The Rehearsals Read online

  Of course the first words out of her mouth were a complaint. Megan smiled tightly. “There was a scheduling conflict with the hotel, but the wedding planner said we could just skip the rehearsal—he’ll make sure we’re all in the right places at the right time.”

  “Mmm.” Carol clearly didn’t approve. “Anyway, what are you doing here? I’m sure you have a thousand details you should be checking on.” Somehow Carol could sound simultaneously curt and gracious. It threw Megan off even more. Carol was petite and dainty, from the tiny jut of her chin to her size 5 shoes, but Megan knew a formidable giant slumbered underneath.

  “There’s always time for freshly made scones!” Megan immediately knew she was being too effusive. The Prescotts did not respond well to effusive. In a more restrained tone, she said, “I was just on my way to meet Tom’s ferry.”

  “How lovely. Though I believe he has a golf game scheduled with the boys this morning?”

  “The boys” were Tom’s dad and brother. Both decades too old to be referred to as such.

  “I know. I promise I won’t interfere. I just wanted to see him before we’re both in the thick of it today.” When Carol made no move to respond, Megan found herself babbling to fill the millisecond of silence. “Isn’t this place gorgeous?”

  “It is. Shame it takes two planes and a ferry to get here.” Carol gave Megan the once-over. “What’s on your feet, dear? Are those the hotel slippers?”

  They weren’t, in fact. “No, these are just some sandals I brought.”

  “Mmm.” Carol’s nose wrinkled as though Megan had broken wind. “Anyway, I won’t keep you, but before you run off, did you remember to rearrange the seating at tonight’s dinner so my tennis friends could sit a bit closer to John and me?”

  “Yes. I took care of it.” It’d meant moving Megan’s aunt and uncle, whom she adored, farther away, but she’d done it. “I’ll double-check just to make sure.”

  “Good girl.” Carol air-kissed Megan on each cheek as she said goodbye.

  Once Megan was safely in the rental car, flushed from the humiliation she always seemed to feel in Carol’s company, she realized she’d forgotten to ask Carol what she would be wearing that night. She made an educated guess and sent a text off to her mother:

  Muted color. Not interesting. You’ll look so much more sensational.

  With the fire of her mother’s dress drama extinguished, she could relax. A slow smile crawled across her face. She was marrying her perfect man in the seaside town she loved. Everything would only get better from here.

  Chapter Two

  Tom

  Tom woke up to the bloated belch of the ferry’s foghorn and an announcement welcoming passengers to Friday Harbor. This was followed by a cheerful “Good morning, sunshine” from the man sitting next to him, who bore a striking resemblance to Henry Winkler.

  “Morning,” Tom replied, his voice scratchy, and nodded. A searing pain shot from the base of his head through the muscles under his shoulder blades.

  He was accustomed to waking up to music; without it, he felt a bit lost. Every night he and Megs agreed on a new song to use as an alarm for the next morning. Music had always been a piece of their relationship, from the first day they’d met. He still remembered the way her face had lit up when she’d written down lines from her favorite song by the Cure and said, “A good lyric simultaneously tells a story and makes you feel as though someone’s drop-kicked your heart into your throat.”

  He was still a bit proud to remember his smooth reply: “So does a good conversation.”

  Megs told him later that was the moment she’d fallen for him, which he’d loved. That charged moment between them was when he’d fallen for her too.

  Waking up alone on a boat with a crick in his neck was not how he wanted to start their wedding weekend. Neither was flying in the middle of the night just so he could make his tee time with his father and Brody. But as his old man liked to say, “Choose your sacrifices, son.”

  This usually preceded him telling Tom precisely which sacrifices to make. Case in point: he’d put Tom on the dinner with the stiffs from Prescott and Prescott’s latest Big Pharma pet, telling Tom it was time to prove his commitment to being a mergers and acquisitions man, even though Tom was getting married less than forty-eight hours later.

  Tom’s exhaustion was so overwhelming, he barely even remembered landing in Seattle before dawn and catching the shuttle to the ferry.

  He rubbed a hand over his stubble and his tongue over his teeth. He needed a shower and a toothbrush. A gallon of potent coffee was also in order. Rolling his head from side to side in an attempt to soothe his neck pain, Tom calmed himself down the best way he knew: by thinking of Megs. With hectic work schedules and the wedding planning, they’d struggled to see much of each other lately and had resorted to leaving little notes around their apartment. Before Tom left for the airport, he’d found a charmingly cheesy one in his underwear drawer: This underwear will look great…on the floor of our hotel room. He couldn’t wait to show her just how much he agreed.

  But thoughts of Megs also brought a rising wave of anxiety. Because there was more he needed to tell her today than “I love you.” After the client dinner last night, he knew putting it off was no longer an option.

  He moved to loosen the tie he’d forgotten he’d long ago removed and tried to convince himself that talking to her now, today, wasn’t too little too late. She was Megs. Supportive, warm, rational.

  And, really, this was good news.

  She’d probably even be happy. He’d tell her first thing and they could celebrate this afternoon, well before the rehearsal dinner was under way.

  His thoughts were interrupted by a small lurch forward indicating they’d arrived. Tom squirted drops into his bloodshot eyes (free sample a spouse of one of the Big Pharma execs had passed under the table the night before, whispering, “You look tired”).

  But once he was off the ferry, every annoyance and pain melted away. The sun was bright above him, the ocean below a magnificent indigo. He’d been to San Juan Island only a handful of times before. With every visit, he understood more and more why the place meant so much to Megs. It was painted with a palette of greens. It seemed alive. Magical. It was a place of solitude, within arm’s reach of the real world, yet free from it. Everything breathed a little easier here, including Tom himself, who often struggled to relax.

  He inhaled a great healthy gust of sea air and spotted Megs waving to him unabashedly with one hand, holding a tray of coffee in the other. He dropped his luggage and, careful not to spill the drinks, hugged her as though he hadn’t seen her in months. When he smelled the familiar scent of her shampoo, his stomach dipped in a pleasant way. Somehow, even after twelve years, he still had such a crush on her. Megs was quick-witted and kind. Ambitious and gorgeous. She loved to watch terrible movies because they made her laugh, and she listened to songs for the poetry of their lyrics, not just for their melodies. Who wouldn’t have a crush on her?

  With her body close, he felt something press up against his clavicle. He released her, and his eyes went straight to the heart pendant.

  At the time he’d bought it, he’d convinced himself it was the perfect sophisticated gift to show her how he felt. Seeing it now years later, he realized it wasn’t quite as elegant as his eighteen-year-old self had thought. But for Megs to wear it anyway made his heart twist in his chest.

  “I like your necklace.” He tilted her chin up for a quick kiss.

  “I like your face.” She kissed him back.

  Still holding their coffee, she managed to grab the garment bag he’d abandoned on the wooden planks of the docks. Now that their reunion was over, an uneasiness crept into Tom. He tried hard to pretend it didn’t exist.

  Just as they reached the sidewalk, a pedicab pulled up at the curb. The driver was a woman with long, silvery hair and leg muscles that were more impressive than his own.

  “Fancy a ride, you two? Where are you heading?” />
  “We’re good, thanks.” Megs jingled her car keys.

  Tom took out his phone, which had been struggling to locate a signal, and found it lit up with texts and missed calls. Megan took hers out too, likely to ensure she hadn’t received any time-sensitive e-mails from work. She was supposed to have the next two weeks off, like Tom, but her job was as relentless as his own.

  Tom pressed the icon for his voice mail and was greeted by his brother’s voice.

  “It’s Brody. We’re already at the tee, Spare Parts. Get here now. Get here five minutes ago.”

  “Spare Parts.” The nickname that wouldn’t die. Tom didn’t know who’d first coined it, who’d first claimed that was why his parents had him—just in case their golden first child needed a kidney or something—but it had stuck.

  “Is it just me or is that baby unusually hairy?” Megs tugged at his sleeve to get his attention, tucking her phone back into her bag. Tom turned his head, cursing under his breath at the stiffness in his neck, just in time to see a man wearing an enormous fishing hat and a baby carrier pass by.

  Inside the carrier was a cat.

  Megs was pursing her mouth so tightly to stop from laughing, her lips turned white. They shared his favorite kind of look; a The world is insane but at least we have each other kind of look, which gave way to laughter as soon as the cat man was out of earshot.

  “Let’s go to Roche and get you checked in,” Megs said. “Your mom seemed adamant that I not interfere with your golf game this morning.”

  He smothered the nagging feeling of guilt at leaving her to deal with both their families on her own. Megs could handle it. And she’d handle it efficiently. He and Megs had long ago made a silent pact not to criticize each other’s families, and he continued to adhere to that promise—regardless of how badly he often wanted to tell Donna off for the way she treated Megs.

  “Sounds good.” He put a hand on the small of her back as they walked to the car. “I’m desperate for a shower.”

  The drive from Friday Harbor to Roche was short. Megs talked about her mom’s morning freak-out (par for the course), which she had clearly handled with grace (also par for the course). Tom uncomfortably shrugged off her subsequent questions about the client dinner. He tried to figure out how to broach his news—should he give it to her with the tried-and-true I’ve got good news and bad news, or should he just come out with it?

  With Megs already parking the car, he began to panic and decided on option B. He had to just say it already.

  “Megs, I—” he began at the same time her phone started chirping relentlessly. She didn’t even hear him as she scrolled through a series of texts.

  “Damn it. I have to go deal with my sister. I’m supposed to meet her in the lobby.” Her topknot was already losing shape, tendrils crawling out to frame her face.

  “Do I even want to know?” Tom asked as they got out of the car, ashamed at how relieved he was that Brianna was taking the spotlight off him. It would be insensitive to say anything now, when Megs appeared to have the makings of a crisis on her hands. He and Megs would talk later. When she was more relaxed.

  She shook her head and tossed him the extra key card she’d gotten from the front desk and the keys to the rental so he could get to the golf course. She scrutinized him, her forehead creasing with concern. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m just bagged from the dinner and traveling last night. I’m going to run up to the room and take a quick shower—that’ll help.”

  “You sure it was a client meeting and not a secret bachelor party?” she asked wickedly.

  “You got me. Last night was a real showcase in debauchery. Years of Leo’s attempts to get me to let loose finally paid off.”

  She laughed at the absurdity of that notion. Tom and Megan had decided to forgo bachelor/bachelorette parties altogether. Instead, they’d worked several weekends in a row to secure a longer honeymoon. Besides, Tom had never engaged in a day of debauchery in his life—despite the best efforts of Leo, his wildest and very best friend.

  In fact, he’d never slept with a woman other than Megan. He’d never even entered a strip club. He’d watched his friends chase shallow encounters with pretty people, but that sort of life had never appealed to Tom. There were plenty of pretty people. There was only one Megs, who could make him laugh until his eyes watered and whose heart had more capacity for generosity and patience than anyone else’s. Who knew him better than anyone else and loved him still.

  She gave him one more kiss and wished him luck on the golf course.

  “There’s the man of the hour!” Brody greeted Tom with his patented one-armed half-hug. “You look like shit.”

  “Thanks.” Tom self-consciously raked his fingers through his hair, still damp from his rushed shower.

  “Hello, son.” His father greeted him with a handshake just as he’d done his entire adult life. The Prescotts weren’t huggers. Brody’s attempt was the most Tom ever got from his family. “How did things go last night?”

  “Pretty straightforward. They seemed happy.” The weekend of his wedding, and Tom worried his father was going to dwell on the upcoming merger the entire time.

  “Can you believe this place?” John continued, ignoring Tom’s response.

  “Beautiful, right?” Tom replied gratefully, taking in the lushness of the island.

  “Not even a proper eighteen-hole course.” John spoke over Tom again. “They say it is with this ‘two sets of tees’ nonsense, but this is a nine-hole course. I don’t know how people live like this.”

  With that, John Prescott strode toward the first tee, leaving Tom and his brother to catch up.

  “Hey.” Brody adjusted his sun visor, adopting an impish grin. “Guess how many times Mom has said, ‘Can you believe it takes two planes and a ferry to get here?’”

  “I don’t want to know.” Tom rubbed his eyes.

  “I’m turning it into a drinking game.” Brody revealed a flask in the pocket of his Kjus chinos.

  “Perfect.” Tom grabbed it and took a swig.

  Brody squeezed Tom’s shoulders affectionately. “Ease up, Spare Parts. This is supposed to be the best weekend of your life.” The squeeze shifted into an annoying ruffle of Tom’s hair.

  His brother was right. Tom was giving these small gibes about the island too much weight.

  “And hey, you survived another flight. I’m so proud of you.”

  Accustomed to his brother’s teasing about his fear of heights, Tom took the jab good-naturedly and grabbed the flask again. “You mean two flights and a ferry.”

  “You’re getting to be such a brave little boy.”

  The remainder of the morning passed with more tipsy badgering from Brody and very little nonwork talk from his dad. This game was supposed to be more than that. It was Tom’s wedding weekend, after all. He decided to take things into his own hands.

  “So, Dad.” Tom busied himself reorganizing his already organized clubs so as not to draw too much attention to his question, one he hoped might make them feel closer even though the Prescotts didn’t do camaraderie and they definitely didn’t do emotions. He’d held on to a tiny bit of hope that this might be the day. “Any words of wisdom before I walk down the aisle?”

  “Isn’t the bride the one who does that?” Brody asked. “You’re supposed to be standing there waiting for her.”

  “Words of wisdom…” John scratched at the chin he shaved not once, but twice a day. “Megan’s a smart choice for a partner. You’ve done well on that.”

  Heat traveled to Tom’s cheeks. This was the most praise he’d ever received from his father. “Yeah?”

  “Indeed. She’s driven. Works hard. Good-looking enough to be arm candy, smart enough to hold a conversation.” The hairs on the back of Tom’s neck stood up. His dad wasn’t done. “But my advice hasn’t changed since you two started this little relationship.”

  A foreboding feeling told Tom to stop, not to press. He ignored that feeling. “What d
o you mean?”

  “Even when you select a partner who makes sense on paper, there are always variables that are unaccounted for.” He raised his eyebrows at Tom’s brother. “Broderick knows what I’m talking about.”

  “To my wife, Emmeline,” Brody mumbled, raising the flask before taking another swig. This one lasted longer. There were times when his brother resembled their father so acutely, Tom could imagine he was seeing John thirty years ago.

  “In Megan’s case,” John continued, “it’s her disastrous, infestive family. So, my advice? Marriage doesn’t always have to mean compromise.”

  “I’m not sure I’m following, Dad.” Tom had looked forward to this moment. A milestone as meaningful as getting married was sure to bridge some of that gap he always seemed to feel with his father, give them a new way to bond. But now he was torn between wanting to know what his dad was getting at and wanting to stop what was turning into an uncomfortable conversation. It suddenly seemed ridiculous to think a wedding might make Tom seem more worthy, more mature in his father’s eyes, like someone who’d finally caught up to Brody. In the end, Tom opted for his long-standing coping mechanism: biting his tongue to keep the peace.

  “Look, when something’s important, like where you and Megan spend your holidays or how much influence her washout of a mother has over your eventual children, you lay down the law. You get what you want.”

  Tom wished he’d pumped the brakes. This was not the advice he’d hoped for.

  “And if Megan ever complains…” his father continued, lining up his putt. “There’s always golf.”

  With that, John tapped his ball into the last hole.

  Chapter Three

  Megan

  Megan’s younger sister entered the lobby, bringing a gust of wind and an air of ennui with her. “Megan, where have you been? I’ve texted you like thirty times.” Brianna tossed her bleached-blond hair behind her shoulder to accentuate her accusation. Megan experienced her usual clash of emotions at seeing her sister: deep-seated fondness born of silly childhood memories coupled with frustration at the deliberately irritating woman she’d grown into. Brianna was a loud and proud shit-disturber.