Happy Ever After (40 page)

And Malcolm—
her
Malcolm—had already left for the garage where he planned to catch up on some work.

Tonight, they’d have a farewell dinner to send the three travelers off in style.

Then she and her Malcolm could take a few days—Vows always slowed down after the first of the year—for a quick winter break at the beach house. Just the two of them.

“So buckle down, Parker,” she muttered. “You’re not the only bride who needs attention.”

She managed nearly an hour before the invasion.

“Why are you working?” Laurel asked as she walked into Parker’s office with Emma and Mac.

“Because it’s what I do.Why aren’t you packing?”

“Packed.” Mac made a check mark in the air. “Florence, here we come. But right now ... ”The three of them moved forward, pulled her right out of her chair. “You’re coming with us.”

“Do you know how far behind I am—”

“Five minutes, if that,” was Emma’s estimate.

“We may not have an event for two weeks, but—”

“Last night’s went great, and I know damn well you’re already packed even though you’re not leaving for two days.You probably packed for Mal,” Laurel said.

“I did not. I simply gave him a list of suggestions. Really, I just need another hour.We’re all having dinner later anyway.”

“We have more important things to do now than work.” Mac kept a firm grip on Parker’s arm as they steered her toward the stairs.

“You may, but I ... ”The light dawned as she realized the direction. “You picked out a wedding dress for me.”

“It’s a women of Vows tradition.” Emma patted Parker’s butt. “We ordered the men to make themselves scarce this afternoon. We’re going to have a Parker’s wedding dress party.”

“With the qualification, as always, if it doesn’t suit you, no harm, no foul.” At the door of the Bride’s Suite, Laurel turned, blocked the door. “Are you ready?”

“Of course I am.Wait.” Parker laughed, laid a hand on her heart. “Wow. I’m having a moment, a really good moment. I’ve helped pick out so many of them, and now I’m going to try one on.”

“And you’re going to look beautiful. Open the door, Laurel, I’m dying here,” Emma ordered.

“Here we go.”

With her hand still on her heart, Parker stepped in. And her hand simply slid down to her side.

The bride-white silk flowed from the strapless, sweetheart bodice, down the narrow torso to a full skirt.The classic ballgown style shimmered with intricate beadwork and embroidery, sparkling on the bodice, trailing down the side, circling the sweeping hem and train.

Its lines, its style, would, unquestionably, suit her. But that wasn’t what blurred her vision.

“It’s my mother’s wedding gown. It’s Mom’s.”

“Mrs. G got it out of storage.” As she spoke, Emma rubbed her hand up and down Parker’s back.

“She was slim like you, and she was nearly as tall.” Mrs. Grady dabbed at her eyes. “You may want to pick out your own, something new, but we thought—”

Parker shook her head, unable to speak, and simply turned to wrap her arms around Mrs. Grady.

“I can’t take pictures if I’m crying.” Mac grabbed at the tissues always on hand in the room.

“Here, everybody, drink some champagne, and suck it up.” Laurel swiped a hand over her damp cheek before she poured.

“Thank you.” Parker kissed both Mrs. Grady’s cheeks.“Thanks, all of you. Yes, God, give me that.” Parker took a flute of champagne from Laurel, a tissue from Emma.

“It’s beautiful,” she managed. “Absolutely beautiful. I’ve only seen it in pictures, only seen how wonderful she looked in it, how happy she and Dad looked. She married my father in that dress, and now I’ll have both of them with me when I marry Malcolm. It’s the best gift you could give me.The best.”

“Well, for God’s sake, try it on. Strip down, Brown,” Laurel ordered.

“Okay. Here goes.”

“Back to the mirror,” Emma reminded her.“No looking until you’re done.”

They helped her into the gown, as she had helped each of them.

“Turn around, but close your eyes. I want to fuss with the skirt and train.” Already thinking bouquets, Emma spread out the hem, swept the train. She glanced at Mac, got the nod as Mac positioned herself and her camera. “Okay, take a look.”

In the mirror Parker saw on her face what she’d seen on so many other brides’.The thrill, the wonder, the glow.

“This was my mother’s wedding gown,” she murmured. “And now it’s mine.”

“Parks.” Mac repositioned, pressed the shutter again.“You look spectacular.”

“Happy’s what you look.” Mrs. Grady beamed at her. “Happy and in love. Nothing fits a bride more truly.”

“I’m a bride. I’m happy and in love, and I look spectacular.”

“Put that camera down, Mackensie.” Mrs. Grady lifted her own. “I want my shot of the four of you. Don’t step on the train! There. Now, think Wedding Day.”

When they laughed, she snapped.

“Let’s have a toast. Everybody get their glasses. Emma, you lush,” Laurel accused. “Yours is empty.”

“It helped me stop crying.”

Refilled, Emma lifted her glass with the others.

“To a monumental year,” Laurel began.

“Oh boy, howdy,” Mac put in.

“To our men,” she continued, “who are lucky to have us. To our mom.”

Mrs. Grady teared up again. “Don’t start.”

“To friendship.”

“And to Vows,” Parker added.“And the women who run it.We marry you with love, with style, and with exquisite attention to detail. Especially when we marry us.”

They laughed, clinked.As they drank, Mrs. Grady stepped back and took another picture. They began to talk of headpieces, of flowers, colors for the gowns the other girls would wear.

Her girls, she thought, all happy and in love, and all spectacular.

To my girls, she thought, lifting her glass in a solo toast.To the Brides of Vows, and their happy ever afters.

B
Y THE TIME SHE WAS EIGHT, MACKENSIE ELLIOT HAD BEEN MARRIED fourteen times. She’d married each of her three best friends—as both bride and groom—her best friend’s brother (under his protest), two dogs, three cats, and a rabbit.

She’d served at countless other weddings as maid of honor, bridesmaid, groomsman, best man, and officiant.

Though the dissolutions were invariably amicable, none of the marriages lasted beyond an afternoon. The transitory aspect of marriage came as no surprise to Mac, as her own parents boasted two each—so far.

Wedding Day wasn’t her favorite game, but she kind of liked being the priest or the reverend or the justice of the peace. Or, after attending her father’s second wife’s nephew’s bar mitzvah, the rabbi.

Plus, she enjoyed the cupcakes or fancy cookies and fizzy lemonade always served at the reception.

It was Parker’s favorite game, and Wedding Day always took place on the Brown Estate, with its expansive gardens, pretty groves, and silvery pond. In the cold Connecticut winters, the ceremony might take place in front of one of the roaring fires inside the big house.

They had simple weddings and elaborate affairs. Royal weddings, star-crossed elopements, circus themes, and pirate ships. All ideas were seriously considered and voted upon, and no theme or costume too outrageous.

Still, with fourteen marriages under her belt, Mac grew a bit weary of Wedding Day.

Until she experienced her seminal moment.

For her eighth birthday Mackensie’s charming and mostly absent father sent her a Nikon camera. She’d never expressed any interest in photography, and initially pushed it away with the other odd gifts he’d given or sent since the divorce. But Mac’s mother told her mother, and Grandma muttered and complained about “feckless, useless Geoffrey Elliot” and the inappropriate gift of an adult camera for a young girl who’d be better off with a Barbie doll.

As she habitually disagreed with her grandmother on principle, Mac’s interest in the camera piqued. To annoy Grandma—who was visiting for the summer instead of being in her retirement community in Scottsdale, where Mac strongly believed she belonged—Mac hauled the Nikon around with her. She toyed with it, experimented. She took pictures of her room, of her feet, of her friends. Shots that were blurry and dark, or fuzzy and washed out.With her lack of success, and her mother’s impending divorce from her stepfather, Mac’s interest in the Nikon began to wane. Even years later she couldn’t say what prompted her to bring it along to Parker’s that pretty summer afternoon for Wedding Day.

Every detail of the traditional garden wedding had been planned. Emmaline as the bride and Laurel as groom would exchange their vows beneath the rose arbor. Emma would wear the lace veil and train Parker’s mother had made out of an old tablecloth, while Harold, Parker’s aging and affable golden retriever, walked her down the garden path to give her away.

A selection of Barbies, Kens, and Cabbage Patch Kids, along with a variety of stuffed animals lined the path as guests.

“It’s a very private ceremony,” Parker relayed as she fussed with Emma’s veil.“With a small patio reception to follow. Now, where’s the best man?”

Laurel, her knee recently skinned, shoved through a trio of hydrangeas. “He ran away, and went up a tree after a squirrel. I can’t get him to come down.”

Parker rolled her eyes.“I’ll get him.You’re not supposed to see the bride before the wedding. It’s bad luck. Mac, you need to fix Emma’s veil and get her bouquet. Laurel and I’ll get Mr. Fish out of the tree.”

“I’d rather go swimming,” Mac said as she gave Emma’s veil an absent tug.

“We can go after I get married.”

“I guess. Aren’t you tired of getting married?”

“Oh, I don’t mind.And it smells so good out here. Everything’s so pretty.”

Mac gave Emma the clutch of dandelions and wild violets they were allowed to pick. “You look pretty.”

It was invariably true. Emma’s dark, shiny hair tumbled under the white lace. Her eyes sparkled a deep, deep brown as she sniffed the weed bouquet. She was tanned, sort of all golden, Mac thought, and scowled at her own milk white skin.

The curse of a redhead, her mother said, as she got her carroty hair from her father. At eight, Mac was tall for her age and skinny as a stick, with teeth already trapped in hated braces.

She thought that, beside her, Emmaline looked like a gypsy princess.

Parker and Laurel came back, giggling with the feline best man clutched in Parker’s arms. “Everybody has to take their places.” Parker poured the cat into Laurel’s arms. “Mac, you need to get dressed! Emma—”

“I don’t want to be maid of honor.” Mac looked at the poofy Cinderella dress draped over a garden bench.“That thing’s scratchy, and it’s hot.Why can’t Mr. Fish be maid of honor, and I’ll be best man?”

“Because it’s already planned. Everybody’s nervous before a wedding.” Parker flipped back her long brown pigtails, then picked up the dress to inspect it for tears or stains. Satisfied, she pushed it at Mac. “It’s okay. It’s going to be a beautiful ceremony, with true love and happy ever after.”

“My mother says happy ever after’s a bunch of bull.”

There was a moment of silence after Mac’s statement. The unspoken word
divorce
seemed to hang in the air.

“I don’t think it has to be.” Her eyes full of sympathy, Parker reached out, ran her hand along Mac’s bare arm.

“I don’t want to wear the dress. I don’t want to be a bridesmaid. I—”

“Okay. That’s okay. We can have a pretend maid of honor. Maybe you could take pictures.”

Mac looked down at the camera she’d forgotten hung around her neck. “They never come out right.”

“Maybe they will this time. It’ll be fun.You can be the official wedding photographer.”

“Take one of me and Mr. Fish,” Laurel insisted, and pushed her face and the cat’s together. “Take one, Mac!”

With little enthusiasm, Mac lifted the camera, pressed the shutter.

“We should’ve thought of this before! You can take formal portraits of the bride and groom, and more pictures during the ceremony.” Busy with the new idea, Parker hung the Cinderella costume on the hydrangea bush. “It’ll be good, it’ll be fun. You need to go down the path with the bride and Harold.Try to take some good ones. I’ll wait, then start the music. Let’s go!”

There would be cupcakes and lemonade, Mac reminded herself. And swimming later, and fun. It didn’t matter if the pictures were stupid, didn’t matter that her grandmother was right and she was too young for the camera.

It didn’t matter that her mother was getting divorced again, or that her stepfather, who’d been okay, had already moved out.

It didn’t matter that happy ever after was bull, because it was all pretend anyway.