Young Jane Young Read online

  “You swerved!” Ruby said. She was doubled over laughing.

  “I did,” she said. “Darn it! I really thought I could do it.”

  Franny frowned, and Ruby said, “Don’t be sad, Franny. Maybe we need some percentage of the people to move out of the way, otherwise the world would be in— What’s the word, Mom?”

  “Anarchy,” I said.

  “Anarchy,” Ruby repeated. “Maybe the people who move out of the way aren’t weak? Maybe they just don’t care?”

  When we arrived at the Met, we went straight to the Temple of Dendur, which has always been one of my favorite city places. Franny was throwing a penny in the fountain when a handsomely patina-ed couple in their seventies stopped me. “We’re on vacation from Florida,” the woman said.

  I could have guessed. These people were as Florida as Disney World and pink lawn flamingoes.

  “We’re visiting our son and daughter-in-law. Why they want to live in the cold, I will never know. Their apartment is the size of a matchbook,” the man said.

  “We were saying—I hope you won’t be offended, but you look so much like that girl,” the woman said. “The one who got into that terrible trouble with the congressman. What was her name?”

  “Aviva Grossman,” I said. “I know exactly who you mean! I grew up in South Florida, and I used to get that all the time. But in Maine, where I live, no one knows who that is, and it’s such a long time ago now.”

  We laughed about how funny it was to resemble an obscure figure from an ancient scandal.

  “The more I look at you, the less you look like her,” the woman said.

  “I mean, you’re much more attractive than her,” the man said. “Slimmer.”

  “That Levin,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “He behaved very badly with that girl.”

  “But he’s been a good congressman,” the husband said. “You must admit that.”

  “I will admit nothing about that man,” the wife said. “The girl did not behave well, but the man, what he did was—” She shook her head. “No good.”

  “The girl knew he was married so she got what was coming to her,” the husband said.

  “You would think that,” said the wife.

  “That woman he was married to, though,” the husband said. “She was a piece of work. You could make ice on her ass.”

  “I wonder whatever happened to the girl,” she said.

  “Handbags,” said the husband with authority.

  “Handbags?” the wife asked.

  “She went into handbags,” he said. “Or hand-knit scarves.”

  “I think that was Monica Lewinsky,” I said, and then I excused myself. “Safe travels,” I said.

  I went over to where Ruby and Franny were sitting. “Who’s Aviva Grossman?” Ruby asked.

  EIGHT

  When we got back to the hotel, Wes was waiting in the lobby. “Surprise,” he said, and he kissed Franny on the cheek.

  “Oh gosh,” Franny said. “What are you doing here?”

  “Wes,” I said. “Nice to see you. This is my daughter, Ruby.”

  “Ruby,” Wes said. “Great name.”

  “Thanks,” Ruby said. “I’ve had it all my life.”

  “Seriously,” Franny said. “Why are you here?”

  “I figured you’d be done shopping by now, and I thought I’d take you to dinner.” He kissed her again.

  “You flew all this way to take me to dinner?” she said.

  “Sure,” he said. “Why should you get all the fun?”

  “This was supposed to be a girls’ weekend,” Franny said.

  “I’m sure Jane doesn’t mind,” Wes said. “You don’t seem happy,” he said in a low voice.

  “I am,” she said. “I’m surprised.”

  “Well,” I said. “Ruby and I can amuse ourselves. Good to see you, Wes.” I shook his hand, and Ruby and I left.

  We rode the elevator up to our room. “Awkward,” Ruby said when we reached our floor.

  “I know,” I said.

  “She could do better,” Ruby said. “She looks like a mean girl, but she’s so pretty and nice.”

  FRANNY HAD THE hotel room next to ours, and that night, we could hear them arguing through the wall. Mainly we could hear him. He seemed to be positioned closer to the wall or a connecting duct, and he had one of those voices that carried.

  “Thanks for making me feel like shit when I was doing something nice,” he said. “Thanks very much for that. I needed that, FRANCES.”

  She said something, but we could not make it out.

  “You’re CRAZY!” he yelled. “You know that? I mean, you literally are.”

  . . .

  “You know what Audra said? Audra said I was crazy to marry you, considering your history. I have things I want to do with my life, and they do not involve having a crazy girl in it.”

  . . .

  “No, no, I do not accept that. I told her you were just a teenager, but Audra said—”

  “I DON’T CARE WHAT AUDRA SAID!” Franny was finally yelling loudly enough for her voice to penetrate.

  “You wanna know what else Audra said? Audra said it seemed weird that you were taking the wedding planner to New York City when you have four bridesmaids who would be happy to go dress shopping with you.”

  “I LIKE THE WEDDING PLANNER!”

  “You barely know her. And are you saying you don’t like my sisters?” he asked.

  “I DON’T EVEN KNOW THEM!” And then she said something we couldn’t understand.

  A second later, the door slammed. One of them had left.

  “Jeez,” Ruby whispered.

  We had both heard worse. People were often the worst versions of themselves in the months leading up to a wedding. Occasionally, though, the worst version of someone was the actual version of someone, but it was difficult to know if one was in that situation until after the fact. “Average,” I said.

  “Unhappy brides are each unhappy in their own way,” Ruby said. “What did he mean by ‘Franny’s history,’ Mom?”

  “That’s none of our business,” I said.

  “We could ask her,” Ruby said. “I bet she’d tell us.”

  “We could,” I said. “And she might, but it still wouldn’t be any of our business. The only past you have a right to know about is your own.”

  “And the people you have to study for history class. You’re being so boring,” Ruby said. “I’m going to google it.” Ruby picked up her phone. “Frances—what’s her last name?”

  “Lincoln,” I said.

  “It’s too common,” Ruby said. “Is Franny from Allison Springs, or somewhere else?”

  “Hey, Nancy Drew! Seriously, it’s none of our business,” I said. “Somewhere else, I think.”

  “We could go on her Facebook,” Ruby suggested. “See who she knows.”

  “You sound like a stalker or a mobster.”

  “Fine,” Ruby said. She plugged in her phone. “I bet she had an eating disorder and she was in a mental hospital.”

  “That’s not nice,” I said.

  “I’m just, like, imagining what it might be,” Ruby said. “She’s very skinny.”

  “Really?” I said. “I hadn’t noticed.” Of course I had noticed. At the dress store, the shopgirl had needed multiple clamps to get the sample size to stay up. Franny’s shoulder blades were as sharp as knives. When I kissed or hugged her, I felt as if I might break her. But Franny could have been naturally that way, who knew? It is foolish to speculate what is happening inside another human’s shell. In any case, I wanted my daughter to think that her mother didn’t notice the size of other women’s bodies because I wanted my daughter not to notice the size of other women’s bodies. I believed a mother must act like the woman she wanted her daughter to become.

  “You seriously didn’t notice?” Ruby said.

  “I seriously did not,” I said. “I’m not that interested in other women’s bodies.”

  “You are seriously blind
.” Ruby sighed. “Who’s Nancy Drew?”

  NINE

  He’s not that bad,” Franny said to me on the plane ride back. I was in the middle seat, and Franny and Ruby were on either side of me. Ruby had on her headphones and she was doing her schoolwork. “He can be very kind,” Franny said, “and he cares so much about the community. Like, the animal shelter in town was going to have to close, and he went to every person he’d ever sold a house to or for, and he raised enough money for the shelter to stay open. That’s what attracts me to him. He’s civic-minded and he’s very industrious.”

  “He’s fine,” I said. “Weddings are stressful.”

  “Hmm,” she said. “But you still don’t like him.”

  “I like him fine,” I said. “I’m not the one marrying him.”

  “Okay,” she said. “Would you marry him?”

  “No, because he isn’t my type,” I said.

  “I meant, would you marry him if you were me?”

  The truth was, I wouldn’t, but she wasn’t my daughter or even my friend. I liked her, but she was my client. “I could guess, but I don’t know what it means to be you,” I said. “So I can’t answer that.” I paused. “Do you love him?”

  “I love you,” Franny said.

  “No,” I said, “I don’t think so.”

  “It’s too bright in here. I feel like I’m getting sunburnt. Can you get sunburn through glass?” Franny lowered the shade. “I mean, I love you like a friend. I love how honest you are about things,” Franny said.

  TEN

  The night before Franny’s wedding, I had another dream about Aviva Grossman. Aviva was still young, maybe twenty, and I was her wedding planner. “If I blow out my hair,” she said, “I’ll feel like a liar.”

  “You should do what makes you feel the most comfortable,” I said.

  “Aaron doesn’t like my hair curly,” she said.

  “Whatever you decide, it’ll be right,” I said.

  “That’s what people say when they aren’t listening or they don’t want to take any responsibility. Can you help me zip this?” she said. She turned around, and there was a great plane of skin between the two sides of her dress’s zipper.

  “What is it?” she said. “It’s not too tight, is it?”

  “Hold on.” I wrenched the two sides of the dress, using all my strength, and I somehow forced the zipper up.

  “Can you sit?” I asked. “Can you breathe?”

  “Who needs to breathe?” She sat very slowly. I heard the creak of the dress’s internal boning and I braced myself for the shredding that was surely to come. “Breathing is for real girls.” She smiled up at me. “I never thought you would become a wedding planner.”

  I woke up in a sweat. I checked the weather report on my phone: 66 percent chance of flurries.

  It did not snow. The weather was cold and clear. The roads were not icy. No flights were delayed. All who said they would attend, attended. But the whole day, despite the meteorological blessing of this union, I was filled with the memory of the prior night’s dream, and I felt restless.

  Wes’s sisters were congenial enough, but they were incredibly close, and they had the kind of intimacy that excluded other people. Audra, the despised best friend of Wes, came on strong, but it was obvious to me—and probably everyone else—that she was in love with him. Today was a tragedy for her, so I cut her some slack and tried to be as kind to her as I could. I knew what it was to be in love with someone who did not love you back.

  Schiele checked in with me after he had set up the floral centerpieces. “All orchids present and accounted for, ma’am. Would you like to see them before I leave?”

  I followed Schiele into the ballroom. The orchids looked odd to my eye—the blooms were lonely and eerie, almost extraterrestrial, and the pots and the roots seemed awkward and out of place. But that was a good thing. No one wanted a wedding that looked like everyone else’s, and the orchids suited Franny, what I knew of her.

  “What do you think?” Schiele said proudly.

  “You do good work,” I said.

  “I wish every bride would ask for orchids. It’s a lot more fun for me,” Schiele said. “This might be my favorite wedding I’ve ever done.” Schiele took out his phone and began snapping pictures. “Would you send me some of the professional photos when you have them? Do you think Franny would mind?”

  “I think she’d be delighted,” I said.

  “Franny’s a special woman.”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “What? You don’t agree.”

  “I said yes.”

  “But there was something in your tone,” he said.

  I didn’t think there had been anything in my tone, but I looked around the room to see if we were alone. “This isn’t about Franny specifically,” I said. “More a thought I have had over the years. These details—the flowers, the dress, the room—all of them seem very important. It’s my job to make people believe that the details are important. But ultimately, no matter what they choose, it’s still flowers, a dress, and a room.”

  “But what flowers!” Schiele said. “What a room!”

  “Sometimes I feel like the wedding is a Trojan horse. The dream I peddle to distract from the reality of a marriage. They choose these things to distinguish themselves from everyone else. They choose these things to make themselves feel less ordinary. But is there anything more ordinary than choosing to get married?”

  “You’re a terrible person,” Schiele said.

  “Possibly.”

  “My God, you’re in a dark mood,” Schiele said.

  “I think orchids make me melancholy,” I said.

  “I’M NOT SURE about my hair,” Franny said just before the ceremony. “It seems convoluted, and the man did it so tight, I feel like I’m going to have a stroke.” The updo consisted of two thick braids coiled into a crown around her head. She had wanted the relaxed look of a girl attending an outdoor musical festival, but instead, the braids looked like hairy snakes that were swallowing Franny headfirst.

  “Take it down,” I said.

  “That’s okay?”

  “It’s elegant and rustic,” I said. “That’s the beauty of your theme. You can do what you want.”

  She took down her hair. “What would I do without you?”

  “You would have hired a different me,” I said. “Maybe one from Portland.”

  “I had hoped you hadn’t heard that. Wes was awful that first time we met you,” she said. “He wants people to like him . . . He thought he was impressing you.”

  “He made an impression,” I said.

  She laughed, and then she put her hand over her mouth. “Oh gosh,” she said. “I’m marrying him so you probably think I’m awful, too.” She paused. “You probably think, ‘How can she love a man like that?’ I wonder it sometimes, too.”

  “I like you,” I said. I zipped up Franny’s garment bag, and I packed up her shoes and clothes into her duffel.

  “Oh you don’t have to do that!” she said.

  “I’m happy to,” I said. “It’s my job.”

  “Okay, Jane. Thank you. You’re probably tired of me saying this, but I honestly don’t know what I would do without you. My mother . . .” Franny’s eyes began to tear, but I didn’t want her to cry because the makeup artist had already left. I handed her a tissue.

  “Dab at it,” I said. “Don’t rub. Take a deep breath.”

  She dabbed. She breathed.

  “I read a story about a woman in California,” I said. “She pretended to be a bridesmaid so she could rob the rooms where the wedding parties left their things while they were at the ceremony. I think she robbed maybe fifty weddings.”

  “But eventually she got caught,” Franny said.

  “Eventually, but it took a long time. It’s the perfect crime when you think about it. Everyone’s so distracted at a wedding.”

  “Everyone except you,” she said.

  “And half the guests don’t know one an
other.”

  “You’re trying to distract me right now,” Franny said.

  “I don’t think you’re even one iota awful, and you should know that people get married for every kind of reason, and love is only one of them and—this might sound cynical—but having done a couple of hundred weddings, I’m not even sure love is the best reason to marry someone anyway.”

  “Oh Jane, it’s the only one.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  “But if I’m wrong about Wes, it seems so permanent,” she said.

  “But it isn’t,” I said. “If it turns out you made a mistake, you won’t be stoned to death. They won’t embroider a scarlet ‘D’ on your chest. You live in the twenty-first century. You will call a lawyer, and you’ll leave with what you came in with—give or take—and you’ll change back your name, and you’ll go to some other town, and you’ll start over again.”

  “You make it sound easy. What if I’ve had children?”

  “That would be more difficult, yes.”

  “I sometimes wonder how I let it get so far,” she said.

  “Listen, if you truly think you’re making a mistake, I can go out there and I can tell everyone to go home.”

  ELEVEN

  Wes came by to give me the money I was owed after they’d returned from their honeymoon. “Franny said she would do it, but I said that was silly. Jane’s office is about five hundred feet from mine.”

  I took the check and I put it in my desk. “Is it only five hundred feet?” I asked. The nature of my work leads me to concede most minor points, but something about Wes made me feel contrary. The honeymoon had left him tanned and cockier than ever, and he seemed to expect gratitude for paying what was owed.

  “Maybe half a mile,” he said.

  “Still, that’s more than five hundred feet,” I said.

  “Have it your way, Jane,” he said magnanimously. “Franny bought this for Ruby.” He set a plastic snow dome on my desk. It was empty except for water and plastic parts: a nose, a top hat, a carrot, three pieces of coal. “It’s a Florida snowman,” he said.