The Rehearsals Read online

  “Currently?” Brianna scoffed. “Try perpetually.”

  “You’re one to talk,” Alistair shot back.

  “Children, please,” Donna hissed while John and Carol exchanged heavy looks and Brody laughed into his wineglass.

  Megan wanted to crawl under the table and perish.

  Although he was usually good at segueing to more acceptable topics of conversation to keep the peace, Tom was being uncharacteristically quiet. In fact, he’d been a little jumpy all evening. Not that Megan could talk, with Leo looming across the way.

  “Well, welcome back, Al,” Megan said a little too loudly in an attempt to shut everyone up. She pushed the food on her plate around with her fork. “Glad you could make it.”

  “How are you liking San Juan Island?” Donna asked the Prescotts, performatively changing the subject.

  “Have you noticed the sand has the distinct consistency of dog poop?” Brianna asked, clearly thinking she was hilarious.

  John openly ignored Megan’s family while Carol wrinkled her expensive little nose and said, “It’s so quaint.”

  “Quaint?” Donna pressed.

  “Lovely,” Carol went on. “Shame it takes two planes and a ferry to get here.”

  Brody guffawed so hard, he nearly sprayed wine over his dinner plate. He grabbed his napkin, apologizing to the table. “Must’ve gone down the wrong pipe.”

  If things between her and Tom weren’t so inexplicably off right now, Megan would’ve been keeping a mental tally of items they could gossip about once they were safely in bed. Instead, she let every exchange slip through her fingers. She didn’t care to remember any of this—which wasn’t how she’d thought she’d feel the day before her wedding.

  “Hey, Tom. Has Megan talked to you about me moving to New York?” Brianna was breaking off bits of a dinner roll and tossing them in her mouth. Megan didn’t miss Carol calculating just how many crumbs were speckling the tablecloth. Instead of answering, Tom choked on a bite of his own roll.

  Typically, when Tom and Megan were at a function, be it family or professional, where they had to be their most polite selves, they’d give each other a small signal of their alliance: two taps on the side of the nose with an index finger. It was a gesture that appeared inconsequential to anyone else and yet contained multitudes of meanings for them.

  I know you think this function is absurd/dull/a disaster too.

  Me and you against the world.

  They don’t get it, but we do.

  I love you.

  Tonight, when she thought they’d be reaching for each other in that small way, Tom was avoiding her eyes. Or maybe Megan was avoiding his. Neither lifted an index finger from a wineglass stem.

  “I know, I know. I’m supposed to save my words of wisdom for the main event,” John said after abruptly rising to his feet. Someone turned the music down. “But this seems as good a time as any.”

  Beside Megan, Tom blanched. Before she could run the gamut of possibilities Tom could be worried about, John dove into his impromptu speech. Instinctively, Megan reached for Tom’s hand under the table. Tom’s skin was clammy. He did not squeeze her hand back.

  “Turning thirty seems to be agreeing with Thomas.” John’s confident baritone soared through the room. “He’s finally making an honest woman of his college girlfriend here…” There was a light dusting of appreciative laughter. “And he won over one of Prescott and Prescott’s newest and most important new clients—no, no, don’t ask for details on the merger. I’m not engaging in insider trading at my son’s wedding.”

  More laughter. Megan couldn’t figure out where John was going with this.

  “Well, that client asked specifically for Thomas to be the point man for the account.”

  The crowd applauded politely while Megan racked her brain for any knowledge of this. She knew he’d been working hard on the pharma acquisition, but Tom hadn’t mentioned he’d been put in charge. Squeezing his hand again, she tried to catch his eye. Tom’s hand felt like granite; his face was growing paler.

  “Now, as most of you know,” John continued, “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.”

  Everything blurred as though Megan had just been plunged underwater. The crowd gasped and clapped. Megan let Tom’s hand drop and tried to swim back up to the surface. Kirkwood?

  “Don’t worry, kids.” John winked. “It’s got four bedrooms. Plenty of space to give us some grandchildren.”

  Megan was going to be sick. This had to be a joke. A mistake. A dream. How could they be moving to Missouri? How could Tom not tell her?

  And how was she finding out about this in the middle of her own rehearsal dinner?

  “Megan…” Tom’s whisper wasn’t what she wanted. She couldn’t even look at him right now.

  The bodice of her dress pressed against her rib cage; the spaghetti straps dug into her shoulders. She scanned the room, looking for a life preserver, for a sign, for—she didn’t know what. Someone who looked as shocked as she felt. Someone to validate her rising panic.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by forks tapping on glasses, a tradition that meant she and Tom had to kiss. Which was the last thing she wanted to do. Still, she tilted her chin up to his face and he planted a chaste kiss on her lips, his eyes begging her for answers she couldn’t begin to give.

  Unable to help herself, she risked another glance in Leo’s direction and found his eyes were on her. He was draining his wineglass with fervor, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

  For the first time, Megan wondered: Is Leo right? Do I need to save myself from this?

  This was not a sea of joyful faces—this was a pond of accommodated Prescotts and along-for-the-ride Givenses. She was stuck with her family’s dysfunctions, but did she really want to add a lifetime of placating her in-laws? Of watching Tom make his father’s expectations a priority over her own? Did she really want to leave everything behind for a man who didn’t at least talk to her about one of the single biggest developments of his career? Not to mention their lives?

  Her engagement ring felt tight, her dress increasingly constricting. She had to leave, find a place to breathe. To think. Alone.

  “I’m just going to make sure the kitchen remembered some vegan dessert options,” she announced as she stood. But no one was looking at her. Except for Tom, but fuck that guy.

  Megan had made it all the way down the stone steps of the restaurant when she felt someone touch her arm. She spun around, expecting to be face-to-face with Tom, only to find Leo looming over her.

  He was two stairs above her. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes rimmed with the red of having too much to drink or being jet-lagged or maybe both.

  “Givens.” Those two syllables said more to her than was fair. The hold she had on her temper exploded.

  “Now?” Megan yanked him down the two stairs and then flung his hand away. “Now? This is when you’re going to corner me? After I just found out—surprise!—that I’m moving to someplace called Kirkwood, Missouri. In fact, I already have a house there for my brood of inevitable Prescott children!”

  “Did you really not know all that?” He looked shocked.

  “Please, Leo. I’m not up for this. I really don’t want to talk to anyone right now.”

  “I get it, but, look—this is my last chance before everything changes.” He was persistent, pleading. He was also drunk. “I gave you some time to think it over.”

  “You gave me, what, four hours to consider calling off my wedding and running away with you?”

  Leo’s breath hitched. “So you are considering it.”

  “Of course I’m not. And I don’t need one more thing pushing down on me today,” Megan said, her chest heaving with panic, her head pounding with pressure. “I just need some fucking air.”

  Her high heels would only slow her down, so she slipped them off, scooped her
fingers under their straps, and headed for the docks, leaving a crestfallen Leo and a restaurant full of guests behind. Overhead, clouds fused together, covering the stars.

  Chapter Six

  Tom

  Tom removed his napkin from his lap, folded it, placed it on the table, and stood.

  “Excuse me,” he said to everyone at the table before going off in search of his bride. Shame heated his cheeks. Why had he let this happen? This Missouri news hadn’t been a speeding locomotive; he’d had time to warn her. What an idiot he’d been. And now, the night before their wedding, Megs was furious at him.

  Fair. He was furious at himself too.

  At the bottom of the steps of the restaurant, he ran into Leo. “Are you a sight for sore eyes.” He pulled Leo into a hug. Finally, Tom had a friend in all this. Leo knew Megs almost as well as Tom did. He might be able to offer some advice on how to get through the mess Tom had made. “I’m sorry I haven’t been able to talk to you properly since you got in. It’s been a day.”

  “It’s okay, brother.” Leo hugged him back, reeking of booze. “It’s been a day for me too.”

  They walked down to the rock stub wall beside the path and took a seat. The clinking of glasses and murmurs from various celebrations danced around them. The sky suddenly cleared, stage curtains opening to the bright stars twinkling in the night.

  “I’m so glad you’re here. I swear, I feel as though I’m standing in the middle of a movie set and everyone has different scripts and I’m so stuck in my head…” Tom knew he wasn’t making sense. He also knew Leo would get it. Leo had always been empathetic to the immense pressures Tom felt from his family.

  More than anything in this moment, Tom missed the days when they were Harvard freshmen, Tom a history major, Leo permanently undeclared, sharing a suite in one of the dorms. Things were easier back then.

  “Weddings are bullshit, Tommy boy,” Leo said. Tom noticed how beaten down his friend seemed. Not Leo-like.

  “First of all,” Tom said, irritated he wasn’t getting the pep talk he needed, “thanks for coming to my wedding to tell me weddings are bullshit.” He knew he should ask Leo what was wrong, but Tom had a crisis of his own. “Second, have you seen Megs?”

  Leo ran his hand through his hair and looked up at the moon. “Yeah.”

  “You gonna tell me where she is?” Tom prodded.

  “Nah.”

  Instincts kicked in. Had she left? Tom jumped to his feet, ready to run after her. “Where is she, Leo?”

  He looked away from the moon and met Tom’s eyes, his gaze sad. His best friend looked like a stranger, Tom thought. He was beginning to panic.

  “I slept with her.”

  Tom’s whole body went cold. “You slept with who?”

  “Megan.” Leo covered his mouth as though even he couldn’t believe what he was saying. Then he took that hand and rubbed his face with it. “The morning you two graduated from Harvard.”

  The shock tipped Tom from one side to the other until his fury emerged, burning white-hot. It grew and rose until he felt he could scorch the earth just by taking a step.

  The morning they’d graduated. How could that be true?

  Megs’s eyes had sparkled with tears at graduation and he’d assumed they were from nostalgia and a reasonable reticence about what was to come.

  He couldn’t believe it, couldn’t picture it. They’d just introduced their parents to each other for the first time the night before. They’d made plans for the next steps in their lives together at a restaurant that was classy enough for the Prescotts but not so upscale as to make Donna uncomfortable. He could still feel Megs’s hand clutching his under the table as John looked everywhere except at Donna, and Carol wrinkled her nose delicately and ordered Bloody Mary after Bloody Mary.

  It was the type of meeting that was a quiet disaster. Unsettling in its refusal to explode.

  Tom and Megs had laughed nervously about it later, when they were alone. He’d felt even more bonded with her; it was them against their parents. And the world.

  And then she’d turned around and slept with Leo.

  The thought sickened him to the point of dizziness. He needed it not to be true. “You had sex with Megs?” Tom wanted this to be a joke, for Leo to burst into laughter, cutting the tension, extinguishing his rage.

  Leo raised his hands in a half-hearted apology. “There was always something between us and I tried to stay away because of what you two had, but I couldn’t. I can’t.”

  Tom’s vision was blurring. He vibrated with a sudden jarring enmity for Leo. “You can’t stay away from my fiancée?”

  “I’m sorry, man. I love her.”

  Tom wanted to shove him off the rock wall. Off the edge of the world.

  “We both love her, Leo,” he spat. “But you don’t get to love her like I do.”

  “I don’t get to? Who’s supposed to give me permission? You?” Leo’s lazy confidence formed a barrier as he crossed his arms.

  “Yeah, me. Your best friend. The guy who’s known you for twelve years. The one who introduced you to Megs in the first place. As my girlfriend.”

  Leo raked his fingers through his douchebag beach hair and over his asshole face. Tom turned away. He had never despised anyone as much as he despised Leo in this moment, someone who’d never been pressured to do anything or be anyone. Leo’s parents had never once said You need to go to a good school. In fact, Leo openly admitted he’d applied to Harvard as a lark.

  Before they hung up after every phone call in college, Leo’s parents gushed about how proud they were of him, how much they loved him, and how they admired his (heavy on the air quotes) “unique bravery.”

  Now Leo was using that bullshit bravery to blow into Tom’s wedding and claim he loved his fiancée.

  Megs.

  The love of Tom’s life.

  Tom turned around and decked his best friend.

  He’d never punched anyone before and it hurt like hell. Leo cursed, a hand cradling his jaw. He was saying something, but it wasn’t anything Tom wanted to hear, and he opted to walk away before he did more than just punch Leo once.

  Tom kept going even as his surroundings blurred in his peripheral vision.

  Megs.

  Leo.

  Missouri was beside the point now. It didn’t matter. Not when every good memory he’d had of his best friend and the love of his life was rotting. He watched his life as he’d known it for the past ten years burn.

  Tom had never been enough for anyone—not his father, not his mother. Not even Brody. But Megs had always looked at him as though he were enough. More than enough.

  But now—

  Now he knew he’d been wrong this whole time. Because she’d run to the guy who was his polar opposite, free and wild.

  The weight of this revelation pulled him down and he crouched on the gravel path, hidden from the restaurant—from his rehearsal dinner—by a copse of trees. He was trying to regain his balance before standing up again, but the ground beneath him kept moving.

  He wasn’t just losing Megs, he was losing Leo. The other person Tom loved more than anyone.

  He couldn’t stop torturing himself by looking at every old memory through a new lens.

  The first time Megs came to his dorm to watch a movie and she sat between him and Leo.

  When Leo found out he was on academic probation and took his shirt off, threw it at her, and yelled, “Anarchy reigns supreme!”

  Curled up with Megs in that college dorm room, Leo on the other side of the wall.

  Their final night of freedom, when they were supposed to stay up all night together but Tom had fallen asleep.

  All the ways Megs had avoided Leo since…saying she had to be on set when she knew Leo was in town. Claiming she had errands to run when Leo called.

  But how could Leo possibly believe he was in love with Megs if he had barely seen her in the past eight years? Hadn’t properly spoken to her in that time?

  Unless Tom w
as wrong about that too.

  He shook his head; he clearly didn’t know what had been going on the past eight years. All he knew was that Megs wasn’t who he’d thought she was.

  She was a liar.

  Chapter Seven

  Megan

  She’d never felt so betrayed by Tom. But with Leo’s proclamations fresh in her ears, Megan felt as though she had no right to the anger burning within her. It wasn’t fair. How many times had she bitten her tongue rather than speak up about something because of the guilt that had been eating away at her for eight years?

  But this. This was too much.

  Returning to her suite, the only safe place she could think to go, Megan had to walk past the intimate outdoor wedding reception of two women slow-dancing to the Beatles’ “And I Love Her” while their guests clutched tissues and one another. Megan could barely look.

  That was what Megan and Tom had wanted. Despite Leo and before she knew about Missouri. It was what they’d wanted this weekend to be.

  Megan got to the suite and closed the door behind her. She sat down but she couldn’t stay still. She had to stand, she had to pace, she had to somehow make her mind slow down.

  But she kept thinking of Tom taking a job in another state without telling her. Assuming she’d just give up her own career, her own friends, and follow him. That she’d continue being a marionette, the Prescotts pulling the strings, that he didn’t even need to ask. Like his parents years ago when they’d mapped out Tom’s New York future, he’d just assumed she’d go along with it.

  She heard the beep of the key card, saw the door open, and was suddenly, finally, alone with Tom.

  Only now she wasn’t sure she wanted to be. Inexplicably, his eyes were blazing, his chest heaving. What did Tom have to be so upset about?

  Before Megan could start yelling, Tom took off his suit jacket and threw it at the wall. She’d never seen him throw anything. Something was wrong. More wrong than Missouri. “Tom, are you—”

  He stared at his jacket, now on the floor. When he finally raised his chin, he did it so slowly, Megan stopped breathing. She felt it before he said it.