evening.'
But before Pam had gone two steps, Mother swept over and led Mrs. Grover off. For the rest of the party, whenever I saw Mrs. Grover, she had Mother at her elbow and a vexed look on her face. Bravo, Mother.
That evening, as I was preparing for bed, I found myself getting depressed. I wasn't quite sure why. The anticipated explosion from Mrs. Grover hadn't happened. I'd actually enjoyed myself far more than I usually did at a family party. I'd spent much of the time with Michael. We had a great many interests in common, not to mention similar senses of humor. He seemed to enjoy the company of my eccentric relatives without actually appearing to be laughing at them. Unlike most of the theater people I'd ever met he didn't seem to have an overdeveloped ego and an underused brain--although maybe that was because he was a theater professor, not a working actor. And he was certainly easy on the eyes. Just my luck that I was the wrong gender to suit the only genuinely attractive, intelligent, witty, and interesting male to come along in years. I told myself that it was definitely destructive to my peace of mind to spend too much time with Michael What-a-Waste. I vowed that tomorrow, at Eileen's party, I would mingle. After all, while her father's guest list was unlikely to include anyone as gorgeous as Michael, it might offer someone who was not only unmarried but actually eligible.
Monday, May 30
However, I reckoned without Michael's apparent enthusiasm for my company. Obviously he'd decided I was a kindred spirit here in the wilderness. Or perhaps only the least unpalatable female camouflage available. Whatever. In the light of day, surrounded by dotty relatives, my resolution not to waste time on ineligible bachelors evaporated rapidly. And so from the start, the second party seemed almost as a continuation of Mother's.
'I have a sense of deja vu,' Michael said, shortly after arriving. 'Didn't I picnic with these same people yesterday?'
'Yes, and ate much the same menu you'll get today,' I said. 'Welcome to small town life.'
'Speaking of food,' Rob said, and he and Michael headed for the buffet table.
'Michael's right,' I told Pam. 'This picnic has almost the same cast of characters as Mother's.'
'It's a pity the return performances include Mrs. Grover,' Pam said. 'After all the stories I've heard about her antics yesterday, I'd have thought she'd be persona non grata everywhere in town.'
'She does have a gift for offending people, doesn't she,' I replied. 'I suppose we're underestimating the local dedication to Southern hospitality.'
'Or Mother's ability to twist arms.' 'Also a pity Barry had to come,' I said, glancing around to see if he was nearby.
'Oh, which one is he?' Pam asked.
'The one following Dad around like a puppy,' I said, pointing. 'He's been doing it all afternoon.'
'Is Dad that entertaining today?' Pam asked.
'I don't know,' I said. 'I've been avoiding them. Actually, I think Barry's doing it to make a good impression on me. Steven and Eileen probably put him up to it.'
'Hmph,' Pam said. 'I don't see them.'
'They stopped over on Cape May on the way back from a fair.'
'So we're partying without the guests of honor.'
'Yes. Theoretically, they're supposed to be down here tomorrow so we can go pick her dress.'
'I'm not holding my breath,' Pam said. 'Neither am I.'
I felt it was very shortsighted of Eileen not to come. Both other brides were using the occasion to assign me new projects and extract progress reports on the old ones. Although if I reciprocated by trying to get either of them to make a decision or cough up information, they would gently rebuke me for being a workaholic and ruining such a nice social occasion. I hadn't expected to need the notebook-that-tells-me-when-to-breathe at a party, dammit, so I was taking notes on napkins. With two out of three brides present at the picnic, my pockets were getting rather full of napkins.
I joined the mob at the buffet table and discovered, to my irritation, that there was only a small bowl of Pam's famous homemade salsa, and that was nearly gone. Rob and Michael were industriously shoveling down what little remained.
'Is that all the salsa left?' I demanded. Michael and Rob froze, then edged away guiltily.
'Dad got into it,' Pam explained.
'He always does,' I said, scraping a few remnants off the side of the bowl. 'You should have made two bowls and hidden one.'
'I always do,' she retorted. 'It's not my fault he found them both this time. He's getting better at it.'
'You mean your dad ate two whole bowls of salsa?' Samantha asked incredulously.
'Dad's very fond of my salsa,' Pam said.
'It's very good,' Barry pronounced.
'Wonderful digestion for someone in his sixties,' Jake remarked. 'I can't even look at the stuff without having heartburn for days.'
'Dad can eat everything,' Pam remarked.
'And frequently does,' I said. 'How well did you hide the desserts?'
'Here, Meg,' Mother said, handing me a plate. 'Have some potato salad.'
'I don't like potato salad, Mother,' I said.
'Nonsense, it's very good,' Mother said. 'Mrs. Grover made it.' Not, to my mind, a recommendation. I examined it for telltale signs of ground glass or eye of newt.
'Oh, Meg, there's your friend Scotty!' Mother said, pointing out a new arrival. 'Scotty and Meg grew up together,' she explained to Michael, who was looking dubiously at Scotty's disheveled, potbellied form.
'I've been a little more successful at it,' I said. 'Scotty's in training to become the town drunk.'
'Meg!' Mother said. 'Is that necessary?'
'Well, somebody has to do it. Scotty's certainly the best qualified.'
'He's had a little trouble finding himself,' Mother said. 'I'm sure he'll do just fine as soon as he finds something that suits his abilities.'
'Mother,' I said. 'Scotty is thirty-five years old. If he hasn't figured out what he wants to do when he grows up by now, I would say the chances of his ever doing so are slim and getting slimmer by the minute.'
'I'm sure he'll turn out all right,' Mother said. 'He just needs encouragement.' She floated over to talk to some newly arriving cousins, graciously bestowing an encouraging word on Scotty in passing. He jumped guiltily away from the beer cooler at the sound of her voice and began combing his unwashed hair with his fingers. Then, when he realized she was gone, he furtively fished out another can.
'Actually, he doesn't usually need much encouragement at all,' I said as Scotty had caught sight of me and hurried over. Scotty cherished the fond delusion that we were childhood buddies.
'Meg,' he said, approaching with open arms.
'Hello, Scotty, have some potato salad,' I said, shoving my plate into his hand to ward him off. He didn't seem to mind. Scotty was used to rejection.
'Isn't it great?' Scotty said. 'We're going to be in a wedding together.'
'Scotty's an usher in Samantha and Rob's wedding,' I explained.
'His father is a partner in the firm,' Samantha added, giving Scotty a withering look. He sidled off. I wondered, not for the first time, why Samantha had ever included Scotty as an usher. Granted he was rumored to be reasonably presentable when sober and washed, but other than that ... well, his father must be a great deal more important to Mr. Brewster's law firm than I'd previously thought. Samantha marched off haughtily in the opposite direction. Scotty looked as if he might return, but noticed that Dad was organizing an impromptu work detail to weed Professor Donleavy's flowerbeds. Scotty vanished around the side of the house. He was all too familiar with Dad's tendency to find work for idle hands. Barry, Eric, and one of Eric's classmates had already begun weeding.
'I see Dad's putting Barry to some good use,' I said.
'They seem to be getting along pretty well,' Michael remarked with a frown.
'Stuff and nonsense. I suspect Eileen has told Barry to get in good with Dad if he hopes to make a favorable
