A Wedding in December_ A Novel - Anita Shreve [58]
Over coffee, Bill broke the news of the wedding to his daughter, and Melissa responded as Bridget might have guessed. The young woman set down her water glass, wiped her mouth, stood up from the chair, and, without so much as a glance at either Bill or Bridget, left the restaurant. Since that night, she had not returned Bill’s phone calls.
“She’ll come around,” Bill had said, though Bridget could see that Melissa might not, that it might take years for a reconciliation.
Matt had responded differently to news of the wedding. Bridget had told Bill that it was too early to talk to Matt about a marriage, but Bill had argued the opposite, reading Matt as needing more of a family, not less. And Bill had been right, Matt breaking into a grin with the news. Bill asked him to be best man (though a best man was hardly needed), and they’d all immediately fallen into a discussion of venues and caterers, as if it were perfectly normal to be discussing the marriage of a man to a woman whose chance of being alive in two years was only 50 percent.
Bridget looked around at the gathering in the library. Was it obscene to marry in her state? Bill and Bridget had been together only fifteen months when Bridget had received her initial diagnosis, causing her to wonder if the cancer wasn’t some kind of cosmic punishment. She remembered, early in her treatments, a conversation between two women in the hematology-oncology waiting room, the first telling the second in a breathless voice that she was getting married in two weeks. Bridget attributed the breathlessness to excitement until she heard the woman tell the other that the cancer had started in her lungs and had spread to her brain. Brain cancer and a wedding. Bridget had been stunned. But wasn’t her own impending marriage just as bizarre?
Nora announced that it was time to move into the private dining room. Place cards were consulted. Bridget would sit between her son and her husband-to-be, as Nora had earlier promised. Brian would be to the other side of her son. The table was a wedding in itself, with its white damask, antique ivory plates, crystal glasses, and heavy silver. Bridget was seated so that she could see the windows at the other side of the room. A twinkling light in the distance was the only visible element. Mostly what she saw was the reflection of faces. Harrison, with his chin on the back of his hand, listening to Bill. Agnes leaning in toward Julie at a sharp angle. Nora in consultation with a waiter. The evening’s menu was engraved on stiff white cards set upon the plates. Bridget would have trouble with the salmon, but the beet and goat cheese salad sounded appetizing.
A waiter filled one of a small forest of glasses in front of Bridget with champagne.
“A toast,” Jerry said, standing. He looked fit as he unfolded himself to his full height. His camel V-neck sweater draped appealingly from broad shoulders. Clearly, Jerry visited a gym on a regular basis.
A ripple of tension made its way along the table. Jerry, always unpredictable, might come out with anything. Bridget noticed that Matt’s and Brian’s glasses had been partially filled with champagne. Julie’s face remained an impenetrable mask as her husband raised his glass.
“Bill and Bridget’s Wedding,” Jerry said. “A comedy coming to a theater near you. Starring Tom Hanks and Andie MacDowell.” (A smattering of laughter here.) “A feel-good movie from Universal with a surprise happy ending.” (Nervous laughter, as the possibility of a not-happy ending inevitably entered each mind.) “I believe I speak for everyone,” Jerry continued, “when I say that I never knew a couple so destined to be together.” (An awkward