She entered the door to the hotel suite that had been arranged, a room filled with her dearest friends clad in sleepwear and nibbling on smoked salmon points and chocolate-dipped strawberries.
“Champagne punch,” said Darwin, wearing a red nightgown covered in images of multicolored snow people, as she offered glasses of bubbly liquid to Anita and Sarah from a tray. “This is the first alcohol I’ve had since weaning Cady and Stanton. I’m on my third glass.”
“Take it easy, young mom,” said Anita. “I expect the whole family to make it to the wedding tomorrow.”
“We will,” said Darwin, beginning to rush her words with excitement. “It’s the twins’ first wedding, and I have the most perfect outfits all picked out, and they’ll look so cute on camera—”
“What did I tell you when you called?” chided Anita.
“That I have to enjoy moments,” said Darwin. “Not try to capture them to lock away.” It was difficult advice to follow. But after returning back to Jersey from the holiday with her parents (and Dan’s always difficult mother), she’d spent hours upon hours downloading photos of the twins’ second Christmas. So much so that Dan couldn’t pry her off the computer.
“I have to record it all so we don’t miss it!” she’d pleaded, secretly relieved when he abandoned his efforts. She didn’t even join him when he’d bathed the kids that night, mousing and clicking as she captioned the pictures of Cady ripping open her gifts and Stanton climbing inside an empty cardboard box. Darwin had just been fantasizing about a Christmas some day in the future when she and Dan would laugh about these images with the twins, all grown, maybe with kids of their own, when she heard Dan screaming for her.
She knew immediately that the twins were drowning.
Ripping the mouse from the computer, she unconsciously kept it in her hand as she ran to the bathroom, flying through the open door and slipping every which way on the wet floor, much to the amusement of her twenty-month-old twins, who giggled and splashed.
“Nobody’s drowning?” she cried, dropping the mouse and practically climbing into the tub with her babies.
“Nope,” said Dan, still kneeling at the side of the tub where he’d been washing the kids. “But you missed their first full sentences ’cause you were too busy categorizing last week’s photos. What’d you just say?”
“Wash me up, Daddy,” shouted Stanton, trying to stand but being gently encouraged to sit down on his bottom by his father.
“Wash me toe,” said Cady, pushing her foot closer to Darwin. “Wash me toe.”
And Darwin sat on the wet floor next to her husband.
“I may have broken the computer,” she said to Dan.
“Good enough,” he said. “Because I was thinking of doing so myself.”
Now, at the party, Darwin held up one finger to Anita. “I’ll take it as it comes,” she said. “I’m getting better. I’m trying.”
Catherine joined them, her face a mask of white cream, with Lucie at her side.
“Try this, then! I’m taking years off my age, ladies,” she insisted. “It’s crushed oyster shell from the French Riviera.” She went over to talk to Peri, who, with Dakota’s blessing, had just announced her new job. Already Catherine was insisting the club needed to take another field trip.
“It’s actually not oyster shell,” Lucie explained to Darwin and Anita. “I just told her that because I knew she’d love it. It’s really Pond’s cold cream with a drop of vanilla extract mixed in.”
She took a sip of her punch and pointed to a plump woman getting her toes painted bright red.
“I put the same mask on my mother, Rosie, over there,” she said to Anita. “She’s doing great. The doc says the meds have her mind holding steady.”
“She’s not going to get back the memory she’s lost,” continued Darwin. “But the progress of the dementia is slowing down.”
“And the rest of her body is A-okay,” added Lucie. “So I’m trying to obsess maybe not so much.”
“Not tonight, anyway,” said Anita. “We have life and love to celebrate tonight!”
All around the suite, the members of the Friday Night Knitting Club and their friends were chatting and giggling, painting nails, playing at spa treatments, and sipping fruity drinks with tiny paper umbrellas floating inside.
“Hey,” said Dakota, opening and closing hers. “I used to beg my mom to get me these for my pretty Anita Barbie.” She picked up a clean spoon resting next to a display of fruit and cheese and tapped her glass until the room quieted down somewhat.
“As maid of honor times two,” said Dakota, “I’d like to propose a toast to my dear friends, Anita and Catherine. It’s not every day that a twenty-year-old such as myself is very best friends with two . . . twenty-nine-year-olds . . .”
“She read my birth certificate,” said Anita, in mock horror.
“. . . but you’ve both been mainstays in my life for many years now, and I couldn’t be happier you finally have someone else to pester!” Dakota joined in the laughter, then waved the group quiet again.
“In all seriousness, it’s also beautiful to remember how my late mother played a role in both of your romances,” said Dakota. “Anita, you’re the kind of woman who stops when you see a girl crying on a park bench. Kind. Openhearted. And fate, God, somebody must have noticed. Because this girl ends up living in a walk-up two floors above Marty’s deli, and you somehow stop in for your coffee every morning on your walk to the coziest yarn shop on Broadway and Seventy-seventh, and, after a long think, you and this Marty guy finally go out after ten years of chitchat about one sugar or two, and then finally decide to make it legal after seven years of living together . . . I’m just saying. This is more than coincidence. It’s magical. This is meant to be.”
“Yes, it is,” shouted Catherine.
“And Catherine,” said Dakota, “you’re an adventurer, a dreamer, and in spite of a blip or two, a loyal friend. You met Marco because you wanted to open a wine bar next to your antiques shop. And you opened an antiques shop because my mother gave you the big, fat kick in the pants just when you needed it.”
“Also true,” agreed Anita, wagging a finger at Catherine.
“So, on behalf of my mother, and myself, I say, ‘Here’s to both of you and your respective grooms, wherever they may be. I wish you every happiness.’ You deserve it, and if I may say so, it’s totally about time, ladies!”
Dakota lifted her glass, as did all the guests, congratulating the brides.
Together, the group savored the final night in another momentous year as they watched the crowds gather in Times Square below.
“Get over here, girls,” shouted KC, flagging everyone to the huge picture window. “The moment is now.”
Even though they were many floors up, they could hear the million or so individuals chanting on the street, counting down to the dropping of the ball on the Square and the official beginning to a new year.
“Nine, eight, seven, six . . .”
The women in their pajamas joined in the shouting, some with arms around each other’s waists and dancing along to the counting. “Five, four, three, two, Happy New Year!”
Dakota watched the women kissing cheeks and hugging and toasting with champagne. She raised her glass but stayed back, watching. She’d planned to do so many things over the course of the past year but, after 365 days, had to admit she hadn’t quite managed to get it all done. Such as the pattern book, for example. Or starting the reno. She sighed.
“Just move whatever’s still relevant onto this year’s wish list,” whispered Anita as she came up behind her beloved Dakota and slipped an arm around her waist. “You’d be a miracle worker if you accomplished everything you wanted to.”
“Still a mind reader,” said Dakota.
“Or maybe every woman feels the same way,” said Anita, looking at the white flakes highlighted against the window. “Look, the snow is finally here. Just in time to wash away the old and bring us into the new.”
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chapter seventeen
The snow had continued throughout the night, painting the city and its New Year’s revelers in a cloud of white. Anita and Sarah had snoozed in the bedroom of the hotel suite as the pajama party continued until the early hours, ensuring they were well rested for the wedding and reception later that day. Catherine, who insisted every woman try a little of Lucie’s oyster-shell mask, eventually nodded out on the sofa.
“I can’t believe we’re fin ally at the wedding,” said Dakota, as she sat up with Lucie and KC and Peri. Darwin had fla ked out long ago, barely able to keep awake past midnight. (“It’s the kids,” explained Lucie. “There’s no sleeping until they’re about six.”) She knew her classmates were—just like real wedding-cake caterers—renting a vehicle to bring down the petit-fours they’d spent most of yesterday decorating in buttercream and fondant. All she had to do today was keep the brides under control. Plus remember to carry an emergency kit of nail polish for torn stockings, breath mints, combs, hair spray, Band-Aids, tissues.
“Don’t forget tampons for Catherine,” said KC. “You just never know when there could be a little surprise.”
“Good point,” said Dakota, adding to her mental checklist. “Were your weddings like this, KC?”
“More like Anita’s October wedding-that-wasn’t, I’d say,” said KC. “A lot of fuss about not much at all.”
“So, what’s the dealio with Nathan,” said Lucie, as Darwin snored loudly to her left. “I want you to know I was always blaming Dan when I heard this through the walls. But no, it’s our professor who has the deviated septum, apparently.”
“Nathan’s going to cause trouble,” said Dakota. “He’s done so every other attempt.”
“I thought her sons were going to walk her down the aisle?” said Peri.
“That’s Benjamin and David,” explained Dakota. “Nathan isn’t talking to them anymore. That’s what Anita says.”
“She’s going to back out again,” said KC. “Let’s just call it. We’re all afraid.”
“Marty’s only caveat to the bachelorette party was that I make sure we have no men—especially ones named Nathan—and our location be kept a secret,” said Peri. “Last wedding he worked her over but good the night before.”
“This isn’t a wedding anymore,” said Dakota. “It’s a top-secret mission.”
“So, what happens now?” asked Lucie. “Anita’s always there for us. We gotta be there for her.”
“We could sneak into his room and change his clocks so he’ll miss the ceremony,” said Peri.
“Do you know where he’s staying?” asked KC eagerly. “Because I could pick a lock.”
“No,” said Peri. “I was just brainstorming.”
“We should move the wedding and not tell him,” said Dakota.
“Right,” said Lucie. “Not like that’s difficult. We’d lose half our guests to the change in address and the rest to the blizzard.”
“Wait,” said KC. “Let’s not change the location. Let’s change the location his car service is going to . . .”
“There’s car services arranged for all the family,” confirmed Dakota. “As maid of honor, I’m privy to these things. But I wouldn’t know the name of the company.”
“But I do,” said KC. “Because Marty had me arrange cars for all of you tonight. Bet they used the same folks.”
“This is wrong, guys,” said Peri. “You know that? Anita wants him there.”
“Oh, we’ll get him there,” assured KC. “We’ll just get him there late. And Nathan Lowenstein may pull all sorts of shenanigans when it’s just him and Mommy in private, but I’m not so sure he wants to make a fool of himself in front of his entire family.”
“He’s gone pretty over the top,” said Lucie. “Remember the fake heart attack?” She mimed a fainting spell.
“You really think Nathan is going to stand up during the service—in front of a rabbi, no less—and whine about his mother getting married? In a room filled with people ready to take him on? I don’t think so, girls,” said KC. “This time around, the Friday Night Knitting Club is going to have its wedding. I am going to wear that damn fancy dress Peri talked me into buying, and then I’m going to eat more than my fair share of petit-fours.”
“I made extra dark chocolate just for you,” said Dakota.
“That’s my kiddo,” said KC. “Now grab my purse. I need to find the name of this car company.”
A string quartet played in the spacious and beautiful rented space in the Morgan Library and Museum as guests filed in to take their seats, which had been arranged in a semicircle, leaving an aisle in between. At the end of the room stood a white gazebo, in which white organic cotton had been stretched inside to form the huppah, the traditional open-sided canopy under which Jewish couples, such as Anita and Marty, were married. Catherine and Marco would also be married, by a justice of the peace, under the same gazebo.
“This is quite the show,” murmured KC as she loitered around the entrance. “Two marriages, two faiths, two brides, two grooms. Two of everything.”
“Only one maid of honor,” said Dakota, sneaking up on KC in her strapless silver gown. She wore a very light, lacy knitted wrap around her arms. “Anita’s asking about Nathan. What should I tell her?”
“He’s on his way,” said KC. “Then tell her he’s seated.”
“This is deceptive,” hissed Dakota. “That’s not good.”
“This is manipulative,” said KC. “Not the same at all.”
“She wants to see him beforehand!” Dakota felt very uncomfortable.
“Kiddo, you are not very good at this game,” said KC. “Tell her he was talking to the rabbi and you didn’t want to interrupt. Then go see Catherine and stay occupied.”
Dakota lifted the skirt of her gown to do just that when she saw her father in her peripheral vision. On his arm, as she had been told to expect, was his date. Sandra Stonehouse. She turned, just in time to see her father, in his tuxedo, and his friend, in a cap-sleeved red gown and sheer black wrap, smiling in her direction. Dakota moved closer.
“Hi, Sandra,” she said, extending her hand. “It’s nice to meet you. Properly.”
Relief washed over Sandra’s face. “Your father is very proud of you,” she said. “He brags about you always.”
“Well, he’s said nice stuff about you also,” said Dakota, beginning to sense that squeezed-up feeling whenever she thought of her father with someone other than her mother. “Excuse me.”
She fought her way through the crowd of eager, excited well wishers, an even mix commenting on how they remembered her when and a range of so-called gentlemen (even the oldies!) appraising her figure.
“That’s how you know you’re grown up,” said Peri, catching up alongside and carrying a good-sized white box under her arm. “When they look at you as date material instead of like a daughter.”
“Kinda creepy,” said Dakota.
“Well, you look pretty smashing in that dress,” said Peri. “And I helped Anita with your stole.”
“A designer original,” said Dakota. “I’m going to sell it on eBay when you’re famous.”
“Naturally,” said Peri, letting Dakota go first as they entered the space where Catherine was surrounded by a team of hair and makeup artists.
“Oh, thank God you’re here,” said Catherine. “My stomach is in knots.” She stood in her ivory-with-a-hint-of-sage halter dress, shimmering sequins outlining the generous V neckline and the hem of the trumpet skirt. Her blond bob was styled in a loose updo with dozens of tiny white flowers and crystals dotting her hair.
“You look like a movie star,” said Peri. “Very chic.”
“It could be too flashy,” said Catherine. “Dakota, what were you thinking? Why didn’t you pay any attention when I had them deepen this neckline? I like skin, guys, but what if I’m showing a bit too much?”
“You can have my wrap,” offered Dakota, removing it from her shoulders.
??
?Holy Nelly,” said Catherine, appraising Dakota in her strapless gown. “You look like you’re at least . . . older than I want you to be. Now, listen to me. Go home with your father at the end of the evening. You’re going to be getting a lot of attention tonight. So put that wrap back on and pin it or something. If somebody is going to be revealing their assets, better it be me.”
“You actually look very pretty, Catherine,” said Dakota, readjusting her knitted wrap. “Dare I say even tasteful?”
“It’s nerves,” determined Peri, presenting a substantial box to Catherine. “I brought you a gift from Anita and Sarah. Maybe it will make you feel better.”
She removed the top to reveal an open-front sheer hooded ivory cape with a thin silk knitted edging, similar to the finish around the shawl collar of Anita’s wedding coat.
Catherine gingerly lifted the cloak and placed it around her shoulders, the hood puddling gently around her neckline.
“Here,” said Peri. “There’s a buttonhole on the one side and we can connect it with this tiny, almost sheer, chain. It doesn’t cover up the front of your dress but you seem more . . . covered, somehow.”
“I’ll take it,” said Catherine. “After the ceremony, then I’ll va-va-voom.”
Dakota dipped into her Peri Pocketbook clutch, in which she kept her emergency supplies, and brought out her gift for Catherine.
“Ta-dah!” she said, dropping something into her hand. “Put it on the ribbon wrap of your bouquet.”
“What is it?” asked Peri, peeking into Catherine’s palm.
“It’s a loaner,” said Catherine. “Georgia’s butterfly pin.”
“Took it to a jeweler for polishing,” said Dakota. “So it’s very spiffy.”
“She would have loved to be here, wouldn’t she?” said Catherine. “Only she would have freaked out about you in that dress. Are you sure Anita picked it out?”
“No,” said Dakota. “I chose it myself.”
Catherine looked down at her wrist to check the time and then realized she would have no watch all day.
“Time check,” she said. “Is that part of your duties? Aren’t we getting close to starting?”