A Nantucket Wedding(2)
“It’s real. The three of us are really here together!” Felicity crowed. “And look at this house! Wow, Mom.”
“Yes, it’s wonderful, isn’t it? Wait till you see the view.” Alison held the door open. “Come in. Look around. Go upstairs and choose any bedroom you want—except the master bedroom, of course. I’ll pour some iced tea.”
“Do we need snacks?” Felicity asked, talking more to herself than to the others. “Probably not, we don’t want to spoil dinner and I did have that bag of Fritos on the boat. Oh, man, it is outrageously satisfying to eat Fritos without the children fighting for them or Noah acting like I’m eating toxic chemicals.”
“I’ll bring out a bowl of grapes,” Alison said.
She leaned against the refrigerator, eyes closed, just listening to her two daughters chatting away as they went up the stairs. It had been a long time since the three of them had been together like this, and she wondered if they could make it through this weekend without some spat or disagreement and hurt feelings. When Alison looked at her grown, capable daughters, it was as if she were seeing living Russian matryoshka dolls, the façade holding a memory of each stage of their development, down to the smallest, youngest infant, still residing within.
Her girls had never been close, and Alison felt responsible for that. True, they did have different fathers. Alison was married to Flint when she had Jane—she’d married Flint because she was pregnant with Jane.
Jane had always been a loner, a reader, a prickly little perfectionist with her straight brown hair held back with a headband. Her arguing abilities were astonishing; no wonder she became a lawyer. She was always a levelheaded, straight-A student, never once crashing the car when she learned to drive (Felicity had dented it a few times), and—as far as Alison had ever known—never once falling into the depths of a tumultuous adolescent love affair. It wasn’t that guys didn’t pursue Jane. She was attractive, but aloof. Elegant. She was tall, lean, with naturally arched black velvet eyebrows over her hazel eyes. She was smart, no genius, but ambitious and hardworking enough to make all As and get accepted to Harvard and then Harvard Law.
Four years younger than Jane, Felicity was the adored daughter of Alison’s second husband, Mark. Mark had tried not to show any preference in his treatment of the girls, and he’d succeeded. If anything, he let Jane have her way far too often. But he couldn’t help the way his eyes softened when he looked at Felicity, who had the blue eyes and blond hair of the LaCosta family.
Felicity, Alison had to admit, was adorable. From the moment she’d toddled across the floor, babbling with glee, Felicity was happy and friendly and girly and sweet. As she entered her teens, she chose lace and ruffles, pale pink and baby blue, short flippy skirts, and multicolored friendship bracelets (which she and her friends made themselves, of course). In high school, she’d had lots of friends. And boyfriends. Felicity had been the drum majorette for her high school’s marching band. She’d been prom queen her senior year. She’d attended the University of Vermont, married Noah right after graduation, had two babies, and become what Jane sometimes called “the little wifey.”
Now Jane was a lawyer in New York, and so was her husband, Scott, although they worked for separate firms. They rented an upscale apartment on West Sixty-Fifth and went backpacking in Costa Rica and river rafting in Utah. Their lives were crazy busy and stressful and completely adult. Alison wasn’t sure how she felt about Scott. He was so quiet, restrained, locked up. He was probably perfect for Jane.
Alison wasn’t sure how she felt about Felicity’s husband, Noah, either. Noah was an idealistic man, brilliant and ambitious. Straight out of college, he’d started a company selling organic drinks with catchy, healthy names. Now, Noah was trying to make “green food,” alternative protein foods made, as far as Alison could tell, basically from kale and beet juice. Alison wished him well, although she worried about the stress he carried with him and how exhausted he always seemed.
Noah and Felicity’s two gorgeous, funny, good children were the lights of Alison’s life. The children adored their father—when they saw him, which wasn’t often, since he worked at the office late into the night and on weekends. Alison did her best to feel fond of him and to smooth Felicity’s life in little ways—buying her a nice new SUV for driving around with her children, or taking them on a Disney vacation.
But she couldn’t wave a wand and make things perfect for Felicity; and, as David reminded her, Alison had her own life to live.
And she was living a wonderful life.
She’d never dreamed, after Mark’s death six years ago, that she would love again. Of course her love for David was quite different from her love for Mark. Mark had been the love of her life. They’d been married for nearly twenty-five years, and after his sudden death, after the shock and the bitterness of grief, and the support of her friends and the days of mourning with her daughters, after the tedious legal work of life insurance and the will, after the months spent with other widows joining together to relearn the movements of normal existence, Alison had finally settled down like a swan without her mate, understanding that even with his loss, the nest that was her life was a lovely creation. She took a job as a receptionist for a dental group and became friends with the staff. She was busy, helpful, and grateful for each daily pleasure. She had her two daughters, her beloved grandchildren, her comfortable house, happy memories. Many friends. Many pleasures. She could go on.