“It’s all true, I’m afraid.” Tennyson laughed, sipping her martini and sounding blasé. Yeah, many people in Shreveport had heard what Tennyson had done, but it wasn’t something Tennyson should sound braggy about. There had been catastrophic ramifications, and to have Tennyson treat it all so cavalierly dragged back the resentment Melanie felt. Why did Tennyson have to be so . . . Tennyson? As her daughter would say—Tennyson was so extra.
Sandy made a confused face and turned toward the buffet sitting beneath the covered patio. “I’m starving, so I think I’ll grab a plate. You coming, Melanie?”
“Go ahead. I’ll be there in a moment.” She wanted to give Emma the bracelet in her bag. She and Kit had picked it out last week after their cathartic appointment with the therapist. Bearing a tiny row of sapphires, which was Emma’s birthstone, and a matching row of peridots, Andrew’s birthstone, the bracelet would work perfectly as the something blue and something new for the bride to wear on her wedding day. The twined length of gold chain also symbolized her full acceptance of this marriage. Or at least she hoped it would show that to her daughter. “I have a little something for you, Emma.”
Tennyson perked up. “Are you giving a gift to her now? I thought we would open gifts before the toast and fireworks.”
“Fireworks?” Melanie repeated.
“Yes, just hold on to her gift for another hour or so. Mix and mingle, get a plate, and for heaven’s sake, have a drink or two, Melanie.” Tennyson pulled Emma and Andrew away. “Come on, you two. I have some friends who flew in from New York who want to meet the girl who caught Andrew.”
Melanie was left standing in the middle of the party, her hand in her purse clasping the wrapped present. What had she expected? For Tennyson to let her have that moment with her daughter?
This was Tennyson she was dealing with.
The girl who had upstaged every principal actor in every production in high school. The girl who wore her uniform skirts rolled at the waist so the hem was midthigh, and always wore a hot-pink lace bra under her white T-shirt. Tennyson never shared the spotlight.
Melanie sighed, released the gift back into her bag, and went to find Sandy, who had somehow managed to locate Melanie’s mother. Her friend held two plates of food and was steering Anne toward a forgotten table on the opposite side of the patio.
“Hello, Mother,” Melanie said, dropping a kiss on her mother’s dry cheek. Anne wore a black dress that covered her from neck to knee. The pearls her father had given her before he died sat at her throat like gris-gris against bad taste.
“This is the tackiest event I have ever attended. Just look how half these people are dressed.” She eyed three women wearing tiny halter tops and sequined hot pants. At that moment another peacock strolled by, its feathers brushing their feet. Melanie’s mother looked aghast, stepping back and hissing at the impertinent bird.
Melanie would have laughed, but she knew her mother wouldn’t appreciate it.
“Where’s Hilly?” Melanie asked.
“Don’t use that ridiculous name for your sister,” her mother said, sipping a glass of water with a lemon wedge teetering on the rim.
“Sorry. Where is Hillary?” Melanie asked, looking around, hoping to spy her sister ideally holding a plate of food. Hillary had promised she’d come, even going as far as sending Melanie pictures of three different dresses she was deciding among. Melanie had told her she would come by and pick her up, but Hillary said she’d escort their mom since the party was at Tennyson’s and Anne needed some moral support to show up at the home of someone who she often and vocally proclaimed had ruined their lives. Melanie agreed it would be good to have Hillary with their mother so she hadn’t pressed the issue and had instead offered Sandy a ride so she wouldn’t have to arrive alone.
“Hillary isn’t here.” Anne inhaled and blew out a breath. “She has good sense.”
“But she said she would come. That she wanted to be here for you. And Emma,” Melanie said, feeling sharp hurt her sister had yet again refused to show, but that was followed immediately by anger. How selfish did a person have to be? Yeah, Hilly was thin and embarrassed about her appearance, but shouldn’t her love for her niece—for her own sister—be enough to drag her from bed for a few measly hours?
“I didn’t need Hillary to accompany me here. I will stay until Emma opens my gift, and then I will leave. Your sister didn’t feel well, so I suggested she stay home.”
“She never feels well.”
“She is fine, but tonight felt ill.” Anne arched an eyebrow as if daring her to say differently.
Sandy lifted the plates and jerked her head toward the still-empty table. Melanie gave her an affirming nod, and her friend quietly exited stage right.
Melanie returned her focus to her mother. Anne stood like a soldier ready to defend the fortress, one hand fisted at her side, her knuckles white on the sweating glass. Her fierce expression the same it always was when they battled about Hillary. Anne hid the shame and pretended nothing was truly wrong with her sister beyond a nervous disposition. Her mother’s refusal to yield to weakness, to allow her concern to come up for air, was what had crippled Hillary for far too long. Her mother being who she thought she should be—polite, private, and prideful—caused more harm than good. Anne’s ridiculous ego and refusal to address the ugly beneath pretty veneers had been part of what killed Melanie’s father.
Anne liked to blame Tennyson for what happened to their family. But she had played her own role in Albert’s suicide.
“Hillary has been ‘ill’”—Melanie crooked her fingers in the air—“most of her life, but she can’t get better if she uses that as an excuse . . . if you let her use that as an excuse. This is Emma’s wedding shower. Hillary should have come even if it were for only a little while.”
Anne gave her a hard look. “It’s better for your sister to remain home.”
“So everyone doesn’t have to see what she’s done to herself? So she doesn’t embarrass the family?”
Melanie didn’t want to feel so hurt by her sister, so angry at her mother for enabling Hillary, but she did. Both Hillary and Anne used Hillary’s “condition” to get her out of familial obligations. Though she knew her sister loved her, Hillary’s actions made her feel so unloved, so not important. Couldn’t her mother see this wasn’t about Hillary showing up, but more about Hillary making a flipping sacrifice to show she loved Emma and Melanie?
Damn, she was tired of always taking a back seat. In everything. This wedding. Her family. Her marriage. People didn’t see her anymore. They were too caught up in their own issues. Same song and dance she’d sat through for years.
“I refuse to have this conversation here of all places,” Melanie’s mother said, her face tight from the plastic surgery and bitterness she carried around like a badge of honor. The proud widow and beleaguered mother who refused to show one iota of vulnerability.
“Wouldn’t matter where it was. You try to pretend issues away. Sometimes you have to acknowledge that other people are weak. That they make mistakes. You have to recognize—”
Anne turned in the middle of Melanie’s tirade and walked off.