Page 135 of Marriage (Red, White &) Blues

Let me just say, the Von Duttons didn’t do anything on a budget. There were so many options from seared swordfish to grilled eggplant, two kinds of pasta, one Italian white truffle, and one with lemon and walnuts. Soup courses. Salad courses and more dessert options than a small island nation could consume in a year.

Gabby, Gretchen’s best friend, dropped into the seat next to me. She looked beautiful in black. She came from a well-respected Mexican-American family out of Texas. They didn’t come close to the wealth and prestige of the McCains or Von Duttons, but they had enough means to allow her to continue to be friends with my sister. “Have you tried the swordfish?” she asked. “It’s heavenly.”

I shrugged. “It’s not my thing.” My mother had us eating off personally monogrammed china she’d purchased specifically for this lunch—white porcelain with real gold edging and letters. Talk about OTT. “But I can’t wait to see how they top this at the wedding.”

At least we didn’t have to deal with a bridezilla. My family had the wealth to buy anything and everything Gretchen’s heartdesired. With that kind of cake tossed around, people didn’t tell herno.

As we ate, more glasses clanked and the speeches started. Gabby’s face fell andshesighed.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Oh, nothing.”

“It’s notnothing, Gabs. You don’t sigh like that unless something’s bothering you.”

“Once she’s married, she won’t have much time for me. Your mother already has her life planned out. The charities she’s to join. All the dinner parties she’s to host.”

“You’re her best friend. She’ll always make time for you.”

“No. Your mother has already set up play dates with your sister and other married socialites.”

I popped out a laugh loud enough to catch the eye of Ant. I shrunk down in my seat and mouthed, “Sorry.” But come on,play dates?

“What? I’m serious. She had lunch with Christina Rivers the other day. I’ve known Christina Rivers as long as Gretch has, but I wasn’t invited.”

“That doesn’t mean?—”

“Sylvie Sheridan was.”

“My sister can’t stand Sylvie Sheridan.” Secretly, I couldn’t stand Sylvie Sheridan either. If there was ever anyone on the planet to out-pretentious my sister, Sylvie Sheridan took that trophy.

“Exactly,” she practically shouted with exasperation. “The only things those women have in common are wealth and husbands. I have a little wealth, but not a husband and that makes me a lesser class.”

“Well, it’s not much of a consolation, but you still have me.”

She squeezed my arm. “The sister I never had.”

Here’s the thing. I really hoped Gabby was wrong about my mother, but as the lunch wore on, it became blatantly obvious that only the married couples got my sister’s and Ant’s attention for more than a few exchanges of “Thank you for coming” before my mother swooped in, shuffling them off to another table. Crappy, right?

Well, as it turned out, what they lacked in manners, my parents totally made up for with copious amounts of Dom Pérignon, of which both Gabby and I indulged until, for my part, I couldn’t feel my feet and walking seemed more of a concept than a tangible state of being.

Gabby leaned in conspiratorially. “She’s making a big—hugemistake.” Either her words slurred or my hearing slurred. Fingers crossed on her slurring because I never met anyone drunk enough to have slurred hearing. “She doesn’t want to marry him. He’s a good guy, but they have nothing in common.”

“That’s what I’m saying,” I slurred back, slapping the table hard, then I hiccuped becausehello—classy. “You know she’ll never make him happy the way he deserves.” And I punctuated my point by waggling my finger in the air because nothing says ‘I’m right’like a finger waggle.

Ant looked so beautiful as he and my sister moved from table to table talking with their guests. In my opinion, nobody in the history of the world came close to everything that was Ant. As I scanned the room, I noticed a room full of tawny-haired men, but none of them had the richness of tobacco with the highlights and lowlights that I’d give almost anything to run my fingers through. The tiny flips and waves that never seemed to be tamable enough for my sister’s taste. He caught my eye again for the briefest second. Every time he looked at me, it felt like looking into a thunderstorm.

Ah, well… Look at me waxing poetic.

It took them long enough, but they finally made their way over to Gabby and me gliding into the two empty chairs at our table to take a necessary reprieve from being the perfect couple entertaining their guests. Why did every thought in my head make me feel like a terrible person? I should be happy for Ant, finally getting what he’d always wanted.

“What are you doing?” my sister snapped at me low so only those of us at the table could hear.

I looked at her, dumbfounded. “Celebrating your engagement? Just like everybody else.”

“Everybody else doesn’t look a second and a half away from falling off their chair.”

“Oh, no… I’d need to bewaymore drunk to fall off a chair.”

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