The Wedding War

by Talley, Liz

  Melanie’s mouth curved. “That man loved his lawn. Remember how he would sit out in his lawn chair and water the bare spots?”

  “He was a bit nuts.”

  For a few seconds they sat, looking at the August-dry culvert and the dead grass lining it.

  “When did they put a bench here?” Tennyson asked, only because she felt more and more awkward sitting beside Melanie. Was the woman going to say something? Apologize for the attempted manslaughter the night before? Suggest a good cover-up for the bruise? Finish what she had started?

  Melanie shifted to reveal the placard on the back of the bench. MARCUS JAMES (1968-1977). “I think it was the boy who drowned when there was that flash flood.”

  “I remember,” Tennyson said, nodding. “My mom was always so afraid for me to come back here after it rained. I had to promise a million times I wouldn’t go near it.”

  “Yeah, and then we did. Our parents were stupid to trust us. One time you fell in. Trying to get—”

  “That cookie cutter,” Tennyson finished for her. “We were making animal cookies from the mud.”

  Melanie chuckled. “Yeah.”

  “Mel, why did you Code Hot Pink me?”

  Melanie swallowed and then stared out at the scraggly grass gathered around a telephone pole. “You remember when we were little, and we would talk about our kids. I was going to have twin girls—Molly and Megan. You were going to have just one—good job on that goal, by the way—and her name was going to be Sunrise.”

  “Yeah, I wasn’t so great at the name game. My mom obviously instilled the bad-name-choice gene in me.”

  “Andrew’s a good name.”

  “Stephen picked it,” Tennyson said.

  “Well, anyway, back then we would have loved to be where we are now. You know, our two kids marrying each other.” Melanie stopped and looked down at her hands, which she’d been twisting in her lap. “I’ve made a mess of this.”

  Tennyson wanted to deny it, but she couldn’t. They’d both made a lot of mistakes, but what happened yesterday wasn’t something Tennyson could claim. She may have unintentionally had a hand in it, but the rest was all Melanie.

  Finally, Melanie looked up at her. “I’m sorry, Tennyson. For what I did to you last night. It was . . . I have no excuse. I am really bad at jumping to conclusions and making assumptions. Emma came by this morning. She told me the truth. That you had been trying to help me.”

  “Okay, sure. I accept your apology.” Suddenly she felt nervous. Like Melanie was about to take her somewhere she wasn’t sure she wanted to go. Tennyson had been waiting for weeks for Melanie to broach the subject of their past and the mistakes they’d both made, but now she wasn’t sure she wanted to wade in. Their past was like walking into a house so old a stiff wind could knock it down. Inside were spiderwebs, broken windows, and weak spots that could send her plummeting. Better to accept the apology and return to a safe place. “You have a helluva right hook.”

  “Oh God. Don’t remind me of how horribly I behaved.”

  “You know everyone behaves badly sometimes. Some of us more than others.”

  Melanie looked away, her face twisted with regret . . . pain. “I assumed you wanted to cause trouble between me and Kit, but the problem is, I’ve been the person causing the trouble. I’ve been looking to place blame for my rocky marriage on everyone but myself.”

  “Bullshit. Did Kit tell you that?”

  Tears had gathered in her eyes and silently leaked out. “No. But I . . . I don’t know. Things have been so difficult. And, no offense, but my daughter marrying the son of my former best friend turned enemy has been hard to deal with, especially on top of Hillary, my mother, and my husband’s business partner trying to climb his leg. Our marriage hasn’t been solid in a while. We’ve been disconnected from each other for so long that I don’t know if we can find our way back. For someone everyone says ‘has it together,’ my life is falling spectacularly apart. You were an easy target.”

  Tennyson smiled. “I make myself an easy target.”

  “You didn’t deserve what I did.”

  “Yeah, I did. That’s why I didn’t fight back. I could have, but somehow I couldn’t because I knew that wasn’t just about Kit. It was about the senior party, your grandmother’s ashes, the broken baton, the calling ‘dibs’ first every time, and for essentially ruining your wedding and your father’s career. I deserved this,” she said, tapping her cheek.

  Melanie looked over at her, the tears still coming, but questions were in her brown eyes.

  Tennyson reached out and took Melanie’s hand. “I was never an easy friend.”

  “But you were always a friend.”

  “Until I took that away. That was on me, Melanie. You tried to change that, and I couldn’t accept you and Kit. You know me—I want all the toys.” Tennyson paused and looked out at the spot where they had acted out little-girl fantasies. Back then, they’d been fierce friends, joined at the hip, invincible. “I wasn’t sure why I came back to Shreveport. I mean, it was a weird choice.”

  “Andrew’s here,” Melanie said.

  “Yeah, but still. It’s not like I couldn’t fly in to see him on occasion, and he’s going to be busy making his own life. He has about twenty minutes a day, if that, for his old mom. No, the more I thought about it, the more I realized that subconsciously I couldn’t move on, couldn’t be happy, until I fixed what I did. But the thing is, that’s impossible. It’s like asking someone to empty an ocean one bucketful at a time. I can’t undo what I did to your family.”

  Melanie turned her hand over, clasping Tennyson’s. “True, but I’m tired of the past. Tired of being angry about it. Anger does no good. Just festers. Maybe that’s why I’m where I am now. I didn’t say anything to Hillary. Never fought back against my mother. And even with Kit, I pussyfooted around the truth. I’m my own worst enemy.”

  “We all are.” Tennyson wiped her face, which was a mixture of flop sweat and a few stealth tears that had found their way to the party. “So what do we do about us?”

  Melanie reached into the hidden pocket of her athletic capris and pulled something out. When she uncurled her hand, the best friends locket lay in her hand. Tennyson felt something stick in her throat. She knew it was more tears. Maybe a sob. Something that needed to come out.

  “You remember this? You bought it when you went to Silver Dollar City,” Melanie said.

  Tennyson pulled her own locket out and held it up.

  She could tell Melanie was surprised she had hers. Melanie’s mouth curved into a smile as she took the jagged half heart between her thumb and finger and offered it to Tennyson. Tennyson did the same, fitting her piece into Melanie’s. They held them connected for several seconds, both of them with tears sliding down their faces.

  Tennyson finally pulled hers away and swiped at her face. “You used to say magical things happened when we put our hearts together.”

  Melanie smiled. “Because it’s true.”

  Tennyson laughed. “Well, our children are getting married tomorrow. That’s pretty magical. And we’re sitting here together. Again.”

  Melanie nodded. “I can do you one better—Emma’s pregnant.”

  Tennyson blinked. “Wait, what? Pregnant?”

  “Yeah, we’re going to be grandmothers. How’s that for magic?” Melanie laughed, not even bothering to wipe the tears from her face.

  Tennyson wasn’t sure if it was the heat or Melanie’s words, but suddenly she felt faint. She couldn’t be a grandmother. Grandmothers were old. Joseph would dump her. No man his age slept with a grandmother. Oh God.

  Melanie took the necklace and dropped it over her head. It fell onto her T-shirt, a high school homecoming shirt for a reunion Tennyson hadn’t attended. “Emma said something to me this morning that was profound. I mean, the baby thing was a shock, no doubt, but it was something about me and you.”

  Tennyson waited a few moments, still grappling with the thought of Emma and Andrew being pa
rents. They weren’t old enough to get married, much less have a baby. It was all too much. “What did she say?”

  “She said that when we are together, she can see how we once were better versions of ourselves. She said that I gave you a place to land and you gave me wings.” Melanie paused and swallowed, the tears welling in her eyes again. “I felt that, you know. There were times over the month that I forgot I was supposed to hate you. There were times I felt like you needed me, and I needed you. Like there was this hole just waiting and yearning to be filled.”

  “You missed me.” Tennyson looked down at her own necklace still in her hand.

  “Yeah. I think I’m better when you’re around. I feel like I’m more who I’m supposed to be, Teeny. You do that to me.”

  Those words were like pouring a ribbon of caramel, pooling and then filling that empty place with the sweetest emotion known to man. “That sounds crazy, you know. I mean, with everything between us.”

  Melanie issued a laugh. “Weird, huh? But I started to realize what you do for me. You make me bold. You make me expect more from my life. You push me—quite aggravatingly, I might add—to break out of my comfort zone. You don’t let rules dictate your actions. You karate kick the rules, Tennyson. I didn’t realize it, but I need you to remind me that my life is . . . well, a bit too vanilla.”

  “I’ve never been a fan of vanilla,” Tennyson said, the necklace still wrapped in her hand.

  Melanie laughed again. “I know you aren’t. Everyone knows you aren’t.”

  “So, um, I will admit that I need someone to kick my ass every now and then. Not literally. I don’t like messing this up,” Tennyson said, waving her hands down her body. “But I’m ridiculous, self-centered, overconfident, annoying, and often miss what is truly important in life because I worry too much about the stupid things. You don’t do that. You hold me accountable, and you know the real me. Maybe you do give me a place to rest. Maybe that’s what I’ve needed all along. ’Cause I’m tired of being . . . who I was.”

  This time, Tennyson reached over and took Melanie’s hand. “I missed you, too, Melanie. There were so many times I needed your comfort, your faith in me, and your shoulder to cry on. I pretend a lot of shit, Mel. But you always gave me the real stuff, the stuff that really matters.”

  Tennyson dropped Melanie’s hand, fell forward, and buried her face in her palms. Melanie’s arms came around her, and she turned and clutched this woman who she once had vowed to hate for all eternity, but just never really did. “I’m sorry I hurt you, Melly.”

  “And I’m sorry I hurt you, Teeny,” Melanie said, patting and rubbing her back.

  After several seconds of sweating and crying on each other, they pulled away, each snuffling and drying her eyes. Tennyson looked over at Melanie, whose red, swollen face likely reflected her own. “So can we start over?”

  Melanie picked up her necklace, the tarnished be fri barely visible. “I think we should try.”

  Tennyson slipped the necklace over her head, letting it fall on her sweaty chest. “Okay, then. We’re going to do better, not just because of Emma and Andrew. Or the baby. But because we deserve a second chance.”

  “Yeah. I think that’s exactly what we deserve.” Melanie rose, tugging her shirt down. “Hey, don’t bring the dog tonight.”

  “I’m not. Prada has a spa day planned at the doggy day care center. I felt guilty leaving her shut up all day,” Tennyson said, rising and falling in beside her friend.

  Her friend.

  Could they ever get back what they had once had? Probably not. They were two different people. Still, Emma had seen what they couldn’t—each needed the other in some way.

  “I’ll see you tonight,” Melanie said, starting toward the bridge that traversed the culvert. “Oh, and I call dibs on my grandmother name.”

  Tennyson rolled her eyes. “Okay, fine. Whatever.”

  The grass tickled her shins as she swished back toward her old neighborhood. Then she stopped and turned around. “Wait, can’t we just be Teeny and Melly?”

  Melanie turned around and stood for a few seconds. Then she smiled. “That sounds . . . pretty perfect.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Melanie sat at the head table beside Kit, cutting through succulent chicken and drinking the Italian wine Tennyson had flown in for the reception. Years and years before, she and Kit had been the bride and groom, and now she wasn’t sure what they were. Parents of the bride. That was a safe moniker, one that had been used all day long.

  “Mama of the bride, we need you here. Father of the bride, stand right here.” Marc Mallow had uttered those words so many times that he probably had them tattooed across his forehead.

  Around them, family and friends laughed, danced, and drank signature cocktails. The rooftop was open with twinkling lights strung like tiny fireflies against the dark sky, and she had to admit that for a three-month planning period, the wedding and reception had been spectacularly done.

  The actual wedding had been so beautiful, reverent, gorgeous . . . just all the words. She would forever remember the way Andrew had looked when he saw Emma coming down the aisle toward him. That face, which reminded her so much of Tennyson when she was happy, had looked utterly in love with her daughter. Emma had been calm, but tears had glistened in her blue eyes. Melanie was certain that there hadn’t been a dry eye in the church. Except maybe Marc’s. He just looked like a cat who’d lapped up all the cream. Very knowing, that man.

  Emma leaned over, holding her glass of sparkling cider. “Did you tell Daddy about the baby?”

  “No, sugar. That is yours to tell.”

  “But you told Tennyson.”

  Melanie glanced down the table to where Tennyson sat next to her handsome cop. Her friend looked flushed, slightly tipsy, and a bit like a woman in love as she laughed at something Joseph said. “You told me to make peace with Teeny. I needed some ammunition.”

  Emma followed her gaze. “I knew something had changed because you both behaved for two days in a row.”

  “Do I get a gold star?” Melanie asked.

  “Maybe,” Emma quipped, adding a smile. “I’m happy. I mean, obviously. I’m just glad you and Tennyson could find middle ground.”

  That was what the meeting spot had always been about. Two girls from separate worlds finding a way to bridge, connect, and forge a friendship that hadn’t been so easy to toss away. When she’d met Tennyson the day before, she’d finally examined who she was, where she came from, and what she’d settled for. She’d spent almost half a century content to be in the shadows, taking what she was given, and supremely satisfied that she’d won Kit. What kind of woman claimed nabbing her husband as her greatest achievement?

  And that was a huge problem. There had been an imbalance between her and Kit from the beginning. She’d taken a back seat to him, bowing to his wishes and visions, and being grateful for what she had instead of wanting more for herself.

  Then Tennyson had landed like a pack of firecrackers on the Fourth of July and proceeded to blow apart her tidy, ungratifying world, causing it to explode in a dizzying array of color and noise. Yesterday, she’d realized that she’d needed that in her life more than she could ever have known. Emma was right. They fit each other.

  Marc Mallow appeared at the microphone as the band wound down “Mustang Sally.” He wore an impeccably tailored navy-blue suit with a lime-green-and-lilac bow tie. His glasses were a shocking crimson. In other words, he looked perfect. “Folks, folks, it’s time the groom and bride cut their cake. I’m warning you now that their mothers are a bit dangerous around cake. Janie Thackery, sugar, you make sure you stand in the back or something.”

  Everyone gave amused chuckles. Tennyson leaned over, looked at Melanie, and rolled her eyes.

  Marc turned to the band. “Let’s have a song or two while the gorgeous bride and her lovestruck groom make their way to the cake.”

  There was the scrabbling of chairs as people rose.

  K
it leaned over. “What’s he talking about?”

  “Tennyson and I got into a cake fight at the tasting.”

  Her husband’s eyes widened. “Seriously?”

  “Yeah. It was actually kind of fun. I stopped hating her when she smashed praline buttercream in my face.”

  “Are you drunk?” Kit asked, sounding like he was joking.

  “No, but I’m trying,” she said, draining the last of her champagne. “Are you coming to get the rest of your things?”

  He stiffened. “I’m not sure. I really don’t know what to do about us.”

  “Yeah, it’s not easy, is it? But I have found it’s not so bad sleeping by myself. I thought it would be. That I would be lonely, but . . . no.”

  Kit stilled before his forehead crinkled in thought. “So what are you saying?”

  “That I think you should come pack up your things and find something more permanent than the Marriott.” Until she said the words, she hadn’t been sure. But more and more, she realized that she wasn’t taking Kit back just because he wanted it. What she wanted mattered, too, and she wasn’t so certain that she wanted the marriage she’d had with him. If they reconciled, it would include her terms. It would need to be a different marriage. She was done with letting her husband and everyone else walk all over her and tell her the sky was blue when she knew it wasn’t.

  She lifted her eyes to his. In those blue depths, she saw the surprise . . . and the hurt.

  Good.

  He needed to feel what she’d been feeling for the last few months. It would be good for Kit to feel a bit unwanted.

  “You’re not really serious, are you?” he asked, setting his highball glass on the table and turning to her. “I mean, I’ve been doing some thinking, and I’m not sure I should have left. I was confused, but after today, after watching our daughter make those vows, I remembered ours. We’ve had a good life together.”

  “We have, but you’re right—we needed some space. I’ve been suffocating here lately, and I’m tired of feeling like I can’t move. I’m not saying we’re over, Kit, but we need some work. More work than I thought. So, yeah, I think we better move to weekly therapy and start examining who we each want to be as our world changes. Noah will be leaving, Emma is starting her own family, and I’m considering finding some other purpose than sweeping up dust motes, ordering A/C filters, and picking up your vitamins.”