Page 20 of My Ex-Best Friend's Wedding

“Perfect. Danielle asked if you could stop by that cute little bookstore while you’re there,” she says, referring to my publicity person at Trove. “Wasn’t the owner a friend of yours?”

“Yes.” This time her use of the past tense allows me to answer in the affirmative. Briannawasmy best friend in the world. Once.

“She asked if you could get some photos of you in the store and also on the real beach where most ofSandcastle Sunriseis set.”

“Um-hmmm.” I drop down on the office sofa and try to slow the thoughts spinning in my head.

“She wanted me to find out if you know any photographers down there or if we should send someone. That way we’d have all the photos we need and someone who could send things back daily for posting to social media.”

“I’m sure we can take the photos,” I say as I debate whether I need to put my head between my knees to stop the room from whirling. “But I need to go now. I want to get my pages done for the day and then I’m going to meet Spencer for an early dinner before we go to the theater.”

“Oh, that’s great. Be sure to ask him what he thinks of...” Her voice fades until it’s no more than an indistinct buzzing in my brain.

I hang up. Then I just sit there staring at the wall as I picture Bree’s face when I show up in her store with news about the anniversary edition of the book she thinks I stole from her. Today may be April Fools’ Day but this is no joke.

Bree

Manteo

This morning I wake up on the daybed in my office to the patter of rain on the roof and the smell of bacon and hash browns frying. The gurgle of coffee brewing is accompanied by its lovely scent and faint whiffs of cinnamon and bacon.

Clay has been known to fry up fresh-caught fish or throw the occasional burger or steak on the grill, and Lily did, in fact, bring home groceries the other day, but putting meals on the table has always been my job. So when I follow these heavenlysmells down to the kitchen I’m not surprised to find Kendra pulling a fresh batch of apple cinnamon muffins out of the oven while Clay wolfs down the massive breakfast she’s just served them and Lily nibbles on a piece of bacon.

“Wow, Mom.” Lily looks me up and down. “It might be time for a shower and a pajama change.”

Clay’s lips tilt up but he’s smart enough not to laugh or agree. It’s Kendra who says, “That’s unkind, Lily. I happen to have it on good authority that that’s what a writer on deadline is supposed to look like.”

I flinch slightly at her allusion to Lauren, though maybe she’s just trying to desensitize me before I have to face her in person. I lean forward to peer at the stainless steel refrigerator door and see my murky reflection topped by a head of hair standing up in so many directions I might have stuck my finger in an electric socket.

“I think these two could have managed breakfast,” I say as I hug Kendra and pinch a still-warm muffin from the basket she’s put them in.

“I was up early anyway and thought I’d pop by. There’s a hamburger casserole in the refrigerator for dinner. Gina stopped by with a pan of lasagna and an apple pie.” Gina is Clay’s mother and a far better cook than I am. She’s a one-woman force of nature and practically runs the vacation rental arm of the family real estate business singlehandedly while Clay and his father buy and sell properties and handle repairs. One of my favorite things Clay brought with him to our marriage is his large, extended, rowdy family that’s been on the Outer Banks for generations.

The rain outside makes the kitchen feel even warmer and cheerier. Surrounded by the easy chatter of three of the people I love most in the world, I’m not prepared when their faces blur and memory yanks me back into the empty silence of this very kitchen in the weeks after my grandmother died. It got even quieter after my parents, having decided that sixteen was old enough to live alone in the house my grandmother left me,departed to once again dig up an ancient civilization in some far corner of the world.

Technically Icouldtake care of myself, just as Lily could if she had to. But sixteen-year-old girls are not designed to live alone, connected to no one. I shudder slightly and feel my hands wrap around the heat of the coffee cup even as the remembered chill of loneliness seeps inside me. I remember the brutal ache of isolation. The time I spent weeping, and struggling to understand how the house that had once overflowed with her warmth and love could be so still and cold.

I went to school each day, where I pretended that I was like everyone else. And then came home each night to the chilly quiet and the unavoidable knowledge that I wasn’t. That my parents didn’t care about me enough to come back for any real length of time, or send for me, or alter their life in any way. That the only person who had ever really loved me was gone.

Lauren had spent plenty of after-school afternoons with me at my grandmother’s while we were in elementary and middle school; afternoons we spent eating homemade treats while we made up stories then acted them out.

In the days and weeks after Gran’s funeral, it was Lauren who helped fill the silence. She filled it with friendship and a VHS ofPretty Womanthat she found buried in the bottom of an old trunk.

We loved everything about that modern-day Cinderella story. But our favorite scene was the music montage of Vivian trying on clothes on Rodeo Drive. We replayed that scene over and over, ultimately deciding that we liked it even more than the makeover scene inClueless.

We watchedPretty Woman(with popcorn) as a regular prehomework treat. We watched it so many times that we could (and did) recite scene after scene of dialogue along with Vivian and Edward. Sometimes we lowered the volume and delivered the lines ourselves.

It was our favorite movie and Roy Orbison’s “Pretty Woman” became “our song.” We hummed it and sang it. When it came on the radio, wherever we were, we belted out the words and bobbed along. One rainy afternoon we choreographed a dance number to it, which we performed for our own personal entertainment whenever the opportunity arose. Even now the first drum licks of that song set my head bobbing and my body moving. I’m sixteen again and my best friend is at my side.

“Bree?”

“Hmmm?” I jerk my head up and see all three of them staring at me.

“Are you okay, Mom?” Lily has her schoolbooks, and Clay’s got the car keys. They’ve both pulled on raincoats.

“Absolutely, sweetheart,” I say in my heartiest mom voice. “I’m just a little lost in the chapter I’m working on.” As my lips brush across their cheeks it’s a reminder of how lucky I am to have them. When I married Clay and we decided to live here I vowed to turn it back into the kind of home my grandmother’s presence had made it. And mostly I’ve succeeded.

“Go ahead and get back to work while it’s fresh in your mind.” Kendra’s eyes are filled with concern as she hands me a plate to take up with me. “I’ll clean up and let myself out.”

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