Big Summer(48)

“Drue. I’m sure your dad is proud of you.” I thought of the picture in the Times; the two of them, up on the roof, with the city spread out underneath them. “How could he not be?”

Drue gave a humorless snort. “He was so hungover at our high school graduation that he left halfway through the ceremony. He didn’t even bother showing up when I graduated from…” She stopped herself, shaking her head. “It doesn’t matter. Water under the bridge. I just thought, you know, he’d try to behave himself at my wedding. Or at least not make a scene.” Her lower lip trembled. “Except this isn’t about me and Stuart at all. It’s about him. Him and her. And I’m just the stick that they hit each other with.”

She started crying again. I patted her back, and when she sat up and settled her head on my shoulder, I put my arm around her and held her tight. “You know, you don’t have to go through with this,” I said. “Or you don’t have to go through with it here, like this, if this doesn’t feel right. Just take a rain check, and do it in six months, somewhere else. Destination weddings are so hot right now!”

She gave a sad smile. “It’s all paid for. Nonrefundable. Everyone’s here. Done is done. Might as well.” She waved her hand toward the party and sighed again, letting her head droop. “I have three dresses. Did I tell you?” She had, of course, but I didn’t interrupt. “One for the ceremony and one for the party and one for the after-party. Three dresses that probably cost more than…” Another head shake. “God, I don’t want to think about it. And my mother just kept saying, ‘Go for it. Get whatever you want. That’s what your father wants for you.’?”

“You’re going to be gorgeous. Stunning. The most beautiful bride anyone’s ever seen.” I looked her in the eye. “But seriously, Drue, if it doesn’t feel right, if it feels like it’s about anything besides you and Stuart, you’re allowed to call it off. Or postpone it. I’ll call Darshi. She’s in Boston. She can be here in less than two hours. We can whisk you off to Bora-Bora.”

Drue gave a hiccuppy, sobbing laugh. “Darshi hates me.”

“Well,” I said, “you did film her picking a wedgie and post it on our class Facebook page.”

Drue’s next laugh was significantly less sobbing. “That was bad. I should probably apologize.”

“You should definitely apologize. I’m sure Darshi would appreciate it. But not tonight. Tonight, just take care of yourself.”

Drue wrapped her sinewy arms around me and hugged me hard. “I can’t thank you enough for being here.”

“My pleasure. It’s going to be great. I checked the weather, and it’s perfection. High seventies, partly cloudy, slight breeze. Your chiffon overskirt will be blowing, your tendrils will be curling, you’ll look like an angel. Now, what can I get for you? More water? Advil? Your fiancé?”

It looked like she was on the cusp of saying something. Her mouth was open, her eyes fixed on mine. Stay with me, I thought she’d ask. Don’t go. And I wouldn’t, of course. Because she was the bride. Because she was my friend. Because she was in a state you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy. Then her lips closed. She smoothed her hair and lifted her head and I watched as the veil of wealth and privilege dropped down around her; as she became, once again, beautiful, untouchable Drue Lathrop Cavanaugh: the luckiest girl I knew.

“I’ll be okay. I’ll just, you know, get my beauty sleep. It’ll all look better in the morning.” She tried to smile as she gave me a teasing shove. “You should go find that guy.”

“What guy?” I asked.

“Oh, c’mon,” she said, nudging me harder. “The cutie with the curly hair. The one who took our picture. He likes you. I can tell.”

For a minute, I was right back in high school. He likes you. I can tell.

“What’s his name?” Drue asked.

I made myself smile. “Nick Andros. He said you were in sailing school together.”

“PYC!” she said, her face brightening briefly.

“You don’t remember him? He says you locked him in the supply closet and put hermit crabs in his shoes.”

She laughed and shook her head. “I wish that narrowed it down, but sadly, it does not. I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but I was kind of a mean girl growing up.”

“You don’t say.”

“I’ll bet Grandma Lathrop knows him. Dad said she’d invited half the Cape. That was, like, complaint number thirty-seven. Ask her if you need the dirt on the guy, or his family. She’s probably holding up the bar.”

Nick hadn’t said anything about his family being in attendance. Then again, I hadn’t asked. Either way, I wasn’t about to start grilling Drue. Not if there was even a tiny chance that they’d hooked up at some point. If they had, I did not want to know.

“Whoever he is, he’s adorable. Go on,” she said, and gave me an encouraging push. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.” At the door, she hugged me—a real hug, not the hands-on-the-shoulder, bodies-apart maneuver I’d seen her perform with other guests on the beach. “Thanks, Daphne,” Drue whispered in my ear. “Thank you for being my friend.”