Page 62 of My Ex-Best Friend's Wedding

“It means to behave or move in a listless and aimless manner,” I say because there are a whole lot of normally useless definitions floating around in my head. “You don’t want to waste your time, affection, and emotional energy on someone who doesn’t deserve it.”

I pull a Häagen-Dazs Trio out of one of the grocery bags (yes, I knew which bag they were in) and retrieve a spoon from the silverware drawer. “Here. Try this.” I put both on the counter then put my hands on her shoulders, even though I have toreach up to do so, then direct her to a stool. I put the second container in the freezer and take the third for myself.

“Ice cream is not the answer.” She says this with such prim certainty I have to fight back a smile.

I grab a spoon for myself and settle on the stool beside her. “That depends on the question. Lauren and I figured out a lot of things at the Dairy Queen.”

Even as she rolls her eyes I am hit with a slew of memories of Lauren and me hashing out our hopes and dreams, our story plots, even our plans for New York City, over Blizzards, and sundaes, and banana splits. Treats that made me ever rounder and curvier and that never added an ounce to her frame.

“Oh, Mom. I don’t want to lose him without ever really having him. Do you have any idea how that feels?”

In this moment I wish I didn’t. But I do. I peel the top off both our ice creams and place her spoon in her hand. “You feel like you can’t bear it if he looks at someone else the way you want him to look at you. That if he doesn’t fall in love with you life won’t be worth living. That you’d rather not have anyone if you can’t have him.”

Her head comes up and she looks at me in a way that she hasn’t since she got out of elementary school. “How do you know that?”

“Because that’s how I felt about your father not long after we started dating.” This is, alas, true. I pick up my spoon and dip it into the ice cream then pull up a spoonful of soft yet crispy salted caramel and chocolate.

“But that was forever ago,” she says.

I open my mouth and slip the first spoonful of ice cream inside. The flavor explodes in my mouth and I can’t contain a sigh of pleasure.

Lily frowns but tentatively dips her spoon into her own container. I watch as she spoons the ice cream into her mouth.

I’m too raw today to push aside the truth like I usually do. Imarried a man who didn’t love me anywhere near as much as I loved him then convinced myself that I loved enough for the both of us. “Sometimes when we actually get the thing we wanted most we’re afraid to look at it too closely. We hang on even when we should let go.”

“Is that why you let Dad go out with other women?” There’s nothing tentative about the question. Her tone and the look that accompanies it are starkly frank and shockingly adult. “Because you’re afraid of losing him?”

I can’t seem to catch my breath or gather my wits. All this time I’ve believed she didn’t know. I convinced myself that the occasional personal and public humiliation was the price I paid to protect my children and keep our family together.

“I keep waiting for you to stand up to him and make him stop. To be the mother I always thought you were. But you just keep taking it.” Her voice drops. It and her eyes are filled with disappointment. Inme.

She puts the spoon back into the container and pushes it away as she stands. “There’s no amount of ice cream that’s ever going to make that anything less than pathetic.”

Twenty-eight

Kendra

In all the years that Lauren has been in New York she’s only been a phone call, e-mail, or plane ride away. Now she might as well be in Siberia. More truthfully I am in Siberia—found guilty and cut off from the person I love most in the world. A fitting punishment that my unanswered phone calls and unreturned messages confirm I have no way to appeal.

It’s early Saturday morning when I arrive at the Dogwood to deliver muffins. Bree and Deanna have made sure I know that Jake, though traveling, is still in residence. I haven’t heard from him since the Blue Point debacle, so I’m not sure whether I want to see him to get news of Lauren or hope to avoid him because that news is likely to be bad. This uncertainty has me tiptoeing across the deck and into the kitchen, where I am nonetheless woefully unprepared for his presence in front of the coffeepot.

Our eyes meet. Despite the early hour he’s completely awake and has apparently already been out for a run if the running shorts he’s wearing and the T-shirt currently plastered to his chest and abs are any indication.

“Morning.” He raises his coffee cup in greeting and I’m pretty sure I smile back.

I watch his face, looking for signs of residual anger or hostility or even smugness at having a relationship with Lauren whenI don’t. But he sets his mug on the counter and reaches for the coffeepot.

“No offense, but you look like you could use some.”

“In my experience almost any sentence that begins with ‘no offense’ is offensive to one degree or another,” I say even though he’s only speaking the truth. If my hands weren’t full I’d be running one of them over my hair or checking my face in the nearest mirror.

I walk past him to set the basket of muffins near where Dee has put out bowls, homemade granola, and pitchers of milk and juice. “But I think I’m already overcaffeinated.”

“I imagine sleeping is a challenge right now.”

I nod noncommittally and try to focus on what I’m doing, which is rearranging the already perfectly aligned breakfast things. I cut a look toward Dee’s office door.

“She ran over to her place to get something,” Jake says helpfully. “I’m sure she’ll be back soon.”

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