Meg finally smiled. “Just because I don’t believe in marriage doesn’t mean I can’t plan a kick-ass wedding, you know. ”
Risa stepped into the dressing room, her face flushed, her arms full of gowns. “The Wang,” she said softly, looking at Meg. “You said this would be her choice. ”
“A good guess. ”
“She is the picture of love, yes?” Risa hung up the unnecessary gowns and went to Claire. “We’ll need to take in the bust a little—just to there, don’t you think?—and let out the waist. We’ll also need to choose a veil. Something elegant, yes? Not too ornate. What shoes will you wear?” She began pinning and pulling.
“These pumps are fine. ”
Risa knelt down to pin the hemline. “I’ll keep the skirt long. In case you change your mind, which you must do. It’ll be ready in time,” she promised when she was finished, then hurried off.
After she’d been gone for a moment, Claire said, “How did you know I’d choose this dress?”
“At my wedding, I overheard you talking to Elizabeth. You said a wedding dress should be simple. You were right. Mine looked like someth
ing a circus performer would wear. ” Meghann seemed determined to smile. “Maybe that’s why Eric left me. ”
Claire heard the hurt in her sister’s voice. It was thin and quiet, a thread fluttering. It surprised her. Claire always imagined her sister’s defenses to be solid granite. “He hurt you, didn’t he?”
“Of course he hurt me. He broke my heart and then wanted my money. It would have been a lot easier if I’d had a prenuptial agreement. Or better yet, if I’d lived with him instead of marrying him. ”
Claire couldn’t help smiling at the not-so-subtle reminder. This time it made sense. “If marrying Bobby is a mistake, it’s one I want to make. ”
“Yeah. That’s the thing about love. It’s inherently optimistic. No wonder I stick to sex instead. Now, how about if we pick up some takeout from the Wild Ginger and eat at my place?”
“Alison—”
“—is having dinner at Zeke’s Drive-In and joining Sam and Bobby for date night at the Big Bowl. I called Gina from Everett. ”
Claire smiled. “Bobby is going to date night at the bowling alley? And you don’t believe in true love. Now, help me out of this dress. ” Claire hiked up the falling dress and picked her way carefully to the dressing room. She was just about to shut the door when she remembered to say, “Your wedding dress was beautiful, Meghann, and you were beautiful. I hope I didn’t hurt your feelings when I said that to Elizabeth. We’d had a few drinks by then. ”
“My sleeves looked like open umbrellas. God knows why I picked it. No, that’s not true. Sadly, I inherited Mama’s style sense. As soon as I started making money, I hired a personal shopper. Anyway, thanks for the apology. ”
Claire closed the dressing-room door and changed back into her clothes. They spent another hour trying on veils and then shoes. When they had chosen everything, Meghann took Claire by the arm and led her out of the boutique.
In front of the Wild Ginger, Meghann double-parked, ran into the restaurant, and came out three minutes later with a paper sack. She tossed it into Claire’s lap, jumped into the driver’s seat, and stomped on the gas.
They turned down Pike Street and veered left hard, into an underground parking lot.
Claire followed her sister into the elevator, up to the penthouse floor, and into the condo.
The view was breathtaking. An amethyst almost-night sky filled every picture window. To the north, the sleepy community of Queen Anne sparkled with multicolored light. The Space Needle, decked out in summertime colors, filled one window. Everywhere else, it was the midnight-blue Sound, its dark surface broken only by the streamers of city lights along the shore.
“Wow,” Claire said.
“Yeah. It’s some view,” Meghann said, plopping the paper sack on the kitchen’s black granite countertop.
Everywhere Claire looked, she saw perfection. Not a painting was askew on the silk-covered walls, not a piece of paper cluttered a table. Of course there was no dust.
She walked over to a small Biedermeier desk in the corner. On its shiny surface stood a single framed photograph. It was the only one in the room, as far as she could tell.
It was a photograph of Claire and Meghann, taken long ago. In it, they were kids—maybe seven and fourteen—sitting at the end of a dock with their arms looped around each other. In the corner, a glowing cigarette tip identified Mama as the photographer.
Surprisingly, Claire found that it hurt to see them this way. She glanced over at Meg, who was busily dividing up the food.
She put the photograph back and kept moving through her sister’s condo. She saw the white-on-white bedroom that only a woman without pets or children would possibly choose and the bathroom that contained more beauty products than the cosmetics counter at Rite Aid. All the while, Claire found herself thinking that something was wrong.
She made her way back to the kitchen.