first. I mean, I was wondering why a piano was suddenly playing, you know? I mean, I didn’t approve a pianist. But when I saw his face, I knew. It was…” she falters, unable to find the right words, before continuing, “beyond anything I ever dreamed.”
That’s one way to put it. “I have to hand it to him. I don’t think anyone will forget your wedding now.”
“It could still be this way for you,” she says idly, but there’s an anxious edge to her voice, like she’s saying something she hadn’t dared say before. “If you make the right choices.”
“What does that mean??” I ask slowly, afraid I already know exactly what it means.
“The perfect wedding. The perfect life.” She gestures behind her, at the champagne fountain, the manicured vista, the ample evidence that everyone here has conquered life. Suddenly, I’m reminded of Jay Gatsby and his parties—and I know exactly how that turned out.
“Not for me, thanks.” I hope she leaves it there, but I know she won’t. She’s a member of my family now, so why shouldn’t she tell me how best to live my life? Goes with the territory.
“Why not? You have everything you could ever need. Security. Prestige. Luxury. People would kill for your life. You just can’t throw it away on bad choices.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Ginny. Let’s not do this now.” My self-control is slipping, and it’s the only thing keeping my temper from flaring.
Her mouth clamps shut, and for a split second, I think I’ve convinced her to save it for another time. She opens her mouth, and if it’s to placate me, I will never know, because I hear my father’s voice again and one word: trash. Ginny hears it, too, and when I try to move through the door she steps in front of me.
I go rigid, fighting a surge of adrenaline. Every part of me wants to push my way past her. If she doesn’t get out of my way, things are going to get ugly.
“Let me go before this gets worse,” I warn her.
“This is my wedding, Adair,” she hisses, trying to keep as many of the people around us out of our conversation as she can. Propriety must be observed, especially at weddings. She’s a better MacLaine than me already. “How can you be such a narcissist?”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” I say, no longer checking my volume.
She leans in close to me, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper as she jabs an accusatory finger at me. “Jesus, look at you! About to go make a scene by screaming at your father at my wedding. Does anybody get to have a nice moment? Or do you ruin them all?”
“I was minding my own business, Ginny,” I say, grasping at the last bit of understanding inside me and feeling it fray. “Unlike—”
“Like hell you were. Nothing I say can stop you, will it? Because—despite having everything—you still have to be a wrecking ball, don’t you?”
I open my mouth to protest, but the words aren’t there. I take a second to find my voice, and when it comes out I am surprised how calm it sounds. “I’m not the one who has to control everything.”
“No. You’re the one who has to destroy everything. Nothing can exist if it doesn’t perfectly please you, right? Not Thanksgiving dinner with our families. Not even a conversation with your brother or father.”
Does she think her shiny, new wedding ring gives her the right to order me around? Has she always seen behind the curtains to the ugliness we keep hidden until now? I’d always thought she was naive—maybe willfully so. I thought she was too focused on the perfect wedding and blind to the harsh reality. Now? I wonder how much she’s willing to ignore in search of her perfect life.
“I understand you don’t like your family, Adair. And I know your father is…very difficult—”
“—that doesn’t begin to cover it—”
“—but it still doesn’t excuse your behavior. You’ve never had to do chores. Never had to work for anything. You may be able to treat everyone else like that, but not your family.” Her words suck the air out of my lungs. She is just like them. I can’t believe I never saw it before. “You’re just a brat,” she finishes with an exasperated sigh.
My arm spasms toward her, and my whole body jerks from the effort of stopping my hand from slapping her.