“You’re kidding,” I said. “We’re getting married in an hour.” I was already in a state. My parents had yet to show up. My dad was supposed to walk me down the aisle. My mom was supposed to help with my dress. They weren’t there. Their phones were both switched off.
Margo sat before a long mirror so I could see her once in reflection and once in real life. Her makeup table was littered with high-end products. She wore a white dress and a veil cut so stately that no one would ever confuse her for the bride. “I was sure he would leave you at the altar. I would have put money on it, but now I’ll put money on you.”
“I don’t want your money.” My phone vibrated in my robe pocket. I glanced at the number, but it was just Mitsi, my maid of honor, probably wondering where I was.
“They’re not coming.”
My throat caught. “Who?”
“Your parents.” She ran her hand over the products on the table, not looking, not touching, like a psychic feeling out a sign. “You’ll never see them again if you marry Graham.” Her hands closed around a tub of La Mer.
My first reaction was disbelief. I was new to Margo, new to Graham. I didn’t understand how easy things were for them. How easy it was to make something happen. How easy it was to make something appear or to make something vanish. “What did you say to them?”
“The same thing I said to you: What. Is. Your. Number?”
Back then I was so holy with my own intelligence. I believed in myself. I had a wedding, four thousand guests, a dress made of lace made by monks. I had Graham. So I said, “I don’t have a number.”
She pursed her lips. I thought I detected a genuine sadness in the leftover corners of her redone face. “I don’t think you understand. We’re bad people. We do bad things. You weren’t meant for this life. You weren’t meant to be this rich.” She took two scoops of La Mer, slathered it on her face. Then she rubbed. It took her ages to rub it all in.
I stood tall, a Dickensian hero. I thought she would be moved. I thought she would be impressed. “I love him.”
Her face was cold and heavy, the ghost in the shell. “Then you don’t see him. Graham is unlovable.”
I tipped my chin. “You’re wrong.”
She shook her head. “You’re too young to understand, so you’ll have to trust me: My son and I are the same. We’re destroyers. We destroy people. All at once or incrementally, he will destroy you and everything you love. It’s in our blood.” She reached for me and I jumped at her touch, not realizing we were so close. She squeezed my hand so hard, I felt my bones. “Take the money. No one will ever offer you something of more value.”
I thought she was trying to trick me. Graham had warned me his mother liked to play games. She was ruthless in getting what she wanted. She would say anything, do anything, pay anything.
I didn’t understand then. I don’t know if I understand now. But sometimes I wonder. Maybe she was telling the truth. Maybe honesty was a tactic, the last card she had to play. I think of Graham’s expression as he watched Elvira float.
But I never could have seen it then, never could have understood. It’s the things you want that kill you. The things you want but never get. Back then I still believed I could have everything, have anything. Maybe my parents wouldn’t come to my wedding, but they would come around eventually. I would earn Margo’s respect. I would earn Graham’s love. They and the world would relent.
I was young, and I was dumb, and I was sure I would get everything I ever wanted.
“I don’t want the money,” I told her. “I want the life.”
“Stupid girl, you’ll lose them both.” She turned her back on me, faced her own reflection in the mirror. I could still see her, but as far as she was concerned, I had disappeared.
I knew I shouldn’t tell Graham what she had said but I did, on the third night of our honeymoon, when he still couldn’t get it up to sleep with me. I told him the whole story, my valiant parts, Margo’s wicked insistence.
Once I had finished, he said flatly, “Margo knows everything.” Then he walked out onto our deck and jumped into the ocean. He didn’t come up for so long, I thought he might have drowned.
When he finally surfaced, he looked hypnotized. He padded into our luxury hut dripping wet. “I need to call her,” he said.
“I don’t care.” I jumped up and embraced him, let him soak me. “Don’t you see? It doesn’t matter. I love you anyway.”