this much.”
“I am not engaged,” I answered calmly.
“Holy shitake!” Kim, who tried not to curse in front of her kids, had invented her own brand of swearing, which I’d latched on to myself. “He turned you down?”
“Well, not exactly. My sister called during negotiations, and guess what? She’s getting married.”
“Again?”
“Exactly. But it gets better. She just met him a month ago, and guess what else? He’s…” I paused, took another slug of liquid courage. “He’s my ex-husband’s brother. Half brother, actually.”
She sputtered on her wine. “You have an ex-husband, Harper? How did I not know this?”
I glanced at her. “I guess it never came up. Long ago, youthful mistake, yadda yadda ad infinitum.” I wondered if she bought it. Both of us ignored the screeches that came from her house, though Coco jumped on my lap, channeling Chihuahua, and trembled, cured from her terror only by a potato chip.
“Well, well, well,” Kim said when I offered no further information.
“Yes.”
“So Willa just…ran into your ex-brother-in-law?” Kim asked. “Sure, it’s a small world, but come on. In New York City?”
I hadn’t asked about that, a bit too slammed by the mention of…him…to properly process the information. After all these years of not thinking about him, his name now pulsed and burned in my brain. I shrugged and took another sip of wine, then leaned my head against the back of the chair. The sky was lavender now, only a thin stripe of fading red at the horizon marking the sun’s descent. The tourists who’d come to watch the sunset clambered back into their cars to head for Oak Bluffs or Edgartown for dinner and alcohol—Chilmark, like five of Martha’s Vineyard’s other towns, was dry. Ah, New England.
“So will you be seeing him again? The ex? What’s his name?”
“I guess so, if they actually go through with it. The wedding’s supposed to be in two weeks. In Montana.” Another sip. “His name is Nick.” The word felt big and awkward as it left my mouth. “Nick Lowery.”
“Yoo-hoo! Harper, darlin’! Where you at? Did you talk to your sister? Isn’t it just so exciting! And romantic? My stars, I almost peed my pants when she told me!”
My stepmother charged into the house—she never knocked. “We’re out here, BeverLee,” I called, getting up to greet her—bouffanted, butter-yellow hair sprayed five inches off her scalp (“The bigger the hair, the closer to God,” she often said), more makeup than a Provincetown drag queen, shirt cut down to reveal her massive cleavage. My dad’s trophy wife of the past twenty years…fifteen years younger than he was, blond and Texan. Behind her, my tall and skinny father was almost invisible.
“Hi, Dad.” My father, not one to talk unless a gun was aimed at his heart, nodded, then knelt to pet Coco, who wagged so hard it was a wonder her spine didn’t crack. “Hi, Bev. Yes, I talked to her.” I paused. “Very surprising.”
“Well, hello, there, Kimmy! How you doin’? Did Harper here tell you the happy news?”
“She shore did,” Kim said, immediately sliding into a Texas accent, something she swore was unconscious. “So excitin’!” She caught my eye and winked.
“I know it!” BeverLee chortled. “And oh, my, Montana! That’s just so romantic! I guess Chris worked out there one summer or some such…whatever, I can’t wait! Hoo-whee! What color’s your dress gonna be, honey? Jimmy, what do you think?”
I glanced at my father. He rose, put his hands in his pockets and nodded. This, I knew from experience, would be his contribution to the conversation…Dad was silent to the point of comatose. But BeverLee didn’t need other people to have a conversation, and sure enough, she continued.
“I’m thinking lavender, what do y’all think? For you, Harper, not me. I’m fixin’ on getting this little orange number I saw online. Cantaloupe-mango, they called the color, you know? And y’all know how I love orange.”
“I’d better go,” Kim said. “I hear glass breaking over at my house. Talk to you soon, Harper. Bye, Mr. James, Mrs. James.”
“Honey, y’all don’t need to call me Miz James! I told you that a million times!”
“Bye, BeverLee,” Kim said amiably. She tossed back the rest of her wine and gave me a wave.
“See you,” I said to her, then turned to my father and stepmother. “So. Before we pick out the dress, maybe we should talk about the, uh, wisdom of this event?”
“Wisdom? Listen to you, darlin’!” BeverLee exclaimed. “Jimmy, get your butt in that-there chair. Your daughter wants to talk!” She came over to me and pulled my hair out of its ponytail and started fluffing, ignoring my squirm. “Honestly, Harper, the man just doesn’t know what to make of this! His little girl getting married to his other little girl’s ex-husband! It’s just crazy.” With that, she took the travel-size can of Jhirmack Extra Hold that was attached to her keychain and sprayed my head.
“Okay, BeverLee, that’s great,” I said, trying not to inhale. “That’s enough. Thanks.” She put down her weapon, and I cleared my throat. “Now, first of all, Willa’s not marrying my ex-husband,” I said in my courtroom voice. “Just to clarify. She’s marrying Christopher. Christopher is Nick’s half brother. I was married to Nick.”
“Honey, I know that.” BeverLee fumbled in her purse and withdrew a pack of Virginia Slims. “I was there at your wedding, wasn’t I? I misspoke, okay? So try not to take my head off, won’t you, sugar? Just because your panties are in a twist since you’ll be seeing Nick again doesn’t mean you should—”
“My panties are not twisted,” I muttered.
“—bite the hand that feeds you. This is a happy day, all right?” The queen of mixed metaphors took a deep drag and exhaled through one corner of her mouth.
“You don’t feed me.”
“Well, I would if you let me. You’re right skinny. Anyway, Willard just loves purple, so lavender would be the way to go, sugar. You wanna make Willard happy, don’t you?”
I opened my mouth, then shut it. If I had a soft spot, its name was Willa. Specifically, Willard Krystal Lupinski James.
The summer after my mother had left us, my father went to Vegas for a two-week conference on green building materials…or so he said. I spent the fortnight with my friend Heather, calling her mother “Mom” and pretending it was a joke and not a wish. Dad returned with BeverLee Roberta Dupres McKnight Lupinski and her daughter, Willard.
I was stunned, horrified and absolutely furious at what my father had done. When he’d told me he was going out West, a little fantasy had played out in my brain—Dad would find Mom and beg her to forgive him (for whatever I imagined he’d done) and she’d return and we’d all be happy again. The rational part of my brain knew that wouldn’t really happen…but this? This I had never foreseen. Dad got married? To this…this Trailer Park Barbie? Were those boobs real? Did we have to see so much of them? And I was supposed to share my room with her kid? Was he out of his mind? But in typical
