Notes From the Backseat (21 page)

She laughed. “Every wedding needs a scandal! Otherwise nobody will remember it.”

I touched a finger to her nose. “You'll remember it.”

Her smile was radiant. “You're right,” she said. “I'll always remember it. And none of it would have happened without you.”

“That's not true.”

“It is! You were like my Lamaze coach, man. I was ready to just throw the towel in, and you totally talked me down. Seriously. Thank you.”

I shrugged. “It wasn't a big deal.”

“It was. But I won't argue because I know you're stubborn as shit.” She tilted her head in the direction of the house. “You ready to go back?”

I sighed, felt for my notebook inside my clutch. “I think I'm going to take a few minutes, try to gather myself. Is my makeup a mess?”

“Not at all. Might want a new coat of lipstick, though.”

Look at that; half a day of beauty coaching and the girl's an expert.

I couldn't go back to the guests yet. No amount of lipstick was going to camouflage my acute shame. I'd let the green-eyed demon possess me and I felt dirty inside, coated with the thick grime of my own inadequacy.

Joni lingered a moment, standing in the cool dark of the forest. Evening shadows were starting to gather and they pooled on the elegant curve of her naked scalp, turning it vaguely blue. “Listen,” she said, “I'm going to tell you something you told me, okay?”

I grinned, knowing what was coming.

“We are not our parents.” She enunciated each word slowly and deliberately. “Should I say it again?”

“No,” I whispered. “I got it.”

“Good,” she said. “Don't take too long, okay? We're going to cut the cake soon.”

I nodded. “Thanks.”

She grinned. “Just returning the favor.”

When she was gone, I dug out my notebook, and I've been curled up here on the forest floor ever since. With my luck, I'll get pine sap on my rayon; just one more humiliating detail added to an ego-destroying day. I was hoping I'd gain a little perspective if I confessed my sins. I don't know, though. I'm afraid reviewing the whole fiasco's only made me more embarrassed. I mean Dannika had it coming—she's satanic and must be destroyed—but Coop doesn't need my petty threats. What if he forced me to choose between you and him? I'd definitely ditch him. (Well, okay, first I'd get in some searing-hot, torturous breakup sex,
then
I'd ditch him.)

Got to sign off. Apparently, I've got a rigorous schedule of groveling ahead.

Your stupid, stupid friend,
Gwen

Midnight

 

D
ear Marla,

When I finally came out of the woods, the guests were almost all sitting down. Someone had laid out ten huge picnic blankets in the meadow, each in a different brilliant jewel tone. It was a very beautiful scene. The bar was slammed, cheeks were flushed, eyes were bright and everyone was chowing down on the main course: meat kabobs for the carnivores, tofu for the herbivores, fluffy couscous and garlicky green beans for all. Towheaded kids zoomed about, toddlers trailed behind on chubby legs, babies cried. Iridescent dragonflies competed with gnats for airspace. I was so emotional and sleep-deprived at that point, I got misty-eyed just standing there.

Joni saw me lingering at the edge of the meadow and came over. “Are you okay?” She looked worried.

“It's just so…human…and g-good,” I stammered, waving expansively at the meadow, knowing I wasn't making much sense.

Joni took it in stride. “I know,” she said. “It is, isn't it? Listen, I think maybe you need a drink.”

“Please,” I agreed.

We went to the bar, a couple of long folding tables where Ohm was filling up flutes of champagne and pouring mean vodka tonics for a gaggle of nubile, starry-eyed girls. They were vying for his attention, but he just smiled benignly at all of them, refusing to play favorites. I could see him tugging rather obviously at his “wedding” ring, but the girls just went on giggling.
Isn't that just like us?
I thought.
We're irresistibly drawn to the ones who are bound to break our hearts.

When Ohm caught sight of Joni and me, he finished pouring and cried out, “Here she is—the Goddess of Monogamy and her demigoddess Gwen.”

The girls looked behind them and, seeing as they could hardly pick a fight with the bride, reluctantly moved on.

“What, I'm only a demigoddess?” I pouted as Ohm handed me the most beautiful flute of golden liquid I'd ever seen.

“Don't be a brat,” he said. “You know it's bad luck to upstage the bride.”

“It's not possible,” I told him, smiling at Joni. “She's un-upstageable.”

Glasses in hand, we turned around and surveyed the seating arrangement. Coop was nowhere in sight, neither was Dannika. I'll admit, that made my heart catch for a fraction of a second, but I caught myself just in time.

No more psycho jealousy.

After all, that's what had gotten me into this mess in the first place. Not that Dannika hadn't done what she could to fan the fires, but I couldn't blame it all on her. I'd been suspicious and nosey from the very beginning, with a long history of bailing on men just because they showed a glimmer of interest in the female gender at large. It was a tragic character flaw, and if I ever wanted to make it past the three-month mark with anyone, I'd have to get a grip. I didn't know if things were salvageable with Coop, but I hoped they might be. He was the first guy I really wanted to change for, and if he dumped me, I might just backslide to my old, psycho-jealous self.

“Gwen? Gwen?”

“Huh?”

Joni's brow furrowed as she studied my face. “You were really spaced out, there. Are you sure you're okay? Do you want to go lie down or something?”

“No, girl, are you crazy? This is your nuptial feast. I wouldn't miss it.”

“I don't see Coop,” she said, a little apologetic. “Want to come sit with Phil and me?”

“Sure. I'd be honored.”

We got our plates of food, then made our way through the meadow until we reached the sapphire-blue blanket where Phil was kicking back, drinking a bottle of Corona. I didn't get a good look at the guy he was talking to until we were halfway there and it was too late to turn around. It was my father. He and Phil were obviously locked in some sort of heated discussion. I decided to bite the bullet and took my seat next to Joni, uneasy but figuring it was best to get this over with.

My father's eyes slid over Joni and landed on my face. “Hey,” he said. “How's it going?” There was something so vulnerable in the lines around his eyes and the curve of his chapped lips. He looked sad and sorry and hopeful all at once. I guess it was lack of food, lack of sleep, the first flush of a champagne buzz, but in that moment I felt nothing but an overwhelming empathy. He tried. He was human. I mean, yes, he screwed up and he wasn't a model parent, but I knew right then that he loved me. The longer I went on hating him, refusing to take his calls, the longer I denied myself the pleasures of a father.

“It's going okay,” I said. “You?”

He sort of tilted his head back and forth. “I've been better,” he said, “but I've also been worse.”

“Hey, Gwen.” Phil tapped a cigarette from his pack. “I just met your old man, here. You never mentioned you're the descendant of an anarchist.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Well, I am.”

My father and I exchanged a look. His said,
I never meant to hurt you.
Mine said,
I'll get over it.

“He's the bomb, man.” Phil was excited, and possibly a little drunk. He lit his cigarette and said to Joni, “He wrote
No Priests or Politicians
and
The Anarchist's Guide to the Twenty-first Century.
It's like a dream come true, having this guy at my wedding.”

Dad glanced around shyly. “Glad I could oblige.”

Kelly came over with a paper plate in one hand and sat down next to Dad, popped a shrimp into his mouth. When she saw me she smiled. “Hi, Gwen. Great food, huh? You look lovely, by the way.”

I'm always amazed at how quickly the social fabric mends its little tears. When I was a teenager, I used to resent it—the way you could throw a tantrum and as soon as it was over, everyone would stoically pretend it hadn't happened. That sort of thing used to give me the creeps. At the moment, though, looking into Kelly's pretty green eyes, I was grateful for the elasticity of it all; I was free to be a freak now and then, if necessary, and the world would revert to the status quo soon enough.

“Thanks,” I said. “So do you.”

“You know, your dad and I were just talking about having you visit sometime soon. Especially since you've got friends here already.”

I smiled at Joni, then at Kelly and Dad. “Yeah,” I said. “That would be cool.”

We made small talk for the rest of the meal. I kept an eye out for Coop, but he was nowhere in sight. I told myself to eat, but I couldn't get much down, even though it was completely delicious. Something inside me just wouldn't relax. I craved Coop, ached for him in my bones. It was torture.

As the sun was just starting to slide behind the trees and Joni's dad was lighting the tiki torches, I heard glasses being tapped for a toast. The cake had already been cut, and people were starting to transition from champagne to coffee. Joni's mom stood first. She appropriated one of the mikes from the band, who had stopped playing long enough to eat. She looked nervous, like she wanted to get it over with. She told a funny story about Joni as a baby and wrapped it up with some tender praise for Phil. It was short but sweet. Then one person after another took the mike, most of them spouting clichés about lasting happiness, how Joni and Phil were so perfect for each other and would never be apart. A thick-necked guy in a flannel shirt made a reference to the “Army of table dancers,” that descended on the Tip Top last night. Joni and I both covered our faces and everyone roared with laughter. Evidently, our performance had been witnessed by at least a few of the guests assembled and talked about by the rest.

I stood up, thinking I'd get myself one last glass of champagne. As I crossed the meadow, I saw Coop standing at the bar. Ohm was pouring him a drink and he was laughing at something. I paused, trying to get my bearings, wondering if I should go over there, when all of a sudden someone was shoving a mike into my hand. I guess I must have lingered near the woman who was speaking for too long and she thought I was waiting my turn. As soon as I had the mike, several drunk guys who were splayed out in the tall grass near the trees let loose with catcalls and, “Take it off, baby!” Now I had everyone's attention. I swallowed hard and stared down at the mike.

You know I hate public speaking—I mean
loathe
it with a vengeance. In high school, I used to hide in the bathroom when it was time to give oral reports. And here I was, in front of two hundred people, at least a handful of whom had seen me strip down to my underwear in a seedy bar the night before. I could feel my face blooming pink and hot; my fingers tingled; my mouth went dry. I was about to thrust the mike at someone—anyone—when I happened to look up and catch Coop's eye. That's when I realized that this was my chance. I could tell him, in front of witnesses, through an amplifier, how I felt. Maybe, if I said it just right, he'd forgive me.

“So…” My own voice rang in my ears, sounding impossibly loud and detached. I felt dizzy, light-headed, my palms so sweaty I feared the large, clumsy microphone would slip right through my grip and land in the grass. I was entirely capable of fainting, right then, and it occurred to me in some distant control center of my brain that falling to the ground unconscious would almost certainly excuse me from the task at hand. Then I heard my old refrain amplified inside my skull:
What Would Jackie Do?
The answer was plain, so I grabbed hold of the mike with both hands and stood up a little taller. One of the derelicts at the edge of the forest called out, “Show us your panties, baby!” I saw Joni's grandparents frowning at each other quizzically.

“Actually, sir?” I looked pointedly at the guy in the baseball cap who'd just called out. “I think you're confused. The tradition is a garter toss, not a pantie toss, but since you're so eager to participate, I'm sure the bride will oblige you shortly.” Everyone laughed and some clapped. The guy tipped his baseball cap slightly as if to say, “Touché.” I took courage from this and plowed ahead. “I'm not sure what can be added to the toasts already made. Obviously, we're all very happy for Joni and Phil—happy enough to get good and drunk on their future.” More laughs. I glanced at Coop, but his eyes unnerved me, so I fixed my stare on the huge blond beehive of Phil's aunt.

“Unfortunately, the future isn't all that easy to navigate. We'd like to send them off into the sunset, certain their love will last, except we all know life gets complicated. There'll be dentist bills and taxes, midlife crises and temptation. The divorce rate is catastrophically high, single parenthood even higher and all of this is compounded by the rising cost of living, inflated real estate, endemic dissatisfaction with the workplace, a lack of socialized medicine….” People were starting to frown and raise their eyebrows. Only my father was beaming proudly. I had to get back on track. “Not to mention a general lack of commitment to purchasing quality lingerie.” That got a lot of laughs—relieved guffaws, mostly. As long as I stuck with panties, they seemed to like me. “Joni, I want you to remember, no matter how hard times get, your underwear drawer should be stocked with only the best.” She gave me the thumbs-up sign and everyone cheered.

I knew it was time to wind down—nobody likes a mike hog—but I still hadn't said what I needed to say. “My point is…” I looked at my father. He was smiling uneasily now. I think he was afraid I'd back off from my political stance and get mushy. “My point is that many of us grew up with less than perfect childhoods, and—frankly—we're terrified of marriage. But, as a very wise woman recently reminded me,” I looked at Joni, “We're not our parents. They tried and, okay, maybe their lives weren't always perfect, but the great thing is, they had the courage to make their own mistakes. Now it's our turn to go out and make ours.” I looked at Coop. His eyes were fastened on my face, and for a moment it was just us there in that meadow; everyone else blurred and faded out. “I've made plenty of mistakes already. But the worst one I can imagine is being too scared to give love a chance, especially when you've found the man who makes the risk worth it.”

I raised my glass, which was empty, but oh well. “To Joni and Phil,” I said. “May they love each other forever and damn the statistics to hell.” Everyone drank and cheered and clapped. I nodded in thanks and handed the mike to a fat man in suspenders sporting the ubiquitous long gray ponytail.

I was emboldened by the apparent success of my toast as I crossed the meadow and headed toward Coop. The fat guy started rambling on about Phil's heroic actions at an Earth First! protest. By the time I ambled up to the bar, a debilitating shyness seized me.

“Hi,” Coop said when I reached him. “That was really…”

“What?” I said. “Really what?”

“Great!” He smiled. “Seriously. I was…” He shrugged hopelessly, as if words failed him.

“Oh my God, what?” I covered my face with my hands.

He peeled them away gently. “I was very moved,” he said. “And no, I'm not being sarcastic.”

“I didn't see you earlier…?”

He nodded. “I was trying to get my head on straight.”