The Wedding Sisters (24 page)

Meryl's mind tensed like a muscle, the pieces of the puzzle forming before she fully computed that she was looking at a puzzle in the first place. Clearly, these were the first, the only, photos of her mother as a child she had ever seen. But who were the adults? Aunts and uncles? And the boy? Were these people a few of the many family members who did not leave Poland in time, never to be seen again? Of course, Meryl understood why Rose never talked about the country of her birth. Her parents left when she was seven, just before the Nazi invasion. But most of her family had not been so lucky.

But if her mother had left at seven, settling in New Jersey, shedding her Polish identity like a diseased skin, how could there be photos of her in Poland as a teenager?

“Meryl?”

She jumped, shoving what she could underneath the canvas. Hugh loomed above her, holding a stack of garment bags.

Those drawings. That unfamiliar name.

“Do you need help with the closet?” Hugh said.

It was just too much—all of it. Her mother, the weddings, Hugh and his job, the money, Meg fighting with Stowe …

“I can't finish this today,” Meryl said, overwhelmed and near tears. She wanted to crawl into the nearest bed and throw the covers over her head.

“Okay, okay,” said Hugh, leading her to the edge of the now unmade bed and pulling her close. “Don't get upset. It will get done. It will all get done.”

The apartment would get packed, but what about everything else? Hugh had been right all along. There was no way to throw three weddings. Even if he'd had a job, it was way beyond their means. She should just forget about her stupid pride and let Tippy Campion take over. She was sure Eileen Bruce would be happy to help with Amy's wedding. And Jo—well, maybe she could wait awhile since her engagement seemed impulsive, to say the least.

She looked at the pile of paintings on the floor. In her hand, she still clutched some of the photos. “Hugh, look at these. I think this girl is my mother.”

He flipped through the photos. “She looks like Meg.”

“I have no idea who any of those other people are. And this is clearly not the U.S., even though she said she was here by that age.”

He shuffled through the pictures again. “You're right. But why would she lie about that?”

Meryl took the photos and slipped them into her handbag. “I don't know.”

*   *   *

Jo had never experienced someone sucking up to her so completely. And this wasn't some obsequious kid at school, or Amy trying to manipulate her into a favor, or even someone at work trying to get her to switch shifts. This was a real person, a professional, treating her like she was royalty.

Which, she almost was. Sort of.

The real estate agent steered her through the lobby of 56 Leonard Street. She was an attractive woman, probably around her mother's age—but so Botoxed, it was tough to say. She wore a lot of jewelry and carried a Chanel bag. Her name was Katherine Green, but she told them to call her Kat.

“As you can see, this building is as much a work of art as it is a home.” She said this to both of them, but she looked at Jo. Toby had made it clear that when it came to apartment hunting, it was “whatever his fiancée wanted.”

Toby's parents, the Lord and Lady Hedegaard-Kruse, had decided that since their son was engaged to be married, it was about time he had his own apartment. It was their engagement gift. The count and countess, traveling through Hong Kong, made no mention of when they might have time to meet their future daughter-in-law.

“We'll be lucky if they even make it to the wedding,” Toby had informed her. She could see that he tried to make light of it, but there was an obvious undercurrent of hurt.

“Who did that sculpture outside?” asked Toby.

“The Indian artist Anish Kapoor,” she said. “The tower itself was designed by Herzog and de Meuron.”

Toby looked at Jo and they both shrugged.

“Sounds good to me,” said Toby.

The building was sixty stories tall and designed with staggered units so the tenants' panoramic views were not obstructed by so much as an inch. The effect was that of a giant mah-jongg tower made of glass and steel.

She took them up a private elevator to the thirtieth floor. The elevator opened directly into the apartment, a massive space as light and open and airy as if she were standing suspended in the middle of the sky.

“As you can see, we have fourteen-foot windows, a custom-sculpted fireplace, and these kitchen islands are available in this trademarked piano shape.”

She took them outside onto the wraparound deck.

Jo looked at Toby. This place was beyond. She thought of the tiny little dark space she'd shared with Caroline in Greenpoint. Who needed passion when you had these views?

“You absolutely
must
see the bathrooms. They are my favorite feature of these homes.”

They followed Kat, the sound of her high heels echoing through the place.

She slid open a door, and Jo laughed in delight. Even the bathroom had floor-to-ceiling windows! The tub was a freestanding chalk white oval, deep as a small pool.

“These vanities are one of a kind, and while these marble tiles are designed to go with the space, you can also talk to them about retrofitting with tiles of your choice.”

Toby turned a faucet on and off. Jo wanted to jump into the tub.

Could she really call this place home someday?

Kat led them back into the living room. “When you're ready, I'll take you to the roof. You would have a sky estuary with a seventy-five-foot infinity-edge lap pool.”

“A lap pool,” Jo repeated, stunned.

“Ms. Becker, Lord Hedegaard-Kruse, the amenities are truly the best you will find in the city—any city: fitness center and yoga studio, a library, private dining salon, a catering kitchen…”

Jo smiled and bit her lip. It sounded crazy to hear someone address Toby as “Lord.”

“What do you think, Jo?” he asked, leaning against the piano-shaped island in the center of the sparkling, ultramodern, off-the-charts kitchen.

“I say when can we move in?”

 

eighteen

Meryl surveyed the dismantled living room. “We can finish tomorrow,” she said.

“Tomorrow? Why not just get this over with?” asked Rose.

“Hugh has to get to the library, I'm hungry, and Meg has to get back to D.C. before rush hour.”

“Everyone's abandoning the sinking ship,” said Rose.

Ignoring her, Meryl suggested they at least grab lunch. Hugh passed on the idea, but Meg suggested Isabella's on Columbus.

Sitting in the signature wicker chairs by a table overlooking the street, Meryl tried to forget about the troubling photographs in her handbag.

“I'll have a Diet Coke,” Meg told the waitress, a beautiful young woman, no doubt an aspiring actress. Meryl remembered reading recently that Jennifer Aniston had waited tables there just before she was cast on
Friends.

“Vodka on the rocks,” said Rose.

“Mother, it's the middle of the day,” said Meryl. But then she gave in and ordered a glass of prosecco. She deserved a drink.

Hell, it would be easier if they were all a little tipsy.

Rose pushed her glasses higher on the bridge of her nose and turned to Meg. “So why aren't you at work? And don't give me any of that ‘oh, it was just a spontaneous day off' crap.”

Meg reached for her water glass, then sat back against her seat and tucked a lock of her gold hair behind her ear. She sighed. “I lost my job, Gran.”

“You got fired! Meryl, did you know about this? She got fired! What for?”

“I wasn't fired. They just feel that … with Reed running for president, that I might have a conflict of interest down the line. That it might get in the way of my reporting.”

Rose shook her head and made a
tsk-tsk
sound.

The waitress, mercifully, appeared with their drinks. No one spoke until Rose, after a few sips of her vodka, said, “You see? A woman is better off alone than with the wrong man.”

“Mother!” said Meryl.

Rose shrugged. “If you don't teach them anything, Meryl, then you leave it to me. So, stop your crying.”

“Oh, for God's sake.”

“Gran, it's not Stowe's fault.”

“Then why are you sitting here with us instead of in Washington with him?”

Good Lord, her mother had a way of cutting like a knife.

Meryl, realizing the lunch conversation was already off the rails, decided there was no sense delaying the inevitable.

“Mother, stop it. Meg, I'm actually glad you're here today so we can discuss something. But before I get into that, let me just say you'll find a new job—no doubt a better job. And then you'll look back and say it all happened for a reason and you're thankful it did. That's how life works. Isn't that right, Mother?”

“That's how life works in movies, certainly.”

I give up.

“Thanks, Mom,” said Meg. “I appreciate it. I know it will work out. And honestly, part of this is just me freaking out a little because I guess I didn't fully realize how much the Campions' high profile would affect my life. That's why I needed to come home—to kind of … regain my equilibrium.” She reached across the table and squeezed Meryl's hand, as if reassuring her. “So what do you want to talk about?”

This was it. The point of no return.

“Meg, you know I'm so excited about planning this wedding. And the reason I was irritated by Tippy's insistence that I use the wedding planner is that I don't want someone else taking over.”

“Yeah, I know. Believe me, I don't want that either. I was just trying to be diplomatic.”

Meryl nodded. “The thing is, what I'm learning about wedding planning is that it's about choices. You can't get everything you want, so you prioritize. From my perspective, and tell me if I'm wrong here, having autonomy over this thing is a big priority.”

“Definitely,” agreed Meg.

Meryl took deep breath. “Okay. The challenge I'm having is that your father and I now have
three
weddings to plan. It's just not feasible financially—not without outside help.”

She could see Meg struggling to maintain a neutral expression. “You want Tippy and Reed to pay for the wedding? I mean, they will. That's … it's not a problem.”

“But what do
you
want, Meg?” Meryl asked, thinking of Hugh's admonishment—this isn't about you. As much as he'd failed to be a partner in this whole thing, on that point at least, he'd been right.

“I don't want this to be a burden on you and Dad.”

“It's not a burden—you're our daughter! I've thought about this day since you were all little girls. Remember how you used to dress up as brides with your tissue paper veils?”

Meg laughed. “Yeah. Jo always refused to wear a dress.”

“And Amy always complained you took the better dress.”

“I sense a ‘but' coming in all of this,” said Rose.

Meryl could throttle her. Really.

She turned to Meg. “Your father and I can pay for a wedding. One wedding. For the three of you.”

“Okay. What does that mean?”

“A triple wedding! I like this idea!” said Rose.

“You do?” said Meryl.

“Wait—hold up: You mean Amy, Jo, and I all get married together?”

“Essentially. Yes.”

“You realize Amy will
never
agree to that. She'd rather have the Bruces do her wedding.”

“Let me worry about Amy. I'm asking you.”

Meg nodded, thinking. “If it's a choice between you throwing my wedding along with my sisters, or having Tippy do a Campion extravaganza that will probably turn into a campaign PR piece—I choose you and my sisters.”

Meryl felt weak with relief. Meg was the one she didn't want to disappoint. If Meg was okay with it, she felt right in her heart. And as for Amy and Jo—they'd get on board. Somehow.

“When are you going to tell Amy and Jo?”

“If you can stay in the city for a few more hours, I'll ask them to come to the apartment tonight.”

“You know what would be lovely?” said Rose. “A wedding at one of the old estates they have in Westchester or Long Island … one of those famous old mansions that they rent out.”

“That's a great idea, Gran. Maybe that will help convince you to actually come to the wedding,” Meg teased.

“Well, it's Amy's wedding too. And Andy is a nice boy.”

“It's also Jo's wedding. And I can't see you approving of that match.”

“Meryl, I might not know much,” Rose began, “but I know that pair will never make it down the aisle.”

Meryl's phone rang.

She didn't recognize the incoming number, and an unfamiliar woman's voice asked for her by name.

“This is Meryl Becker,” she said.

“Joan Glass from
People
magazine returning your call.”

Meryl glanced across the table at her mother and Meg. She held up a finger to say
one second
and walked to the front of the restaurant, where she began pacing in front of the bar.

“Yes, thanks for getting back to me. The reason I'm calling—”

“Your daughters. The Wedding Sisters.”

“Umm, yes. How did you know?”

“I read the papers, Mrs. Becker. Let's talk about this in person, shall we? My office, four o'clock today? I don't mean to rush you, but that's the nature of the beast these days, ticktock.”

Across the restaurant, she saw Meg take her mother's hand. She knew with a sinking feeling that neither one of them would approve of this meeting. Then she thought of how Meg had lost her job and the manila envelope stuffed into her handbag. With everything going haywire, it was up to her to take control.