mind?"
"Remember when I told you that Daddy was close to making a connection with the Preston family?"
"The billionaires out of Charlottesville?"
I pick up the pen again and keep writing. I only have three cards left and I am driven to finish this as soon as possible.
"Those are the ones. Well, they gave him a tip about a gorgeous resort their son owns out on Catalina Island."
"Their son? I didn't realize there was a son in the Preston family."
"Neither did I," Charlene says. "Apparently it is all very mysterious. He broke off from the family years ago. Rejected everything. The business. The money. All of it. But he took his inheritance from his grandfather, started one little boutique hotel, and it's become an empire."
I can hear the hungry note in Charlene's voice.
"So, if he broke off from the family, why are they telling your father about his resort?"
"Rumor has it that in the last couple of years they have reconnected. He still doesn't want to be associated with their business or anything, but they are on speaking terms again. A total prodigal son situation."
"That's nice."
I am barely listening to what she's saying. Gossip about tension in families always makes me uncomfortable, especially when it's a family I don't even know.
"Anyway, Daddy thought of me and what I'm going through and made us a reservation."
I finish the last note and gently blow on the ink to dry it.
"On Catalina Island?" I ask.
"Yes!" Charlene nearly squeals. It is the only true emotion outside of rage I have heard from her in several weeks now. "For three weeks."
"Three weeks?" I know that I am basically parroting back everything she says at this point, but I’m dumbfounded. "What do you mean three weeks?"
"I mean that all of us girls are going to go relax, have some fun, and forget about this whole ridiculous thing."
Charlene's voice sounds different and I realize it's because she just walked into
the room I was in. I end the call and set my phone down on the desk.
"What are you doing here?" I ask. "I didn't hear you come in."
"Martha let me in," Charlene says, referring to the housekeeper who has been with my family since before I was born. "I came because I know that if I didn't, you would find a way to get out of coming with me."
"Why do you say that?"
It's the truth, but she doesn’t need to know that.
"Because you want to be here to be the good little girl for your daddy and go to his parties and meet your Prince Charming."
She says it with the same mocking sneer as always. I tell myself like I have since we were kids, that Charlene doesn't realize how mean she is being right now.
Maybe.
"He has a lot of events planned for the season," I say. "I’m expected to be there."
"I'm sure he will understand. Come on, Olivia. Maid of Honor. How am I supposed to enjoy a girls' retreat without you?"
For a second, she looks like the Charlene I remember from when we were little girls. She was my best friend growing up. We were flower girls for countless weddings together and dreamed of one day being glittering brides. We went through cotillion together and giggled about boys and cooties and crushes. I sigh. She might have changed, but I know deep down that little girl is still in there somewhere, and I owe it to her to be there.
"Alright," I say. "I'll go. But why Catalina Island?"
She grins, but it disappears quickly.
"What do you mean 'why Catalina Island'? Why not Catalina Island?"
"Because it's on the other side of the country and there are plenty of resorts closer by here we could go to."
"Not any that are owned by the mysterious son of a prominent billionaire family."
I see the glint in Charlene's eyes, and I know that is the real motivation behind this trip. She wants to find an even better catch to bring home as a souvenir. I want to backpedal, but I see those same eyes flit over to the pile of gifts. She doesn't think I noticed, and her smile gets wide again.
I sigh. "I'll get these notes on their way, and then I'll get ready."
"Let Martha finish them," she says. "I know you've already written them all. I can see them in that neat little stack. Perfect as always, of course."
It isn't the first time she said something along those lines to me, and I’m positive it won't be the last. I glance at the notes on the desk.
"Well…"
I hate to leave anything unfinished.
"Martha can lick a damn envelope, Olivia. Come on."
I feel bad for Charlene. She's trying to cover it up, but I can hear the desperation in her voice. I know this is affecting her more than she will admit. Maybe she really does need to get away for a while. A few weeks out of the scrutinizing eye of everyone might let the tension here die down a little.
"OK," I say with a smile. I put the pen down and walk around the desk toward her. "Let's go pack."
"It's going to be amazing," she says. "Three weeks of sun, water, relaxation, and spa days, and not a single man to worry about."
"Except for the billionaire resort owner?" I ask.
Charlene giggles.
"I mean, I wouldn't turn him away if he came to sweep me off my feet."
I smile as we head into my room to pack my bags. Maybe this will be fun.
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