Something Blue

Hugh Rhone. Welcome to Indianapolis. It's a pleasure to meet you,' he boomed in his chipper dentist's-office voice.

Marcus nodded and mumbled that it was nice to meet him too. I gave him a look, widening my eyes as if to say 'Is that the best you can do?' Had he ignored my lecture during the flight, my tireless explaining that my parents were all about image? 'First impressions are last impressions' was one of my father's favorite expressions. I had told Marcus this.

I waited for Marcus to say something more, but instead he averted his eyes to the luggage belt. 'Is that your bag?' he asked me.

'Yes,' I said, spotting my Louis Vuitton suitcase. 'Grab it for me, please.'

Marcus leaned down and heaved it from the belt. 'Sheesh,' he said under his breath, the fourth comment he had made about my over-packing since we had left the city.

'Oh, Marcus, let me,' my dad said, reaching for my bag.

Marcus shrugged and gave it to him. 'If you insist.'

I cringed, wishing he had protested at least once.

'So that's it, Daddy. Marcus just has his carry-on bag,' I said, glancing at his nasty pea-green satchel with a frayed strap and some defunct Internet logo emblazoned on the side. I saw my father take it in too.

'Okeydokey. We're off,' my dad bellowed, rubbing his hands together vigorously. Then, as we found his BMW in the parking garage, he told us of his speeding ticket on the way over. 'Was only going seven over.'

'Daddy, was it really just seven?' I asked.

'Cross my heart. Seven over. Marcus, the cops in this town are relentless.'

'That's what I told you in high school!' I said, hitting his arm. 'A lot of good that excuse ever did me.'

'Drinking vodka in the Burger King parking lot at sixteen? That is hardly what I'd characterize as overzealous police work.' My dad chuckled. 'Marcus, I have a lot of stories to tell you about our girl here.'

Our girl. It was a big concession. That combined with his chipper mood on the heels of a ticket was only further proof of his determination to like my new boyfriend.

'I can only imagine,' Marcus said from the back seat, his voice detached, bored. Was he was missing my dad's cues, or was he simply unwilling to go along with the jovial routine?

I glanced back at him, but his face was in shadow and I couldn't read his expression. For the rest of the ride home, Marcus said virtually nothing despite plenty of effort from my father.

As we pulled into our cul-de-sac, I pointed out Rachel's house to Marcus. He made an acknowledging sound.

'Are the Whites away?' I asked my father, noticing that all of their lights were out.

He reached over and squeezed my knee with one hand and then clicked our garage door opener with the other. 'No. They're around, I think.'

'Maybe they knew I was coming home and couldn't bear to face me,' I said.

'Just remember, it's not their fault,' my dad said. 'It's Rachel's.'

'I know,' I said. 'But they did raise a traitor.'

My dad made a face as if to say, 'Fair point.'

'Think Mom will mind if we go in through the back way?' he asked me. My mother believes that visitors should always be brought through the front door-not that Marcus would ever notice the difference.

Sure enough, my mom peered into the garage and whispered, as if Marcus and I couldn't hear her, 'Hugh, the front door.'

'The kids have bags,' he said.

My mother forced a smile and said in her turbocharged, company voice, 'Well then, come in! Come in!' As always, she was in full makeup-she put her 'face' on even to go to the grocery store. Her hair was swept up in a jeweled clip I had bought for her at Barneys, and she was dressed in ivory from head to toe. She looked beautiful, and I was proud for Marcus to see her. If he subscribed to the whole 'a daughter will end up looking like her mother' notion, he had to be exceedingly pleased.

Marcus and my father fumbled with our bags, maneuvering them between our car and the lawnmower as my mom lectured my father about pulling the car in too far to the left.

'Dee, I'm perfectly centered,' he said, agitation creeping into his voice. My parents bickered constantly, more with every passing year, but I knew that they would stay together for the long haul. Maybe not for love, but because they both liked the image of the proper home-the good, intact family. 'I'm perfectly centered,' he said again.

My mom resisted a retort, and opened the door wide for us. As she kissed me, my nose filled with her heavier-than-usual application of Chanel No. 5. She then turned to Marcus, putting one hand on each of his cheeks and planting a big kiss just to the right of his mouth. 'Marcus! Welcome! It's so nice to meet you.'

'Nice to meet you too,' Marcus mumbled back.

My mother hates mumblers. I silently hoped that the shame of greeting a guest between our dark garage and laundry room would distract her from noticing my boyfriend's poor enunciation. She quickly ushered us into the kitchen. A spread of cheese, olives, and her famous shrimp puffs was laid out on the counter.

My brother, Jeremy, and his girlfriend, Lauren, suddenly bounded around the corner like two overeager house pets. Neither of them was ever in a bad mood. My father once said that the pair had two modes: chipper or asleep. True to form, Lauren wasted no time postintroduction and launched into an inane tale about one of our neighbors. I have known Lauren since she was a baby-she lived down the street from us and Rachel occasionally babysat her-so I knew that she was the kind of girl who could dominate a conversation by saying absolutely nothing in the sort of way you expect from an old lady in church, not a twenty-five-year-old. The weather, the big sale at JoAnn Fabrics, or the latest winner of bingo at Good Haven, the nursing home where she worked.

As Lauren concluded her story, my father offered Marcus a drink.

'A beer would be great,' he said.

'Get him a chilled glass, Hugh,' my mother said, as my dad flicked off the top of a Budweiser.

'Oh, I don't need a glass. Thanks, though,' Marcus said, taking the bottle from my father.

I gave him a look to indicate that he should have taken the glass as we all followed my mother to the living room. Lauren sat close to my brother on the couch, clutching his arm in a death grip. My brother is a bit of a dork, too, but as I studied his girlfriend's sweatshirt with the Good Haven logo, acid-washed, cropped jeans, Keds with no socks (a look I couldn't even stomach during its brief acceptable stint in high school), I determined for the hundredth time that he could do better. Marcus and I took a seat on the opposite couch, and my parents took the two armchairs.

'So,' my mother said, crossing her ankles. I assumed she was ready to interrogate Marcus. I felt nervous, but also excited, hopeful that he would rise to the occasion and make me proud. But instead of focusing on Marcus, my mother said, 'Lauren and Jeremy have some news!'

Lauren giggled and threw out her left hand, revealing what appeared from my seat on the opposite couch to be a princess-cut diamond ring set in white gold or platinum. 'Surprise!'

I looked at my brother. I was surprised, all right. Surprised that it wasn't a marquis cut set in yellow gold.

'We're getting married,' Jeremy confirmed.

Marcus spoke before I could. 'Congrats.' He raised his beer.

Jeremy returned the gesture with his glass of Coke. 'Thanks, man.'

Jeremy shouldn't say man. He just can't pull it off. He hasn't a cool bone in his body.

'Congratulations,' I said, but my voice sounded stilted, unnatural. I stood to survey the goods, quickly determining that although the diamond was a decent size, it was slightly yellowish. I pegged it as a J in color.

'Very nice,' I said, returning Lauren's hand to my brother's knee.

My mother started to gush about a May wedding in Indy and a reception at our country club.

I told them how happy I was for them, my mouth stretched into a fake smile as I tried to suppress a stab of envy. I wondered how I could possibly be jealous of my dorky little brother and this girl with bad bangs and thick thighs shoved into acid-washed jeans. Yet incredibly, I was. I was bothered by my mother's enthusiasm. Bothered that Lauren was replacing me as the bride-to-be, my mother's focal point. And what annoyed me the very most was that their spring wedding was going to shift the focus from my baby and me.