JULY 18 Dear Mr. Knightley,
I just got back from Constance’s wedding. There were over six hundred people there. Mrs. Walker said, “Everyone who’s anyone is here”—so I wondered, did we bump into each other? With your own foundation, you must qualify as someone.
The ceremony was held in the Fifth Avenue Presbyterian Church, and the reception filled the Peninsula Hotel. It was spectacular . . . the quintessential fairy-tale wedding.
Mrs. Walker was at her finest and clearly relished every moment. She had on the most beautiful navy dress with diamonds and sapphires dripping all over her. And her smile was radiant. It was like she had planned and lived for this culminating shining evening, and it answered all her dreams. Maybe she had and maybe it did. At one point I wondered if she was trying to outshine the bride, but who competes with her own daughter? And on her wedding day?
Ashley was the maid of honor in a beige/gold-toned dress. She looked like a glass of champagne from her blond hair to her dyed shoes. Each bridesmaid wore the same dress, but carried different flowers. The other five girls held small bouquets full of strong colors. Ashley held Peruvian lilies and Constance held a tight bouquet of white lilies. I love lilies. They are the most perfect flowers—so strong, yet infinitely detailed and delicate. I once looked them up at the library, and all that information flooded back during the wedding. I wondered if the florist was oblivious or possessed a sharp sense of humor.
Ashley’s bouquet: Peruvian lilies—the symbol of friendship and devotion.
Constance’s bouquet: White lilies—chastity and virtue. No comment.
Bradley’s boutonniere: A single bold white stargazer lily—sympathy.
Mr. Walker’s boutonniere: A lone pink stargazer—wealth and prosperity.
One must admit—that’s funny. And while they are most often associated with funerals, the beauty and innocence lilies represent felt perfect for the wedding. And the fragrance floated through the entire church, for a small bouquet was tied to the end of every fourth pew. It was exquisite.
I arrived Friday and went straight to the rehearsal dinner. Ashley looked shredded. I gather Mrs. Walker had provided her with a date of “suitable income and good family,” and Ashley was ticked. Mrs. Walker didn’t offer me the same service and seated me as ninth at a table for eight. I got the message, but I was there for Ashley so I let it slide off.
The next day was chaos: hair appointments, makeup, brunch with all the women invited (at least three hundred of us), then photographs. I trailed Ashley for support. She knew the other bridesmaids, but clearly wasn’t good friends with them. They all reminded me of Constance in her more vapid moments. Their conversations and concerns never dipped below the packaging.
But they all looked great in that champagne color, and I’ll give them this—not one of them said a mean or catty thing about the wedding. They were insipid, but not unkind. What could one criticize? Constance glowed and Bradley looked equally thrilled. Mrs. Walker looked tense at first entering the church on Saturday, but soon relaxed under the warm glow of adoration and praise.
And Ashley found Owen, her very suitable date, another young lady with whom to dance. So all went well, and everyone seemed pleased. Ashley and I ended the evening sitting at our table, admiring the whole affair and toasting that we weren’t in the limelight.
“I ate my weight in appetizers tonight.”
Ashley threw me a glance. “Not hard to do.” She returned her gaze to the dance floor.
“I see that Will’s here,” I said.
Ashley followed my stare. I expected her to light up, but she only nodded.
“I saw him earlier. He called last week.”
“He called you?”
“He’s called a few times. That was the first one I answered. I wanted to be done, Sam—odd that he’s calling now. He looks nice tonight, doesn’t he?”
“He always does.” I paused and decided to ask. “Is he a good guy, Ash?” I didn’t want someone playing with her emotions. I envisioned Josh and Logan.
“He is. That’s why I adored him for so long. He’s one of the good guys.” I couldn’t tell if she sounded disappointed or resigned, but this wasn’t the place to dig, so I let it go.
We sipped our champagne and watched the world dip and twirl around us. Constance changed from her bridal gown into a lovely pale pink suit, and the happy couple left in a shower of rose petals and sparklers. They’re off now on a “European tour.” I couldn’t help but think of Amy March from Little Women. Constance isn’t so different from Amy: she loves beautiful things and is quite tenacious about acquiring them. But I think, like Amy, she truly loves her family and her new husband. She gave Ashley the sweetest hug as she fled to the limo. They both had tears in their eyes.
I left Ashley at brunch this morning and headed for the airport. She had a huge smile and super-bright eyes, and seemed happier than I’ve seen her in a long time. Maybe this moving forward is working for her. She’s doing what she loves, living in her own rented apartment, and generally stepping out on her own. I noticed her mother left her alone more this weekend too. She seemed to respect Ash more, and didn’t talk down to her or across her. She reserved that for me, but that was okay. Everyone needs an outlet.
So the summer progresses, and I have exactly one month left at the Tribune. I already dread the last day, because I’m moving forward too. I hop off the Metra every morning with the biggest grin on my face, take a deep breath, and know I’m stepping into my best dream. I never imagined this. Even Josh seems a distant memory.
I also upped my running and think I’ll try the Chicago Marathon again. It’s been a couple years and I’d like to give it a go. Besides, with all the food Alex feeds me, I need the exercise. We get together most days now, and tomorrow we head to the café at the Art Institute. I’ve no idea what horror he plans for Cole inside those walls, but I want to peek around the galleries before lunch.
I laughed at Kyle this evening because he’s running more too, but not for sheer enjoyment. Coach Ridley told him about passing the foster parenting classes. They’re now awaiting judicial approval, and Kyle is beside himself with anticipation. The poor kid runs each day to calm his nerves. A ruling should have come weeks ago, but there was a hang-up, so Kyle waits—and runs.
I’m off for a run too,
Sam