Beginning Again: An eShort Story

Contents

Beginning Again

Excerpt from The Best of Us

Beginning Again

Chapter One

THERE WERE THREE things she had to avoid tonight, Corrine Brown thought as she listened to silverware clinking against glasses like little bells all around the room. Rule number one: No alcohol. As maid of honor, she’d take a celebratory sip of champagne after toasting her sister, but from then on she’d stick to sparkling water. Which led to rule number three: She wasn’t going to cry.

If she stayed sober, maybe she wouldn’t cry.

Through a cluster of well-wishers, she spotted her sister, Ilsa, and Griffin. They were heeding the call of the clinking silverware and kissing, Ilsa’s long veil nearly touching the floor as she dipped her head back, Grif’s steadying arm encircling her waist.

All brides were lovely, Corrine thought, but Ilsa looked radiant tonight.

Why are bridesmaid dresses always so weird? a guy asked from behind her.

Corrine spun around and glared at him.

No! he said, putting up his hands. I mean, yours isn’t! That’s what made me realize how ugly all the other ones are!

Corrine took in the guy’s dark eyes and verging-on-skinny build. She didn’t recognize him; he was probably a guest from Grif’s side.

I’ll let you in on a secret, she said. Don’t send the bridal police after us, but we didn’t actually buy these dresses at a wedding store.

He pretended to stagger and caught himself against the wall with one hand. The horror. My sister got married last year, and she’s still recovering from the bridal shop Nazi. Hey, I’m on my way to get a beer. Can I bring you anything?

I’m not drinking, Corrine said. Rule number one.

He nodded, like it made perfect sense. What’s rule number two? he asked.

No chicken dancing, she said.

That should be more like a law, he said. Why do people suddenly get the urge to flap their arms and squawk at weddings anyways?

Open bars? Corrine guessed.

When he smiled, his mouth turned up more on the left side than on the right. The thought popped into her mind that he had probably been a hellion as a little boy. He probably still was.

I’m Nick, he said, extending the hand he’d used to prop himself against the wall. A lefty—creative, resilient, independent, she thought.

Corrine, she said. Ilsa’s sister.

I figured, he said. You two look a lot alike.

Here she was on New Year’s Eve in an unbridesmaid-like navy blue sheath, listening to a band perform classic Nat King Cole songs, bantering with a good-looking guy. Hollywood couldn’t have scripted it any better—in fact, she was pretty sure Hollywood had scripted it, in a dozen rom-coms. Yet she felt absolutely nothing. She could’ve been chatting with the flower girl. It was just as well; recently she’d developed close relationships with Jon Stewart and Jimmy Fallon and a few other late-night television hosts. Jon and Jimmy were probably the jealous types. They wouldn’t like to see her talking to another man.

I’m going to grab a Heineken, even if it comes with the risk of dancing like poultry later, Nick was saying. Nice meeting you.

As he walked away, a waiter took his place, offering Corrine a baby Bliss potato smothered with crème fraîche and bacon. She popped it into her mouth, remembering the caterer’s tasting she’d attended with Ilsa months ago. Instead of a tiered wedding cake, her sister had chosen tiny, crusty pies, filled with berries or lemon meringue or coconut cream. Instead of a dull seated dinner, she and Grif had opted for stations, where people could fill up plates with spicy shrimp quesadillas or pan-seared pot stickers, then dance in the ballroom of the historic home they’d rented for the occasion.

Good food, good music, and good people, Ilsa had said, shaking her head when the caterer tried to convince her she’d miss the cake-cutting ritual. That’s all we want.

Since when had her baby sister gotten so confident? Since when had she, Corrine, begun to feel so old?

Hey, honey. Her father leaned in and squeezed her shoulder. You’re a million miles away.

Corrine smiled so hard her cheeks hurt. She reined it in a little.

Just thinking about how wonderful Ilsa and Griffin look together, she said. No way would she put a damper on this night. Her parents deserved to celebrate Ilsa’s love without worrying about the one Corrine had lost.

Hey, he likes the Vikings. So we know he’s a good guy, her father said. He reached to loosen his bow tie. Gah, I hate these monkey suits. Isn’t it time for your toast?

Corrine opened her clutch purse and reached inside for the folded sheet of paper. As soon as the band takes a break, she said.

The musicians were playing the song All for You, which happened to be one of Corrine’s favorites. She’d always favored timeless songs over current hits, even when she’d been a teenager and friends had teased her about her odd preferences. You’re the dreams I dream, the song I sing . . . You’re the stars and moon and nearly everything . . .

She swayed in place, letting the singer’s soft baritone wash over her. Then the music stopped and the band walked offstage.

I guess I’m up, Corrine told her father.

Knock ’em dead, her dad said. But don’t actually kill them. Not all of them have coughed up wedding gifts yet.

Corrine’s smile was real this time, but it faded as she threaded her way through the crowd, toward the microphone suddenly looming large in her vision. She’d once read that more people feared public speaking than death, which had seemed like an absurd statistic. Now it made perfect sense. Who was she to stand up before a hundred people and talk about love? Many of the family friends and relatives in this room had been at her wedding a few short years ago and they knew her marriage had imploded. She hadn’t been able to save it, no matter how hard she tried. Counseling, time apart, long talks that ended with tears of pain and regret on both sides . . . none of it had been able to compete with the ex-wife her husband had never truly stopped loving.

She climbed the two steps to the stage and stood there, looking out at the crowd. A few people gazed up at her expectantly, but most hadn’t noticed her presence.

Excuse me? Corrine tapped the microphone, then jumped back when it gave a little screech. Fabulous start, she told herself. At least now she had everyone’s attention.

Hi, she said, forcing her lips into a smile. Then she took a deep breath and began, hoping her trembling fingers didn’t cause the paper to shake.

When Ilsa was a little girl, I knew when she was faking tears to get what she wanted. It didn’t happen often, but there was an incident involving Malibu Barbie that could’ve turned my sister into the youngest Oscar winner in history, had we happened to catch it on videotape, Corrine said. She could see Ilsa laughing and Grif leaning over to whisper something in her ear.

But I’ve never seen my sister want anything more in her entire life than she wanted Griffin, Corrine said. She swallowed hard and glanced around at the crowd. Her mother was leaning into her father, whose bow tie was still askew, and she saw one of their neighbors, an elderly widow, smiling at her and nodding encouragingly. Everyone looked expectant and kind . . . even hopeful. As if they all wanted to believe in true love and soul mates, no matter what life had thrown at them. No one was casting pitying eyes her way, and that was what finally steadied Corrine’s shaky voice.

"The beautiful thing is that all Ilsa had to do to see her dream come true was to be herself—no acting, no tears, no anguish required. Griffin brings out Ilsa’s truest self, the very best parts of her, and she does the same for him every single day. I’ve never seen my little sister so happy—even when she finally did get that Malibu Barbie