The Rehearsals Read online

  She took a deep breath and started getting ready. Not caring about changing in front of Donna, Megan stripped off her shorts and tank top and put on her jersey dress, empowered by at least knowing where to start: with the person she’d never ended this day with. “Here’s the plan: I’m going to go meet Tom at the ferry. I’ll run into my future mother-in-law on the way and figure out what she’s wearing, which, in the end, won’t make a difference, because Brianna will inevitably mess with your head. Then I’ll meet you both in the lobby and we can all go shopping in Friday Harbor to buy, I don’t know, I’m just spitballing here, but maybe a shawl to go with your dress.”

  Donna was gaping. Megan was almost enjoying this. She grabbed the heart pendant off the dresser and fastened it around her neck. “We should probably pick up some tiny vases to fill with flowers and a few tea lights to jazz this place up a little. I hear Carol thinks it’s too dark, and even though it’ll brighten up as the sun gets higher, we don’t want her saying this place isn’t good enough, do we? That we aren’t good enough?”

  If Megan weren’t in such a hurry, she would’ve allowed herself to fully relish the shock on her mother’s face. She’d done it. She’d rendered Donna speechless.

  In the bathroom, Megan said, “Deal?” through toothpaste foam as she furiously brushed her teeth. She spat into the sink, rinsed her mouth, and decided to make the topknot she was about to put her hair into more secure with bobby pins and some hairspray. Heaven knew this day could get barbaric.

  When Donna still couldn’t formulate a response, Megan gave her a hug. “I’ll take that as a ‘Yes, Moopy.’”

  Even though Megan wanted to arrive early to meet Tom, she made sure to grab coffees and pastries. Driving from Roche to Friday Harbor, she felt jittery and yet, for the first time since this all began, optimistic. The feeling continued when she parked the rental and walked down the wooden docks to wait for the man she still hoped would be her future. That was what the universe wanted for her, and, deep down, she wanted that too. How could she be with anyone other than Tom? As much as she dreaded holidays with the Prescotts, she couldn’t imagine Thanksgivings and birthdays and Christmases without Tom.

  Sipping coffee, she bounced on her heels a little to expend some of her restless energy. She’d thought she’d feel calm when the ferry arrived. Instead, her restlessness came to a crescendo as the foghorn blew and the ferry docked.

  Even from a distance, she’d recognize him anywhere. It was as though her body were tuned specifically to his. She’d long ago fallen for the way his broad shoulders and strong arms could wrap around her like a cocoon, the way his height allowed him to rest his chin on the top of her head. His body was firm without being sculpted, and he was handsome without being cocky about it. Her optimism entwined with her nerves. We can do this together, she told herself. Of course they could. There was so much they’d already experienced, had already had to work through. Besides, Tom was the One. The universe had basically said as much.

  As Tom got closer, she took in his rumpled appearance, and her stomach twisted. For a moment, her resolve wavered as she thought of all of the hoops he’d quietly jumped through without her. Taking point with the pharma client. Discussing the move with the client, with his parents, but not with Megan. Saying yes. Staying silent about it for so long.

  Tom could pinpoint Megan’s exact betrayal and hold it over her head. What she had was a series of hurts. Really, his choices were all part of an ongoing issue. There were all the times Tom stayed silent rather than defend her family. How they’d spent every holiday with the Prescotts. Her job was the result of Carol’s pushing. Tom’s job had been decided by John. She could hold up each one of these afflictions and implore Tom to understand why she had a right to be angry too, how each issue had led to a crack in their relationship. She could bundle them in her arms and tell him she was tired of carrying this load. But maybe it could balance the scale when placed beside the fact that she’d slept with Tom’s best friend and never told him.

  Begin as you mean to go on.

  The phrase haunted her. All those cracks and fissures needed to be filled with forgiveness. She needed to be able to move past his betrayals, and he needed to move past hers. Because if they didn’t, the universe might very well hold them hostage forever.

  Megan’s eyes connected with Tom’s as he drew closer, and a surge of understanding rose between them. Yes, the loop was happening again, and yes, they were in it together. It was so strange, feeling relief at a time of so much uncertainty. But there was a comfort in knowing she wasn’t trapped alone. And that the person with her was Tom.

  They’d already been through so much together: college, law school and her master’s degree, a move to New York, hangovers, illnesses, and family events. If they could survive all that, surely they could handle this. At least, she hoped they could.

  He moved to hug her, then pulled away awkwardly, seemingly thinking better of it. “How are you?” she asked.

  “It’s so strange. With the exception of that first day, I never remember getting on the ferry. And yet that’s where I wake up. Every morning.”

  “At least you’re not waking up on a plane,” Megan said, trying to break the tension. She knew, despite all the traveling he’d done in his life, Tom hated flying.

  “There is that. What if I woke up departing JFK? I’d be reliving two planes.”

  “I think that’s an exposure-therapy tool called flooding.”

  Their banter was casual and fueled by a nervous energy that Megan wanted to extinguish completely. She handed him his coffee, he thanked her, and they began the walk up to the rental car. Before they could step off the curb, a pedicab pulled up.

  “Fancy a ride, you two? Where are you heading?”

  “We’re good, thanks.” Megan jingled her car keys at the woman. As the pedicab pulled away, she elbowed Tom in the ribs. “Cat in a baby carrier, three o’clock.”

  “If we never get out of this day, I just might befriend that guy,” he replied.

  It was meant to be a joke, clearly, but the notion of them being trapped in this day forever settled a sober silence over them. Trapped in this day forever…but Megan wasn’t going to let that happen. They continued walking. “I have a plan,” she said simply.

  The side of his mouth quirked up. His tone nostalgic, he said, “Of course you do.”

  “The universe obviously wants us together.” She paused to gauge his expression. Neither one of them had ever subscribed to any sort of spirituality. “Otherwise it wouldn’t keep repeating this day when we call the wedding off. It’s giving us another chance to fix it.”

  “It’s not an unreasonable conclusion, considering these completely unreasonable circumstances,” he agreed. It was a start. A baby step in the right direction.

  “So if we want this day, this whole loop, to stop—” She didn’t want to finish this thought for fear of igniting another fight. Getting to the destination she had in mind was more of a precarious leap than a step. They reached the car but he made no move for the passenger door. His eyes were on her, waiting for her to finish.

  This is Tom, she reminded herself. The guy who held my hair back when I got food poisoning and threw up all night. I can say anything to him. Megan searched for a delicate way to put it. “We need to—we should think about…getting back together.”

  The longer he took to respond, the more the anxious buzzing inside her spiked.

  “You’re saying the wedding needs to be back on.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

  She nodded and swallowed the lump in her throat. She unlocked the car and got in to give him a few minutes to put his luggage in the trunk and process what she was proposing. When they were both inside, buckling their seat belts, she continued. “But I don’t think it’s as simple as deciding to get married tomorrow. We need to do things right today.”

  “What do you mean, right?” Tom’s skepticism was bleeding in and she needed him to stay with her.

  “I
mean that you and I have made a lot of choices over the past two days, both inconsequential and highly consequential, and they all led to the same outcome. Today we need to make a pact to stay together and extinguish the fires along the way.” She gripped her cooling coffee cup with one hand, gesticulated emphatically with the other. “No matter what it takes, whatever happens, we need to do each thing right.”

  “The wedding needs to be back on,” he said, massaging his neck as though it was stiff. Two days ago, she would’ve reached over and helped him.

  “The wedding needs to be back on,” she agreed, pressing the car’s ignition start button.

  He put a hand on hers. “Is that what you want, though?”

  Her stomach dropped as she relived the past two days. And then Megan gathered any doubts she had about their relationship and pushed them down as far as she could, because that was the only way they were going to get out of this. Brushing a strand of hair out of her face, she said, “Of course it is.”

  Tom turned away to fiddle with the adjustments for his seat.

  “Tom?”

  He stopped, looking back up at her slowly. Mouth tight.

  “We need to find a way to move past this. It isn’t just a matter of plastering smiles on our faces and saying, Wedding’s on! We have to actually forgive each other.”

  He nodded, though Megan could tell his heart wasn’t in it. The coffee soured in her stomach. She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the truth…still, she asked, “Do you think you can forgive me?”

  He took a long time to answer, so long her hand trembled on the ignition button. Eventually he said, “Yeah. I can do that.”

  They filled the ride to Roche Harbor with small talk about the scenery as though she were a ride-share driver and he a passenger, both in search of a five-star rating. She parked the car at the hotel and took his garment bag so he could roll his suitcase more easily.

  She stood beside him as he got a room key. In a few minutes, they’d have to go deal with their respective obligations. Although they were facing this day together, they still needed to split up. Doing things right meant appeasing their families. This was a divide-and-conquer situation; Tom needed to get to his golf game, and at any minute, Donna and Brianna would appear to go shopping.

  “Let’s meet before the dinner tonight,” Megan said, twisting the filigree chain around her neck just a little.

  “Sure. I’ll text you.” He held his arms out to finally give her the hug he’d withheld at the ferry docks, but the brief embrace could’ve been between acquaintances.

  The intimacy would return, Megan told herself. They had enough history—enough good memories together—to ensure that it would.

  She was going to make this work. She willed Tom to look at her one more time, wishing his eyes held the same affection they had days ago when she was kissing him goodbye at home just before she’d left for the island. Instead, he released her and walked away.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Tom

  Tom had discovered the secret to his golf game, and it was that he needed to be coiled so tightly, worrying about righting the chronology of his life, that he couldn’t think about his form or his dad’s commentary. His score on the golf course was at an all-time low.

  He was absolutely killing it today.

  Often on the green, the unspoken rule was not to outplay the person you’re trying to ingratiate yourself with, usually a client. Tom had never considered whether that rule applied to playing with his dad because, before today, Tom had never been able to beat him.

  As it turned out, John was responding positively to Tom kicking his ass.

  “The Pacific Northwest seems to be agreeing with you, son,” John said in his baritone rumble as Tom’s ball soared straight and high over the brush.

  Tom nodded. “I’m just working hard. You know how important hard work is.”

  The comment came out more acerbic than he’d intended, a tone he didn’t usually take with his dad, but he was rattled. Why was his dad so obsessed with hard work, anyway? What about other virtues? Like supporting your family emotionally instead of just financially? Or being more accepting of people outside the approved Prescott Circle of Influence?

  When John had outlined what Tom’s extracurricular activities at private school would be (fencing, basketball, volleyball), Tom didn’t even wonder if they were things he was interested in or enjoyed. Likewise, when John set Tom up for Harvard interviews and dictated the majority of his coursework to prepare him for law school, Tom didn’t argue; he just did his best to ace every class. It was lucky Tom actually had a love for history, as that was one of a handful of John-approved majors.

  Tom took a breath. Cleared his mind. Because, according to Megs, they had to do everything “right” today. Whatever that meant. He’d spent his entire existence trying to do everything right without reaping most of the desired benefits. Still, however muddled his feelings for Megs had recently become, she was more insightful than most people. And so he decided to try. At this point, it couldn’t possibly make things worse.

  “Of course the Pacific Northwest agrees with him. I’ve always suspected he was a hippie at his core.” Brody raised his flask, clearly too tipsy to try to hide his blatant day-drinking from other golfers, though they were few and far between.

  Tom forced a good-natured grin. “Having a good golf game hardly makes me a hippie, Brody.” Truth be told, Tom thought he could stand to have a little more of a Damn the Man attitude. But why make waves when falling into line had already been hard enough?

  As a child, Tom had tried speaking up when Brody was a dirtbag to him. Each time, he’d been met with a reproving comment from his father. “Are you going to tattle on your brother or are you going to be a man?”

  Brody’s teasing had never been laced with intentional cruelty, so Tom had learned to quietly absorb it. His interactions with Brody were usually warmer than the ones with anyone else in his family. If there was one thing Tom knew about himself, it was that he would take what he could get.

  “What do these island hippies have against progress?” John snatched the gloves hanging from his back pocket and pulled them over his hands. “They’re obsessed with homeopathic remedies and can’t figure out how to get a solid Wi-Fi signal. They probably think a proper eighteen-hole course causes cancer.”

  Tom’s jaw clenched behind his mandatory smile. He couldn’t manage another laugh at his father’s gross generalizations, but that didn’t mean he had to argue with him. In this family of lawyers, Tom would avoid the debate. For eternity, if he had to.

  He tried not to linger on the idea of playing this golf game for eternity. The universe was sure being an asshole. Shit. He probably shouldn’t think that. The universe was obviously already pissed off at him.

  John lined up his shot, then strategized with Brody before he took a swing. Mulling over how to do this day more “right” than he had before, Tom had an idea. Asking his father for advice wasn’t the best way to bond; he needed an opportunity for them to really talk. Maybe he could try to convince his dad to delay the relocation as a peace offering to Megs. But if he was going to push for that, he’d prefer to do it in a place where they could order alcohol. There was one nearby restaurant that Tom knew for sure had tablecloths—a must for John Prescott. John didn’t do rustic.

  Tom pulled out his phone to put the next part of his plan into action.

  “Hey, Dad,” he said, tapping on his phone, “since there’s not a proper clubhouse here, do you want to do lunch in Friday Harbor? I just made us reservations.”

  “Why would you make reservations before asking me if I wanted to go?” John challenged.

  Tom’s jaw was beginning to ache. Between that and the crick in his neck, his body was a wreck. His mind wasn’t faring much better. “I thought I’d get a jump on it and reserve us a good table. One overlooking the water.”

  “How romantic,” Brody deadpanned. “A date with Dad.”

  “Isn’t Brody invit
ed?” John leaned on his club, adjusting his visor. “What’s going on here, son?”

  Tackling his move to Missouri was not something Tom was keen on doing with Brody inserting slurred wisecracks. But today was about compromise. With a few swipes on his phone, Tom changed the reservation from two people to three. “Of course Brody’s invited.”

  “Let’s go now. This course is garbage.” Brody threw his clubs in the back of the cart.

  “Agreed.” John got in behind the wheel.

  Tom noted this was the first incarnation of this day in which Brody and his dad suggested quitting in the middle of the game. It didn’t seem like a coincidence that this was also the first day Tom had been winning.

  The gap between wanting to forgive someone and having the emotional capacity to do so seemed insurmountable. And yet Tom worked at closing that gap inch by inch as he sat across the table from his father, who was sipping slowly at an expensive scotch, and Brody, who was quickly draining the beer glistening in his pint glass.

  He thought about the time he and Megs had been on their way to his grandmother’s home in Connecticut in a blizzard when their rental car broke down. He’d raised the hood and stared blankly at an engine he didn’t understand while she put on their four-way flashers and made all the phone calls. And then they’d waited, huddled in the car, to be rescued. Later, when he admitted he’d been embarrassed at his inaction, she’d kissed his nose and reminded him that keeping a cool head wasn’t the same thing as freezing up. That his positive outlook was worth more to her than his knowing how to fix an engine. And he’d kept her laughing while they waited in that cold car by trying to remember all the verses to “The Twelve Days of Christmas.”

  Fixing a day that wouldn’t end was much more complicated than dealing with a broken-down car. Still, he was willing to put his faith in Megs right now because she had to be right. The only explanation for the repetition of this day was that they had done something wrong. Several things wrong, more likely. If they were being pushed together, he needed to find a way to get over what had happened between her and Leo. And he wanted to. He really did. Getting over it was far preferable to what he currently felt: the chronic, dull throb of jealousy and foolishness.