Good Riddance(76)

“Very resourceful,” said Peter, grimly.

“I’m sorry if it got your hopes up that you had a biological child—”

“Just that simple,” he said.

“You can’t go around telling people that I’m your daughter. That was reckless, and that’s over. You had a fling with my mother. Okay. Everyone has flings. It was huge to you because she was your teacher—”

“Ex-teacher.”

“Fine, ex-teacher. But you have to drop it.”

“We shouldn’t be having this conversation at my wedding. Can I call you?”

“No, bad idea. And, of course, I’ll return the money you’ve been sending me.”

He whispered, right above my ear, “Don’t. She told me you were mine. She used to send me baby pictures.”

Maybe this would be the last time I’d have to endure accounts of my mother’s disloyalty. I said, “Well, she was wrong.”

The song was ending and Jeremy was back at my side.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

I said, “I told him about the new test,” hoping my accompanying look signaled Just play along.

“Yes, it had to be said,” Jeremy granted ever so solemnly. “Sometimes ripping the Band-Aid off is the only way.”

We two improvisational talents nodded, Yes, so very true. I asked Jeremy if he wanted to call it a night.

“We haven’t cut the cake yet,” said Peter.

“It’s been a very long day,” I said.

“Too long. I wish it had ended before we had this conversation.”

“I hope you have a long and happy marriage. I really do.”

“I didn’t handle this very well, did I? I plowed right in the first time we met. You’re wiser than I ever was at your age,” said Peter.

“Hey, c’mon. It’s not good-bye,” said Jeremy. “It’s just good night.”

“I’m afraid you’re wrong,” said Peter.



We wound our way over to Kathi and my dad, who hadn’t left the dance floor since the deejay had declared the newlyweds’ first dance, “Can’t Take My Eyes Off of You,” now open to all.

“Your father never told me he was a dancer!” said Kathi.

“I chaperoned more than my share of hops. You pick up the moves,” said my dad.

“I heard that people can go dancing in the borough of Manhattan,” said Jeremy. “Maybe you two can look into that.”

I could tell that Kathi was thinking, Sad. We like Jeremy so much. Is there any hope?



In the elevator, just the two of us plus the half-empty bottle of burgundy he’d taken from an abandoned table, Jeremy asked what bomb I’d dropped on Armstrong.

“I told him I’d had a fancy new DNA test that showed that my dad was my dad—”

“Tom?”

“Of course Tom!”

“Did you, in fact, have a test?”

It occurred to me that I could lie to Jeremy, too. But I didn’t. I said, “No test. Just me wanting to put an end to the whole damn thing. I wanted to clear him out of my head. I wanted to go back to the first three decades of my dad being my real dad. He deserves that.”

“Pete did look a little shell-shocked. I think he was planning on this event doing double duty—as in ‘A big round of applause for my illegitimate daughter at table one!’”

“You and me both. When my dad told him to scram, we were about thirty seconds away from being the subject of a boozy toast. That did it.” Our floor number pinged. I said, “He’ll get over it. He’s known me for about a minute in the great scheme of things. And now he’s got two stepdaughters he can daddy.”

I took my shoes off as soon as we stepped out of the elevator onto the carpeted hallway. “You know what I think?” Jeremy asked.

I said no, tell me.

“I think he’s in love with you.”

I emitted an automatic yuck and eeew, but what I was really focusing on was Does Jeremy think of me as a woman whom a handsome state senator would be in love with?

“Aren’t you supposed to look a lot like your mother, the alleged love of his life?”

Oh, that. “Some people think so.”

I took the plastic key card from my tiny satin purse, opened the door, closed the curtains, and turned on the overhead light. Jeremy turned it off.

I said, “You’re not going to be able to find the buttons that need unbuttoning.”

That seemed to be his cue to pat me here and there, pretending it was too dark to know breast from clavicle.

“They’re on the upper back, remember?”

“Got ’em. But I’m noting that they don’t serve any real purpose. And there’s a zipper. Do you want me to unzip you, too?”

“As long as you’re there, sure.”

I could feel my dress opening wider. Then noticeably closer to my ear: “Your bra seems to have an excessive number of hooks. Should I help with that, or do you want to take care of it yourself?”

“That depends . . .”

He dropped his hands. “I sense you have a speech you’d like to make.”

I did, one I’d been preparing since seeing the size of the room we’d been assigned. I held on to the slipping bodice of my dress for dignity’s sake, then began. “I know when we first met, and I had a martini, I was ultracool, very cavalier, about jumping into bed with you. It was like I was experimenting, trying to be the kind of woman who could have casual sex with someone she’d just met. No emotional investment.”