Lost Along the Way(61)

“That’s good advice. You know, when Doug made me get these new boobs, I didn’t really want them. I mean, the old ones weren’t anything great, but they were fine. Then I thought, you know how many women in Manhattan would love for their husbands to spring for a little maintenance now and then? Every woman I hung out with had something nipped or tucked or sucked or augmented, so really, what was the big deal? I figured that I should consider myself lucky that we could afford to buy these things. So I went along with it. Now he’s gone, and I’m stuck looking like I’m hiding cantaloupes under my sweater. Do you have any idea what that feels like?”

“I can’t imagine it’s comfortable!” Meg laughed. “Can you sleep on your stomach without worrying that you’re going to pop them?”

“Feel them,” Jane ordered, pulling her sweater up to expose her overstuffed bra. “You need to see what this is like. They’re awful. I can’t tell you how much I hate them.”

“Jane, put your shirt down! Someone will see you!” Meg squealed, the same way she always had when Jane did something that shocked or embarrassed her.

“Relax! We’re at the beach. Pretend it’s a bikini top,” Jane said.

“You wear purple lace bikini tops?” Meg asked. “Actually, don’t answer that. I don’t even want to know.”

“Come on, just feel them.”

“I don’t want to feel them,” Meg insisted, even though now she kind of did.

“Seriously, I want you to. Feel them or I’m going to take off my sweater. You think it’ll hurt or something? You could squeeze them into oblivion and I wouldn’t even notice. I have no feeling in these things whatsoever. I’m terrified I’m going to pop one in my sleep and die from silicone poisoning without even knowing it. That’s not a good way to live, let me tell you. Or die, now that I think about it.” Cara and Meg started to giggle, and then the giggling grew to uninhibited, gasping-for-air laughing. “Fine. Laugh away. If I die in my sleep tonight you guys will feel bad about this. Know that.”

Meg reached over and grabbed Jane’s right boob, squeezing it hard, but it didn’t give at all. Jane wasn’t kidding. It was the most unnatural thing she’d ever felt in her life. “Whoa. He actually liked this?” Meg asked, so in awe at the weight of it that she reached out with her other hand and fully felt up Jane for anyone to see.

“Yup. Now do you feel sorry for me?” Jane asked as she pulled her sweater down and folded her arms protectively in front of her. “Just a little?”

Neither Cara nor Meg answered, because they were sitting on the sand laughing. It had been a long time since the two of them had laughed like that, and before long Jane joined in. If there was one thing they could always count on Jane for, it was a laugh.

Dinner would be easy, as dinners at the beach should be. Meg went down to the docks, where the fishermen dropped off their catch daily. She purchased some bass fillets, two dozen clams she’d douse with lemon and bread crumbs and bake in the oven, some local lettuces for salad, a loaf of crusty bread, and berries she planned to macerate in sugar and serve over a pound cake she’d baked and frozen weeks earlier. Twenty minutes in the kitchen and Meg could have the entire dinner ready—plus, she could write an article for her blog about creating easy suppers for last-minute guests. She was happy the girls were there and she could exercise her hostess skills. Maybe it was time she stopped trying to plan everything, and let life take her where it was going to take her. She hated to admit it, but the truth was, she could learn a thing or two from Jane in that regard. Well, sort of.

As Meg made dinner, she thought back to her wedding day. Not the ceremony itself, which she thought about all the time, especially now that she and Steve were separated, but the hours leading up to it. She was sure that she’d obsessed over every single detail of that day, but now she couldn’t remember any of that. For some reason, she found herself accessing snippets of her memory that had been tucked away. She’d worn her mother’s pearl earrings, and her hair in a bun, and she remembered smiling so broadly for so many hours that her face actually began to ache. Cara and Jane had been co–maids of honor while three friends from college quietly assumed the role of bridesmaids. As per usual, Cara and Jane ran the show. That was exactly how Meg wanted it.

April 2000

“Don’t you love the noise these dresses make when we walk?” Jane asked as she and Cara swished around the kitchen in Meg’s house, nibbling on wrap sandwiches.

“I know. Is it weird that part of me wishes crinolines would come back in style?” Cara answered. “I feel like a million bucks in this thing.”

“If I eat one more bite I’m going to explode. I don’t need to eat anything before the ceremony. I don’t want to look fat.”

“I heard that, Jane!” Meg’s mother called as she entered the kitchen in her burgundy suit, a white rose corsage pinned to the lapel. “I won’t let you guys have any champagne while we take pictures if you don’t eat. The last thing we need today is tipsy bridesmaids!”

“We’re the maids of honor, to be exact,” Cara corrected her as she took another small bite of her grilled chicken wrap.

“I’m sorry. You’re right. The maids of honor, then. Either way, eat the wraps!”