After the wedding, Sam thought, tucking himself back into his pants and climbing out of the car. After the wedding, Sarah and Eli and the boys would go back to New York, and Sam and Connor would stay on in Truro. Maybe he’d try telling his mother his news and see how that went over. Then, at night, after Connor was sleeping, he’d go to Provincetown, one of the great gay meccas of America.
He pictured himself, with a fresh haircut and a Tim-approved outfit, walking along Commercial Street, locking eyes with someone handsome and kind and funny and interesting. He would look at this man, and the man would look at him, and just like that, they’d know. No awkward groping, no confusion, no strange mouths on his genitals. Just the faceless, gorgeous man of his dreams, who would see Sam, and know him, and desire what Sam desired, and want the same things for himself.
Sam snorted to himself, thinking that this was as much of a fairy tale as anything Walt Disney had ever put onscreen. Love didn’t work that way. Sex didn’t, either. But, Sam decided, in the handful of weeks between now and his niece’s wedding, he would allow himself to hope.
Sarah
Six weeks before the wedding, on a gorgeous day in May, Sarah and Eli and Ruby had an appointment at a caterer’s showroom. Ruby and Gabe made a list of their favorite dishes, and Diana, the manager of a restaurant in Provincetown called Safe Harbor, had helped them craft a menu for the wedding night. After the ceremony, waiters would circulate with passed appetizers, including options for Ruby’s vegan friends, and there’d be a raw bar with oysters and fresh shrimp. For dinner, the guests would enjoy salads of fresh local greens, with candied pecans and goat cheese from one of the nearby dairies, then grilled striped bass and rice pilaf or beef Wellington, Ruby’s old favorite, with sour cream whipped potatoes. There would be a selection of cheeses, then miniature desserts, and, at midnight, a truck serving hot doughnuts to the revelers. Diana, who had once been Sarah and Sam’s babysitter for the summer, and who’d lived, for a time, in a cottage that Sarah’s mother owned, had flown down from Boston to show Ruby tablecloths and napkins, china and crystal—“All the stuff you need to see in person,” Ronnie said—and have her sample wedding cakes.
Sarah was glad to be out of the house; happy to feel useful to her stepdaughter, delighted, as always, for a reason to wear something that wasn’t a hoodie and pajama bottoms. She’d chosen a cream-colored silk blouse with lavish ruffles at the sleeves, slim-fitting black twill pants, and, for a pop of color, pointy-toed pumps in hot pink. Her favorite necklace, a rough chunk of topaz on a fine-link gold chain hung around her neck, a gold cuff bracelet sat on her wrist, and she’d dabbed perfume behind her ears.
Once, Eli would have looked her over with approval, or even pulled her back down to bed and made them both late for work. But it had been weeks since the last time they’d made love, and Sarah couldn’t recall the last time Eli had paid her a compliment, which was, somehow, even sadder. That morning, he hadn’t even been there to see her. “If you won’t tell me what’s going on, I think you should sleep somewhere else,” she’d said, after that morning where she’d found him almost crying in front of his tie rack. She’d hoped an ultimatum would finally get him talking. Instead, he’d just given her a sad nod, gathered his blankets and pillow, and moped his way to the attic. He’d slept there ever since.
Ruby, on her lunch hour, bounded into view right on time, with an enormous black iced coffee in her hand and a clipboard tucked under her arm.
Sarah looked at her stepdaughter, feeling her heart expand, and her anger at Eli evaporating instantly replaced by a fierce and protective love. Ruby wore a red T-shirt, denim overalls, and black Keds. A few curls had escaped from her ponytail to bounce around her cheeks. Sarah opened her arms and hugged her hard. She adored her sons, and loved being a mother of boys, but there was something special about a daughter, and Ruby had been that to her. Together, they’d seen musicals （“Too much singing,” Eli would grouse）， and had gone thrift-shopping and watched hours of trashy reality TV. They’d made dozens of trips to museums and hundreds of batches of chocolate chip–studded pancakes. The two of them were the family’s early risers, and they’d spent many Sunday mornings together, frying bacon and mixing batter in the quiet kitchen, in the hush of a city still sleeping.
“Have I told you how lucky I am to be your stepmom?” Sarah asked, with her arms still wrapped around Ruby.
Ruby stood on her tiptoes, rocking back and forth as Sarah held her. “I’m lucky to have you, too.”