Page 50 of Fathers of the Bride
He flung open the door and then hopped out.
“Goodbye,” he yelled as he slammed the door shut. I watched as he scurried down the row toward his SUV. That was odd, to say the least. It had been years since we’d driven anywhere together, and we just fell into—
Best not to think about it.
Within moments of pulling out of the parking garage, I was stuck in traffic. The unfortunate thing about L.A. traffic is that you should really attempt to do everything between eleven o’clock and two o’clock. A three-hour window. In the middle of which sits the lunch hour, or lunch hour and a half, or sometimes the two-hour lunch. Meaning, simply accomplishing one thing every day can be an incredible chore.
Would it be such a terrible thing if we reconciled?
It had been a strange meeting. First, Garth’s question—and our fervent denials. And then Miles’ getting in the car. But you didn’t reconcile with someone because people assumed you had or because one of you—or both of you—started to remember how things had been.
I missed Miles. At least a bit. But that certainly wasn’t the same as loving him. Still loving him. Or being able to love him again. Was it?
17
Miles Kettering-Lane
So,so, so humiliating. I got into his car.Hiscar! Like nothing had ever happened. Like we’d never separated and spat at each other for two years through attorneys. Like we were just going to go home together and pick up as though nothing had happened. Nothing.
Why hadn’t he been meaner about it? He really should have taken the opportunity to zing me a good one. And I would have deserved it. How did he just let that pass him by?
Was I that pathetic? I was that pathetic, wasn’t I? He couldn’t hate me anymore. He just felt sorry for me. And that was worse. I wish he hated me. Except, I didn’t.
It wasnicetalking to him about Kelly’s wedding. I mean, we were doing that together. Weshoulddo that together. That’s what good parents do. There wasn’t anything unusual about it feeling nice. Was there?
Have we reconciled?What an absurd question that boy asked. We should change accountants. Find one who didn’t ask such personal questions. Okay, yes, I suppose money is personal, but still!
Of course, Andy didn’t have to be quite so forceful in his denials. Not that I wasn’t, but I was only forcefulbecausehe was forceful. I would have happily, calmly said, “No, we have not reconciled, we’re just being good parents together.”
Why hadn’t I said that?
Ugh! I couldn’t think about it anymore. I had a wedding to plan and just because I was stuck in traffic didn’t mean I shouldn’t get on with it. Using the hands-free, I called a very, very old friend of mine, Dermont Dilroy. I’d known Dermont longer than I’d known Andy. We’d worked together at Potpourri back in the day. About two years after I launched my catering company, Dermont had launched his own called Bite Me. Despite the suggestive name of his company—or perhaps because of it—it was a huge success and still was. I featured him onThe Happy Homeseveral times in the early aughts, so he owed me.
“Darling,” he said when his assistant brought him to the phone. “I’m so happy to hear from you. I thought you’d died.”
“I’m still on Facebook, dear.”
“Do you how many dead people I know on Facebook?”
“I’m not one of them.”
“I thought you might be because you only post pictures of food. I thought they were automated.”
“You can do that?”
“I think so. It’s called ghosting. Putting up posts after you’re dead.”
“I’m not sure that’s right—never mind. Dermont, my dear, dear friend—”
“Oh no. You need a favor. I only ever have friends when someone needs a favor.”
“That’s not true. We had you for dinner…” After some quick math, I said, “…four years ago.”
“I think you just proved my point.”
“Hold on.” Traffic had begun to move and I had to zip forward to cut someone off. An ancient woman with a bouffant flipped me off, and I gave her a short casual wave—Californian for screw you, too.
“Well, all right, Dermont, I do need a favor and I hope you’ll do it even though I’m obviously a terrible friend. Kelly’s getting married.”
