The two women Eliot Goldenhorn had posthumously brought together were both damp-eyed. Savannah squeezed Liv’s arm, holding it for a long moment. It didn’t feel weird. It felt warm. Entirely natural.
Nothing made Savannah Shipley feel as good as helping other people feel accepted and loved. It sounded cheesy, but love didn’t have a sexuality or gender. Or an agenda.
It was just love, wasn’t it?
PART THREE IN LOVE IN THE HAMPTONS
53
Summer stayed long and slow in New York, the dog days of August giving way to a luxurious September. Leaves the color of pumpkin soup scattered across the sidewalks. Seasonal menus switched heirloom salads for hearty terrines. Plaid appeared in every shopfront window, and it began getting dark at a reasonable hour. Fall, that season of crisp air and apple crisp, was on its way.
Savannah Shipley no longer felt like a bumbling newbie. She’d become accustomed to calming bridal anxiety and anticipating month-out meltdowns. Panicky 2:00 a.m. emails such as Looks like rain and I am FREAKING OUT and Need to change the seating plan again (!!!) could be handled with increasing ease. She’d borne witness to couples in love and couples in a fight and couples who really just wanted the whole damn thing over with. Weddings were the first real test a couple would endure: a trial by fire. At one stage, one partner (and yes, usually a bride) would come to an emotional realization that this wedding “just wasn’t me.” It was too big or too small. A church should be a field. A Carolina Herrera gown should be a BHLDN dress. A jam-packed three-day weekend should be a simple evening affair. At first, Savannah tried to make the changes the bride requested. But after getting off the phone with a woman convinced that her Italian destination wedding should be in her parents’ backyard in Michigan, Liv explained it as such: everyone learns about planning their wedding while planning their wedding. If they could do it all again, of course they’d do it differently, but that wasn’t possible. Additionally, what most brides didn’t realize was, while their wedding was culturally sanctioned as their day—it wasn’t. It was the couple’s day. A wedding could never be one person’s vision. And that was more difficult than wives-to-be anticipated.
And Liv Goldenhorn had seen it all. The more worked up the bride got, the calmer Liv became. She could play therapist or bad cop or soothing maternal figure. Her approach oscillated between ritual and making it up as she went along, and the result made the process feel energized, even when things got messy. Planning a wedding was widely believed to be exciting, romantic, and fun, when in reality most couples found it complicated, tiring, and incredibly stressful. Overall, Savannah was astounded just how far planning was from the glossy perfection she’d grown up salivating over in bridal blogs and Martha Stewart Weddings. Those pictures were to planning a wedding what porn was to sex. At best, in the same ballpark; at worst, a highly unrealistic simulacrum that created unrealistic, damaging expectations.
Yes, Savannah Shipley was learning the ropes of wedding planning. But the arrival of Imogene Livingstone and Mina Choi for one of their last in-person meetings before their late September wedding knocked her right off her perch.
Because the two brides-to-be were just so… gorgeous.
The family resemblance between Imogene and her brother, Zach, was clear: the wide, charming smile and huge blue eyes that sparkled beneath thick brown bangs. Mina was just as stunning, tall and poised, with a sheet of glossy black hair and a self-possessed disposition. The couple held hands loosely. While Liv went over the final run of show and setup needs, Savannah couldn’t take her eyes off the way Imogene’s thumb moved up and down slowly over Mina’s knuckle. Up and down. Up, and down…
“Savannah.”
Liv was gesturing at her, one eye on her phone, telling the brides they’d be right back. Out in the hallway, Liv explained that Ben had a tummy bug: she had to pick him up from school. “Back in a jiff. You got this, right?”
Liv had never left Savannah in charge of a meeting before. “Of course!” Two hands, interlocked. Soft hands. Long, delicate fingers. “Just, um, remind me where we were up to?”
But Liv had already hurried out the front door.
Back in the home office, Savannah gave the two women a bright smile. “Liv’s had to step out.” The spreadsheet was still open on Liv’s laptop. She closed it and opened a notebook. “So: where did you two meet?”
Mina’s eyebrows pincered. “We already went over all this—”
“At law school.” Imogene was as natural a raconteur as her brother. “In a study group. Which I quickly downgraded to a study duo. That only met late at night.”
“And was it fireworks right away, or were you friends first?”
Mina said, “I want to make sure we get the order of the speeches settled—”
“Fireworks for me.” Imogene leaned back in her chair with the ease of a talk show guest. “Nothing for Little Miss Cool over here. I swear, I was spinning plates and tap-dancing for two years to get her attention!”
“It was one year.” Mina’s smile was dry but amused. “And it wasn’t as if I didn’t notice you. I just had a… complication.”
“Boyfriend,” Imogene supplied. “I invited her over for an L Word marathon—the reboot hadn’t come out yet, so we’re talking vintage L Word—and after a lot of tequila—”
“I have to be back in court in half an hour.” Mina’s voice was efficient. “Can we stay on track, please?”
“Yes.” Savannah made a mental note to watch The L Word as soon as humanly possible. “Of course.”
But while Savannah was asking how long they wanted the welcome drinks to go for, what she really wanted to know was how long Mina had a boyfriend for. If Imogene had ever had a boyfriend. How they identified. What their parents had said. She really wanted to know that, but they’d probably think she was implying gayness was a parental disappointment. She was in the middle of a meeting; she couldn’t ask them anything. Stop thinking about asking them something!
Especially the question that kept popping into her head: How did they know?
Eventually Mina announced she had to get back to work. Minutes later, Mina and Imogene were outside the brownstone, waiting for a Lyft. Savannah lingered by the three-corner bay window, watching the way Imogene’s hand grazed the small of Mina’s back. The way Mina turned to her, giving her a soft, private smile. The way their lips met, loving and passionate, mouths open and—
Savannah realized she was spying. Creepy! She backed away from the window so fast she tripped. She was pretty certain spying on couples making out was not part of the In Love in New York offerings. And yet… she wanted to see.
She was back at the window.
Savannah had seen two women kiss before. But not two women like Imogene and Mina. Not in a way that made her feel like what she was seeing was possible, maybe, for her too. Their hands on each other, their long hair brushing the other’s cheek. For one brief, resplendent moment, Savannah stopped feeling afraid and uncertain and so completely confused. Their kiss was a bell, ringing loud and clear, echoing for miles around.
The Lyft pulled up. The brides hopped in. Savannah sank back onto the pink sofa, fanning herself, the heat of the entire summer simmering under her skin.