by Laura Dave
But before he could clink our glasses, I saw my mother walking on the patio, Henry by her side. He wore a suit, looking—as much as I hated to admit it—somewhat dapper. My mother, meanwhile, looked beautiful in a long, yellow dress. She also looked overwhelmed—perhaps by having Henry by her side, perhaps by the party itself, which was especially big this year. Perhaps by looking for my father, who maybe wasn’t as okay with Henry being here as he might have suggested.
Then before my father could spot them, Gary and Louise walked up, Brian Queen behind them, and the three of them swept my father into the party. The beautiful party: tea lights and brown lanterns and flowers in jelly jars as far as the eye could see.
“I’ll be right back,” my father mouthed. “Is that okay?”
But he was already gone.
I closed my eyes, grateful for the opportunity to stay close to the tent’s entrance, no one inside feeling like someone I wanted to talk to: not Henry and my mother, not Margaret and Bobby standing next to each other by the bar, looking miserable. Margaret was in a white dress, Bobby was in his designer suit—a twin in each of their arms, like blockers. Bobby was talking to Nick Braeburn—my father’s California distributor—Margaret forcing a smile, looking down.
Then I saw them holed up at the far end of one of the farm tables, a box of crayons between them, large sheets of paper. Michelle and Maddie, coloring, Ben bending down beside them. It shocked me to see him with them. Even though I had wanted Michelle to come—to make a peace offering—it was different seeing her there with Ben. The two people who had made Maddie. Actually looking at them, together, it was a conversation I wasn’t ready for. Especially when I saw who was standing by them, blocking people from getting too near to them. Deputy Sheriff Ethan Tropper, in a pinstripe suit.
I turned quickly and ran, champagne first, into Jacob. He jumped back, the champagne spilling all over him.
“Hello to you too,” he said. He wasn’t wearing a sweater vest, but a sports coat and jeans, looking handsome, Lee by his side. She was wearing a slinky shirt, and one of those rings that was also a bracelet. A chain running the length of her hand, from her finger to her wrist, looking sexy.
Jacob used one hand to dry the champagne off his shirt, keeping the other hand wrapped around Lee’s waist.
“You could’ve just asked if I wanted a drink,” he said.
I was focused on Lee. She put her hand to her face, the chain shiny against her cheek.
“I know you,” she said. “How do I know you?” Her eyes got wide, making the connection. “We met yesterday at the Violet Café, didn’t we?”
Jacob looked back and forth between us. “You did?”
Lee nodded. “Yes. We met and I met her stepdaughter. Pancake girl, yes?” She pointed at Jacob with that chain. “You guys know each other?” she said.
“We don’t really,” I said.
Jacob shot me a look. “Georgia is Dan and Jen’s daughter.”
“Oh . . .” Lee said, confused. And I could see her mind going. Hadn’t she mentioned Jacob yesterday?
I gave her a smile. “I didn’t make the connection that you were Jacob’s fiancé.”
She smiled back, but there was an edge to it, as if she didn’t believe me. Which was fair—I had known who she was, I just hadn’t wanted to. “Well, you made it now,” Lee said.
Jacob took Lee’s hand, looking increasingly uncomfortable. “Lee and I are going to grab a drink,” Jacob said. “But I’m sure we’ll catch up with you later. Or during the announcement.”
“No,” Lee said, her voice a little forceful.
Jacob looked at her, confused. “Why not?”
“I’ll get us a drink,” she said. “You guys catch up.”
Jacob forced a smile, but Lee was already walking away from him. She was all legs and thin arms, glittering chain—a woman that you’d let leave you at the altar and then try to make things work with anyway.
Jacob turned to me. He turned to me and I could see him trying to decide what he wanted to yell about first.
“You filed an injunction against me?” he said. “You couldn’t be a bigger pain in my ass.”
“You weren’t giving me much of a choice, were you?”
He shook his head. “You’re making things difficult for your father here. No judge in his right mind is going to consider your case. You know that, right?”
I nodded, but a ruling wasn’t what I was after. If the board disliked the headache of a lawsuit enough, they would stop Jacob from moving forward. Jacob knew that, which was why it was confusing, the grin he was wearing.
“Why are you smiling like that?”
He shrugged. “I appreciate your desire,” he said. “Misplaced as it may be. I appreciate what you want to do for your family. Plus, you’re kind of glad that I came tonight, which is nice to see. Especially after what a dick I was. Sorry about that.”
“Really?”
“I’m a little sorry,” he said. He paused. “Were you spying on my girlfriend?”
“No. I like her. She’s lovely.”
“That’s not an answer. You were spying on my girlfriend. Why?”
“I don’t really know. Can we leave it at that?”
Jacob looked at me, really looked at me. “Okay,” he said.
Then he motioned to Michelle, the beautiful Michelle Carter. Ethan Tropper stood guard near her. Everyone was watching her every move and pretending they weren’t. The Sebastopol housewives whispered to one another as they checked out her shoes, her skin, her legs. A group of teenage boys walked back and forth past the table, trying to get up the nerve to ask her for an autograph, or maybe just to touch her hair and run away. Who could blame them? She was mesmerizing.
“I didn’t expect to see her here,” Jacob said.
“Please don’t say how pretty she is.”
“How about sexy?”
He smiled and so did I. I couldn’t help it.
“You decided that the way to go was to be a happy family?”
“I did.”
“I didn’t think you were going to do that.” He nodded approvingly. “That’s brave.”
Jacob looked back at Ben and Michelle, and I followed his eyes as Ben hugged their daughter, Michelle standing close by, smiling at him. They looked like they belonged together.
Jacob leaned in toward me. He leaned in closer, pushing my hair out of the way, holding the back of my neck.
“What if I told you that Michelle Carter has nothing on you?” Jacob whispered.
I leaned in closer to him. “I’d say you’re also the guy who predicted a rainstorm.”
When I arrived at the corner table, they were laughing. Maddie was working ferociously on her coloring book—on a large drawing of a purple Cookie Monster—Ben and Michelle watching her, joining in.
Ben looked up and saw me before Michelle or Maddie did. Then he made room for me beside himself.
“Pull up a crayon!” Ben said.
“No!” Michelle patted the seat beside her. “Come sit here.”
I forced a smile. “Great.”
Michelle forced a smile too. I sat down beside her.
“Benjamin,” Michelle said. “Shoo. Give us some girl time.”
Ben looked at me nervously, but I nodded that it was okay. He smiled, patted Maddie’s head. “I’m going to get this one a juice. Would you like something?”
I wasn’t sure whom he was addressing, but Michelle answered. “The usual . . .”
We watched Ben walk away, holding Maddie, making her laugh as they moved through the party. Ben held her high over his shoulders so she could see every person, every pretty dress.
“My daughter loves him a lot, doesn’t she?” Michelle said, looking sad, perhaps that she had kept them apart for so long when they so obviously were meant to be together. “Hard not t
o, I guess.”
I wasn’t sure how to react to that, but it didn’t matter. She didn’t wait for a reaction.
Michelle looked away again, something catching her eyes. “Jesus, is that Henry Morgan?”
She motioned with her eyes in Henry’s direction. Henry was talking to a couple of party guests, the guests laughing at what he was saying, funny and confident Henry.
She shook her head. “I’m breathless. The inimitable Henry Morgan.”
“How do you know him?”
“I don’t know him personally, but I’m a huge fan. He was the guest conductor at La Scala when I was in Italy for the Venice Film Festival years ago. He is simply brilliant. That is to say, brilliant like Bernstein was brilliant. I’ve never seen anything like it. The passion he exudes up on the podium, conducting with his whole body . . .”
She was still staring, like she wanted to eat him. Why had I invited her again?
“Is he a friend of the family? Benjamin mentioned that your mother was a cellist. I would love to meet him if you don’t mind introducing us, if it isn’t an imposition, of course.”
“Benjamin would be glad to do that,” I said.
Michelle heard the edge in my voice. Then she smiled, returning to her mission, which apparently was to win me over. I wanted to give her a tip that complimenting my mother’s special friend probably wasn’t the best way to go.
“I didn’t really have the chance to say it earlier,” she said. “But I really appreciate being included tonight. It means a lot to me. And to Maddie. She has really taken to you.”
I smiled, trying not to count the reallys.
“Of course, I realize our first meeting did not go as well . . . but I’d like to fix that,” she said.
“Being here tonight is all you need to do.”
She cocked her head, and nodded, as if she appreciated that. “For what it’s worth, your wedding dress is stunning. I don’t think I’ve ever seen one quite as pretty as that.” She shrugged. “At least not running down Sunset.”
She gave me a sly smile. And I couldn’t help it. I laughed. It was all she needed. Michelle threw her head back, laughing even louder. Which was when I looked around, noticing. People were staring at Michelle, basking in that laughter, wanting to know what she was laughing about.
Michelle leaned in. “Isn’t this lovely? I’m sorry that it took so long for Benjamin to tell you about what was going on with Maddie and me,” she said. “I would have come right out and told you myself, but I didn’t think it was my place.”
“It had to come from him, though I appreciate you saying that.”
“Still, when we were in Shere last month? I certainly did push him. I told him that we absolutely had to get this all out in the open. That things really would be much better when you knew about us.”
That stopped me. “Wait, where?”
She shook her head, confused. “Surrey. Benjamin came to take care of Maddie while I was filming reshoots for this horrible movie about a bakeshop owner who falls in love with a man who is allergic to gluten. That’s what it’s about. It’s that bad. I play the underappreciated bakeshop owner, of course . . .”
Michelle was still talking, but I was stuck on the trip Ben had taken to London last month to finalize the purchase of our new home. I hadn’t been able to reach him at the hotel, and he had felt badly about it, going on about how busy he was: telling me about a work dinner at our new neighborhood restaurant, telling me he had to stay a few extra days because the sellers were being difficult about the inspection. I didn’t realize he had been telling me a slew of lies.
Ben had claimed to be setting up our home, but he was doing two things, and the other had to do with his other family. Maddie and Michelle, the center.
“He helped on the other side too,” Michelle said.
I tapped back into what Michelle was saying.
“When we got back from Shere. I had a bunch of press to deal with, and Ben was able to help with Maddie then as well. You know, our house being a mere stone’s throw away from where you’ll be living. Isn’t that grand?”
My heart started racing. “Ben didn’t mention that you were nearby.”
“Very. In fact, we have this lovely tree house in our backyard, this tall tree house that Maddie essentially lives in. She likes to have her tea parties there. Really, she likes to do everything there. I spent fifty thousand pounds on the damn thing, so that’s probably good.” She laughed. “Anyway, the last time Ben was visiting, she took him up into the tree house for one of her tea parties, and he showed her his house. Apparently, you can see it clear as day from up in her little tree. The red door and everything.”
I felt like I was spinning, unable to get my bearings. Suddenly, I understood what she wanted me to know. My streets in London were never going to be my streets. My house, never going to be just my house. London wasn’t going to be about Ben and me putting down roots in a new life. It was going to be, at least in part, about fitting around the roots that Michelle had planted.
Michelle jerked forward as if she realized what I realized, looking like she felt badly for saying the wrong thing. She smiled ruefully. “Ignore me, I’m just talking too much!” she said.
The transparency of Michelle’s intention—pretending to be a friend, to deliver this information—was almost so cruel that I admired it. But I also realized it was a means to an end. What she really wanted, what she still wanted, was Ben.
It was the only thing she could see. The way it was the only thing Henry could see when he looked at my mother, the only thing Finn could see when he looked at Margaret. The only thing so many of us could see when we wanted something that we weren’t supposed to have.
Michelle raised her hands in surrender. “I shouldn’t have gotten into all of that. The important thing is that we’re here now. I need to learn to keep my mouth shut! Now I’ve gone and made a mess of things, just when they seemed to be getting back on track for the two of you.”
The tone in her voice was so sweet—but even her tone couldn’t hide her eyes. Her urgency. There was urgency there for Michelle because this was her last chance too. Before the wedding, before Ben made me his permanently. It was her last chance to convince me that we shouldn’t want that.
She leaned forward, performing. “I’m just such an honest person. It’s very hard for me to keep secrets,” she said.
“You kept Maddie from Ben.”
Michelle gave me a wry smile, the gloves off. “Well. Sometimes it isn’t.”
This was when we were interrupted. Five of the older wine club members—seventy-five years old—unable to hold off any longer, surrounded us to ask Michelle for her autograph.
“For our grandchildren,” their leader said.
Then, like a whoosh, Deputy Sheriff Tropper in his pinstripe suit was stepping in to run crowd control. He knocked the old women back. Drawing a two-foot barrier between them and Michelle.
“Ladies, you need to form a line. Ms. Carter only has two hands.”
Michelle laughed, giving the old women a hearty shrug, smiling at Tropper gratefully. The mixed emotion she had been showing to me was gone from her face. Her winning smile back in its place.
A Few Good Men
Ben held two glasses of scotch in one hand, Maddie’s hand in his other, when I caught up to him. He gave me a smile, but I couldn’t make myself smile back.
“We need to talk,” I said.
Ben tilted his head. “Okay . . .” he said.
I took him in—tall and strong in his suit. Michelle could have any man in the world, and yet she was entirely fixated on this man—a man who wasn’t available to her. Was it as simple as that? It would be easier to believe it was—Michelle wanting what she couldn’t have, Michelle thinking she was entitled to it. Though she wanted him also because he was her child’s father, the two things rolling around togethe
r, the generous and selfish parts of herself, to make Ben feel like he was her soul mate.
Ben sent Maddie back to Michelle and took my hand, walked us to the edge of the tent, the vineyard side, the moon and stars shooting out over the vineyard, shining over the vines.
“What’s going on?” he said.
“I had a little talk with Michelle.”
He looked at me anxiously. “I knew her coming was a bad idea.”
“I’m just trying to understand if your visit to London was about our future there or your future there.”
“Our future.” He held my face in his hands. “Everything is about our future.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me about Surrey?”
“Surrey?” Ben looked at me, realizing what I now knew. “Georgia, come on.”
“It was more than Maddie, wasn’t it? You were trying to see if you could be a family. If you could be with her.”
Ben shook his head. “Of course not. It was always about Maddie.”
“What happened to no more secrets, Ben?”
“Nothing. Michelle tries to paint things in a light that she wants to see them in,” he said. “I told you Michelle is complicated.”
“Is she complicated or is she a liar?”
He pulled back, as if deciding how honest with me he needed to be. He picked his drink up, stalling.
“Look, when she came back, I had a moment, sure. I had a moment of thinking about this woman who broke me who was now the mother of my kid. Any man would have had the same moment of hesitation.”
I looked away from him, my heart dropping. “You didn’t tell me, though.”
“How would it have been helpful to tell you that? To tell you I was having a moment? Do you share with me every guy that crosses your mind?”
I was too struck by what he said to fight back. How could I fight back? He was right—any man would consider the most beautiful woman in the world, if she wanted him, if she was the mother of his child.
“I know Michelle is throwing you, and throwing out your idea of our plan together. But don’t let her.”