But there was still that chasm, black and bottomless, that she couldn’t entirely shake out of her mind.
CHAPTER 9
Her few married friends had all told her that their weddings had been a blur, that you never got a chance to eat, let alone enjoy, any of the food, and you’d be lucky to get a moment alone with your spouse. Most of that turned out to be true for Abigail on her wedding day, but she still enjoyed herself.
The ceremony, held in the upper loft of the barn, was fairy-tale-like, the entire place lit by white candles. She thought she’d be nervous—thinking back on her few high school experiences on the stage—but she was okay, more emotional than she thought she’d be, cognizant of the enormity of the moment, of what it meant to pledge yourself to one person for the rest of your life. She felt great in her wedding dress. She’d never been a girl who dreamed of wearing the perfect white dress for her wedding, and she’d considered wearing black just to be different, but then she’d found an online site that sold vintage wedding dresses and fallen in love with a butter-toned organza dress from the 1940s. It was simple— a sleeveless bodice and an A-line skirt—but was covered in beads and sequins. It was long enough that it covered her single tattoo, a barren tree that ran from her hip halfway down her left thigh. When she’d seen herself in the dress with her makeup and her hair done （she’d given the hairdresser pictures of Audrey Hepburn from Roman Holiday）， she’d felt as though she was looking at a stranger, that she was a fictional character, an impostor. She told herself it was a natural feeling, something every bride must feel, but she wasn’t sure. The feeling of disassociation had something to do with what had happened in California—Scottie, thank God, had not replied to her email—but it also had something to do with Bruce. Who was this rich, attentive man? And who was she, that she was marrying him? It wasn’t just that he was a stranger, it was that she sometimes felt like a stranger to herself as well. Like everything she was now doing to prepare for this wedding was happening automatically. She was going through the steps, almost like clockwork, and not unhappily. It just felt strange. Was she still an arty girl who went to the city to be a writer? Or was she a small-town girl like Zoe? She was neither, it appeared. She was about to be the wife of a very rich man. And that felt as bizarre to her as anything.
Bruce wore a very classic Brunello Cucinelli tux, and Abigail realized that she’d never seen him in any kind of suit before. He looked relaxed and handsome, and the cold that he’d been fighting the past few days had disappeared.
Bruce’s father, whom Abigail had met only once, sat with her parents, and they all got along, or seemed to, anyway. Bill Lamb was a retired truck driver, a hardened version of his son who looked uncomfortable in the suit that Bruce had bought for him.
But he kept claiming that he was having the best day of his life, and he even danced later in the evening, several times with Abigail’s mother, and at one point with all the bridesmaids.
Abigail’s favorite part of the wedding was the cocktail reception.
The photographer had taken pictures prior to the ceremony, Abigail not feeling superstitious about the groom seeing her dress, so that after they were declared husband and wife, everyone could go straight to the reception, which was set up on a sloping lawn with a distant view of the Hudson River. A few tents had been erected but weren’t needed. The skies were clear, and the temperature was somewhere in the sixties. It was perfect. The signature cocktail was a sidecar, served in a coupe. Toasts were made, the oyster bar hummed, and when Abigail’s heel sank into the lawn and she nearly fell over, Bruce managed to catch her.
Dinner truly was a blur, but it might have been the two cocktails.
Abigail managed to eat half of her sea bass with parsley cream sauce and was amazed that it didn’t taste as though it had sat in a warming tray for the last two hours. More toasts were made, including a showstopper by the actor Martin Pilkingham, who embarrassed Abigail by listing off all the Boxgrove actors she’d had a crush on, including Zachary Mason, the actor to whom she’d lost her virginity. Zoe sat next to Abigail through dinner and kept up a good appearance even though she hadn’t reconciled yet with Dan. Usually a big eater, Zoe managed just three stalks of asparagus and drank half a bottle of wine, and she was the first on the dance floor after the traditional dances had ended. During the band’s second set Zoe slipped and hit the floor, and when Bruce’s best man, Darryl Cho, a married computer programmer from California, helped her up, she thanked him by kissing him full on the mouth. The other bridesmaids helped Zoe to her room, then reported back to Abigail that they’d managed to at least get her out of her bridesmaid dress before she passed out on the bed.