The Wedding Sisters Read Free Page A

the entire semester and had never been more relieved for a class to finish. Meryl, astonished, asked, “Why?”
    â€œWell,” he said, giving this serious thought, as though answering a question posed in a lecture hall. “You’re beautiful. And temperamental. And you’re not overly impressed by work it’s taken me a lot longer not to be overly impressed by.”
    He asked if he could kiss her, and she was thrilled by the shocking turn of events. She had never even fantasized about Hugh Becker, and now she found herself wanting nothing more than to feel his hands on her body. She’d had sex with only two men in her life, and as soon as Hugh Becker’s mouth pressed down on hers, she knew that very night he would be her third. And, quite possibly, her last.
    *   *   *
    For the past decade, Meryl’s mother had lived alone in a six-story building that had a tiny lobby. Meryl did not know any of the other tenants; her mother had moved into the place the month she became a widow, and never bothered getting to know anyone. Not surprising: While Meryl was growing up, Rose had kept to herself even as the other mothers formed friendships and alliances at school drop-offs and pickups and on the PTA boards. But Rose kept a low profile. That’s how she put it, “low profile.” “I like it that way,” she’d said.
    Growing up, Meryl had taken these things as a matter of course, not recognizing the behavior as odd. Her mother was different from the mothers of her friends, but that was because Eastern Europeans were different. There was a wariness that ran bone deep.
    Her mother had stomach problems. And insomnia. All just a part of her mother, like her blue eyes and ash blond hair and Polish accent.
    The elevator was small, with a sliding door that had a round, gated window. Something about it made Meryl feel like any ride could be the one that ended in a free fall to the basement, so she opted for the stairs.
    On the third floor, out of breath and vowing to make it to the gym sometime that week (month?), she rang her mother’s bell.
    â€œI feel bad you wasted a trip over here, Mrs. Becker,” said Oona, opening the door and shaking her head.
    â€œI’m not leaving here without her, Oona. Now, where is she?”
    Oona led Meryl to the bedroom and briskly knocked once before opening the door.
    Meryl’s mother was fully dressed in a white blouse, gray tweed skirt, full makeup, her signature eyeglasses with the oversized round black frames, sturdy shoes, and her nails manicured with clear polish. She was watching The Bold and the Beautiful, a show she watched only begrudgingly now that they had recast the leading male character, Ridge Forrester. As a teenager, Meryl had watched soaps like The Young and the Restless and As the World Turns along with her mother. The common vocabulary of soaps was one of the few things they shared. Her mother had never been one for deep conversation. In her world, everything was black-and-white. There was very little to discuss.
    â€œHi, Mom. Meg is coming early, so we have to get going.”
    Her mother shook her head and tsk-tsked. At first Meryl thought it was her irritation at being rushed, but then she realized the disapproval was directed at the television screen.
    â€œHer own sister’s husband,” her mother muttered.
    â€œMom, did you hear what I said? We have to get going.”
    Her mother turned to her. “I’m not going anywhere.”
    â€œWhat? Why not?”
    â€œYou know why not.”
    Not this again. Meryl inhaled deeply and took a brief reprieve from her mother’s stubbornness, instead appreciating the rare opportunity to look at Rose’s paintings, which hung on every wall. Her mother had only ever displayed her art in the bedroom while Meryl was growing up. It was as if her mother didn’t want anyone else to know that she was an artist, even now. At times,