“Not at all who I would have imagined you with,” Rufus continues, turning back to face her.
“Couldn’t agree more,” says her mother.
Emma closes her eyes just for a second, reminding herself to breathe deeply. “You need to stop, Mother,” she says, her voice shaking with fury. “I’ve already had enough of your digs at Dominic. If I hear you say one more thing about him, if I hear you dismiss or disdain him one more time, we will both leave. I swear to you this is not an empty threat. It will take me five minutes to pack my suitcase, and we will go to a hotel for the remainder of this trip. Dominic is the best man I have ever known, and if you can’t see that, if you are only capable of judging him by where he’s from, or how much money he does or doesn’t have, you will lose both of us.”
Emma’s voice is low, quiet, and resolved. Rufus has already backed away, leaving this to the two of them. Her mother stares at her before opening her mouth.
“First of all,” says her mother, flustered but doing her best to save face. “I do not like the way you are talking to me. Secondly, this is not about Dominic, this is about you. I know you think he’s the man you’re going to end up with, but let me tell you, marriage is no piece of cake. It’s one of the hardest things you will ever do, and it’s hard enough when you marry someone from your own background, let alone someone from another world. I don’t care that Dominic is American. I don’t care about that. He may be a nice man, but he’s from a completely different class. He’s a bartender, for heaven’s sake. He doesn’t understand your world, and you can’t possibly understand his. I am delighted that you are having fun, Emma, but I do not think this is the man for you. He is not the man you are going to marry.” She recovers her composure and steps back. “And frankly, darling,” she adds, in a louder voice. “He’s not exactly PLU, is he?”
Emma’s heart is pounding as she stares at her mother. PLU. People like us. The most ridiculous epithet ever invented. It was the absolute worst thing her mother could have said.
“You weren’t PLU,” says Emma, with a bitter laugh. “But you seem to have conveniently forgotten your roots. I’ve had enough. The guests will have to help themselves to their own drinks.”
Turning on her heel, she strides to the bar, takes Dominic by the hand, and leads him upstairs to pack.
• • •
Emma never thought it would come to this. She never thought she would have to make a choice between her family and her man, but her mother has given her no option. Even if Georgina were to knock on the bedroom door and apologize, Emma isn’t sure it would make enough of a difference.
Life is so easy when you are young, she thinks. You can say and do almost anything, safe in the knowledge that an apology will make everything better. The older you get, the more impact those harmful words and deeds have. Once said, those words cannot be unspoken.
Her mother is not the type to apologize. She has fallen out with friends over the years, and once crossed, she writes people off forever. Those few who have managed to stay in her inner circle have long joked that her parties are the most fun because they are always filled with new people, that you are unlikely to see the same faces three years in a row.
Emma is fighting tears as they both fill their suitcases. She still hopes her mother will come up, say something, apologize, ask forgiveness, at least try to stop the two of them from leaving. But she knows such a gesture is out of character.
No one is in the house as they carry their luggage down the stairs.
“Are you sure about this?” Dominic pauses in the entrance hall to look at her. “You’re sure you want to just leave without saying good-bye? You’re sure you want to fly all the way home without resolving this?”
“I’m sure,” she says, on the brink of tears.
“Emma.” He steps forward and reaches out for her arms, holding her steady. “Your parents aren’t young. And they’re set in their ways. Think about this. Anything might happen to them and you would never forgive yourself if you left now, like this. I understand why you’re so upset, but you’re going to feel better if you can find a way to forgive her.”
Emma closes her eyes and shakes her head. “I can’t right now. Maybe I’ll feel differently in the morning, but right now I can’t even look at her.”
“Okay.” He nods after a long pause. “I get it. Is there a place nearby for us to stay?”
“I already called the Summer House. They have a room.”
“Let’s go, then.” He picks up both suitcases and walks through the door. With one last look behind her, pained by the very real possibility that she and her mother will never resolve things, that this may be the last time she comes here, Emma walks down the steps.
They are getting into their car when they hear a shout. George approaches, running from the side of the house, concern on his face.
“Where are you two off to?” he says. “Aren’t you staying here? Isn’t it too early to leave?”
Dominic puts the bags down and starts to walk back to the house. “Hi, George. Emma will explain. I left my phone upstairs.” He disappears inside.
“I’m so sorry.” Emma turns to George. “My mother and I had words, and . . . it just doesn’t feel right to stay here anymore.”
“Did she tell you she thought Dominic isn’t PLU?” He does a shockingly good imitation of her mother.
“Please tell me she hasn’t been saying that to everyone? Please don’t make this worse than it already is.”
“She hasn’t.” George lays a reassuring hand on her arm. “I just know Aunt G. It’s her favorite phrase. She doesn’t realize that one’s only supposed to use it ironically. She treated Dominic like a servant. I’m so sorry, Emma. I saw it happening, but I didn’t know how to stop it. For what it’s worth, I am thrilled you both came. I think Dominic is wonderful in every way, and I think the two of you are perfect for each other. And I don’t think you should give a stuff what anyone thinks, least of all your mother. I love her, don’t get me wrong, and I couldn’t be more grateful to her for taking Henry and me under her wing in the way she has, but I think she is completely wrong about this.”
Emma’s eyes fill with tears. “Oh, George,” she says. “Thank you. You have no idea how much better you’ve made me feel.”
“Trust me, I’ve had to deal with all kinds of crap now that I’m engaged to Henry. Everyone always thought I was gay, and all my friends think Henry’s a secret lesbian.”
Emma composes her features in a way that she hopes conveys surprise.
“No one understands what we’re doing together, but honestly, Henry’s the most amazing girl I’ve ever met. She makes me laugh every day, and she’s kind, and sweet, and huge fun. We are going to have an amazing life together, and I really have fallen completely in love for the first time in my life. I know everyone thinks this is a disaster waiting to happen, but I don’t care what they think. Henry and I will prove them wrong, just as you and Dominic will prove your mother wrong. Besides, your mother’s the greatest snob in the world, so really, you should automatically discount everything she says.”
Emma throws her arms around him in a tight hug.
“You should come and see us in America,” she says. “Seriously. Any time. Thank you for saying everything you’ve said. And I didn’t think you were gay,” she adds.
George pulls back and shakes his head with a smile. “Darling, everyone did. I don’t believe you for a second, but I forgive you. We would love to come and see you and the very hunky Dominic in America. I’ll e-mail you when you get home.”
• • •
“What was that about?” Dominic has found his phone and come back to the car. He looks questioningly at Emma, who is sitting in the passenger seat waiting for him, frowning.
“George was amazing,” she says, recounting what he said to her.
“Very amazing, you’re right,” says Dom
inic. “He’s not who I thought he was.”
“I’ll tell you one thing I’m sure of: he’s genuinely in love with Henry. When he talked about her, he went all mushy. It was sweet.”
“I love that he said no one approves of their match. What the hell does anyone know? The only people who matter are George and Henry.” He pauses. “And Dominic and Emma.”
“Yes.” Emma nods as her mother’s words once again echo in her head. “You’re right. Let’s go. I need to get out of here.”
TWENTY-NINE
The view from the hotel dining room stretches across the fields. Emma gazes out the window. She never misses England when she is in America, does not give it a second thought. It is only when she is here, driving through pretty country lanes overhung with a canopy of green, winding through villages of old stone houses and thatched roofs, gazing out of windows onto rolling fields and meadows, that she misses it.
Their table is quiet; there’s only one other couple here, on the other side of the room. Dominic is tucking into a full English fry-up, and Emma is sipping coffee to chase down the painkiller she had taken earlier. The tears she shed last night after leaving the house in the wake of her fury left her with a pounding head, and she is only just starting to feel human.
“Isn’t that your father?” Dominic says through a mouthful of pork sausage.
Emma turns, as Simon sees her and gives her a cautious wave. She waits for him to come and join them, but instead he walks in the other direction. She excuses herself from the table to find him sitting on a bench outside. When she sits next to him, he takes her hand and squeezes it, and she lays her head on his shoulder, saying nothing, as the tears threaten to spill yet again.
“How did you know I was here?” she says eventually.
“I have friends in high places,” he says with a small smile. “I brought you tea in bed this morning, only to find you’d disappeared. Your mother then told me what had happened, and I knew there were only a couple of places you could have gone. Come home, Emma. You still have three days before you’re supposed to leave, and we both want you to come home.”
Emma shakes her head. “I’m sorry, Dad. We’re leaving today. I changed the flight. We’re being picked up after breakfast.”
Her father’s face falls, suddenly looking old, older than Emma has ever seen him.
“You’re leaving? Already? Oh, Emma.” He shakes his head. “We can’t end your trip like this.”
“Daddy, I’m sorry. I am. But Mum said terrible things last night. I couldn’t stay. I just can’t do it.”
“She didn’t say any of those things to hurt you.” Her father sighs. “She thought she was helping.”
“Helping?” Emma snorts. “I don’t need helping. I brought Dominic to England with me to meet you because we have something really special. When was the last time you met someone I was dating?” Her father says nothing. “Exactly. The last boyfriend of mine you met was Rufus, because nothing since then has been serious enough to warrant my introducing you. But this is. I know he isn’t what she expects, I know he doesn’t meet her ridiculously high, snobby standards, but her values are completely messed up. She’d rather I marry some pompous, entitled banker who installs me in a mansion with a live-in housekeeper and a subscription to the yoga center to keep me busy while he spends his weekdays in the city sleeping with whoever he wants.”
“That doesn’t sound like a bad deal, actually,” her father says, after a pause.
Emma can’t help but laugh. “Right. Because that’s really what every mother wants for her daughter. Daddy, the things that are important to her are not important to me. I’ve made money, I’ve lived in that world, and I don’t care about any of it. I’ve found a really good man in Dominic, and you know he’s a really good man. He’s solid, and calm, and he has huge integrity. He does everything he says he’s going to do, when he says he’s going to do it. Daddy, I lived in New York City for years and pretty much all the men I met were players.”
Her father raises a questioning eyebrow.
“They played around,” she explains as he gives her an understanding nod. “They would say they would call and wouldn’t, or would show up late, or would cancel at the last minute, or things would seem to be going fantastically well until I discovered they were dating three other women at the same time as me. Dominic doesn’t have a dishonest bone in his body, and he makes me happy. He loves me, and I love him.”
Her father sits for a while, nodding. “Do you have good conversations?” he asks eventually. “Is he intellectually stimulating? Does he find you intellectually stimulating?”
“We talk about everything,” she says. “Does he have a degree? No. Is he sophisticated and well traveled? No. But he cares about people and is devoted to his son. If I need intellectual stimulation, I can get that anywhere. I can join a book group, or go to lectures. One person can’t be expected to fulfill all your needs; that’s just unreasonable.”
“True,” says her father, now turning to face her. “My darling girl, I want you to be happy. All I have ever wanted was for you to be happy. I am sorry that what your mother said was so insensitive and wounding. But”—he takes a deep breath—“I can’t say that I entirely disagree with her.”
The color drains from Emma’s face.
Simon puts his hand on her arm. “I think he is a wonderful man,” he says. “And I can see that he makes you happy. I am just asking you to consider that you are from two very different worlds. Your mother is, as you know, inclined to believe that class is the single most important issue, but I take a different viewpoint. You were raised here in Somerset. You’ve lived in London. You’re an English girl through and through. I have supported your time in New York because I believe adventures are good for the soul, and the time to have adventures, to explore new territories, is when you are young. But once you decide to settle down, you have to come home.”
Emma stares at her father. “Daddy, I never planned to come home. I’m happy in America. Westport is my home now. I know you don’t want to hear it, but I feel more at home there than I have ever felt here.”
“But you and Dominic do come from very different worlds,” her father says eventually, struggling to find the right words that will make her understand. “It seems you’re compatible now, but in the long run that can be very difficult. It isn’t as easy as you think.”
“We are compatible,” says Emma, relieved that her father can see that. “And yes, we do come from different worlds, but we can create our own world for the two of us. We already have.”
“I just want you to be sure,” says her father.
“I am sure,” she says. “We are sure.”
“You have to find a way to make up with your mother.” Simon sighs. “I’ll talk to her, of course, but you know how difficult she can be. I’m not sure you should fly back to the States without having spoken to her.”
“I have nothing to say to her.” Emma is resolute. “I’m sure I’ll feel differently over time, but not today. She treated Dominic like the help, because she believes he is below her . . . I’m not speaking to her today. Not yet.”
Her father gives a small smile. “I know where you get your stubbornness from.”
Emma looks at her watch. “Daddy, they’ll be here to pick us up any second. I have to go.” And with that, she stands up to give him a hug good-bye.
THIRTY
Emma looks out the window as they leave the airport on their way back home. She looks at the weeds growing through the cracks in the sidewalk, the back-to-back traffic, the looming gray buildings lining each side of the highway, and a warmth spreads through her body. Almost home, she thinks, instantly comforted by the familiar sights and sounds. Home.
Dominic is quiet next to her, humming something, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, a smile on his face. Emma shoots him frequent glances, knowing how excited he will be to see
Jesse, days earlier than planned.
They pull off the highway, wind their way along Bridge Street, down Compo, pulling up in front of their side-by-side cottages. In the driveway is an unfamiliar old station wagon, at least twenty years old, the type of long, bulky car that few people drive these days.
“You ready to meet my parents now?” Dominic hesitates on the front path after unloading the suitcases from the trunk of the car.
Emma is about to answer when the front door is flung open, and Jesse tears across the yard. “Daddy!” he yells, flinging himself into his father’s arms.
Emma stands back, watching them both, hoping Jesse might say hello to her, might have missed her, but he is far too busy chattering away to his father. He crawls all over him, kissing him, reassuring himself that his father is back, that he’s not going away again.
“Say hi to Emma,” Dominic says eventually.
Jesse turns and gives her a dutiful smile and a wide grin. “Hi!” He waves, and Emma laughs in relief, turning to walk next door to her own little house. But as she does so, she sees Dominic’s mother emerge.
She is wearing a floral apron over beige slacks and a brightly colored shirt. A short woman, she is well padded underneath the apron, and weighted down with copious amounts of chunky gold jewelry. Four large necklaces of varying lengths fall between her substantial bosom; she wears large clip-on earrings and oversized rings. It is her hair that is the most extraordinary thing, standing high above her head, sprayed into a rock-solid beehive, accessorized by a large sparkly ladybug hair pin.
“Dominic!” She walks over and gathers Dominic in her arms, covering his face with kisses, leaving lipstick imprints all over his cheeks.
“Hey, Mom.” Dominic squirms ever so slightly but allows himself to be kissed before pulling away. “I’d like you to meet Emma.”
She turns, surveying Emma up and down. Approvingly, Emma hopes.
“Okay,” she says, looking at Dominic with a nod. “Okay.” Turning back to Emma she says, “Call me Nonna. Everyone else does. Come in. I just made fresh cannoli for your father and Jesse, but there’s more than enough for you. This kid.” She gestures to Dominic while looking at Emma. “There’s nothing this kid loves more than Nonna’s homemade cannoli. How ’bout you, Jesse? What do you think of Nonna’s cooking?”