How often does a Fallon girl get married? So far, only once, and you didn’t even invite us. (Bad girl!) And that obviously jinxed your marriage, so we can’t let that happen to Merilee. Not that anything could jinx her and Matt, right? I mean, they’ve only been each other’s “one and onlys” for how long? 15 yrs!
Poor Theresa. My professor sister was, quite literally, a genius. She’d done a Doogie Howser dash through school, acing her studies and failing social skills, and had fallen in love an exact total of one time in her life. She’d married the guy—a professor—and he’d turned out to be an asshole, appropriating her research and passing it off as his own.
The experience had soured Theresa on men.
I went back to my e-mail to my sister.
Do have to wonder why the kid has all the luck…You thought you’d found your guy and he turned out to be a loser. And me, yeah, I can hear exactly what you’re saying. I keep repeating the same mistake, and you at least learned from yours.
But Theresa, I don’t WANT to be cynical like you. I want to believe there’s a great guy out there for me. That I deserve love, and that I’ll find it.
It was true. And because I refused to be cynical, I kept giving my heart, and having it tossed back, bruised and battered. One day—fingers crossed for sooner rather than later—I’d meet Mr. Right-Forever.
And in the meantime, thanks to Nav, at least I could fake it with my family. I was fed up with the ribbing. And the pity. I read my e-mail to Theresa.
So, anyhow, guess what? I’m bringing a date to the wedding!!!! Yes, it’s a guy, and he’s good-looking and successful. And very, very nice. His name is Nav. Honestly, Theresa, this man is NOT another of my bad choices. You and the ’rents and the sisters will all approve of him. HONEST!! <G> He’ll probably fly out a day or 2 before the wedding.
Nav was so amazing to do this for me. Could a girl have a better friend? I was so going to owe him.
To tell the truth, I couldn’t believe he’d agreed, and didn’t really understand why. Sometimes the man seemed transparent as glass, and other times I suspected still waters that ran deeper than he let me see.
He was kind of like his photographs. On one level, they were merely excellent pictures of buildings, scenery, people—a bit unconventional when it came to angle and lighting. If you looked deeper, however, there were all sorts of things to be seen, and you never knew if you’d found them all. When you asked Nav, he’d smile enigmatically and say, “The observer makes the picture.”
Like with his photo of a giant modern office tower. You couldn’t see in the tinted windows; you were left to guess about who worked there. Instead, the windows reflected images: a flock of suited businesspeople, a couple of designer-clad women with shopping bags, a homeless guy sprawled on the sidewalk, begging.
Nav’s work was brilliant, and it made you think. I was thrilled about his exhibit at Galerie Beau Soleil.
The man beside me gave a snort and I glanced over to see him dashing bold black question marks in the margin of a document. I turned back to my e-mail to Theresa.
BTW, re the wedding. We’ll need invitations, right? M&M need to come up with a guest list ASAP. I know Merilee always wanted hand-calligraphied invitations with RSVP cards enclosed, but there won’t be time. Phone calls would be a hassle, having to provide all the info and get people to write it down. So I was thinking, why don’t we do e-vites? I’m really good with graphics, I could design something in the next couple days, if you get the list from M&M. Oh, and we could use the list to plan the bridal shower and make sure one of Matt’s friends is arranging a bachelor party. Let me know what you think.
Hugs, Kat.
Theresa, flying to Vancouver from Sydney, Australia, where she taught sociology at the university, had picked up my e-mail in Honolulu and responded.
Hi Kat. Glad you got the tickets. I should be able to borrow someone’s car and meet you at the station.
Yes, you’re right about invitations. I think e-vites are a good idea. I talked to Merilee and she agrees. She and Matt are going to put together a guest list. So, when you have time, go ahead and do something up. I’m sure it’ll be great.
Just remember, this is M&M, not some ritzy hotel you’re promoting!
I gave a snort of my own. Having a superachiever for an older sister was a pain in the ass. She never gave me credit. Of course I’d design especially for my kid sister and her guy.
Oh, BTW, I won’t be in Vancouver until tomorrow night. I’m in Honolulu overnight. There’s e-mail (obviously!) and you can reach me by cell.
Overnighting in Honolulu had been a change of plans. She’d intended to connect straight on to Vancouver. Normally, my control freak sister would be royally pissed if something messed up her plans, yet she sounded surprisingly copacetic.
Heard anything from Jenna? I told her to call you. She’s trying to work out her travel plans.
Talk soon. Theresa
Ah, Jenna. No, I still hadn’t heard from her. The word “flaky” had been invented for the third sister in our three-pack. She was almost thirty, yet she’d never had a real job or a real relationship. Her motto was Variety is the spice of life. And she liked her life very, very spicy.
The next e-mail was from Merilee—the unexpected child who’d come along eight years after Jenna, making us a three pack plus one. Her message said she and Matt were working on a guest list and loved the idea of e-vites. I had e-mailed her and Theresa back.
Been doing some thinking, and there’s a couple of ways we could go. Merilee, those mags you scattered around the house were all hearts/flowers/lace, so maybe you want to go with the whole soft, romantic, traditional kind of thing. But then I was thinking how you and Matt have been M&M forever, and how you always include a bag of M&Ms whenever you give each other a birthday or Christmas present, and I thought it might be fun to use the candy as a theme.
Let me know what you think. I can do either. Whatever you guys want.
Hugs and smooches, bride to be!
Merilee had responded with,
Squeee!!!!!! Oh yeah, M&Ms! What a cool idea. It’s so “us.” You’re the best, Kat.
I smiled. Theresa might have put herself in charge of the wedding—she’d said she was drawing up a spreadsheet—but I was the one who’d made Merilee Squeee with six exclamation marks.
Last night I’d started to draft an e-vite. Now I pulled it up to work on.
Glancing out the window, I saw we were passing through the western suburbs of Montreal. Sure enough, moments later we pulled into Dorval station and some passengers gathered their belongings.
A burble of sexy female laughter distracted me from the computer screen, then the unseen woman said, in French, “Oh, I definitely want to hear more about that.”
A male voice, deep and so low I couldn’t make out the words, replied.
Then the woman came into view, sauntering toward me down the aisle as she headed for the exit. Long blond hair, vivacious features, a lush body, and a killer suit I guessed to be Armani. In her hand was a gorgeous and very feminine red leather bag—either a Birkin or an excellent knockoff—that made me drool. She did a hair toss and glanced behind her flirtatiously, then her companion came into sight.
It was the man from the train station. The hot Indian grandson, as I’d thought at the time. And now here he was with a different travel companion.
He came closer; I looked at his face, and—oh, my God! “Nav?”
Or was it? If so, he’d been transformed.
His gaze flicked to mine. He raised his brows in puzzlement rather than smiling in recognition, but there was definite appreciation in the wickedly