Review copy provided free by the author
Feels and Reveals, For Reals
Where do I even start? I think I was pre-disposed to love Annette Christie’s adult debut, The Rehearsals, out today. I live in the Pacific Northwest, I’ve been to the San Juan Islands and I love a good time loop. (Did you read Christina Lauren’s In a Holidaze?) I mean, who’d pass up the chance to do something over or differently, if you didn’t get it right the first time?
Except in The Rehearsals, for Megan and Tom, it’s not exactly about do-overs. On Wedding Eve, the universe peels back the layers on their 10+ year relationship. This is their chance to examine and fix what got them to where they are, as they relive their rehearsal dinner day, just before their wedding in the San Juans.
Upfront, this is not a rom-com, it’s domestic fiction/contemporary fiction with a romantic relationship at its center. You run the gamut of emotions with Megan and Tom. They are messy! They are flawed. But they aren’t fundamentally bad people. Controlling and/or dysfunctional families and old secrets stand between them. They both make bad (read: dealbreaker!) decisions. At times you want to shake both of them, and say, C’mon, stop! Think about what you’re doing! But the truth is, Annette Christie kept me rooting for them through every new loop.
What I loved is that The Rehearsals is it’s about self-discovery as much as it’s about Megan and Tom’s relationship with each other. And it’s told in alternating POV (third person). A clever way of telegraphing both of them are culpable for where they’ve ended up. That’s just one of the things that made me love this book. The Rehearsals is smart and real and wonderful. And there’s character growth and self-awareness! And in the end, The Rehearsals hit me. Right in the feels. Yes, there were tears. Happy ones.
4 stars
P.S. Play the song mentioned in the final chapter while reading it. As Megan once said to Tom, “A good lyric simultaneously tells a story and makes you feel as though someone’s drop-kicked your heart into your throat.” Yep.
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EXCERPT:
From the book The Rehearsals by Annette Christie. Copyright © 2021 by Annette Christie. Reprinted by permission of Little, Brown and Company, New York, NY. All rights reserved.
CHAPTER ONE
Megan
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 hard- wood 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 atthe 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 rela- tionship. “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.”
(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 absent- mindedly 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
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 week- end.” 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 read- ily. 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 sum- mers 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.
CHAPTER TWO
Tom
TOM WOKE UP to the bloated belch of the ferry’s foghorn and an announcement welcoming passengers to Friday Harbor. This was followed by a cheerful “Good morning, sunshine” from the man sitting next to him, who bore a striking resemblance to Henry Winkler. “Morning,” Tom replied, his voice scratchy, and nodded. A searing pain shot from the base of his head through the muscles under his shoulder blades.
He was accustomed to waking up to music; without it, he felt a bit lost. Every night he and Megs agreed on a new song to use as an alarm for the next morning. Music had always been a piece of their relationship, from the first day they’d met. He still remembered the way her face had lit up when she’d written down lines from her favorite song by the Cure and said, “A good lyric simultaneously tells a story and makes you feel as though someone’s drop-kicked your heart into your throat.”
He was still a bit proud to remember his smooth reply: “So does a good conversation.”
Megs told him later that was the moment she’d fallen for him, which he’d loved. That charged moment between them was when he’d fallen for her too.
Waking up alone on a boat with a crick in his neck was not how he wanted to start their wedding weekend. Neither was flying in the middle of the night just so he could make his tee time with his father and Brody. But as his old man liked to say, “Choose your sacrifices, son.”
This usually preceded him telling Tom precisely which sacrifices to make. Case in point: he’d put Tom on the dinner with the stiffs from Prescott and Prescott’s latest Big Pharma pet, telling Tom it was time to prove his commitment to being a mergers and acquisitions man, even though Tom was getting married less than forty-eight hours later.
Tom’s exhaustion was so overwhelming, he barely even remembered landing in Seattle before dawn and catching the shuttle to the ferry.
He rubbed a hand over his stubble and his tongue over his teeth. He needed a shower and a toothbrush. A gallon of potent coffee was also in order. Rolling his head from side to side in an attempt to soothe his neck pain, Tom calmed himself down the best way he knew: by thinking of Megs. With hectic work schedules and the wedding planning, they’d struggled to see much of each other lately and had resorted to leaving little notes around their apartment. Before Tom left for the airport, he’d found a charmingly cheesy one in his underwear drawer: This underwear will look great . . . on the floor of our hotel room. He couldn’t wait to show her just how much he agreed.
But thoughts of Megs also brought a rising wave of anxiety. Because there was more he needed to tell her today than “I love you.” After the client dinner last night, he knew putting it off was no longer an option.
He moved to loosen the tie he’d forgotten he’d long ago removed and tried to convince himself that talking to her now, today, wasn’t too little too late. She was Megs. Supportive, warm, rational.
And, really, this was good news.
She’d probably even be happy. He’d tell her first thing and they could celebrate this afternoon, well before the rehearsal dinner was under way.
His thoughts were interrupted by a small lurch forward indicating they’d arrived. Tom squirted drops into his bloodshot eyes (free sample a spouse of one of the Big Pharma execs had passed under the table the night before, whispering, “You look tired”).
But once he was off the ferry, every annoyance and pain melted away. The sun was bright above him, the ocean below a magnificent indigo. He’d been to San Juan Island only a handful of times before. With every visit, he understood more and more why the place meant so much to Megs. It was painted with a palette of greens. It seemed alive. Magical. It was a place of solitude, within arm’s reach of the real world, yet free from it. Everything breathed a little easier here, including Tom himself, who often struggled to relax.
He inhaled a great healthy gust of sea air and spotted Megs waving to him unabashedly with one hand, holding a tray of coffee in the other. He dropped his luggage and, careful not to spill the drinks, hugged her as though he hadn’t seen her in months. When he smelled the familiar scent of her shampoo, his stomach dipped in a pleasant way. Somehow, even after twelve years, he still had such a crush on her. Megs was quick-witted and kind. Ambitious and gorgeous. She loved to watch terrible movies because they made her laugh, and she listened to songs for the poetry of their lyrics, not just for their melodies. Who wouldn’t have a crush on her?
With her body close, he felt something press up against his clavicle. He released her, and his eyes went straight to the heart pendant.
At the time he’d bought it, he’d convinced himself it was the perfect sophisticated gift to show her how he felt. Seeing it now years later, he realized it wasn’t quite as elegant as his eighteen-year-old self had thought. But for Megs to wear it anyway made his heart twist in his chest.
“I like your necklace.” He tilted her chin up for a quick kiss. “I like your face.” She kissed him back.
Still holding their coffee, she managed to grab the garment bag he’d abandoned on the wooden planks of the docks. Now that their reunion was over, an uneasiness crept into Tom. He tried hard to pretend it didn’t exist.
Just as they reached the sidewalk, a pedicab pulled up at the curb. The driver was a woman with long, silvery hair and leg muscles that were more impressive than his own.
“Fancy a ride, you two? Where are you heading?” “We’re good, thanks.” Megs jingled her car keys.
Tom took out his phone, which had been struggling to locate a signal, and found it lit up with texts and missed calls. Megan took hers out too, likely to ensure she hadn’t received any time-sensitive e-mails from work. She was supposed to have the next two weeks off, like Tom, but her job was as relentless as his own.
Tom pressed the icon for his voice mail and was greeted by his brother’s voice.
“It’s Brody. We’re already at the tee, Spare Parts. Get here now.
Get here five minutes ago.”
“Spare Parts.” The nickname that wouldn’t die. Tom didn’t know who’d first coined it, who’d first claimed that was why his parents had him—just in case their golden first child needed a kidney or something—but it had stuck.
“Is it just me or is that baby unusually hairy?” Megs tugged at his sleeve to get his attention, tucking her phone back into her bag. Tom turned his head, cursing under his breath at the stiffness in his neck, just in time to see a man wearing an enormous fishing hat and a baby carrier pass by.
Inside the carrier was a cat.
Megs was pursing her mouth so tightly to stop from laughing, her lips turned white. They shared his favorite kind of look; a The world is insane but at least we have each other kind of look, which gave way to laughter as soon as the cat man was out of earshot.
“Let’s go to Roche and get you checked in,” Megs said. “Your mom seemed adamant that I not interfere with your golf game this morning.”
He smothered the nagging feeling of guilt at leaving her to deal with both their families on her own. Megs could handle it. And she’d handle it efficiently. He and Megs had long ago made a silent pact not to criticize each other’s families, and he continued to adhere to that promise—regardless of how badly he often wanted to tell Donna off for the way she treated Megs.
“Sounds good.” He put a hand on the small of her back as they walked to the car. “I’m desperate for a shower.”
The drive from Friday Harbor to Roche was short. Megs talked about her mom’s morning freak-out (par for the course), which she had clearly handled with grace (also par for the course). Tom uncomfortably shrugged off her subsequent questions about the client dinner. He tried to figure out how to broach his news— should he give it to her with the tried-and-true I’ve got good news and bad news, or should he just come out with it?
With Megs already parking the car, he began to panic and decided on option B. He had to just say it already.
“Megs, I—” he began at the same time her phone started chirp- ing relentlessly. She didn’t even hear him as she scrolled through a series of texts.
“Damn it. I have to go deal with my sister. I’m supposed to meet her in the lobby.” Her topknot was already losing shape, tendrils crawling out to frame her face.
“Do I even want to know?” Tom asked as they got out of the car, ashamed at how relieved he was that Brianna was taking the spotlight off him. It would be insensitive to say anything now,
when Megs appeared to have the makings of a crisis on her hands. He and Megs would talk later. When she was more relaxed.
She shook her head and tossed him the extra key card she’d gotten from the front desk and the keys to the rental so he could get to the golf course. She scrutinized him, her forehead creasing with concern. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m just bagged from the dinner and traveling last night. I’m going to run up to the room and take a quick shower— that’ll help.”
“You sure it was a client meeting and not a secret bachelor party?” she asked wickedly.
“You got me. Last night was a real showcase in debauchery. Years of Leo’s attempts to get me to let loose finally paid off.”
She laughed at the absurdity of that notion. Tom and Megan had decided to forgo bachelor/bachelorette parties altogether. Instead, they’d worked several weekends in a row to secure a longer honeymoon. Besides, Tom had never engaged in a day of debauchery in his life—despite the best efforts of Leo, his wildest and very best friend.
In fact, he’d never slept with a woman other than Megan. He’d never even entered a strip club. He’d watched his friends chase shallow encounters with pretty people, but that sort of life had never appealed to Tom. There were plenty of pretty people. There was only one Megs, who could make him laugh until his eyes watered and whose heart had more capacity for generosity and patience than anyone else’s. Who knew him better than anyone else and loved him still.
She gave him one more kiss and wished him luck on the golf course.
“There’s the man of the hour!” Brody greeted Tom with his patented one-armed half-hug. “You look like shit.”
“Thanks.” Tom self-consciously raked his fingers through his hair, still damp from his rushed shower.
“Hello, son.” His father greeted him with a handshake just as he’d done his entire adult life. The Prescotts weren’t huggers. Brody’s attempt was the most Tom ever got from his family. “How did things go last night?”
“Pretty straightforward. They seemed happy.” The weekend of his wedding, and Tom worried his father was going to dwell on the upcoming merger the entire time.
“Can you believe this place?” John continued, ignoring Tom’s response.
“Beautiful, right?” Tom replied gratefully, taking in the lushness of the island.
“Not even a proper eighteen-hole course.” John spoke over Tom again. “They say it is with this ‘two sets of tees’ nonsense, but this is a nine-hole course. I don’t know how people live like this.”
With that, John Prescott strode toward the first tee, leaving Tom and his brother to catch up.
“Hey.” Brody adjusted his sun visor, adopting an impish grin. “Guess how many times Mom has said, ‘Can you believe it takes two planes and a ferry to get here?’ ”
“I don’t want to know.” Tom rubbed his eyes.
“I’m turning it into a drinking game.” Brody revealed a flask in the pocket of his Kjus chinos.
“Perfect.” Tom grabbed it and took a swig.
Brody squeezed Tom’s shoulders affectionately. “Ease up, Spare Parts. This is supposed to be the best weekend of your life.” The squeeze shifted into an annoying ruffle of Tom’s hair.
His brother was right. Tom was giving these small gibes about the island too much weight.
“And hey, you survived another flight. I’m so proud of you.” Accustomed to his brother’s teasing about his fear of heights,
Tom took the jab good-naturedly and grabbed the flask again. “You mean two flights and a ferry.”
“You’re getting to be such a brave little boy.”
The remainder of the morning passed with more tipsy badgering from Brody and very little nonwork talk from his dad. This game was supposed to be more than that. It was Tom’s wedding week- end, after all. He decided to take things into his own hands.
“So, Dad.” Tom busied himself reorganizing his already organized clubs so as not to draw too much attention to his question, one he hoped might make them feel closer even though the Prescotts didn’t do camaraderie and they definitely didn’t do emotions. He’d held on to a tiny bit of hope that this might be the day. “Any words of wisdom before I walk down the aisle?”
“Isn’t the bride the one who does that?” Brody asked. “You’re supposed to be standing there waiting for her.”
“Words of wisdom . . . ” John scratched at the chin he shaved not once, but twice a day. “Megan’s a smart choice for a partner. You’ve done well on that.”
Heat traveled to Tom’s cheeks. This was the most praise he’d ever received from his father. “Yeah?”
“Indeed. She’s driven. Works hard. Good-looking enough to be arm candy, smart enough to hold a conversation.” The hairs on the back of Tom’s neck stood up. His dad wasn’t done. “But my advice hasn’t changed since you two started this little relationship.”
A foreboding feeling told Tom to stop, not to press. He ignored that feeling. “What do you mean?”
“Even when you select a partner who makes sense on paper, there are always variables that are unaccounted for.” He raised his eye- brows at Tom’s brother. “Broderick knows what I’m talking about.” “To my wife, Emmeline,” Brody mumbled, raising the flask before taking another swig. This one lasted longer. There were times when his brother resembled their father so acutely, Tom could imagine he was seeing John thirty years ago.
“In Megan’s case,” John continued, “it’s her disastrous, infestive family. So, my advice? Marriage doesn’t always have to mean compromise.”
“I’m not sure I’m following, Dad.” Tom had looked forward to this moment. A milestone as meaningful as getting married was sure to bridge some of that gap he always seemed to feel with his father, give them a new way to bond. But now he was torn between wanting to know what his dad was getting at and wanting to stop what was turning into an uncomfortable conversation. It suddenly seemed ridiculous to think a wedding might make Tom seem more worthy, more mature in his father’s eyes, like someone who’d finally caught up to Brody. In the end, Tom opted for his long-standing coping mechanism: biting his tongue to keep the peace.
“Look, when something’s important, like where you and Megan spend your holidays or how much influence her washout of a mother has over your eventual children, you lay down the law. You get what you want.”
Tom wished he’d pumped the brakes. This was not the advice he’d hoped for.
“And if Megan ever complains . . . ” his father continued, lining up his putt. “There’s always golf.”
With that, John tapped his ball into the last hole.
# # #
