The Rehearsals

Begin as you mean to go on.

These were the words Tom and Megan spoke to each other every New Year’s Eve after kissing at midnight and before running like hell from whatever social event they’d agreed to attend while the rest of the party guests mumble-sang their way through “Auld Lang Syne.” Because every new year all Megan and Tom really wanted to do was hole up in their cozy apartment and spend the night feasting on cheese platters, champagne, and each other.

Begin as you mean to go on.

It was fitting, then, that these were the first words in Megan’s mind as she opened her eyes the day before her wedding. The thought was followed swiftly by a mental checklist she swatted away as she remembered that, at this point, all the details fell on the shoulders of the resort’s very capable wedding planner. He was responsible for five weddings this long weekend alone, the September holiday being a popular time for big events, so he could certainly handle the Givens/Prescott affair.

Megan luxuriated in the hotel linens for a moment more before swinging her legs around and padding across the chilly hardwood floor. The tile in the bathroom was heated. She made a beeline for it. When her toes got cold, they took forever to warm up again.

The complimentary fluffy white robe hung on the back of the bathroom door. She pulled it around her, put her slightly warmer feet into the accompanying slippers, and drew the curtains back on the expansive bay window, blinking in the bright light. Staying in the suite came with a myriad of perks; the view of Roche Harbor was her favorite.

It was early and yet there was movement outside already. Young children, still clad in pajamas, clutched towels and travel-size shampoos as they walked with their grown-ups across the wooden docks of the marina to the public showers.

From the window Megan could even see her grandparents’ rickety sailboat, Happy Accident, featuring an emerald-green hull in need of a paint job and rotting wood trim. The summers she’d spent here on that boat enveloped her, warming her more than the heated floor had, because sailing trips were a time of ultimate freedom. They were the rare moments when Megan’s secret sense of adventure could be indulged and she could give up being “the responsible one” for a while, knowing her gran was in charge.

That’s why she was here, back on the island she’d escaped to every summer with her family. While she’d grown up in Montana, somehow San Juan Island had felt more like home, and she’d always hoped it would be the place she’d get married.

Being here was perfect. She had everything she needed to throw the wedding she’d dreamed about for years. Save for her fiancé.

Megan checked her phone and felt a tingle of anticipation when she saw Tom had sent a message while she was still sleeping.

Plane landed. On my way to the ferry.

She smiled instinctively. Once they were on the same landmass again she’d feel even better. She sent him a text that read Tell that ferry driver to step on it along with a selfie, knowing he’d laugh at the way her bedhead made her look like a troll doll (“Only cuter,” he’d always add).

The faint beep of a key card carried through the door. That conniver, she thought with glee. He was here already, throwing her off with his “plane landed” texts. Megan dropped the curtain and was just about to drop her robe to surprise Tom with a little tasteful pre-wedding nudity when her mother burst into the suite. Megan quickly tightened her belt.

“I’ve heard Amazon can deliver same day, but every dress I’ve looked at says it ships in one to two weeks.” One hand on the small of her back, the other pressed against her chest, Donna Givens was living up to her reputation for overreacting.

Megan adopted the soothing tone she reserved for this woman who, despite birthing her, played the role of the child in their relationship. “Mom. What are you doing with a key to my room?”

“They gave you two at check-in, dear, really. I grabbed the second one.” She opened the curtains wider, blinding herself—and Megan—with the abrasive morning sunlight.

“The second one is for Tom.”

“Yes, well, Tom isn’t here, is he?” Donna took a seat on the chaise longue beside the fireplace. Her blazing hair could easily be mistaken for flames.

“He couldn’t miss his client dinner last night.” Megan’s tone was inching on defensive. She wasn’t happy about Tom’s delayed arrival either, but they both had demanding jobs and long ago had made a pact to allow work to come first when necessary. Having Tom hop on a red-eye and get here a little later was an easy compromise.

Donna sniffed, fiddling with the scarf around her neck. “Choosing work over wife. That’s Husband Number Three behavior.”

Megan bristled. And not just because it was behavior more reminiscent of Donna’s fourth husband (the workaholic who now had a picture-perfect family the next county over) than her third (the belligerent drunk she threw out after two weeks and often forgot she’d even married). She bristled because Tom wasn’t anything like the husbands and boyfriends cycling through Donna’s revolving door of paramours. Because, and this was more to the point, Megan wasn’t anything like Donna.

Megan toyed with her engagement ring, rubbing at it absentmindedly with her thumb. Tom worked a lot, but he wasn’t a workaholic. He’d simply had a dinner he couldn’t miss. She wasn’t sure why, and, truthfully, it’d felt as though Tom was skirting the issue when she’d inquired. Regardless, she trusted him. If he said the meeting was nonnegotiable, it was. “What were you saying about dresses and Amazon?”

“I need something to wear to the rehearsal dinner tonight.” Donna gazed out the window. “You can see Gran and Granddad’s boat from here.”

“I know. I saw.” Keeping her mother focused on her crisis long enough to solve it wasn’t a new battle for Megan, who quickly sorted through her long-accrued arsenal. She sat down beside her mother on the chaise, took both her hands, and waited for Donna’s attention to return.

Donna looked back.

“You have a dress,” Megan gently reminded her mother.

“I have an uninspired frock.” Donna reclaimed her hands and stood to pace the room. “It isn’t posh enough.”

“Why are you being British this morning?”

It was the wrong thing to say. Donna’s face reddened. When Megan’s mother fell into one of her erratic moods, it was best to put a stop to the spiral while it was nice and slow. Since Donna could rarely resist flattery, that was where Megan would start. “Mom, the dress is beautiful. You look beautiful in it. Wrap dresses make everyone look ten years younger.”

“I tried it on this morning and Gran…”

“What did Gran do?”

“She called me a floozy.”

“Gran once called Brianna and me floozies because we went to Seven-Eleven while wearing pajamas. Flannel pajamas,” Megan pointed out. Her grandmother was always butting heads with Donna, but Megan and her sister had long ago learned to laugh at the elderly woman’s stodgy sass. Besides, what Gran lacked in tact, she more than made up for in hugs and home-cooked meals, two things Donna didn’t excel at, and two things the girls had always craved.

For as long as Megan could remember, she’d been the emotional thermostat of the family. Her mother ran too hot, ricocheting between men who likewise boiled or were too cool, filling their home with fevers and chills. With both Megan’s siblings equally unreliable, it became her job to maintain the balance. Some days this was a more difficult task than others.

“Have you heard from Alistair yet?” Megan had two motives for asking about her brother. First, it would distract Donna, and second, Megan needed to let the restaurant know exactly how many people were attending the dinner that night.

Donna waved away the question. Her mother no longer bothered trying to keep tabs on Alistair. Instead, she chose to be demonstrably elated when she did see him and all but forgot his existence when she didn’t.

“He’s taking after his father more and more every day.” Donna inhaled deeply, as though she were the heroine of a story filled with unredeemable villains.

Donna had met Husband Number One, Alistair’s father, at a bonfire in high school. They fell in love when they were drunk, fell out of love when they sobered up, and had been repeating this pattern ever since. He was the one husband who kept returning, but as soon as Donna got attached, he’d make a break for I-15 and ride it out of Montana. Megan’s and Brianna’s father, also known as Husband Number Two, had been Donna’s rebound. Their marriage lasted long enough to bring the two girls into the world but ended shortly thereafter. Although their dad lived in Great Falls, Megan and Brianna never saw him. His lack of interest had inspired Megan’s own. She thought of him as rarely as he, apparently, thought of her.

Megan crossed the room to her mother and stroked her drugstore-dyed ginger hair. “Gran’s old-fashioned. I’m sure you look stunning in your dress.”

“Her criticisms are just one more thing on my plate this weekend.” Donna pouted as though she were the one getting married. This self-pitying face was usually accompanied by the line “Cheer me up, Moopy.” Megan beat her to it, pulling out more tools.

She hugged her mother. “You’re exquisite. The dress is perfection. I guarantee Tom’s mother will be jealous of how fabulous you look.”

Donna brightened, straightening up. “That’s it!”

“What?”

“You can go by and see Tom’s parents, just to check in because you’re such a thoughtful future daughter-in-law, and then you can ask Carol what she’s wearing tonight so I can follow suit.”

“I’m not—”

“I love you, Moopy.” Donna kissed Megan’s temple and dashed out the door, wiggling a goodbye with her fingers.

“I love you too, Mom.”

Feeling drained already, Megan shut the door behind her mother and glanced at the hotel’s alarm clock. At least Tom’s ferry was due to arrive soon. Showering could wait. She settled for spraying in some dry shampoo, arranging her hair into an artful topknot, and putting on a casual jersey-knit dress. Megan smiled as she added the final touch: the delicate filigree chain and heart pendant she’d laid on the dresser the night before. It was the first gift Tom had ever given her, back when they were eighteen. It’d been a bit on the nose for Valentine’s Day, but Tom had picked it out all by himself, hoping and believing he had achieved the height of romance.

And he had.

The vulnerable, earnest look on his face when she’d opened the box caused her chest to ache with an overwhelming need to make him as happy as he’d just made her.

Later he’d admitted it was the first present he’d ever given to a girl. Megan was a first for him in a lot of ways.

She hadn’t worn the necklace in years but she’d pulled it out for this weekend to remind them both of how they’d fallen for each other in a beautifully clumsy and all-encompassing way. Looking at it gleaming against her collarbones, Megan was surprised by how quickly it carried her back in time.

She’d met Tom their freshman year in Natural Disasters, a science class they’d each chosen because it was an easy A. From day one, she’d found herself stealing glances at the guy with a sexy sensible haircut and strong jaw who smiled and laughed readily. Yes, he was objectively good-looking—very good-looking—but there was something more, something intrinsically gentle and endearing about him; when she looked at him, she’d felt as if an invisible thread connected them.

The second week, she’d forgone her usual spot in the back and deliberately sat five rows down. Right beside him.

He’d smiled shyly.

She’d joked that, if given a noogie and some red lipstick, their professor would be the spitting image of Robert Smith from the Cure. He immediately got the reference, and they spent the remaining half hour writing their favorite lyrics from “Just Like Heaven” and “Pictures of You” in the margins of each other’s notebooks, and her life had never been the same.

From that day on, Megan and Tom were practically inseparable. They went to lunch together every day and picked food off each other’s plates. They played Frisbee on the quad. They took the long route to their classes, fall leaves sweeping around them. Megan soon felt Tom’s permanence in her life. It seemed as though he’d been there forever, even when he hadn’t; as though he would continue to be there forever now that he was.

While they’d come a long way from those carefree early days, they’d felt married for as long as they’d been together, so they’d never been in any rush to corral their two divisive families into one overhyped weekend. But now, after twelve years together, they were making it official. Something about turning thirty felt right, a next step to mark all that they’d shared—and perhaps for once to bring their two worlds together.

Rubbing the pendant affectionately between her thumb and index finger, Megan grabbed the keys to the rental car and headed out to meet her fiancé.

But first, she would swing by the Prescott suite to do some dress reconnaissance. When she knocked and no one answered, Megan felt a bit relieved and decided she’d grab breakfast while half-heartedly looking for Carol. The resort was small enough that locating her future mother-in-law wouldn’t be a challenge.

On summer weekends, local artisans and vendors flocked to Roche Harbor for an elegant market held just outside the hotel. It was one of Megan’s favorite things about the island, a way to connect to the people who lived here and to memories of summers past. Today, the salt air was invigorating and there was just a hint left over of the morning chill. Megan stopped at two booths to pick up some scones and coffee, and, sure enough, she spotted Tom’s mother doing the same.

“Good morning, Carol.” Megan had been with Tom for years, but somehow every conversation with John and Carol made her feel like Bambi struggling to his feet for the first time. She carefully plastered on an easygoing grin.

Carol, who was carrying a small bag bearing the distinct butter stains of pastries, responded with a pinched smile. “Megan, darling, I just got word that the wedding rehearsal isn’t going to be held this afternoon. When do you intend to have it? After dinner? That sounds terribly inconvenient.”

Of course the first words out of her mouth were a complaint. Megan smiled tightly. “There was a scheduling conflict with the hotel, but the wedding planner said we could just skip the rehearsal—he’ll make sure we’re all in the right places at the right time.”

“Mmm.” Carol clearly didn’t approve. “Anyway, what are you doing here? I’m sure you have a thousand details you should be checking on.” Somehow Carol could sound simultaneously curt and gracious. It threw Megan off even more. Carol was petite and dainty, from the tiny jut of her chin to her size 5 shoes, but Megan knew a formidable giant slumbered underneath.

“There’s always time for freshly made scones!” Megan immediately knew she was being too effusive. The Prescotts did not respond well to effusive. In a more restrained tone, she said, “I was just on my way to meet Tom’s ferry.”

“How lovely. Though I believe he has a golf game scheduled with the boys this morning?”

“The boys” were Tom’s dad and brother. Both decades too old to be referred to as such.

“I know. I promise I won’t interfere. I just wanted to see him before we’re both in the thick of it today.” When Carol made no move to respond, Megan found herself babbling to fill the millisecond of silence. “Isn’t this place gorgeous?”

“It is. Shame it takes two planes and a ferry to get here.” Carol gave Megan the once-over. “What’s on your feet, dear? Are those the hotel slippers?”

They weren’t, in fact. “No, these are just some sandals I brought.”

“Mmm.” Carol’s nose wrinkled as though Megan had broken wind. “Anyway, I won’t keep you, but before you run off, did you remember to rearrange the seating at tonight’s dinner so my tennis friends could sit a bit closer to John and me?”

“Yes. I took care of it.” It’d meant moving Megan’s aunt and uncle, whom she adored, farther away, but she’d done it. “I’ll double-check just to make sure.”

“Good girl.” Carol air-kissed Megan on each cheek as she said goodbye.

Once Megan was safely in the rental car, flushed from the humiliation she always seemed to feel in Carol’s company, she realized she’d forgotten to ask Carol what she would be wearing that night. She made an educated guess and sent a text off to her mother:

Muted color. Not interesting. You’ll look so much more sensational.

With the fire of her mother’s dress drama extinguished, she could relax. A slow smile crawled across her face. She was marrying her perfect man in the seaside town she loved. Everything would only get better from here.