Page 29 of My Ex-Best Friend's Wedding

My imagination sits up and gets to work spewing out a stream of worst-and-even-worst-case scenarios. Potential illnesses fill my head. I attempt to beat them back but there are too many possibly awful diagnoses to demolish them completely. I tell myself that whatever it is we’ll deal with it together. Sick is not a death sentence. I can handle sick. I have resources. And some of the best doctors in the world are in New York City. Terminal, however, is out of the question. I am not ready to even contemplate a world without my mother in it.

?I enter the bedroom where Spencer is sleeping peacefully in the center of the joined mattresses, clearly unconcerned with the crack. His arms are thrown out in abandon. I love that he sleeps with the same enthusiasm he does everything. I slide gently into bed, careful not to wake him. Then I curl up against his side and lay my head on his shoulder.

I’m watching his chest go up and down, cataloguing each breath, when I hear my mother moving around her bedroom. I used to fall asleep to that sound, soothed and comforted by the fact that she was just across the hall. The wind kicks up another notch and I hear the sand pelt the house. The Sandcastle begins to sway.

Now I send up a silent prayer to counter my out-of-control imaginings.Please, God, don’t let her die. I’ll find a way to be okay with anything else but that.

Fifteen

Kendra

Given the confession I’m going to have to make tomorrow I expect to spend the night wide-eyed and awake, but I fall asleep almost as soon as my head hits the pillow.

When I wake early-morning light is creeping through the window. Telling myself this is a good omen, I wash my face, brush my teeth, and dress, then head into the kitchen to make coffee.

The warm dark smell wafts through the kitchen and wraps itself around the salt-tinged air, and I tell myself that everything will somehow work out. That I’ll find a way to explain. That I’ll keep talking until I make Lauren understand that I never set out to pass myself off as a widow but that when I saw the sign in front of Snug Harbor and went in to see about renting a room, I burst into tears and admitted Lauren and I were pretty much alone in the world. When I stopped crying long enough for Barbara, the landlady, to tell me that she knew how hard it was to lose a husband, I didn’t correct her mistaken assumption.

When I realized that I was going to have to let go of Jake completely for his and Lauren’s sake, I had no choice but to jettison his parents, too.

The story I made up about the tragic loss of my parents came not long after when Barbara inquired whether I didn’t have any “people” at all. When they actually died in a car crasha year and a half later, I worried that my lie had tripped some “kill” switch or something in the universe. Between the fictional deaths and the real ones I felt like some sort of serial killer for whom forgiveness would always be just out of reach.

But it did allow me to show Lauren pictures of her father and both sets of grandparents without making her feel unloved or ignored by absent relatives. Looking at the small photo album that was one of the few things I’d left home with was one of her favorite pastimes. For me it was more like a penance.

I drink the last of my coffee to the soundtrack I love; the quiet chirping of birds, the rustle of wind in the trees, and the distant but ever-present sound of the surf advancing and retreating. The house settles companionably around me and for a time I manage to lose myself in the tasks at hand. There’s a part of me that knows I should also be preparing for “the talk” we have to have today, but I’m not sure this is something that can be prepped for. I tell myself not to be afraid. That this is my daughter, the person I love most and am closest to in the world, and that somehow I’ll not only recognize the right moment when it arrives but will also know exactly what to say. I believe this because I must. I simply can’t consider the alternative.

When Lauren comes out I pour her a cup of coffee then continue my preparations as she settles at her old seat to drink her coffee. She is not a morning person, my daughter, and I know from long experience it’s best to let her let you know when she’s ready for conversation. My heart thumps too wildly while I wait.

“What can I do to help?” she finally asks mid-yawn.

“You can just keep me company for now.”

The yawn ends on a nod. “What are we having?”

“I’m going to do a triple-cheese and asparagus scramble with buttermilk biscuits and crispy potatoes. Plus, stacks of my world-famous chocolate chip pancakes with homemade syrup.” I realize I’m rushing my words and force myself to slow down. “Bree’s bringing a blueberry crumble for ‘dessert.’”

“Glad to see you’re keeping it simple and low-cal.” Her tone is light but her eyes on my face are not. “So youarefeeling okay.” It’s a statement and a question.

“Yes.” I take her empty cup and refill it. “Of course.” I find a smile. I know it’s selfish, but I need these last few hours to feel as normal as possible. “I was just thinking that you might want to try on THE DRESS later today.”

I see her eyes spark with excitement and I tell myself that it’s all right to allow myself the pleasure of seeing her in THE DRESS before I launch into any kind of explanation. I keep the conversation light as we catch up. But I hate having to watch every word and I breathe a shaky sigh of relief when Spencer arrives and places a kiss on the top of Lauren’s head. “Okay—was it my imagination or was the Sandcastle actually swaying last night?”

Lauren snorts. I welcome the smile that tugs at my lips.

“Is that a yes or a no?” He drops into the chair next to hers.

“Yes, it was swaying,” Lauren says. “But that’s a good thing. Houses are built on stilts so that they can move and give in the wind rather than snapping or collapsing.”

“Ah, so I didn’t actually need to lie there with one eye open in case we had to escape the rubble or something.”

“Nope.” She’s holding back another snort.

“That would have been good to knowbeforeI went to bed. You know, so that I wouldn’t have spent most of the night worrying about dying.”

“Sorry. That’s exactly how I feel the whole time we’re in the air.” Lauren leans over and busses his cheek. “Here it’s just part of ‘home.’ You looked so sound asleep when I came to bed I didn’t think to wake you and warn you of what might happen if the wind picked up.” Her amusement is clear.

“I’m sorry you had a rough night. I’ve always liked the feeling—it’s kind of like sleeping on a boat.” I like him, and I’m incredibly grateful that Lauren will have emotional backup if my confession goes badly. “How do you take your coffee?”

“Black, thanks. And lots of it. I’m going to need extra caffeine to make up for the hours I lost imagining the roof caving in.”

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