The Winters(42)

When Max called just then to tell me a reporter from The New York Times wanted to cover our little ceremony in the Hamptons, I remembered that Laureen often picked up the Sunday Times at the airport.

“It’d be for the Vows column,” he explained. “I’d normally scoff at this sort of thing except Elias thinks we could plug the election. And a lot of people out here read that silly column, apparently.”

“If you don’t mind, then I don’t,” I said.

Then came another surprise. Dani began to make regular appearances in the dining room. At first she’d wander around bored, dropping the increasingly chubby Maggie on the floor while she poked through the magazines piling up on the table. I’d play with Maggie, answer any questions Dani had, then she’d scoop up the kitten and be off.

A few days later, she stood behind me to look at an assortment of dresses cued up on the laptop, evening gowns mostly. I still felt intimidated by the idea of a flouncy white wedding dress, kept trying to find one in which I could picture myself. We said nothing to each other at first, our demeanor like a couple of doctors silently contemplating a medical slide.

Finally Dani pointed to the most prominent dress on my screen, a shimmery velvet tube dress, in pale coral, with a boat neck and dolman sleeves. “You’re thinking that?”

“I don’t know. I mean, it’s your dad’s second wedding.”

“Yeah, but it’s your first. This shit’s for the mother of the bride.”

In the reflection on the screen, she tilted her head thoughtfully. “And velvet will age you.”

I wanted to say I wouldn’t really mind looking older, but she was already out the door, Maggie trailing behind her.

The next day, after Adele drove off, Dani swanned back into the dining room, making her slow promenade around the table while the kitten chased a feathered string she held in her hand. I’d begun to look forward to seeing her, if only to note what she wore that day or what she did with her hair. That day’s outfit was black yoga pants and a white poplin shirt. She had on pink lip gloss, her hair piled in a bun. The dark roots on the back of her head grew in a little faster than the front, or maybe she just touched up the front more often, but she was due for a hair appointment. She collapsed in a chair opposite me, picked up a magazine, and began flipping through the pages.

“Where were you planning to shop for your dress?”

“I’m sure I can find something nice at a department store. Barneys or someplace like that.”

She was silent.

“I mean,” I went on, “the wedding’s in a month. Buying a dress at a high-end bridal shop would take too long.”

“I know a place that can do quick turnarounds if you’re off-the-rack,” she said. “And I think you are. I mean, you don’t have any boobs. Claire’s mother got her wedding dress there a few years ago. Only took three weeks. She bought a sample.”

“I don’t want to spend a fortune.”

“Like you have a budget.”

Maggie climbed up her yoga pants and nestled under her chin. She was doing a good job of taking care of the kitten but not of socializing her. She played too aggressively, climbed curtains, and scratched couches. I decided not to make a fuss about it, grateful she at least kept the name.

She gathered up Maggie and stood. “I’ll make an appointment. If you want. Unless you just want to go alone, or with Aunt Louisa, which is totally fine, I really don’t care.”

Was she serious? I worried that if I showed too much eagerness, she’d take it back. She’d say she was just kidding.

Still I replied, a little too brightly, “That would be great, Dani. Thank you!”

“Cool. I’m heading to Claire’s. Tell Dad I won’t be home for dinner.”

“You can leave Maggie here if you want. I’ll cat sit.”

She hesitated, eyeing me for a second. “Fine, but don’t get too attached. She knows I’m her real mother.”

Ten steps forward, five back.

She handed over the kitten. I looked down at sweet, dumb Maggie squirming in my lap. Her teeth were all in now. And though she couldn’t quite break my skin with her tiny fangs, she started swatting angrily at my fingers and pulling them towards her mouth, testing, as kittens do, how hard she’d have to bite before she drew blood.



* * *



? ? ?

That night, in our bedroom, while I smoothed moisturizer on my elbows, I told Max about Dani’s offer to go dress shopping with me.

“Dani? You mean Dani Winter?”

I shrugged, pretending it was no big deal.

He came up behind me at the dressing table, kissed the top of my head, and regarded me in the mirror. “I’m going to call you the stepdaughter whisperer. How did I get so fucking lucky?”

The way he looked at me just then—marveled at me, really—sent a rush of pride through my body.

“Incidentally, where do you want to go for the honeymoon?” he asked. “April anywhere in Europe is ideal. Fewer grubby tourists.”

“Won’t we be grubby tourists?”

“Speak for yourself.”

“I don’t know. I sort of hoped we could bring Dani. If she wants to come with us. You were just in the Caymans, after all. I feel like we’d be abandoning her again. I thought we could make it a family trip.”