Page 28 of My Ex-Best Friend's Wedding

And so he does as we work our way through orders of tuna nachos, fish tacos, mussels, steamed crab legs, and everything else we can think of that he might like until the sun puddles into the water, sending up a last celestial glow. Full and content, I lean against Spencer while he charms and entertains my mother, who is always a first-rate audience.

It’s close to nine by the time we head back to the house. Inside, both Spencer and I yawn.

“Must be all the fresh air. I have some reading I need to do and I wouldn’t mind doing it horizontal. If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll call it a night.” He leans over and kisses my cheek then hugs my mother. “Thanks for dinner.”

“My pleasure. Sleep well.”

He nods pleasantly, but I know from experience that’s the last check he’ll let her pick up.

“I won’t be too long behind you,” I say before following my mom into the kitchen.

“So?” I drop down onto a dinette chair.

“So... what?” She sits across from me with an innocent look on her face.

I look back.

“Seriously? I can’t believe you even have to ask. He’s a greatguy. I like him. And he’s clearly crazy about you. Which in my book takes precedence over pretty much everything else.” She hesitates. “But the only thing that matters is how you feel. And that you’re certain.”

My mother’s always taken this approach. No pushing, no agenda. I don’t know where she learned this given how young she was when she lost her parents or if she was just born that way, but at the moment I’m incredibly grateful that when fate spun the mother roulette wheel, I hit the jackpot.

“Yeah.” I feel a warm glow at her praise. “Heisgreat and Idolove him. I want to marry him. It was just that there were some work things that took me by surprise. And then I turned forty and then there was the proposal. You know how badly I react to the unexpected. I just needed time to process.”

An odd look of distress passes over her face, and I try to imagine why. My need to be prepared so that I’m not taken by surprise is, after all, no surprise to her.

“And we come from such different places and backgrounds. He has no idea what it’s like to be without money or a family to lean on.”

There’s that look again and then she says, “You and I have always had each other and friends whofeellike family. And I hope... well, I know it hasn’t been easy, but I hope it’s been enough. I...” She clasps her hands and presses them in her lap. Her face clears, but not without effort. “What I mean is you and Spencer wouldn’t have lasted a year and Spencer wouldn’t have asked you to marry him if you didn’t have enough in common. You’re both creative. You both love and feel at home in New York. Although I don’t have much experience with marriage, my guess is you don’t necessarily want to spend your life with someone who’s exactly like you. Where would the fun be in that?”

Her words make sense but there’s something off. She stands and begins to putter, getting coffee ready for the morning,double-checking ingredients for brunch tomorrow. This forces me to think of Bree and all the crap that’s piled up between us. I retrieve a sponge and wipe off the table and the already clean countertops. I wonder if I can get away with skipping the store visit and just ask Spencer to snap a candid photo of me that can be Photoshopped in front of Title Waves.

As if she’s reading my mind my mother looks up from the cabinet she’s closing. “I hope you’ll try to mend fences with Brianna.” She swallows. “She could really use a friend right now.”

My “hmmph” is barely audible. I don’t even ask why she thinks Brianna needs a friend. It’s not as if I didn’t need Brianna when she bugged out on me and the plans we’d made. And then when I tried to warn her that Clay wasn’t really ready to settle down yet she accused me of being jealous and petty and not wanting to see her happy. When I came back to be her maid of honor because of a promise we’d made in kindergarten and because my mother was planning it, she acted as if she’d been invited into some secret sisterhood that I couldn’t possibly understand.

It only got worse when she started having children and I got published, which happened right around the same time. Ultimately, we had nothing left in common except a shared birthdate, a former friendship, and a mother who still treated us like sisters even when we so clearly weren’t.

I pull silverware out of the drawer and start setting the table, mostly to have something to do with my hands. I nod so she knows I heard her, but I don’t promise anything. I can’t. Even if Bree and I both apologize for letting the other down—and that’s a bigif, I don’t really see us suddenly being BFFs again as if nothing happened. I don’t care what those glass-is-half-full people say. Positive thinking and good intention can take you only so far.

My mother carries juice glasses over to the table and begins to place them rather emphatically as if in punctuation. “You know,sometimes people make mistakes.” Blam. “One bad choice can lead to another.” Blam. “And then another.” Blam. “Before you know it your life is upside down and you’ve hurt people you never meant to.” Blam. “People you love.”

This of course has nothing to do with what we’ve been talking about. Or if it does she hasn’t explained what that connection is. Plus, her voice is kind of shaky and it’s a miracle none of the glasses shattered.

“Mom?” She isn’t looking at me. She’s studying the table as if wondering how the glasses got there. I feel a prick of fear. “Are you all right?” I step closer and reach for her hand.

Her head jerks up. There’s a haunted look in her eyes I’ve never seen before. But it’s gone in seconds.

“Of course I’m all right. I’m just overexcited. All I need is a good night’s sleep and I’ll be raring to go.” She yawns as if to illustrate, but once again something feels off. “I know you never sleep the night before you fly. I’m guessing you could use a good night’s sleep, too.”

I watch her closely as she brushes off my concern. My mother always urged us to share our worries and problems and I’m an adult now. Good God, I’m middle-aged. “You do know that I love you and that I’m here for you, whatever you need, just like you’ve always been for me.”

Her face clears and her smile is warm, but I can tell the change required effort. “I know, sweetie, and it means a lot to me. But I think I need to get to bed now.”

There’s a reticence in her manner, a watchfulness. Something is bothering her and for some reason she’s unwilling to share it.

“Okay,” I say, finally blowing a hank of hair out of my eyes. “Until tomorrow, then.” I lean over and kiss her cheek. “Sleep tight.”

“Don’t let the bedbugs bite.” She completes our bedtime ritual automatically, and I turn reluctantly and leave her there.As I walk to my old bedroom, I think of all that she’s sacrificed and done for me. How we’ve always shared everything, how she’s always given and demanded total honesty. At least with me. She’s always treated Bree as if she’s somehow too fragile for such things.

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