The Rehearsals Page 5

Suddenly, Tom was perspiring and parched. And a little tipsy. Taking swigs from Brody’s flask after a red-eye and no breakfast was proving to be a bad idea.

  Brody was right.

  Why hadn’t he thought about that? Everyone from their side of the guest list knew about the relocation. If Megs heard about the move from anyone other than Tom, he could kiss that good news/bad news conversation goodbye. Tom wasn’t sure if he was going to be sick. Maybe he was going to pass out? In either case, he didn’t have any time left. This revelation was a ticking time bomb. Tom couldn’t risk it detonating.

  While John and Brody took their next shots, Tom ran for the car, fumbling for the keys with one hand and calling the woman he loved most in this world with the other. The person he’d chosen as his family. The only person he worried more about disappointing than his father. She didn’t answer. He sent Leo a text asking if he’d seen Megs. Leo didn’t respond either. Maybe it was the patchy cell service. Maybe Leo’s flight had been delayed.

  Once he was in the car, he couldn’t get back to the other side of the island quickly enough; he drove well over the speed limit and parked haphazardly alongside the crowded gravel lot. He didn’t care if he got a ticket at this point. He had to get to Megs.

  He couldn’t stop picturing his mom running into Megs and offering to help her pack for Missouri (although that might require a personality transplant) or someone from the firm congratulating her on Tom landing the in-house counsel job (something Tom had hinted at but not outright admitted because that particular conversational path led to the Midwest). There were myriad ways Megan could find out about Tom’s deception and he wanted to kick himself for staying in denial for so long.

  Brody was right. For someone who’d gone to Harvard and Harvard Law, Tom had to admit he could be a colossal dumbass.

  He scanned the hotel lobby, ran up the stairs to their suite and back down again, walked along the docks, all the while getting sweatier and more frantic. He had just finished searching the aisles of the market when he saw her through the window of the hotel salon, surrounded by her gran, Paulina, Donna, and Brianna.

  His shoulders slumped. Now was not the time. He’d have to wait until she was done.

  He found an unoccupied bench overlooking the water and composed various texts to Megs…

  We need to talk

  Can we meet up before the dinner?

  There’s something I need to tell you

  Each one he erased before pressing Send. They seemed too melodramatic. She’d assume the worst—that he’d had an affair or was calling off the wedding. And anyway, this was good news. More money, more responsibility, he reminded himself. More time together. A fresh start.

  At least, that was the mantra he’d been repeating to himself for nearly two months now. But why? Why hadn’t he just said something earlier? Shame coiled around him and squeezed.

  He should’ve been discussing this with Megs the whole way along.

  The more these thoughts gnawed at him, the more Tom realized that he and Megs had gotten into an undeniable rut; rarely would they talk about anything beyond the minutiae of their days. He couldn’t pinpoint when they’d stopped talking about anything that actually mattered. How had their conversations become little more than snippets of domesticity? He really had tried to search for the right moment, but broaching a big topic between dropping his keys in the dish by the door and asking her which takeout place she wanted to order from didn’t feel right. And by the time they’d eaten and caught up on their respective days, they were both mentally exhausted and wanted only to park themselves in front of an addicting show to unwind.

  This routine had been going on for days, weeks, months.

  If he couldn’t tell Megs, Tom really needed someone else to talk to. Had Leo arrived yet? A glance at his phone revealed his service had flickered out again.

  There was a dearth of people Tom could confide in these days. Between Megs and work, he’d let so many friends from law school slip away. Getting beyond the superficial with his colleagues at Prescott and Prescott had proved futile, since he shared a name with the firm.

  He scrolled through the contacts on his reception-less phone. It seemed he was on his own.

  Tom squinted in the sun and watched as boats docked and departed, racking his brain for clues Megs might have left—a trail of bread crumbs—indicating how she’d react to his news or if she had any idea it was coming.

  They didn’t argue. Never had. Megan was a master of emotional control. It wasn’t that she was robotic, because she was the warmest person he knew. She hugged people like she meant it and asked “How are you?” because she genuinely wanted to hear the answer. There were times when she’d come home from work and speak sharply about a vendor who’d refused to respect her, and then, instead of blowing up, she would take several deep breaths and come up with a plan. She’d get off the phone after a particularly aggravating discussion with Donna, and, rather than break down or throw something, she’d go from consternation to resignation, then offer to watch Tom cook (they’d discovered early on that she was much more adept at ogling him than being his sous-chef).

  As for Tom, he’d learned almost from the moment he was born into the Prescott legacy that tantrums were not tolerated. If you had feelings—a notion so gauche, Tom’s mother wouldn’t even say words like depression, anxiety, or even hurt—you were to bottle them up, use them as fuel to shoot yourself to the moon. Or, in Tom’s case, the firm of Prescott and Prescott.

  He rubbed at his stinging eyes. His entire body felt bloodshot.

  Because, at the bottom of his stress and avoidance, he felt like an asshole for not talking through what worried him and what excited him about moving to Missouri even before it all became final. Yes, Megs was overworked, but he still should’ve confided in her. Somewhere along the way they’d stopped doing that and he didn’t know why. Tomorrow they were going to commit to each other for the rest of their existence. He knew she would support him through this. Yes, she might be upset, but she’d definitely understand. And somehow he’d make it up to her. No more surprises. From now on, Tom was going to try his hardest to open up to her more. He’d never let something like this happen again.

  Chapter Five

  Megan

  Even though she knew the lead-up to the rehearsal dinner would involve tolerating Donna and Brianna, Megan had still romanticized it all: reminiscing with Paulina about her and Hamza’s wedding, having her hair and makeup professionally done, seeing all the details she’d been coordinating for the last eighteen months come to life. Like the sign hanging by the entrance to their private dining room that said BETTER TOGETHER (a reference to the one song Tom knew how to play on his much-neglected ukulele) and the centerpieces on each table that included anemones (the flower Tom had given her on their first date). All around the room were nuanced nods to who they were, to the warm permanence of their relationship.

  After all, Carol may have dictated the size, scope, and season of the wedding, but Megan had made damn sure the rest was her and Tom. She wanted a guarantee they’d be able to relish the weekend no matter the baggage that came with it, so she’d infused little touches where she could: music curated from their college playlists and artfully placed photographs of their adventures, like the sailing lessons they’d taken on the island and the road trips that had carried them far from their careers over long weekends.

  But here she was, in the cordoned-off private section of the hotel’s restaurant with friends and relatives who wanted to wish Tom and Megan well, and she was unable to banish the conversation with Leo from her mind.

  Really, Megan reasoned, she just missed connecting with Tom. He was her touchstone. They’d meant to meet up before dinner, but things at the salon ran long and then Paulina begged for an impromptu photo shoot. Not seeing Tom coupled with what had happened with Leo left her feeling untethered. Uneasy.

  She shook off the lingering guilt and tried to enjoy her surroundings, how she felt in her champagne midle
ngth dress with subtle metallic threads in the lace overlay that glittered tastefully as she made her way through the room.

  The tables were covered in white linen, polished silverware, and sparkling china. Through the big bay window, Megan could see the first stars of the night. They were faint in the early-evening sky, yet still twinkling, reminding her of the night she and Tom had decided to officially get engaged.

  The evening before, they’d celebrated her twenty-eighth birthday with friends at a Korean restaurant in the East Village, and for some reason, the night ended with her crying at home on the couch, Tom holding her as she struggled to find words for what she was feeling. Something about the milestone of another birthday, one bringing her closer and closer to thirty, made her question where she was, who she was, how she’d gotten there. She wondered when or if her long work hours would ever abate, when she’d feel like the life she was living was one she’d deliberately made, not one she’d just stumbled on or been pushed into. There were days when she wasn’t sure she recognized herself anymore. Was this the sink-or-swim moment people had warned her about when she and Tom moved to New York?

  Megan tried to explain to Tom the homesickness she was feeling for a time when she wasn’t overwhelmed and exhausted; for her family, whom she loved, even though they drove her crazy. She admitted that she missed Montana. She wanted to go outside and see a sky filled with stars, not just a sky of big-city light pollution, because something about being under endless stars anchored her. The galaxy made her feel small in a way that reminded her to keep things in perspective, not to allow herself to be overwhelmed by daily life.

  The following night, after a long photo shoot and an even longer GQ team meeting, Megan had come home to a candlelit dinner. After they ate, Tom told her he had a surprise for her. He turned out all the lights in the apartment, and the ceiling lit up with glow-in-the-dark constellation stickers.

  “I thought a lot about what you said last night. I can’t give you everything you miss, but here’s your starry sky,” he’d said, his voice soft. “And there’s something else I want to give you…” There was a crack of a jewelry box opening as he dropped to one knee. She’d dropped with him, overcome by the gesture.

  The proposal came out as declarations of love from Megan as much as Tom. He might have bought the ring, but the question and the answer came from them both.

  At the rehearsal dinner, Megan stopped first at her gran and granddad’s table to kiss their cheeks, soft as tissue paper. Her gran was a busybody, but her strong will and dedication to her family had always inspired Megan. Unlike Gran, Megan’s granddad was a gentle soul who spoke only when he felt he had something to say and who was always there to offer his cardigan if he saw you shiver or give you a dollar for the candy store. Megan loved him with a fierceness that only grew as they both aged. She’d seen a similar sweetness in Tom from the very beginning.

  Tom entered, looking as handsome as ever if just a tad scattered. She gave him a quick hug and kiss that was interrupted by her grandparents, who wanted to hug him too. He looked like he was about to say something to her when he was steered away by Carol, who wanted him to make the rounds.

  “I’m so glad you decided to have the festivities here, Meggy.” Gran patted her cheek as though she were still a child. Meg relished the tiny moment of feeling taken care of.

  “Everything’s just so nice,” added her granddad.

  Talking to her grandparents, Megan reclaimed the peace and nostalgia that had drawn her to the island, anchoring her before the inevitable storm of toasts and food and chatter.

  Dinner was to begin at seven o’clock. Tom had been too wrapped up in his billable hours to give her more than a cursory “Sounds good” when she’d asked what he thought about the menu she’d selected: a house salad served with wild salmon crostini followed by stuffed prawns with saffron cream and bacon-wrapped chicken breast with wildflower honey. For dessert, hand-dipped chocolate truffles and an assortment of almond macarons.

  “Should we mix the families up a bit?” Donna asked as she made her way to the head table. She tossed her shawl over her shoulder and hovered behind the chairs. “So we’re sitting Prescott, Givens, Prescott, Givens?” (Although she’d been married four times, Donna had kept her maiden name, and she’d vehemently insisted her children carry the Givens name too.)

  “Such a nice idea,” Carol replied, sitting down right next to John. “But I’d hate for you to end up between John and Brody and have them talk shop over your head the entire time.”

  Donna managed to look only mildly put out as she took her place next to Brianna, who was already elbow-deep in the breadbasket. The empty chair to her left waited for Alistair, should he choose to show up.

  Megan and Tom had planned to begin the evening by presenting their wedding party (Paulina and Brianna on the bride’s side; Leo and Brody on the groom’s) with gifts. Megan’s smile at her fiancé wavered as she tapped an invisible watch on her wrist to indicate they needed to get started. He nodded and stood with her, staying surprisingly silent. His fingers tapped against his legs, a nervous tic she quickly recognized. It seemed they were both ill at ease. But what was wrong with Tom? She pushed the query from her mind—there was no time to worry about that now—and focused on the evening’s itinerary.

  “Tom and I would like to thank everyone for their support and for making an effort to be here to celebrate with us.” Megan despised public speaking. The words felt clumsy in her mouth, her mind jumbled as to what she actually wanted to say. She picked at a scab of resentment that this was yet another thing Tom was making her take the reins on even though he didn’t mind talking to a large crowd. “We’d especially like to thank our wedding party and give them a little token of our appreciation.”

  From a bag under the table, Megan produced four professionally wrapped gifts: intricately engraved cuff bracelets for the bridesmaids and sets of unimaginative cuff links for the groomsmen, since Tom had left the gift buying to the last minute. The room broke into applause as they handed out the trinkets.

  Overwhelmed, Megan stammered, “And n-now…get ready to eat!” She gave a nod to the waitstaff to start serving, desperate to escape the spotlight.

  Finally, Tom spoke. “But if any of you would like to make a speech, feel free!” To Megan he whispered, “That was the plan, wasn’t it?”

  He was right. Since the reception was when the parents, her matron of honor (Paulina), and Tom’s best man (Leo—oh God) would be making their toasts, they’d agreed to leave the floor open during the rehearsal dinner for anyone else to say a few words.

  Her smile was tight as she nodded. How could he make her feel bad when she’d been the one to go over the plan repeatedly with him?

  Wine flowed. Platters of seafood and salads were circulating family-style, much to Carol’s ongoing horror. She’d let Megan know more than once over the past year that she believed all the guests should get their own plates and serving the food family-style was almost as inelegant as a buffet.

  One by one, well-wishers chimed in. Though Donna kept trying to get up and speak her mother-of-the-bride mind, Carol stopped her every time she began to stand with some inane question about Montana (“What did you say the population of Great Falls was?”).

  Megan tried to listen to Tom’s great-aunt Florence’s speech, a seemingly endless drone of platitudes (“May you laugh often and cling to each other when times are tough”), instead of letting her eyes search the room of fifty people to find one: Leo, who was seated with some close family friends of the Prescotts. Whenever she looked over, she found him looking back at her, and her stomach twisted. She moved to angle her chair away from him and talk to Tom, but Tom seemed to be focusing intently on his salad, his leg shaking under the table.

  “Am I late for the party?” Alistair’s voice not only interrupted Great-Aunt Florence’s speech but snapped Megan out of her Leo trance. The room quieted.

  Both Alistair and Leo eschewed conformist lifestyles and were allergi
c to growing roots, but while Leo had used his wanderlust to develop a successful business, Alistair hopped from couch to couch, draining the bank account of any woman who would have him.

  And tonight, her brother had shown up to her rehearsal dinner wearing cargo shorts, a distressed T-shirt, and sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose.

  “I heard there was something rad going on in Roche Harbor, so I hopped on the road to see my little sister hitch her wagon to this guy.”

  Carol’s face was ashen, John’s stern. They’d never met her brother before, and this first impression was not going to reflect well on her. Megan flushed with embarrassment, but when she glanced at Leo, she saw him grinning with amusement, not even a hint of judgment on his face.

  However, Megan could see the distaste of all the guests on Tom’s side (65 percent of the total, to be exact. She’d had to cut some extended family and a few friends to make room for more Prescott VIPs). She wanted to grab a bottle of wine and a straw, tell everyone to get fucked, and run for her grandparents’ boat. She settled for standing and hugging her long-lost brother. Tom good-naturedly shook Alistair’s hand.

  Alistair’s arrival unofficially marked the end of the speeches. The music was turned up as entrées made their way around the room.

  “Where’ve you been?” Donna asked Alistair, her shawl slipping farther down her shoulders the more wine she consumed.

  “I was dating this girl in Brazil and things got serious. But then it turned out she had a husband and things got more serious, but in a Am I seriously gonna die? kind of way, you know. So I hitchhiked for a bit and then somehow ended up getting back to America, where a guy paid me to be a roofer. Do you know how hard it is to be a roofer?” No one answered. “I didn’t think being a roofer was hard, but then I nailed my hand to the roof, and I was like, no, thank you.”

  “Are you currently unemployed, then?” Carol asked, a melody of judgments in her tone.