The Loose Ends List(55)

“Now we have your something borrowed and something blue. The new will be the dress. Even if you don’t design it yourself, buy it new. You don’t need some vintage thing with another woman’s secrets stuck to the seams.”

We stop for real Italian pizza, and Gram makes a toast with sparkling water or, as the Europeans call it, “water with gas.”

“Cheers to all the fun we’ve had. There are no words for the joy you have brought me. I love you, honey.” Her eyes fill with tears. I shake my head. I can’t do this now. If I start crying, I’ll never stop.



We barely make it up the steps. Gram is breathless and holds her lower back as she crawls into bed.

“I need to nap if we’re going to the jazz club tonight. But come here. I have something.” She reaches into the nightstand drawer and hands me a macaroon from her stash. “That’s not the something. Here it is. Come to think of it, you could have used this as your blue and your borrowed.” She passes me a small, square box. “Oh well, the tattoo is divine. This isn’t borrowed, anyway. I’m giving it to you for keeps.”

I open the box. It’s Gram’s sapphire.

“No way. You can’t give me this. This is your favorite thing in the world.”

“My babies are my favorite things in the world. This belongs to you. My fingers are too skinny now.”

“But, Gram—”

“You’ve loved this thing since you were an infant, and I let you teethe on it, much to your father’s dismay. He was afraid you’d get it lodged in your trachea.”

She smiles. I slide the ring onto my finger. It fits perfectly.

“Wear it in good health, my dear.”

“Oh, Gram. There are no words.”

“It’s good luck, by the way. Right after I bought it at a shop on Madison Avenue, I vomited all over a man’s foot. That was my first sign that I was pregnant with your mom. Whatever you decide to do for your wedding, wear the sapphire. Then I’ll be there.”

I’m a little queasy. I can’t tell if it’s because of the ring or the butt soreness.

“You should know how proud I am of you, honey. Going sleepies now.” Gram closes her eyes. I draw the curtains and kiss her on the forehead. She’s already asleep.



I just got a text from Lane. It’s a video of Paige and Burt on the beach, pushing Mark into the ocean on a wheelchair surfboard with Gloria and the minister photo bombing in the background. I reply with a picture of all of us on top of the Spanish Steps with the caption The Wishwellians are taking over the world!

“I thought you had to have a lot of sex to get a urinary tract infection,” Janie says, after Mom texts us that she’s skipping the jazz club to take care of Aunt Rose.

“You can get urinary tract infections from sex?” I can’t believe how little I know about these things.

“Duh.”

“Maybe she was banging Eddie,” I say.

“Or Burt.”

I’m getting anxious. We’re out on the hot sidewalk, waiting for the rest of the family to come out of the Sistine Chapel so we can go back to the hotel. It was breathtaking for the first hour and a half, but I got a neck cramp from looking up.

Gram gave Janie her diamond studs. They’re her something old, since the diamonds go back as far as the North family estate. Janie feels special because they’re worth more than the sapphire, but I know who won this contest.

Jeb got Grandpa Martin’s vintage Rolex. I doubt Jeb will ever find anyone to marry him, but he can wear the Rolex to my wedding. Who knows, maybe he’ll surprise us.

Bob comes out, and the three of us ditch the others. Bob tells us he can’t wait to go to the jazz club to see their old friend Celia Hobbes.

“So who is this Celia Hobbes person?” Janie asks. I grip the door handle of our microcab.

“We met her at the Birdland jazz club. Your gram and I pulled a lot of strings to get in, and the vibe in the club was electric. After that, we went to Celia’s shows all over town. She was way up there with Ella Fitzgerald and Billie Holiday. Man, those were the days.”

Bob is so animated when he talks about the old days.

“It was Celia who gave us a nickname, Cookies. She once joked that we looked like a half-moon cookie. People would say, ‘Are the cookies coming out tonight?’ That was us: black, white, and sweet on each other.”

“Aww. You still are,” Janie says, climbing out of the cab.

“Yes we are.” Bob smiles like a schoolboy. “Yes we are.”



1. I have a date tonight. 2. She’s kind of cute. 3. I’m not excited at all.

I text back. 1. Strange coincidence, me too. 2. He’s not bad, if you like the exotic Euro type. 3. But he sucks at Whac-A-Mole.

“I would do you,” Janie says when I twirl for her in my forties dress.

“What if he was beer goggling the whole time on the ship and he’s disappointed when he sees me?”

“Stop. Don’t turn into one of those annoying insecure girls. Repeat after me: He’s just a boy.”

“He’s just a boy,” I say, so aware that he is not just a boy.

“I don’t even know what I’m doing. I’m going to see him at the jazz club and hang out. Then what? Never see him again?”