This would’ve been Eliot’s job. A bit of dick swinging and sexist jokes about bridesmaids and C’mon, man, do the right thing. Now the task fell to Liv. She lowered her center of gravity, channeling the cocky confidence of her dearly departed, and swaggered over. “Ahoy there.”
His eyes narrowed, not able to place her.
“Liv Goldenhorn. Vanessa’s wedding planner.”
He returned her handshake reluctantly. The air around him was prickly.
“The club looks fantastic,” Liv enthused. “So much history.” From every wall, portraits of dead white men judged her best effort at manly. “I heard Teddy Roosevelt bagged the elephant in the Great Hall.”
The general snorted. “Old wives’ tale.” His voice was thick and guttural. Possibly not his first cocktail. “Do you hunt, Mrs. Goldenhorn?”
Not the time to point out it was Ms. “I was born on the Upper East Side. Less bayonets, more bagels.”
This failed to raise a smile. “Didn’t think so. Not really a woman’s game.”
Which was probably crocheting and childbirth. Time to get “man-to-man.”
“Let’s cut to the chase. It’s your child’s wedding day. It would really mean so much to everyone here, especially Vanessa, if you’d honor her desire to walk her down the aisle.”
The general bristled. “Do you have children?”
Liv braced herself. “I have a son.”
“A little boy.”
She knew where this was going, but felt no choice but to answer: “Yes.”
“And how would you feel if one day that little boy—who you played catch with and taught how to chop firewood—came home and said, I’m.… I’m…” His voice died on the vine. He couldn’t even conjure the words.
“A girl?” Liv finished. Her blood turned hot. “Look, honestly? I’m sure that would be disorientating and confusing. But I love my child, General Fitzpatrick. Not his gender. And whoever he turns out to be, even if it’s wildly different from what I wanted or what I’m comfortable with, I’ll be on board.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
The general took a long slug of his drink. “You have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”
Liv snapped, “Well, that makes two of us.”
“Excuse me?”
Maybe it was the talk about Ben, or the fact the ceremony was in twenty short minutes, or maybe it was just the fact that this man was choosing to hurt his daughter on her wedding day over his outdated notion of tradition.
“With all due respect, you’re being an asshole. So for Chrissake, just do the damn aisle walk.”
The general’s voice was pure steel. “With all due respect, go to hell.”
* * *
The guests assembled for the ceremony. Lenny stood at the altar, smiling nervously and rocking on his heels. Around the corner, Vanessa waited for Liv’s cue.
The general was MIA.
Liv raked the seated crowd. She spotted Sam across the room, whom she’d asked to do a sweep of the kitchen. Sometimes guests could be found eating their feelings. But Sam just shrugged and shook his head.
“What’d he say when you talked to him?” asked Savannah.
Liv tightened her hands around her clipboard, inwardly cursing. “I may have lost my cool.”
Savannah stared at her. “What does that mean?”
Liv continued searching the guests. “He wouldn’t have just left, would he?”
Savannah’s face slackened. “No. He’s going to walk Vanessa down the aisle. He’s her dad. It’s her wedding day.”
“I know,” Liv said tightly. A small, stupidly hopeful part of herself was expecting to see the general magically appear on Vanessa’s arm. Give Liv a nod, maybe even a wry smile.
“We have to find him,” Savannah said. “We have to make him see—”
“There he is.”
The general was slipping into a spare seat toward the back. Not even the first row.
Savannah blinked. “So, he’s not…”
“Nope.” Liv shook her head, just once. She’d blown it. “Keep it together,” she told her horrified business partner. “This isn’t about you.” Liv gave Vanessa her cue.
The music started. The crowd twisted around, their faces happy and expectant.
Vanessa Martha Fitzpatrick held her head high. Traditions can be observed, updated, or rejected. But it was harder, sometimes impossible, to engage with tradition entirely on your own. With deliberate measured steps, Vanessa began walking herself down the center of the aisle.
47
Liv said it was over. But Savannah Shipley could not take no for an answer.
In the cocktail hour, she found the general at the far end of one of the club’s crimson-and-dark-wood bars, nursing a whiskey. She took the seat next to him and ordered one neat, flashing him a smile as bright as the brass buttons on his suit jacket.
He eyed her. “Didn’t think girls drank whiskey.”
He didn’t appear to recognize her. Maybe that was a good thing.
“I’m from Kentucky, sir,” she said, leaning into the accent. “We don’t drink much else.”
“Kentucky, huh?” His voice was still wary. “I’m from Cincinnati.”
“I have cousins there! Tell me somethin’, is the Sugar n’ Spice Diner still the best breakfast spot in town?”
He shrugged, but she could see she’d sparked a memory.
“We used to go after church,” she persisted. “Stack of their famous wispy-thin pancakes…?”
“With bacon on the side.” He patted his gut with a faint chuckle. “Trying to cut back. Doctor’s orders.”
“Still, you gotta eat. What’d Mark Twain say? ‘Eat what you like and let the food fight it out inside.’ ”
The general snorted and turned back to his glass.
“Well, I’ve had a humdinger of a week,” Savannah announced.
He took a sip, curious in spite of himself. “How’s that?”
Savannah pouted, girlish. “I had a fight with my daddy.”
“That’s no good.” The general’s demeanor turned fatherly. “Your old man is always right. You remember that.”
“Oh, sir, I know. My daddy’s my hero. He taught me to ride a horse and shoot a rifle and I’m still damn good at both.”
The general grunted, his gaze softening with nostalgia and an undercurrent of pain.
“Now that I live in New York,” Savannah continued, “I worry he thinks I’ve left him behind. I haven’t. I’m just becoming my own person. I think that frightens him.” She pressed her hand to her chest, willing a tear. “I love my daddy so much: I just can’t imagine him not being part of my life.”
General Fitzpatrick circled the whiskey in his glass as if in thought.
Savannah blew out a breath, her smile turning cheery. “But I know we’ll make up. Because deep down, we love each other. He just has to understand.”
“Understand what?”
“That everyone grows up. And it’s never too late to say sorry and start again.” Savannah held the general’s arm, speaking in the hushed tone of two close friends. “In my book: family comes first. Always.”