What lies did John tell our old friends? What did he say to stop them from reaching out? Did any of them feel even a twinge of guilt as this new woman slipped right into the vacant seat I’d left behind?
I finish the pair of Swiss Rolls with a Dr Pepper chaser.
More familiar faces arrive, dressed to the nines and ready to donate. They smile and wave and hug and air-kiss as they make their way inside.
I stupidly thought it would be hard to find someone to chair the gala in my absence, but I was obviously wrong. The gala, like everything else in my life, has gone on without me.
We’d talked about a new direction for the decor this year. We were going to go for a brighter, happier theme instead of the usual pastel palette. It had been my idea, mostly because we’d been doing the same dusty-pink roses for over a decade. Change is good, I’d argued, and my co-chair, Marcie, had eventually agreed.
I feel differently about change now.
Change used to be flowers stretching their colors in spring. Butterflies emerging from chrysalises. The warm ochre hues of a park in the fall.
Now? Change feels like a tornado. A wildfire. Sudden and violent destruction without sympathy or warning.
My life is completely unrecognizable thanks to change.
But I do still wonder if Marcie went with the brighter palette.
Not that it matters, except... if the decor is all brighter, then there’s still a little bit of my influence left on this gala, an event that genuinely meant the world to me. To some of the women in our circle, it might’ve been about fancy dresses and expensive dinners, but to me, the gala was about one thing: raising money for the children’s hospital.
Many people, all walks of life... but coming together with one cause, one goal.One Voice.Hence the name.
I reach into the bag of cheese puffs and find it empty as I see my former in-laws’ Cadillac pull into the space directly in front of the door.
I catch a glimpse of my pinched brows and downturned mouth in the rearview mirror.
When Marilyn, John’s mother, found out about her son’s affair, she actually had the nerve to look me in the eye and say,“This never would’ve happened if you’d taken better care of your husband.”
If only I’d been ready with one of the many,manycomebacks I’ve since thought of.
“This from a woman who can’t keep a houseplant alive.”
“Really? Well, maybe if you hadn’t done your best to raise a selfish, self-important waste of space, I could’ve done a better job.”
And my personal favorite,“John has found discount Barbie, someone pretty and shallow with no morals and no fashion sense. People say boys end up marrying girls just like their mom, so...”And then I’d just shrug and smile.
And regret it immediately. Because it’s not in my nature to go low.
Or to be quick with a comeback. In the moment, the comment left me dumbstruck. Silent.
Which was often what happened when I was around John’s family. I always felt like a guest who’d overstayed her welcome. An underdressed stranger who won a ticket to a party.
They made no secret about the fact that I was absolutely not who they’d hoped would end up with their precious son.
Usually when the husband cheats, there’s an outpouring of sympathy toward the wife. In this case, it must’ve been my fault he was driven to such a decision.
Not attentive enough. Not social enough. Just plain notenough.I was Princess Di in Buckingham Palace, at least the version depicted inThe Crown.
Sure, there was plenty of pity, but mostly what this affair taught me about my social circle is that it’s full of people who are reallyinterested in staying in the good graces of John Sr. and Marilyn Wellesley.
I can practically hear Marilyn’s posh tone:“Iwarnedhim this would happen if he married that girl, but did he listen? No.”
She was pretty forthcoming with her disapproval from the start. She didn’t know about Amelia at the time, of course, but I have to wonder if it would’ve made a difference. She never made much of an effort to know her granddaughter, and when she did find out, my pregnancy only gave her “proof” that I was trying to trap John.
I wish I’d been trying to trap him. All of this might’ve been less horrible if my feelings hadn’t been involved. Back then, John and I were smitten with each other. He made me feel wanted and loved. He didn’t care that his mother didn’t approve; he was committed to me. When did that change?
Up until that fateful night a year ago, I’d been doing a pretty good job of fitting in. At least I thought I was. I had the right clothes. The right shoes. I attended the right dinners and events. I drove the right car and I knew all the right people.
