The Rehearsals Page 10

  “The great unknown?” Tom scoffed. It sounded like something Leo would say.

  This woman, objectively beautiful, had never been a Prescott. She’d probably never had the surest thing in her life blow up in her face, only to have to confront the explosion again the next day. The great unknown actually existed for the Leos and the Caseys of the world. Tom wanted it to exist for him too.

  Instead, he was neck-deep in known miseries.

  As much as he dreaded calling off the wedding (again), he was also dreading the fallout—his parents’ disappointment in his failed relationship, their embarrassment at becoming fodder for country-club gossip, the inevitable moments he’d forget and want to text Leo something funny. He dreaded missing the way Megs would try to distract him while he cooked by shimmying to music around him. Above all, he dreaded the nights he’d now spend alone, without Megs’s cold feet and the soft sounds of her breath beside him.

  The person who caught him when he felt like he was falling had always been Megs, and this time she’d been the one to push him off the cliff.

  “Oh yeah. The great unknown.” Casey’s voice brought Tom back to the bar. She nodded as though this were scientific fact. “If you ask me—and you didn’t, but we’ve already established you live for unsolicited advice—the great unknown is the whole point.”

  “Thanks for the advice,” he said. He raised his glass to her again, swallowed its contents, and said, “And thanks for the liquid sunshine. I feel so much better.” But he didn’t. He felt categorically worse, unable to get the phrase the great unknown to stop spinning in his head.

  It was dawning on Tom, as the so-called liquid sunshine loosened him up, that all those years, the fact that they weren’t fighting was so much worse than actually fighting. Because what they hadn’t been fighting about was Megan screwing around on him. With his best friend.

  They’d never fought about the fact that it had happened or why it had happened. They’d never fought about how it was or if Leo was better or how she’d felt afterward, keeping it from Tom.

  He’d never been given the chance to yell or process what had happened. He’d been cast as the ignorant fool in Megs’s betrayal, and, yes, that was much worse than having the same fight over and over again.

  Megan had looked at him mere hours later from under the brim of her black graduation cap, the tassel bouncing when she laughed, her eyes reflecting the sun.

  And now she wasn’t even returning his calls. What had happened to her today to stop her from meeting him at the ferry dock? To make her avoid him? There was no way for her to know his intention was to break things off, so why was she ghosting him?

  He straightened his tie and left the bar. He was still frustrated their paths hadn’t crossed, and now he had to endure another dinner of subtle horrors just so he could end things afterward. Because there was no way he was making a scene in front of all their guests. In front of his dad. No, Tom would grin and bear it until the dinner was over. He could do that.

  In the private room of the upscale restaurant, she finally walked through the door; stunning in a champagne dress that caught the light whenever she moved, her expression bright and questioning. He couldn’t help but look at her mouth, the one he’d been kissing for his entire adult life. The one that had kissed his best friend.

  He crossed the room and gave her a cursory brush of his cheek against hers for their audience’s sake.

  “Hi?” The syllable sounded like a question, one he ignored.

  “Hi.” He’d meant for the reply to come out clipped, but a small shard of his anger, his broken heart, slipped out too.

  Her eyebrows furrowed. “What’s wrong? And why do you smell like scotch?”

  He turned away from her, ignoring both her questions. “We should do the rounds.”

  Before she could protest, he crossed the room to the first guests he recognized from his parents’ list, tennis friends of his mother’s. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Megan hesitate before making her way to her grandparents’ table.

  Somehow he survived a parade of small talk, of accepting best wishes and congratulations he no longer wanted. When they sat down at their table, he immediately turned away from Megs to engage Brody and Emmeline in a conversation about New York politics. If anyone noticed the chilly air between himself and his fiancée, no one said a word. Prescotts and Givenses kept to themselves as guests found their seats and appetizers rolled out.

  Minutes, gestures, words. Sips, bites, swallows. He was passing through the evening as though surrounded by a fog, punctuated only by meaningless sounds and movements.

  “We have to give out the gifts,” Megan whispered to him as he mindlessly munched on a crostini.

  “Be my guest.” Tom took another bite. He felt a small satisfaction in the way his dismissal made her shoulders tense. Let her be angry at the way he was ignoring her. He had more to be angry at her about.

  He watched her stand, her jaw clenched, and then forcibly relax her face into a smile. “Thanks for coming, everyone. We really appreciate all of you. Now we have some gifts we’d like to hand out to our wedding party.”

  The speech was surprisingly curt—particularly when compared to the speech she’d given the first time he’d experienced this dinner. He helped her hand out the cuff links and whatever was in the wrapped boxes she was giving to Paulina and Brianna (he couldn’t quite recall what she’d settled on, had only vague memories of discussing it over rushed breakfasts of toasted bagels and coffee in to-go cups).

  “Now we’ll open up the floor to guests who would like to say a few words. Or, if you’d prefer, feel free to just eat and enjoy the company of family and friends.” The way Megan had said this, it was clear she didn’t want any speeches. He couldn’t blame her. Listening to Great-Aunt Florence drone on had been difficult the first time. Although, he reminded himself, Megan hadn’t experienced that yet. He shouldn’t even remember it.

  He looked over to where Leo was seated and found him looking at Megs intently. All this time, Tom had thought he was the only one to share secret looks with her. Tom’s fists clenched under the table as he tried to steady his breathing. He couldn’t believe he’d never seen what was going on between them…that he’d trusted them both so implicitly.

  Sitting at a table with Megs beside him, in the shadow of John’s and Carol’s looming presence, Donna’s ridiculousness, and Brianna’s entitlement, Tom was on the verge of cracking. Of yelling, Surprise! This whole weekend is a sham! Let’s all find the nearest exit and get the hell out.

  He tried to tune out Great-Aunt Florence, who’d been undeterred by Megan’s suggestion of forgoing speeches to eat. He couldn’t listen as she implored him and Megs to “cling to each other” and “laugh often.”

  Alistair showed up, predictably unpredictable, in his cargo shorts, with his absurd stories of precarious travels locked and loaded. Food made its way around the tables; conversations became more uproarious as wine bottles were drained. His mother was asking Donna inane statistical questions about the state of Montana. The whole affair felt much longer than it had the first time.

  Before Tom could remember what happened next, his father stood and commanded the room’s attention like a general leading his troops into battle. “I know, I know. I’m supposed to save my words of wisdom for the main event, but this seems as good a time as any.”

  The sound of cutlery against plates stilled. The music quieted.

  The first time his father had said a version of these words, Megs had taken his hand under the table. Tom folded his arms across his chest, not giving her the opportunity. Yes, taking this job without consulting her was a dick move. But his self-righteousness overshadowed his guilt. What Tom had done wasn’t a betrayal. No, he’d been trying to protect her. To avoid overwhelming her.

  What Megs had done was cheat and lie and lie and lie…

  John kept speaking, and Tom waited for the moment he knew his father would throw the Missouri grenade. The first time, he’d
been too craven to see Megan’s reaction. Now, morbid curiosity took over and he turned his face just enough to gauge her expression.

  “Now, as most of you know,” John was saying, “this means a big move to Missouri, so as part of our wedding gift to the happy couple, Carol and I have purchased a rather large home for them in the beautiful community of Kirkwood.”

  He waited for Megs’s eyes to flash. For her to clutch her stomach or rub at her ring.

  But she was eating. Taking a bite of prawn. She didn’t seem thrilled…but neither was she acting like someone who’d just learned her life was being upended.

  Had she not heard John?

  “You’re moving to Missouri?” Donna hissed at Megs.

  Now Tom turned his whole body toward his fiancée.

  But Megs only shrugged. “Yep.”

  “When were you going to tell me?” Donna tossed her napkin onto the table, clearly relishing an opportunity to get riled up.

  “Oh, I only found out yesterday.”

  Megs’s response sent a current through him.

  She…

  He hadn’t…

  Every noise faded out and then crescendoed when he heard a guest at a nearby table say, “The bride and groom seem to be a little distracted, don’t they? Shall we get them focused again?” This was followed by dozens of forks clanging against dozens of wineglasses.

  The entire room wanted to see Tom and Megan kiss.

  They turned to each other, a challenge in her eyes, fury in his own, and gave each other a kiss that shocked their audience into silence. This was passion fueled not by love, but by spite.

  Not caring that he was being rude or abrupt, as soon as the kiss ended, Tom said to Meg, “Let’s go talk,” and stormed out, sparing one moment to glare at Leo as he left. He felt Megan follow. Leo made a move to get up from his chair and Tom leveled him with a look. Leo slowly sat back down and averted his eyes.

  The last thing they heard as they exited was Brianna’s crass “Who wants to bet they’re going up to the suite for a pre-wedding boom-boom?” and Alistair laughing.

  “Where are we going?” Megan asked as they rushed away from the restaurant. She took off her heels and ran to keep up with his long strides.

  “We’ve got a few things to discuss.”

  “Okay.”

  He couldn’t read anything in the way she’d said those two syllables or in the way she continued to follow him along the winding cobblestone path without any more questions. He couldn’t read Megs at all anymore.

  Above them, clouds moved and expanded, bloated from the weight of unshed rain.

  They burst into the hotel lobby, walked past the elevators, and took the stairs two at a time. When they arrived at their suite, Tom couldn’t get the key card to work for a minute because his hands were shaking.

  He was ready to fight. But he needed to know something first.

  “Who told you about Missouri?”

  She had the gall to smirk as the tension between them rose and dropped and rose again. “Well, we both know it wasn’t you.”

  There was something in her posture, her aura, the way she wasn’t backing down. It was like she knew what was coming next.

  If the answer to what he was about to ask was no, she would definitely think he was insane. Still, he braced himself and said, “This day. Have you already been through it before too?”

  Tom heard her sharp intake of breath. He realized she knew.

  She knew.

  “Too?” she asked. She swallowed hard and he nodded in response. They froze, thieves caught in the night.

  “What’s happening to us?” she whispered, her eyes locked on his.

  “I don’t know. I thought it was just me, but…”

  The oxygen was sucked out of their inevitable fight. Tom tried to reconcile his feeling of relief at not having to go through this senseless experience alone with the pain of having to go through it with the one person he didn’t ever want to see again.

  And yet here they were. Trapped together.

  The magnetic force of habitually being close brought them both to the bed—though tension kept them on opposite sides—and the weight of living this surreal experience brought them down. Tom didn’t know how long they’d been sitting on that sinking mattress, their backs to each other. He would’ve believed ten seconds; he would’ve believed ten days.

  “You and Leo,” he eventually said gruffly, because he couldn’t help himself. There was still a minuscule part of him that thought, hoped, that part could’ve been a dream.

  “You and Missouri,” she shot back, though the rebuttal lacked any real oomph.

  It was true. Real. Messed up beyond belief. But Tom didn’t want to fight. What was happening felt too big, too loaded. He felt as though his equilibrium was off and it was taking every ounce of his strength just to sit upright. All he wanted to do was fix whatever was broken in this day. Then he could worry about Leo and Missouri and…the rest of his life. He tried to strategize a next step and came up empty. Megs was always better in a crisis than he was. She’d take action where he’d freeze.

  “What do we do?” he asked, cutting through the thick wedge of silence. Despite himself and the pot of anger boiling in him, he still believed Megs could handle almost anything.

  She shrugged with great effort, as though her shoulders were encased in concrete. “Maybe we should sleep on it. Figure everything out in the morning. Pray this is all some vivid fever dream.”

  “You don’t pray,” Tom reminded her, surprised to note the kindness in his voice.

  “I could start.” She let out a breathy laugh. “I’m willing to do anything to return order to the universe again.”

  “Should we go back down there?” He absolutely did not want to return to the rehearsal dinner, but abandoning it altogether didn’t sit right either. He was a pleaser, even in moments of despair.

  “Pass,” Megs said wryly. “I’ve already lived through it twice. I’m good.”

  Another silence stretched out between them. Uncertainty loomed as the graceful notes of “And I Love Her” played outside their window. The heavy clouds he remembered from the night before seemed to be gathering more lazily tonight. He saw only a small flicker of lightning.

  Tom cleared his throat, stood up with feigned renewed energy, and said, “Okay. We’ll sleep on it. What else can we do?”

  It was just after ten o’clock, too early to go to bed, but Tom felt as though he’d been awake for days. The last time he’d felt this tired was when he was studying to pass the bar and Megs had just gotten her first promotion at GQ. She’d come home late each night to find him half asleep with his books open, the television turned to something quiet and palliative, like a baseball game. They’d shovel cold cereal into their mouths and talk about their days before collapsing into bed, their arms reaching for each other while they slept.

  Now she pulled down the covers on the bed and looked at him expectantly. But there was no way he was going to crawl under the sheets with her, even just to sleep. The world might be upside down and oblong, but this wasn’t the Megs he thought he knew, and they were long past those days of exhaustion.

  He turned his back and walked to the door. When he reached out for the doorknob, she spoke up.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I can’t sleep here.”

  Always focusing first on the practical matters, she didn’t let it go at that. “Where are you going to sleep?”

  Tom rubbed at his fist, the one he’d hit Leo with yesterday. Then at his eyes, to fight the prickle of tears behind them. “I’ll figure it out. Probably the same place I slept the first time we lived through this. In the car.”

  If he stayed any longer, he’d lead her into another high-octane fight. And he didn’t have it in him to confront her betrayal, to ask the question whose answer he feared most.

  Are you still in love with Leo?

  Day

  3

  Chapter Twelve

  Me
gan

  Sleep seemed impossible. And yet she must have slept because she woke up in her striped sleeping shorts and tank top, the mascara she hadn’t washed off the night before gone from her lashes.

  Before Megan could even look at the clock, she heard the beep of the key card as Donna burst into the room.

  This was the third time she was going to have to go through the day of her rehearsal dinner.

  The. Third. Time.

  Her jaw clenched so hard, she could’ve cracked a tooth. Megan threw the covers off her body. “No.”

  The force of that one syllable surprised both her and her mother. Donna’s mouth opened and a squeak came out. “Wh—what?”

  As though she were powered by a dozen espressos, Megan tossed the covers onto the floor, swung her legs around, and marched toward her mother. Pointing an index finger at Donna, she said, “I know you’re worried about your dress and I’m sorry Gran called you a floozy, but she tends to do that, doesn’t she?”

  Megan’s mind was racing. There had to be a way to get off this carousel from hell. She took a breath to stop herself before she did something rash, like throw her mother out the hotel window. Okay, okay, okay. The universe wanted something, and it clearly wasn’t for her to hide the Leo slip-up, since Tom was going through this time loop with her and already knew. So it had to be something else. Something that affected both Tom and Megan.

  She pictured Tom last night. Tie askew, face pained and bewildered. His reaction when she’d pulled the covers down on what was supposed to be their bed.

  He’d turned his back on her.

  They hadn’t fought the way they had the first night, yet somehow not fighting with Tom felt just as bad.

  Regardless of how they’d gotten there, two nights in a row, they’d ended up apart. And each morning she woke up on the same day.

  That was it.

  If she wanted tomorrow to be different, today had to end differently.

  Her shoulders relaxed as she began to feel some semblance of control. She had to break the cycle. And to do that, she needed Tom. Since they were stuck together, it only made sense that they’d have to break out together.