Emma leaned over, holding her glass of sparkling cider. “Did you tell Daddy about the baby?”
“No, sugar. That is yours to tell.”
“But you told Tennyson.”
Melanie glanced down the table to where Tennyson sat next to her handsome cop. Her friend looked flushed, slightly tipsy, and a bit like a woman in love as she laughed at something Joseph said. “You told me to make peace with Teeny. I needed some ammunition.”
Emma followed her gaze. “I knew something had changed because you both behaved for two days in a row.”
“Do I get a gold star?” Melanie asked.
“Maybe,” Emma quipped, adding a smile. “I’m happy. I mean, obviously. I’m just glad you and Tennyson could find middle ground.”
That was what the meeting spot had always been about. Two girls from separate worlds finding a way to bridge, connect, and forge a friendship that hadn’t been so easy to toss away. When she’d met Tennyson the day before, she’d finally examined who she was, where she came from, and what she’d settled for. She’d spent almost half a century content to be in the shadows, taking what she was given, and supremely satisfied that she’d won Kit. What kind of woman claimed nabbing her husband as her greatest achievement?
And that was a huge problem. There had been an imbalance between her and Kit from the beginning. She’d taken a back seat to him, bowing to his wishes and visions, and being grateful for what she had instead of wanting more for herself.
Then Tennyson had landed like a pack of firecrackers on the Fourth of July and proceeded to blow apart her tidy, ungratifying world, causing it to explode in a dizzying array of color and noise. Yesterday, she’d realized that she’d needed that in her life more than she could ever have known. Emma was right. They fit each other.
Marc Mallow appeared at the microphone as the band wound down “Mustang Sally.” He wore an impeccably tailored navy-blue suit with a lime-green-and-lilac bow tie. His glasses were a shocking crimson. In other words, he looked perfect. “Folks, folks, it’s time the groom and bride cut their cake. I’m warning you now that their mothers are a bit dangerous around cake. Janie Thackery, sugar, you make sure you stand in the back or something.”
Everyone gave amused chuckles. Tennyson leaned over, looked at Melanie, and rolled her eyes.
Marc turned to the band. “Let’s have a song or two while the gorgeous bride and her lovestruck groom make their way to the cake.”
There was the scrabbling of chairs as people rose.
Kit leaned over. “What’s he talking about?”
“Tennyson and I got into a cake fight at the tasting.”
Her husband’s eyes widened. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. It was actually kind of fun. I stopped hating her when she smashed praline buttercream in my face.”
“Are you drunk?” Kit asked, sounding like he was joking.
“No, but I’m trying,” she said, draining the last of her champagne. “Are you coming to get the rest of your things?”
He stiffened. “I’m not sure. I really don’t know what to do about us.”
“Yeah, it’s not easy, is it? But I have found it’s not so bad sleeping by myself. I thought it would be. That I would be lonely, but . . . no.”
Kit stilled before his forehead crinkled in thought. “So what are you saying?”
“That I think you should come pack up your things and find something more permanent than the Marriott.” Until she said the words, she hadn’t been sure. But more and more, she realized that she wasn’t taking Kit back just because he wanted it. What she wanted mattered, too, and she wasn’t so certain that she wanted the marriage she’d had with him. If they reconciled, it would include her terms. It would need to be a different marriage. She was done with letting her husband and everyone else walk all over her and tell her the sky was blue when she knew it wasn’t.
She lifted her eyes to his. In those blue depths, she saw the surprise . . . and the hurt.
Good.
He needed to feel what she’d been feeling for the last few months. It would be good for Kit to feel a bit unwanted.
“You’re not really serious, are you?” he asked, setting his highball glass on the table and turning to her. “I mean, I’ve been doing some thinking, and I’m not sure I should have left. I was confused, but after today, after watching our daughter make those vows, I remembered ours. We’ve had a good life together.”
“We have, but you’re right—we needed some space. I’ve been suffocating here lately, and I’m tired of feeling like I can’t move. I’m not saying we’re over, Kit, but we need some work. More work than I thought. So, yeah, I think we better move to weekly therapy and start examining who we each want to be as our world changes. Noah will be leaving, Emma is starting her own family, and I’m considering finding some other purpose than sweeping up dust motes, ordering A/C filters, and picking up your vitamins.”
“But you can’t,” he said, shaking his head. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“You left. You started this. Don’t look to me to fix it for you,” she said, rising as the band launched into “We Are Family.”
Something in her heart tore a bit when she thought about this song and the way Hillary had always sung it when they did karaoke, but then she felt a tug on her hand.
“Wanna dance, pretty lady?” Tennyson asked, angling her toward the dance floor.
Tennyson wore a tight violet dress with a huge bow above her rounded backside. There was no back in the thing, and her boobs were fluffy meringue atop the glittering bodice. There was a good chance if she shimmied a bit too hard, her girls were going to make an encore performance.
Hell, that could be the reason Tennyson wanted to dance. She was extraordinarily proud of those breasts. Obviously.
Melanie nodded. “All right, let’s shake a leg and show Shreveport that we—”
“Are family?” Tennyson finished.
Melanie laughed. “Well, heck, I guess it’s true now.”
They made their way to the dance floor, stopping to give a hug here or there to friends and family who wanted to say how beautiful the wedding was, how gorgeous (and glowing) Emma looked, and who did the flowers, by the way? The whole time they wove through the guests, Melanie could feel her mother’s gaze on her. Anne still hadn’t spoken to Tennyson and had endured the wedding party pictures with a stoic expression that resembled a smile only when they did the pictures of Anne and Emma by themselves. Melanie cast a look at her mother right before she and Tennyson reached the dance floor. Her mother narrowed her eyes and frowned.
Melanie waved and gave her a big smile.
Tennyson lifted her hands and started gyrating, her old slinky-snake standby, and Melanie started her shoulder shake. The lights around the stage flashed pink, purple, and blue, and everyone was laughing and shaking it to the surprisingly good band Andrew had found through a friend.
Melanie looked at Tennyson, who sang along, pointing her finger at Melanie when she got to the “I got all my sisters and me,” and felt tears prick at her eyes. This was the way it was supposed to be—her and Teeny laughing with each other again. She was grateful. Lord, she was grateful that they had found each other again.