The Bookish Life of Nina Hill - Abbi Waxman Page 0,69

far, so good.

Clare studied the board. “Where are you?” Nina, looking over her head, quickly spotted her name.

“I’m on rug fourteen. With . . .”—she read out some names—“Mike and Angie, Eloise and Frances, and Frances and Michael.” She smiled at the little girl. “Two Franceses?”

Clare nodded. “They’re easy to tell apart. One is bigger than the other.”

“But if they’re both called Frances then I can use the same name for both, right?”

“Yes,” she said. “Because they’re easy to tell apart.”

There comes a point with young children, Nina had learned, where it was best to say OK and walk away.

“It’s a good rug,” said Clare, like a maître d’ leading a guest to a special table. “They’re garden club people, apart from the other Frances, who’s a friend of my mom’s.”

Nina arranged her features in a friendly expression, getting ready to be introduced to strangers. For some reason, she wasn’t feeling as anxious about it as usual. There was something about being outside that kind of gave you more room. Perhaps she should move into a tent.

“Hi, Clare,” said a larger, older woman who was sitting on the rug Nina and Clare were clearly approaching. “I thought you were a bridesmaid.”

“I am,” said Clare.

“Well, shouldn’t you be getting ready?”

“I am ready.”

Both the lady and Nina looked at Clare, who was, Nina realized, wearing Peppa Pig pajamas with a long pink slip over the top. The kind of slip Elizabeth Taylor wore in Cat on a Hot Tin Roof; the kind with lacy bits and straps.

“And very nice you look, too,” said another woman, who looked vaguely familiar. “I bet that’s your favorite dress.”

“It is,” beamed Clare, glad someone was on the ball this evening. She turned back to Nina. “These are the Franceseses.” She stumbled over the pronunciation, and tried again. “Francesssess. Franceses.” She sighed. “They have the same name.”

Both women smiled. The older one reached up a hand. “I’m Frances from Gardening Club,” she said. “This is my wife, Eloise.” Another lady who looked pretty similar to her waved lazily.

“And I’m Frances from school,” said the other one. “Don’t you work at Knight’s, on Larchmont?”

“Yes,” said Nina, “I’m Nina Hill,” and she reached out and carefully shook both their hands.

Frances-from-school beamed. “I’ve seen you there lots of times, of course. I live around the corner, and my kids and I are there at least once a week.”

Nina recognized her now. In Nina’s head she was “nonfiction and parenting” because those were the books she bought, and her kids were (she thought hard, and placed them) young adult, early chapter and picture books, respectively. This Frances was the kind of woman who made you feel welcome, even if you were both in a strange situation. She was wearing jeans and a hooded sweatshirt, which was an odd choice for a wedding, but the invitation had said “wear whatever you want.” Frances caught her looking and grinned.

“I don’t know Rachel, the bride, very well, but I know Lili, and she assured me Rachel really didn’t give a fig what people wore. So I went with a clean version of what I wear every day, because it makes me comfortable.” She looked around. “And I guess I’m not the only one.”

It was true. People were dressed in everything from cocktail dresses and black tie to, in at least one case Nina could see, footie pajamas. On an adult.

Clare had already run off to do her bridesmaid thing, and presently a voice could be heard over a loudspeaker.

“OK, people.” It was Lili. “We’re going to do this thing, so try and find a rug, yours preferably, but any is fine, and let’s get these folks married. Rachel has insisted that everyone stay on their butts while she walks through, because she says she intends to dawdle.”

Frances leaned over. “Isn’t this fun? The camel was a lovely touch.”

“I heard they spit,” muttered the other Frances. “Ten dollars someone gets it in the eye before the evening is out.”

“I’ll take that bet,” said a man who was lounging on the other side of the rug, presumably Frances’s husband, Michael.

But Nina wasn’t listening. She was looking at Rachel the bride, who was incredibly beautiful, wearing a vintage ’70s cream linen suit, and looking like a million bucks. She was making her way across the meadow, with Clare and Annabel behind her, wearing their favorite outfits and no shoes. Nina realized the haphazard arrangement of rugs was actually a way for Rachel to pass by each one