London Is the Best City in America

I looked in the direction of the doorway, as if Josh was going to appear and tell me what do. But I knew what he’d want me to do. He’d want me to go. “I’m on my way,” I said.

My mother watched as I hung up the phone. “And that’s the end of you?” I nodded. “Good. It will give me more time to work on my this-is-what-it-all-means speech,” she said.

“You think I need one of those speeches?” I said.

“I think several people around here need one of those speeches,” she said.

I looked down at the list she’d written on the countertop notepad: CALL 4 EXTRA FLOWERS, BAND CHECK-IN AT 2:30 [Sam], SMALL PRESENT FOR BESS, MERYL’S GARTER, COORDINATE AIRPORT PICK-UPS [Sam], EMMY’S VIDEOS TO HOTEL [Sam].

“What’s this?” I said, running my finger over VIDEOS TO HOTEL.

“Oh, I thought it would be fun to watch them tonight after the wedding. We have the suite there, and we can order in popcorn and relax. Have a little Emmy time before you leave us again.”

Leave, again. I should have felt a relief just at the words—at getting out of this situation where things, major things, seemed to be changing every second. But I didn’t feel relief. If it made me feel anything—the thought of going back to quiet Rhode Island, that empty, peaceful house—it made me feel lonely. Before I could argue, though, explain that I didn’t have to leave immediately, she stopped me.

“Your dad already has them in the car,” she said, shaking her head. “Under the air conditioner, of course. We’re looking forward to it. It’s already done.”

I squeezed her arm. “Thank you, Mom.”

She smiled. “Don’t thank us. Thank your friend Berringer.”

“Berringer?”

“It was his suggestion that we all watch the videos tonight. He mentioned it when he came to pick up your brother for a morning jog. In this heat, they went. Does that seem like a good idea?”

She shook her head, and I started to walk out of the kitchen, thinking about Berringer, how he had done that, how he cared enough that he wanted to not just hear what I was doing, but see exactly what I was doing.

“Is there something you want me to tell him for you?” she said, stopping me. “Your brother, I mean. I don’t think they’ll be back before you leave.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know,” she said, but she was looking at me like she did already.

“How did he seem this morning, Mom?” It was the closest I’d come to acknowledging that something was wrong.

She smiled at me. “What are you looking for me to say, Emmy? Like a man who’s about to get married?”

My maid-of-honor dress—the long and strappy number—was being protected by a thin, silver garment bag, which actually added a strange light to the dress, making it look closer to sheer. But it was still a bridesmaid dress, and the worst kind of bridesmaid dress—the one the bride would try to convince you that you could wear again. To a southern wedding, maybe, or the Kentucky Derby. Who was going to those places anytime soon? And how was this dress the answer to a future trip? I wasn’t all that thrilled about wearing it even this time. Long dresses like this gave all my curves their chance to shine, and not in a good way.

While a nice boyfriend might say it was a good look for me, a more honest one would admit that straight and sheer like this made me look a little un-thin. But at this point I was so full of guilt about everything I knew and everything I couldn’t do that I was anxious to wear this dress if it could make everything okay for Meryl—if it could somehow make yesterday and Elizabeth and Grace keep feeling far away. Not because I wanted to forget them, but because I wasn’t sure how I could go on remembering them, and ever forgive Josh. In this, I knew Josh and I were still the same. I knew he wanted to forget them too—had probably spent years trying to do so—so he could start to forgive himself. How had that worked out for him?

I carried the dress and the rest of my belongings back through the bushes over to the Wademans’, where June’s Volvo was waiting for me. I got in, squeezing into the already overcrowded backseat my garment bag and purse and the key chain I’d bought for Meryl in Newport last week. This had been my plan for my toast. To give Meryl the key chain with just one key on it and to tell her the story about Josh and me and our key collection. To say that it was so nice that now he had the one key that could open any door. It was corny, I knew, but I also thought they’d love it. Meryl and Josh. And this had seemed like the point. Now it seemed like I needed a new plan, a more honest one.

I backed the car out of the parking spot quickly, heading for the Hutch. To get there, I had to pass by the turnoff for Matt’s street, which was something I couldn’t bear doing right then.

“He has a son.” I said it first in my head—then out loud to myself, so I’d have to hear it, this time, what it really meant. Any woman he was with now would assume that was the reason she didn’t have his full attention. That the child was the reason. That he was the main reason there was just a piece of Matt she didn’t have. And she’d be able to forgive it. His absence.

When I hit the highway, I turned on the radio just in time to hear a local DJ talking about the weather today. “If it gets any hotter out there,” he said, “I can scramble an egg on my own forehead.”

“God knows you have enough grease on that skin of yours,” the sidekick answered him.

Gross. I was sick of hearing these weather reports. I was sick of hearing about records. I changed the station. Air Supply. It wasn’t the song “Making Love Out of Nothing at All,” it was the other one by them that everyone knew. The one that ended well. Josh and Meryl’s wedding song. It seemed like hearing it signified something, but I didn’t know what. Except a reminder that Air Supply sucked.

My cell phone rang in the glove compartment. I reached for it, grabbing it on the third ring. JAMES BERRINGER. James Berringer? I hadn’t put his number there—had never in my life even called him James.

“Hello?” I said, confused.

“Hello yourself,” he said.