Too Good to Be True

Well, Mom and Natalie were dress shopping. Margaret and I were drinking strawberry margaritas from a thermos Margs had thoughtfully brought along as we sat in the dressing room, waiting for Natalie to emerge in another dress. Actually, dressing room was a misnomer. Dressing hall, really, because Birdie’s had couches, an easy chair, coffee table and a huge, curtained area for the bride to try on dresses before coming out to dazzle her entourage.

“You’ve earned this,” Margaret muttered, taking a slug herself straight from the thermos.

“I really have,” I agreed. Mom and Nat were behind the curtain, Mom fussing away. “A little tuck in here, move your arm, honey, there…”

Mom seemed so normal today. I wondered if she was thinking about almost shtupping Dad at Jitterbug’s last night. Blecch. Or perhaps she was remembering the day she and I went wedding dress shopping. Margaret had had a deposition, Nat was still at Stanford, so it was just Mom and me, and we’d had a lovely time. Granted, I bought the first dress I tried on…not really the princess bride–type, to be honest, and one white dress looked about as good as another. (I’d kind of been hoping for a hoop skirt, sort of like the one Ms. Mitchell described Scarlett wearing in Chapter Two of Gone With the Wind, but Mom’s look of incredulity had squashed that one.) I barely remembered what my actual wedding dress really looked like, aside from being white and simple. I’d have to sell it on eBay. Wedding dress: Never been worn.

“Ooh, that one’s pretty, too!” I chirruped as Nat emerged from behind the curtain. She looked like a bride should …flushed, beaming, eyes sparkling, sweetly modest.

“The first one was better,” Margaret said. “I don’t like those froufrou things along the neckline.”

“Froufrou’s out,” I seconded, taking another slug of my drink.

“I don’t know,” Natalie murmured, staring at herself. “I kind of like froufrou.”

“It’s nice froufrou,” I amended hastily.

“You look beautiful,” Mom announced staunchly. “You could wear a garbage bag and you’d look beautiful.”

“Yes, Princess Natalie,” Margaret said, rolling her eyes. “You could wear toad skins and you’d be beautiful.”

“Sack cloth and ashes, I was thinking,” I added, earning a gratifying snort from my older sister.

Nat grinned, but her eyes were distant. “I don’t care what I wear. I just want to be married,” she murmured.

“Blecch,” said Margaret. I grinned.

“Of course you do,” Mom said, patting her shoulder. “I felt the same way. So did Margaret.”

“Did I?” Margaret mused.

Mom, belatedly aware that perhaps there were other feelings to be considered, glanced at me with a nervous smile. I smiled back. Once, yes, I’d felt that way about marriage. Once, being married to Andrew was all that I’d wanted, too. Nights of movies and Scrabble games, weekends spent antiquing or on the battlefield, leisurely sex on a bed strewn with sections of the New York Times. A couple of kids down the road. Long summers spent vacationing on Cape Cod or driving across country. Yadda yadda ding dong, blah blah blah.

And sitting here, admiring my sister, I could finally see that, even back then before Andrew’s revelation, all those imaginings had felt a little…thin. I’d pictured that future with a determination that should’ve clued me in. It was all too good to be true.

“How was your overnight in the city, Grace?” Natalie asked, snapping out of her daze.

I glanced at Margaret, who’d been clued in before. “Well, I’m sorry to say that Wyatt and I are—” I paused for regretful effect “—taking a break.”

“What?” Natalie and Mom chorused.

I sighed. “You know, he’s such a great guy, but really, his work is just too demanding. I mean, you guys never even got to meet him, right? What does that say about the kind of husband he’d be?”

“Crappy,” Margaret announced. “Plus, I never thought he was all that.”

“Quiet, Margaret,” Mom said, coming to sit at my side to administer a few maternal pats.

“Oh, Grace,” Natalie said, biting her lip. “He sounded so wonderful. I—I thought you were madly in love. You were talking about getting married a little while ago!”

Margaret choked on her drink. “Well,” I said, “I just don’t want a husband who can’t really, um, be devoted to the kids and me. You know. Running off all the time to the hospital was getting a little old.”

“But he was saving children’s lives, Grace!” Natalie protested.

“Mmm,” I said, taking a sip of margarita. “True. Which makes him a great doctor, but not necessarily a great husband.”

“Maybe you’re right, honey. Marriage is hard enough,” Mom said. I forced myself not to picture last night, but of course, it was seared onto my eyelids, Mom and Dad…bleccch!

“How are you taking it, Grace?” Margaret asked, as she’d been instructed in the car ride here.

“You know, I’m actually fine with it,” I answered blithely.

“You’re not heartbroken?” Natalie asked, kneeling in front of me, a vision in her white dress.

“No. Not even a little. It’s for the best. And I think we’ll stay friends,” I said, getting an elbow in the ribs from Margaret. “Or not. He might be transferring to Chicago. So we’ll see. Mom, how’s your art coming along?” A subject guaranteed to take the focus off my love life.

“It’s getting a little dull,” Mom said. “I’m thinking of going male. I’m tired of all those labias and ovaries. Maybe it’s time for a good old-fashioned penis.”

“Why not flowers, Mom? Or bunnies or butterflies? Does it have to be genitalia?” Margs asked.

“How are we doing in here?” Birdie of Birdie’s Bridal bustled in holding another dress. “Oh, Natalie, honey, you look dazzling! Like an ad in a magazine! Like a movie star! A princess!”

“Don’t forget Greek goddess,” Margaret added.

“Aphrodite, rising from the waves,” Birdie agreed.

“That would be Venus,” I said.

“Oh, Faith, here’s your dress,” Birdie said, handing me a rose-colored, floor length dress.

“It’s Grace. My name is Grace.”

“Try it on, try it on!” Nat said, clapping her hands. “That color will be gorgeous on you, Grace!”

“Yes, maid of honor. Your turn to be super special,” Margaret growled.

“Oh, get over it,” I said, rising from the couch. “Try on your dress, Margaret, and behave.”

“Yours is right here,” Natalie said, swatting Margaret on the head. Birdie handed Margs a dress a few shades paler than mine, and Margaret and I went into separate dressing rooms to try our garments on.

Behind the curtain I went. I hung the dress on a hook, slid out of my jeans and T-shirt, glad for the new bra and panties set that kept me from feeling like a total slob. I slipped the dress over my head, freed my hair from the zipper and managed to rescue my left breast from where it got stuck in the bodice. There. A tug here, a push there, and I was zipped.

“Come on, let’s see!” Natalie called impatiently.

“Ta-da!” I said gamely, coming out to join my sisters.

“Oh! Gorgeous! That is really your color!” Nat cried, clapping her hands. She’d put on another wedding dress, a shimmering white silk creation with a demure neckline, a snug bodice that glistened with beads and huge, puffy skirt. Margaret, fast and efficient at everything she did, was already waiting, looking sulky and gorgeous in her pale pink.

“Come on, Grace,” Mom said. “Stand with your sisters and let’s see how you look.”

I obeyed. Stood on the little dais next to cool, blond, elegant Natalie Rose. On Nat’s other side was Margaret, her reddish gold hair sleekly cut into a stylish bob, sharply attractive, thin as a greyhound, cheekbones to die for.

My sisters were, simply put, beautiful. Stunning, even.

And then there was me. I noticed that my dark hair hadn’t taken kindly to the weather today and was doing its wild-animal thing again. A few dark circles lurked under my eyes. (Who could sleep after Mom and Dad’s foreplay?) In the past few months, I’d managed to gain weight in my upper arms, courtesy of all that quality time with Ben & Jerry’s. Based on the one picture we had of her, I looked like my great-grandmother on my mother’s side, who’d immigrated from Kiev.

“I look like Great-Grandma Zladova,” I commented.

Mom’s head jerked back. “I always wondered where you got that hair,” she murmured in wonder.

“You do not,” Natalie said staunchly.

“Wasn’t she a washerwoman?” Margaret asked.

I rolled my eyes. “Great. Nat is Cinderella, Margaret is Nicole Kidman, and I’m Grandma Zladova, laundress to the czars.”

Ten minutes later, Birdie was completing the sale, Mom was fussing over headpieces, Margaret was checking her BlackBerry, and I needed a little air. “I’ll meet you outside, Nat,” I said.

“Grace?” Natalie put her hand on my arm. “I’m sorry about Wyatt.”

“Oh,” I said. “Well, thanks.”

“You’ll find someone,” she murmured. “The right one will come along. It’ll be your turn soon.”

The words felt like a slap. No, more than the words was…damn it, my eyes were stinging…the pity. In all the time since Andrew and I broke up, Natalie had felt sympathy, and guilt, and a whole lot of other feelings, no doubt, but she’d never pitied me. No. My younger sister had always, always looked up to me, even when my chips were down. Never before had she given me the kind of look I was getting now. I was Poor Grace once more.

“Maybe I’ll never meet someone,” I said tartly. “But hey. You and Andrew could use me as a nanny, right?”

She blanched. “Grace…I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Sure,” I said quickly. “I know. But you know, Nat, me being single isn’t the worst thing in the world. It’s not like I lost a limb.”

“Oh, no! Of course not. I know.” She smiled uncertainly.

I took a deep breath. “I…I’ll be outside,” I said.

“Okay,” she chirped. “Meet you at the car,” she said, then went back to our mother and her wedding dress.

WHEN I GOT HOME FROM DRESS shopping, I was limp from the effort of all that damn fun. Dinner and drinks had followed the dress shopping, full of good cheer and talk of the wedding. We were joined by a few other female relatives—Mom’s sisters and, alas, Cousin Kitty, Queen of the Newlyweds, who gushed and beamed about how wonderful it was to be married. For the third time, that was…numbers one and two hadn’t been so great, but that was in the past, of course, and now Kitty was an expert on Happily Ever After.

In just a few weeks, Andrew and Natalie would be husband and wife. I couldn’t wait. Seriously, I just wanted to be done with it. Then, finally, it’d seem like a new chapter of my life could start.

Angus clawed at the kitchen door to be let out. It was raining now, thunder rumbling distantly in the east. Angus wasn’t one of those dogs who feared storms—he had the heart of a lion, my little guy—but he didn’t like being rained on. “Come back soon,” I said.

The minute I opened the door, I saw the dark shape against the fence at the end of my property. Lightning flashed. A skunk…damn it! I lunged after my dog. “No, Angus! Come here, boy!”

But it was too late. My dog, a blur of white ferocity, streaked across the backyard. Another flash of lightning showed me that the animal was a raccoon. It looked up in alarm, then was gone, under the fence in a hole that Angus had probably dug. A raccoon could do serious damage to my little dog, who wasn’t smart enough to know better. “Angus! Come! Come, boy!” It was no use. Angus rarely obeyed when in pursuit of another animal, and just like that, he, too, was gone, under the fence, after the raccoon.