Page 47 of My Ex-Best Friend's Wedding

“But it’ll only take about thirty minutes of her time. Maybe Spencer could come, too, and talk about his Broadway show. It won two Tonys, you know.” She tosses this out as if I might have somehow managed to miss this bit of information.

“You could maybe talk about the bookstore and, I don’t know, maybe about your book now that it’s finished.”

“That would be a pretty jam-packed thirty minutes.” I can hear just how dry my voice is but I’m pretty sure I manage to keep smiling.

“Will you just bring it up, Mom?” The smile she gives me is her most winning.

“I’ll mention it if and when the opportunity presents itself, but you’ll have to do the asking.”

“Come on, Lily,” Clay says. “I mean it.”

With a final pleading look and a toss of her head she follows him out the door.

I’m on my third cup of coffee when Lauren and Spencer come downstairs. I can tell that they’ve been fighting. I’ve been in enough domestic skirmishes to recognize the signs.

They both say good morning to me but are careful not to look at each other.

“Coffee?”

They nod and I fill their cups. Lauren pretends not to watch Spencer take and butter a muffin, but her face reveals her displeasure at the reminder of her mother. She reaches over the plate of offending muffins to the fruit bowl to retrieve a banana then yanks off its peel, twists it apart, and pops the top into her mouth.

“So,” I say into the vast silence. “What are your plans for today? Fort Raleigh Historic Site? The Waterside Theatre?” These are the closest and best-known tourist sites on Roanoke Island. “Too badThe Lost Colonydoesn’t start until Memorial Day weekend.”

“Yeah. I’d really love to see it,” Spencer says as we watch Lauren masticate the banana she’s decapitated.

“Maybe you should leave those sites for later,” I say, unable to watch Lauren’s assault on the piece of fruit. “They’re so close you can run over there anytime. The drive down to Hatteras is beautiful.” Lauren’s eyeing a bunch of grapes as if they, too, deserve a comeuppance. But then I guess I should be grateful she’s taking her distress and hostility out on the fruit.

I pull open a drawer and retrieve an “Exploring Cape Hatteras” trifold to show Spencer the Cape Hatteras National Seashore. “It’sa beautiful drive and there are lots of places to stop on the way down. The Bodie Island Lighthouse is well worth seeing though you won’t be able to climb it right now. And you’ve also got the Pea Island National Wildlife Refuge and the historic Little Kinnakeet Lifesaving Station.” I’m trying not to sell it too hard, but as a bookseller close to the historic waterfront I’ve done more than my share of directing and guiding tourists.

Lauren is still torturing the banana.

Spencer, who’s been looking at the map, points to the shoreline. “Oh! There’s Rodanthe.” He pronounces it like the first-time visitor he is. “Isn’t that where that Nicholas Sparks movie was set?”

Lauren and I turn as one.

“It’s ‘Ro-DAN-thee,’” she says icily. As if he should have known this.

“And you might not want to mention that movie while you’re down there or anywhere on the Outer Banks, really,” I add more gently.

His surprise is not surprising. “Seriously? I mean, I’m not a huge Sparks fan, either. He skews a little too close to melodrama for my tastes. But... why not?”

“Because the local population didn’t appreciate being portrayed as country yokels,” I say.

“And bluegrass and country music are not ‘local,’” Lauren adds, clearly surprised that she’s just taken up the mantle of a local while I’m relieved to see she’s still got some civic pride and a native’s perspective. I was afraid she’d checked them in when she took up residence in Manhattan. “As anyone who was on the beach in the ’70s will tell you, a lot of big-name groups played here.”

After that the double-team defense is automatic and rapid-fire.

“And because you will never see wild horses running on the beach in Rodanthe.”

“Not ever.”

“It was completely inaccurate.”

“People around here don’t appreciate outsiders who don’t bother to get things right.”

Lauren stops mid-rant and I can practically see her brain registering the fact that she and I have come down on the same side, instinctually filling in each other’s blanks, anticipating the other’s thoughts.

“Given that all of us at this table have a propensity for making things up, that seems a bit harsh,” Spencer says, not particularly disturbed by the corrections and, if I’m not mistaken, as relieved as I am that Lauren has stopped mangling the fruit with criminal intent. “But I get it. ‘Ro-DAN-thee.’ And no movie references.” He reaches for a second muffin. “Is there anything else Outer Banksters have a hate on about that I should be careful of?”

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