Love, Accidentally (4 page)

Janice nodded.

“Can I open it?” Ilsa asked. She knelt on the cold cement floor, put the box in front of her, and unsealed the plastic. Age hadn’t yellowed the pure-white silk of the dress, not even a little bit. Ilsa’s eyes roved over the long sleeves, the high neck, the simple train.

“I haven’t seen this in thirty-seven years,” Janice said.

“What was your wedding like?” Ilsa asked.

“Oh, it was wonderful. And parts of it were awful, too. It was probably good preparation for a marriage that way.” Janice gave a little laugh as her eyes grew distant. “My uncle got very drunk at the reception. The flower girl tripped on her way down the aisle and bumped her head and started wailing. And my maid of honor was so sick with the flu I was worried she’d throw up in the middle of the ceremony. . . . She was practically green!”

Janice reached out and traced a finger along the white silk. “But I’ll never forget our first dance. It was like we were the only two people on Earth. Or how it felt to walk back down the aisle with Stephen by my side and see everyone we loved smiling at us.”

She stood up and brushed off her hands. “Anyway, like I said, please don’t worry about offending me if you don’t want to—”

Ilsa cut her off. She’d have to let the dress out a bit, since Janice was so tiny, but a good seamstress could take care of that. And she’d already tweaked the neckline in her mind, removing the lace to lower it to a sweetheart cut.

“I’d be honored,” Ilsa said. She had to blink back tears before she could add, “Thank you.”

ON THEIR FINAL
day before leaving to catch their 5:00
p.m.
plane, they had a late lunch of chicken salad on hot, toasted kaiser rolls, fruit salad, and homemade brownies studded with bits of toffee. They lingered around the table, savoring the good food and talking easily. At one point Grif’s father stood up and turned on a jazz CD.

“Isn’t this Miles Davis?” Grif asked. “I didn’t know you were a fan. When did you buy this?”

Stephen’s eyes shot toward his wife, then landed on Ilsa. “Actually”—he paused and cleared his throat—“it was a Christmas gift.”

“From Mom?” Grif asked, reaching over to take another brownie from the plate in the middle of the table. He didn’t see the look on his father’s face, but Ilsa did.

“No,” Stephen finally said.

Something in his tone made Grif’s head snap up. Ilsa registered it as her mind put all the clues together and leapt to a conclusion:
Elise
. Why else wouldn’t he just say the name of the person who’d given him the gift? Why else would he look at his wife and then at Ilsa, almost guiltily?

She thought back to the family photo albums she’d seen. A pretty, dark-haired girl was in a half-dozen shots, including Grif’s prom photo. There was also a photo of the two of them on the playground, side by side on swings. They must have been seven or eight years old then.

Elise had to be close to Grif’s parents, since she and Grif had dated for fifteen years. What was it he’d said?
We’ve known each other forever. Since kindergarten.

Elise had probably sat here, in this very chair, eating meals with Grif’s parents dozens of times. Maybe hundreds. So she’d visited them at Christmastime and brought gifts. Ilsa took a deep breath. It wasn’t that she didn’t expect Grif to have a history. It just felt strange to realize how entwined one woman was in it.

“Ilsa? Did you want another brownie?” Janice asked brightly. Too brightly. Ilsa looked up and realized they were all looking at her. Her cheeks grew pink as she wondered if Janice was repeating a question she’d already asked.

“No thanks,” Ilsa said. She forced her lips to turn up in a smile. “I’m stuffed. And tired. I always get sleepy after a big meal.”

“She does,” Grif confirmed. “I’m scared to take her to an all-you-can-eat buffet. She’d pass out in the booth.”

“I would not!” Ilsa protested, but the affection in Grif’s voice made her feel a little better.

“How about some coffee?” Janice offered.

“I’ll make it,” Stephen said. “I don’t do much in the kitchen other than clean up, but that’s one thing I’ve mastered.”

“You should see the way he hits a button on Mr. Coffee,” Janice teased. “He’s a virtuoso.”

And just like that, they moved past the moment. But in the back of Ilsa’s mind, a thought popped up. Grif had said he and Elise were still friendly. Would he want to invite her to the wedding?

THEY WERE AT
the airport, waiting for their flight to be called, and Ilsa was fighting the urge to pace. She’d e-mailed Corrine over the weekend, but she hadn’t received a response. Maybe her prediction had come true and Corrine and Bruce were in the process of making up, she thought. But even she didn’t believe it. She looked over at Grif, absorbed in the sports page of the
Tribune,
and annoyance flared in her. Why hadn’t he spoken up at the lunch table to let his parents know it wasn’t a big deal that Elise had given them the Miles Davis CD? He could have defused the tension, instead of adding to it. By not mentioning Elise by name, everyone in his family had turned the incident into a bigger deal than it needed to be. Worse, it had put Ilsa on the outside.

“There’s something I want to ask,” she said. Grif didn’t look up from his paper, and she reached over and grabbed it.

“Hey!” he protested.

“Why did you and Elise break up?”

He glanced at her. “A lot of reasons.”

“Such as?”

“Where is this coming from?” Grif asked. “Look, we just had a great weekend. . . . Do you really want to talk about my ex-girlfriend?”

“No,” Ilsa said. “But I want to understand you better. So I need to know.”

He stretched out his jeans-clad legs and crossed them at the ankles. “Everyone assumed we’d end up getting married someday,” Grif said. “We were together so long it probably seemed inevitable. But then when we started to talk about it, it turned out Elise wasn’t on the same page.”

“What about you?” Ilsa held her breath. His answer was so important.

He shrugged. “I guess I felt like it was ridiculous for us to keep dating for so long and not have it go anywhere,” he said.

Ilsa felt light-headed. All the air in her lungs left in a rush.

“But she was right,” Grif said quickly. “It was just . . . I don’t know, maybe inertia that was holding us together at that point. She knew we’d be happier with other people.”

“You told me you broke up with her,” Ilsa said. She glanced at the guy sitting on the other side of her, not wanting anyone to eavesdrop on this conversation, but he had a cell phone to his ear and was saying “Yeah” every few seconds.

“I did break up with her,” Grif protested.

“Because she didn’t want to get married! It’s kind of a big difference, Grif! You made it sound like you wanted to end things, but instead you wanted to spend the rest of your life with her!”

“Look, it wasn’t like that,” Grif said, but Ilsa was shaking her head.

“They’re calling our flight,” he said. She silently handed him the newspaper and walked toward the gate agent, her thoughts churning. She’d thought it was so romantic, the way she and Grif had fallen into such a deep relationship, so quickly. He was the right guy for her; she was certain of it. But he’d wanted to marry someone else less than a year ago. Was she just the rebound girl?

She found her seat in 10A and fastened her seat belt as Grif settled in next to her. “Were you planning on inviting her to the wedding?” she asked.

“What? I hadn’t even thought about it,” he said. “It’s not like I think about her a lot, Ilsa. I mean, sure, we can invite her. Or not.”

“She’s close with your parents, isn’t she?”

“What’s going on?” Grif asked, frowning.

“I know she bought your dad that jazz CD,” she said. “Why did you all try to hide it from me?”

“We didn’t—”

“I want to meet her,” she said.

“What?” Grif asked. “Seriously?”

She folded her arms. “I’m not going to meet the woman you used to love on our wedding day, Grif. You said she lives in San Francisco, right? We can drive there sometime.”

Grif was silent for a moment as the flight attendant gave her safety speech.

“Look, don’t get upset by this,” Grif finally said as the plane began to taxi down the runway. “But Elise actually e-mailed me a few days ago. She’s coming to L.A. at the end of the month on business. Maybe we can all get a drink together, if it’s that important to you.”

Jealousy swirled inside Ilsa, thick and hot as a stew. “Were you planning to tell me?” she almost hissed, feeling her mouth twist around the words.

“I just did!” Grif protested. “Jesus, Ilsa, it’s not like I was going to sneak off and meet her somewhere alone. The only reason I would see her is because you want to.”

Ilsa felt the plane lurch into the air. She’d always hated that sensation, ever since she’d read that the most dangerous parts of a flight were the takeoff and the landing.

“Fine,” she said. She clutched the armrests as the plane entered a thick cluster of clouds, making it impossible to see what lay ahead. “So we’ll all have drinks together.”

FOR THE FIRST
time since they’d met, Ilsa felt a distance between herself and Grif. He hadn’t moved in with her yet, since he still had to finish out his lease, and between her job and his class schedule, they were apart more often than they were together. He was consumed with school and his tutoring, and Ilsa was spending a lot of time with Corrine, who hadn’t resolved anything with Bruce.

Ilsa knew Grif was upset by what he perceived as her lack of trust, but she couldn’t help it. She hated the thought that Elise was e-mailing him, maybe referencing private jokes and moments and bringing back memories of all they’d shared. On a rational level, Ilsa understood that some of her insecurity stemmed from the fact that she’d followed in her big sister’s footsteps so many times in the past. Still, she was desperate to meet Elise, to see how she interacted with Grif—and equally scared to.

On the night that Elise came to town, Ilsa left work early and hurried home to change. She’d combed through her closet the previous day, rejecting a black sleeveless dress as too formal and jeans as too casual. Finally she’d pulled out the ice-blue sundress she’d worn when she met Grif, for luck, with a pretty sweater on top.