The Rehearsals Read online

  “Sorry, Bree. I got your messages when I was picking Tom up from the ferry.”

  “Well, get ready to head back to Friday Harbor because Mom wants us to go shopping with her. And you have to drive.”

  “But she rented a car the same time I did, and Tom’s got my car. Didn’t you rent one?”

  “I forgot to renew my driver’s license.” She rolled her eyes. “Actually, I cheated on a guy who works at the DMV. It’s a whole thing.”

  “Ah. And why does she need to go shopping?” It was a scenic drive to Friday Harbor, but Megan’s instincts told her she was getting roped into more Donna shenanigans.

  “She needs a new dress. Plus she overheard your future mother-in-law calling the hotel dark and now she wants to pick up candles and fresh-cut flowers to perk the place up.”

  “Why does she need a new dress? I already solved that problem.”

  “You obviously didn’t.” Brianna produced a Snickers bar from her purse and noisily unwrapped it. “She tried it on for me this morning and I told her it wasn’t necessarily mother-of-the-bride appropriate.”

  No matter how old the two of them got, conversations with her little sister always left Megan silently counting to ten in an attempt to keep her cool.

  “What exactly did you say to Mom, Bree?”

  Brianna snorted. “I believe my exact words were ‘Whoa, Mama. That dress really shows off your bazongas.’ Anyway, she’s meeting us down here. I’ll tell her she has to drive.”

  Of course it had taken Bree less than a minute to reignite the fire Megan had worked so hard to put out.

  “Should we invite Gran to come with us?” Brianna turned the hand not holding the Snickers bar into a finger gun. “Could be entertaining…”

  “Let’s keep Gran and Mom separate for as long as possible today.”

  “You have a distinct lack of fun about you.” Brianna briefly scowled before brightening. “So did you give any more thought to me staying with you and Tom?”

  While Megan always opted for the most direct path from A to B, her sister usually took a route that resembled her tangled mop of hair. She’d dropped out of one state college and three community colleges, quit at least two jobs, and been fired from five—all in the past eight years. Brianna’s latest venture was enrolling in a New York film school, a vocation that particularly stung because Megan had long ago given up on her dream of making documentaries for the sake of a reliable income.

  “I told you already, you can stay with us until you find your own place,” Megan said. “A week or two will give you plenty of time.”

  “Wow. A whole week. Lucky me,” Brianna muttered under her breath.

  “Pardon me?”

  “It’s not like you don’t have the space. You guys have a two-bedroom in SoHo. You know how expensive it is to live in New York, plus I’m already in debt.”

  “That’s not my fault, Bree,” Megan said, futilely attempting to reason with her.

  “No, and it isn’t my fault I haven’t fallen in love with a lawyer from a stupid rich family.”

  “Oh, please. You think I’m sitting at home eating bonbons and watching daytime television? I work hard to pay my portion of the bills.” She didn’t need to defend herself to her chronically unemployed sister, and yet she really needed to defend herself to her chronically unemployed sister.

  “At your pretend job?” Brianna batted her fake eyelashes.

  “I’m a senior visuals editor at GQ.”

  “Yeah, but no one knows what that is.”

  “Everyone knows what GQ is.”

  Before their conversation could combust any further, Donna swept into the lobby looking far more confident and put together than she had an hour prior.

  “Oh, girls, you aren’t fighting, are you?” she said with a tinkle of fake laughter. Then she leaned in and hissed, “People are watching. Do not embarrass me.”

  Megan’s heart felt as though it could power a nuclear plant. She took several deep breaths, felt her cheeks flaming with silent rage. What had she expected? It wasn’t as though she and Brianna had ever stood a chance of getting along.

  There were four years between them. When they were little, Megan enjoyed mothering her. Brianna thrived on the attention, since Donna’s maternal instincts were spotty at best.

  But whenever Donna was between boyfriends, she’d while away the time by pitting her daughters against each other. She’d gossip with them separately as though they were gal pals caught in a power struggle, not a mother and her two daughters. “God, your sister is moody,” Donna would murmur to Megan while making dinner and then she’d launch into some tale about Brianna. It wasn’t long before Megan sensed the distance stretching between herself and her sister, realizing Donna was whispering into Brianna’s ear too. As long as Megan and Brianna were at odds, they’d both love Donna best.

  Megan got in the front passenger seat of their mother’s rental car, leaving Brianna to climb in the back. Once they were en route to Friday Harbor, Brianna launched into the conversation Megan had tried to sidestep.

  “It’s not like I’d be moving in with you guys forever. Just for the first year. At most.” She leaned forward, squashing herself between Donna and Megan so she could flip through radio stations as she spoke.

  “Put on your seat belt, Bree.” Megan hated that she still had to be the maternal one even though her mother was sitting right there.

  “You two have been shacked up now for, what? Almost ten years?” Donna unhelpfully offered. “Why can’t you let your sister and Dan stay with you?”

  Megan kept calm, staring straight ahead. “Sorry, Bree. Tom and I aren’t ready to have kids yet. And who’s Dan?”

  “Which Dan?” Brianna asked, seemingly uninterested.

  “The Dan who’s apparently moving to New York with you? What happened to Jonah?”

  “Jonah and I had a fight.”

  “About what?” Megan had always had a difficult time keeping up with Brianna’s so-called serious boyfriends. It was a definite apple-not-far-from-tree situation, considering Donna’s history.

  Donna raised her eyebrows meaningfully. “Jonah and Brianna fought about Brianna’s inability to pay rent because of how much money she spent at Sephora.”

  “You and Jonah broke up over makeup?” This was harder to follow than a soap opera.

  “It was a lot of makeup.” A fact Brianna didn’t seem to be sorry about.

  Luckily, as soon as they parked and she set foot on the rolling hill of Friday Harbor’s main street, memories of days spent chewing watermelon bubble gum with worn Archie comics tucked under her arm buoyed Megan. She saw the stone stage at the small public park where Donna and her sister, Paulina, would listen to local jazz bands as Megan and Brianna scoured the docks, catching buckets of shrimp with nets as tall as they were.

  “We’ll try there first.” Donna pointed to an inviting little shop.

  While their mother tried on the only three dress options in the store, Brianna doused Donna in negative commentary (“That makes you look like you’re going to a PTA meeting”) that Megan aggressively attempted to counteract (“I think it makes you look sophisticated”).

  When they finally left, it was with tea lights and tiny vases (which Donna was planning on filling with fresh-cut flowers from the Roche market) and a reasonably priced shawl. Megan promised herself a long bubble bath as a reward for talking her mother into buying the shawl to wear over her wrap dress.

  On the drive back, Brianna became so involved in her phone, she eased up on the drama. Donna rolled down the windows, allowing a cross breeze of ocean air to whip through their hair as they sang along to a radio station that cut out whenever they went around a corner. Megan started to feel lighter than she had all morning.

  By the time they returned to the hotel, Megan’s lightness had graduated to elation. Regardless—and in spite—of her family, she was going to have a fabulous weekend. She couldn’t wait to commit herself to the person she loved most in the pl
ace she loved best.

  She glided through the lobby doors and stopped dead. Even from a distance, she recognized the broad shoulders of the man leaning casually against the check-in desk, one hand raking through his messy hair.

  In the chaos of the morning, she’d blocked out the fact that Leo would be arriving today. Her stomach plummeted and she eyed the elevator. Did she have time to make a run for it?

  Before she could act, Leo was in front of her. Standing close. And then closer.

  Leo’s hair was longer than the last time she’d seen him, two years ago. Streaks of honey wove through his natural waves, no doubt due to his days spent in the sun. Her eyes skipped over his piercing gaze and went straight to his full mouth, which was saying, “Can we talk?”

  Well, now it was really too late to make a run for it, even though every part of her was screaming loudly that she should.

  Megan’s list of regrets was small yet mighty. And she was staring at regret number one. Try as she might, she couldn’t squash a flash of fondness for their past. At Harvard, Leo and Tom had been randomly assigned to be roommates, yet they quickly became more like brothers. Megan loved watching their symbiotic friendship, seeing how Tom kept Leo grounded and Leo kept Tom light, despite the fact that Leo’s second year was short-lived. When academic probation grabbed hold of him, instead of rolling up his sleeves and getting to work, Leo took off his shirt, quit school, and spent his days exploring the natural wonders of New England, his Nikon camera around his neck and an army of lenses strapped to his back. Leo had an eye for beauty in seemingly mundane places and a lust for an extraordinary life.

  She didn’t know whether it was viewing Leo through Tom’s rose-colored glasses or Leo’s natural charisma that first endeared him to her, but over those years, the three of them had become almost inseparable.

  College began with the three of them watching terrible B movies and laughing at Mystery Science Theater 3000, carried on with them spending restless nights in borrowed sleeping bags under the stars as Leo led them along nonexistent trails, and ended in an unmitigated disaster that still sent Megan into a cold and constricting panic whenever she thought of it.

  And now, the day before Megan’s wedding, Leo was in front of her, looking at her with expectations she desperately tried to believe she was imagining.

  She thought of the last time she’d seen him. She’d come home from a late-night photo shoot to find him crashing on the couch in their SoHo apartment. Even then, it’d been years since they’d been face-to-face. Tom was already asleep.

  Leo’d cracked an eye open. Without saying a word, he reached into the pocket of the worn jeans he’d left lying on the floor and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He passed her the note as though they were in middle school. She opened it carefully, as though the teacher might catch them.

  It said: I miss you.

  The words were bruising even in their simplicity.

  The truth was, she missed him too. She had been missing him ever since their colossal mistake and she would continue missing him until it didn’t hurt anymore. Because denying herself that friendship was the only way Megan could think to punish herself. And she deserved the pain.

  She’d tossed his bruising note into the garbage and told him not to make trouble before heading off to her bedroom, where Tom lay.

  The couch was empty before dawn.

  Now she had to face him again, and Tom was nowhere to be seen.

  “Is there somewhere we could go?” The years had definitely been kind to Leo despite the hard, unruly way in which he lived—off the grid and without expectations for himself or anyone else.

  “Sure…” Megan remembered the resort’s pool, located away from the rest of the grounds. Not only was it populated with children and families, there was something decidedly unsexy about the scent of chlorine. “We can talk by the pool.”

  When they arrived, Leo sat atop a picnic table instead of on its bench. If she weren’t so nervous, she would’ve laughed in his face and exclaimed, Can’t you do one orthodox thing? Instead, she sat beside him. On top of the table.

  “It’s nice to see you,” Megan finally said, her wedding-weekend manners kicking in.

  “It’s nice to see you,” he replied, jovially mocking her civility. And then the facade dropped and so did his head. “Is it actually nice to see me? Because it feels like you hate me.”

  “I don’t hate you.” I hate myself for thinking about you. Even her silent honesty filled her with self-loathing. She clung to false cheer, admitting, “You’re one of my favorite people on the planet, Leo. You always have been.”

  The encouragement was enough for him to lift his head.

  The silence between them was a crashing meteorite. The sensation of missing someone who was so close she could toss her hair and have the strands brush his shoulder was both delicious and distressing.

  She had to break the tension. Just as she said, “Leo, I—” he countered with, “Givens, I’ve thought about you so much since—”

  They both stopped, and their thoughts trailed away, disappearing into the sea. Guilt ravaged her conscience. The pendant around her neck conducted heat from the sun, burning her skin.

  “I just have to know. Do you ever think about what happened between us?” he asked finally.

  “No.” The force of her refusal surprised even her.

  Of course she was lying. She often revisited it. On nights when insomnia took her from her place in bed next to Tom and into their guest room/office. On days when her commitment to a job she knew she should be grateful for made her feel agitated, because she couldn’t stop thinking about the dreams she’d given up for it.

  The weekend she and Tom graduated from Harvard, they’d introduced Donna to John and Carol for the first time. Megan had spent the entire graduation weekend quietly fuming at the Prescotts’ superiority complexes and silently embarrassed her mother was trying so hard—and failing—to impress them. At dinner the night before graduation, Donna and Tom’s parents finally found common ground in deciding Megan’s future. They determined that Megan would stay in Cambridge while Tom did law school, maybe get her own graduate degree, after which she’d follow him to New York City, where he’d begin his ascent at Prescott and Prescott. Never mind that she’d already been considering going to grad school and then New York, independent of Tom; the assumption that she’d just do what he needed watered a seed of resentment of not being totally seen. Of feeling like little more than an adornment to Tom’s bright future.

  Before they all went their separate ways, John delivered his parting shot: “Quite a surprise this little relationship stuck after all the young women Carol’s been parading in front of Tom.” He laughed at his own fond memories. “But Tom couldn’t be dissuaded by country-club girls over catered meals, so here we are.”

  To which Tom said nothing.

  Megan had been floored. Humiliated. Why hadn’t Tom told her his parents were trying to set him up? And why, in all this time, had he never told them to stop?

  Later, after they’d celebrated their final night as college kids, Tom had fallen asleep on the floor of his and Leo’s apartment. Still reeling from what John said at dinner, Megan had sneaked out and climbed the fire escape to the roof to watch the sunrise, Leo at her side.

  And then Megan had made the first decision of her life that wasn’t carefully planned, one that muted the echoes of that awful conversation. She kissed Leo. Or, more accurately, Leo kissed her, his strong hand on her jaw, and she’d kissed him back, inviting his warm tongue into her mouth with her own.

  Her fingers had traced the ridges of his muscles, the smoothness of his skin, while his hands grabbed at her ass in a way that didn’t feel cheap; it felt as though he was worshipping her curves. She pulled at his shirt; he pulled at hers. He hiked up her skirt; she unzipped his fly. Every movement was one of desperation, an attempt to capture and hold emotions that neither could pretend were fleeting.

  Making love to Leo was just that:
love. Because didn’t she love him? As a friend, yes. But as more?

  Leo, she’d thought, would never have let someone belittle her family and judge her upbringing. Leo wouldn’t have let his parents try to set him up with other women to dissuade him from loving her.

  In fact, Megan had met Leo’s parents, and each of them had pulled her in for a tight hug and showered her with compliments.

  Every story of lust and love has a postscript. Megan’s was that when they were spent, skin slick with sweat and gleaming in the sunrise, she’d said nothing, had instead followed a thread away from Leo.

  It was the same thread that had led her from her high school in Montana to Harvard.

  From the back of that Natural Disasters class to a seat five rows down.

  It was the thread that always brought her away from destructive behavior fit for Donna Givens and back to a life with Tom.

  Since that night, everything she knew about Leo, she gleaned from Tom, social media, and Leo’s infamous blog. She learned about him guiding tours of twenty-somethings through Thailand, taking them to bucket parties on the beach and sneaking the more adventurous travelers to clandestine drug-filled shacks. She saw him tagged in photos of women who fell hard for him only to watch him fly away to the next adventure. She studied the avant-garde books he raved about online when she delightedly discovered he had a Goodreads account. And after each search she wiped her browser history in a ritual designed to cleanse herself of this what-if shame.

  The ritual was never truly cleansing. And each time she succumbed to her late-night Leo curiosity, she hated herself more. As punishment, she didn’t let herself see or talk to him if she could help it.

  Tom never once questioned the way Megan had drifted away from Leo, as Megan made clear her efforts to forge new friendships at work.