Page 56 of Best Woman
“Shut up,” he says, flicking me on the arm the way he knows spins me into a rage. “I hope to be as cool as Grandpa someday.”
“Yeah, it was so funny when he suggested you might get a divorce while blessing the challah at yourwedding reception.”
He shrugs. “He’s practical. Besides”—he fixes his gaze behind me, to where Rachel is entering with the wedding planner trailing behind her—“I’m not worried about that.”
“Me neither,” I tell him, knowing that no matter what else happens, he and I will be OK.
An hour later I’m standing in a corner with Brody and Brian, who look young and innocent in their matching polo shirts, but I know better.
“Can you guys cover me for like, ten minutes?” I ask through a mouthful of bagel, cream cheese, and lox. I wash it down with a swig of mimosa. “I need to not talk to anyone until I have a good buzz going.”
“Sure,” says Brody.
“Ifyou get us some booze,” says Brian.
I think about it for a second. “Sure,” I reply. If nothing else, I’m committed to my role as the cool older sister. And I don’t particularly care if Mom gets mad.
“Wicked,” they say in unison, turning to shield me as I flag down a passing server. I grab four glasses of champagne, keeping two for myself and passing off my two empties. I mean, it’sbrunch. I’m only going to be able to endure this if a lot of alcohol is involved.
“Mom was a dick last night,” Brian says, turning to take a surreptitious sip of his drink.
“Yeah,” I agree. “Don’t let her see you drinking that, though. And if she does, donottell her I gave it to you.”
So much for not being worried if she gets mad. Lingering hurt and disappointment aside, I’m still conditioned to fear her ire.
He smiles, showing off the blue bands on his braces. “We can negotiate.”
An aunt wanders by, and Brian turns back to distract her. Brody takes his own gulp of champagne.
“I was thinking,” he says, “we have spring break in a couple of months. Could we maybe…come to New York and stay with you?”
I swallow abruptly, sending my champagne down the wrong pipe, and spend thirty seconds coughing as the twins pat me on the back, assuring concerned family members that I’m fine. When I get my breath under control, I look at them suspiciously.
“What’s the angle? Are you going to break into the UN and cause an international incident? Deface the Statue of Liberty? Oh god,” I say, “do you have some creepy Snapchat girlfriends you’re meeting up with who are probably fifty-year-old men?”
Brian finishes his champagne and eyes my extra glass hopefully, but I finish the one I’d been drinking and take a sip. He sighs.
“No, we just thought it would be cool to come see where youlive and like, hang out,” Brody says, oddly shy. “We could go to museums and eat pizza and stuff.”
“And go to arave,” says Brian.
I’m hit with a rush of affection for them, remembering their squalling red faces in the delivery room moments after they’d been born, and the forts we’d built when they were toddlers. “I don’t know about the rave, but yeah, we could do that. I can show you some cool spots, we can get good food, and maybe see a Broadway show.”
“Can we seePhantom of the Opera?” Brody asks breathlessly. I recall them at four years old, strapped into car seats in the back of my Volvo station wagon, the three of us singing along to “Masquerade.”
I give an exaggerated frown. “I’m sorry, buddy, it closed.”
His face falls. “Damn,” he says, taking another sip of champagne. “Fuck Andrew Lloyd Webber.”
Another glass of champagne later, Brody, Brian, and I join the rest of the nuclear families out on the back patio for photographs. I watch Mom and Aiden pose, her eyes leaking tears until she calls for Randy to grab her bag for touch-ups.
Rachel sidles up next to me.
“Congratulations,” I tell her, squeezing her into a hug. I pull away and look her up and down. “You looked incredible yesterday.”
“Thank you,” she says, a perfect smile on her face. Then, without changing her tone or missing a beat, “I think what you did to Kim is really shitty. What you did to Aiden too. But I know you, Julia, and I think I understand why you did it. That doesn’t make it right.”
I wince. “No, it doesn’t. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done it and I shouldn’t have brought that into your wedding.”
