Just One of the Guys(105)

I AWAKEN THE NEXT MORNING with my dog draped over my torso and no blood at all in my extremities. “Off!” I mumble, shoving Buttercup with my lifeless limbs. “Breakfast time.” She ignores me and remains corpse-like. I pet her ears and stare at the ceiling.

Mercifully, there is no official rehearsal dinner tonight. Instead, we’re going to Harry’s to meet his daughters and grandchildren and have pizza. “Okay, dog. Up and at ’em.”

My dog and I roll out of bed and careen down the hall, my legs still prickling. Water’s running in the kitchen, so that means Mom’s making coffee, thank God. I may be a little hungover.

The back door opens and closes, and I hear familiar footsteps. I grab Buttercup’s collar and lurch to a stop just outside the kitchen.

“What are you doing here, Mike?” my mother asks.

My breath catches. At last!

“Chastity, we know you’re there,” Dad says. “Come on in here, Porkchop.”

“Morning,” I mutter, obeying. Dad raises an eyebrow and doesn’t smile, making me feel like I’m in sixth grade again. I slink over to the coffeepot and pour myself a cup.

“What is it, Mike?” Mom asks, smoothing her hair down. She’s dressed already, looking very cute in her sweater set and beaded necklace.

“Betty—” he begins.

“Don’t start!” she barks. “You can’t do this to me the day before my wedding. I won’t—”

“Quiet, woman!” Dad snaps. “Listen. It’s not what you think.” He glances at me.

“I’ll just take my coffee down to the rec room, where I won’t eavesdrop at all,” I offer.

“No. Stay, sweetheart.” He looks at Mom again, then takes her hand, very gently, and looks down at her from the ten-inch difference in their height. “Betty,” he says softly, “you were a wonderful wife and an extraordinary mother. Thank you.”

A sob bursts out of me, causing coffee to splatter down my front. “Sorry,” I say, covering my eyes. Buttercup licks up the spilled coffee, then lies at my feet. Tears drip down my cheeks.

Dad doesn’t even glance at me. “I hope you and Harry will be very happy together, honey, and I’m sorry for every time I disappointed you,” he tells my mother.

She’s crying, too. “I’ll always love you, Mike,” she whispers.

“I’ll always love you, too. I wish I could’ve given you what you wanted.”

I press my arm against my mouth to stifle my crying. Dad leans down and kisses Mom on the forehead, then hugs her. His eyes glow with tears, but he’s smiling, too.

“Mike?” my mom says. “Will you do something for me?”

“Anything,” he answers, and in this moment, he means it.

“Will you give me away tomorrow?”

Dad wipes his eyes, then pulls back to look into Mom’s eyes. “It would be an honor,” he says.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

THE NEXT DAY AT ONE-THIRTY in the afternoon, I give my dress I final tug. “Do I look ridiculous?”

Elaina steps back and examines me critically. “You look hot, bambino. This is your color.”

“Pink?” I ask incredulously. “Pink?”

Olivia bursts through the bedroom door. “Oh, Auntie, you look so pretty!” she breathes. “Like Cruella DeVille!”

I shoot my niece a sharp look. “Thanks, Livvie. That’s definitely what I was going for.”

“It’s your hair,” Olivia explains. “It’s black-and-white, like Cruella’s.”

“It’s not black-and-white,” I tell my six-year-old niece with thinly veiled patience. “I have one or two gray hairs. My hair is black.”

“Actually, you do have kind of a streak going on here,” Elaina says, examining my head.

I slap her hand away. “Where are the rest of the girls?”

All of us bridesmaids—that is, my nieces and me—are wearing pink. A deep rose for me, pale pink for the girls. Mom, to my surprise, is wearing a red dress. She looks fabulous. Her cheeks glow, her blue eyes snap with excitement, and any bitterness or sorrow she’s been hiding seems to have evaporated with my father’s grand gesture.

No males are allowed at the house; it’s just us womenfolk as we dress and curl and spray and brush. The Starahs are in charge of their daughters, and I help buckle little shoes and zip little zippers. My brothers, father and nephews—and of course, Harry—will meet us at the church.

After the photographer torments us with an hour and a half of picture-taking, we spend several years (or so it seems) discussing who will ride with whom to the Unitarian church. “I’m just gonna walk,” I threaten. “It’ll be faster than this conversation.”

But it’s raining out, so my threats are empty.

Finally, we clamber into the minivans and cars and head off. Mom, Elaina and I are alone in Mom’s Chrysler, me chauffeuring while the two of them sit in the back.

“You look beautiful, Mamí,” Elaina says, fixing a stray curl behind Mom’s ear.

“Did Chastity tell you she dumped Ryan?” Mom says mildly.

Elaina sighs. “Yes. Too bad about that ring. Could’ve sent my baby through college.”

I grin in the rearview mirror. “Well, you could always finish divorcing Mark and marry Ryan yourself, Lainey.”