“Rachel and I are going to have breakfast with you tomorrow. She wants you to meet Jason and Tommy too. They're adorable little boys.” In a single breath, he had a new family, and it occurred to Meg instantly that his new bride was young enough to want more babies. The very idea of it made her sick. But at least he was including them in the horror. It would have been worse if they'd been excluded, or he'd told them after the wedding.
“Where are you getting married?”
“At the Metropolitan Club. There will only be about a hundred people there. Neither of us wanted a big wedding. Rachel is Jewish, and we didn't want a religious wedding. We're going to be married by a judge friend of hers.” It was beyond thinking. The vision of her father marrying someone else nearly reduced Meg to hysterics, no matter how smart or nice the woman was. Like Wim, all she could do now was think of how it would affect her mother. She was going to be heartbroken. But hopefully not suicidal. If nothing else, Meg was glad that she and Wim were in town to bring her comfort.
“When are you going to tell Mom?” Meg asked cautiously. Wim hadn't said a word in minutes and was playing with the napkin in his lap.
“I'm not sure,” her father said vaguely. “I wanted both of you to know first.” And then Meg understood what he was doing. He wanted them to tell Paris. It was going to be their job to break the news to her.
He paid the check after that, and they rode back to the hotel in silence. He said goodnight to them, and left them alone in the connecting rooms he had taken for them for the night. And it was only after he had left that Meg flew into her brother's arms, and the two stood there and hugged, crying loudly, like children lost in the night. It was a long time before they finally let go of each other, blew their noses, and sat down.
“How are we going to tell Mom?” Wim said, looking as devastated as Meg felt.
“I don't know. We'll figure it out. We'll just tell her, I guess.”
“I guess she'll stop eating again,” he said, looking grim.
“Maybe not. She's got her shrink. How can he be so stupid? She's practically my age, and she's got two little kids. I think that's why he left Mom.”
“You do?” Wim looked stunned. He still hadn't made the connection, but he was naïve, and young.
“He wouldn't be getting married this fast otherwise. The divorce isn't even final for another week or two. He didn't lose any time. Maybe she's pregnant,” Meg added with a look of panic, and Wim laid on the bed and closed his eyes.
They called their mother after that, just to check in, but neither of them said a word about their father's plans. They just said they'd had a nice dinner at Le Cirque, and were going to bed at the hotel.
And that night, for the first time in years, they slept in the same bed, clinging to each other in innocent despair, just as they had when they were children. The last time they'd done that was when their dog died. Meg couldn't remember being as miserable since. It had been a very, very long time.
And in the morning, their father called their rooms to make sure they were awake, and reminded them that they were meeting Rachel and her sons in the dining room downstairs at ten o'clock.
“I can hardly wait,” Meg said, feeling as though she was hung over. And Wim looked as though he felt worse. He looked sick.
“Do we really have to do this?” he asked as they went down in the elevator. Meg was wearing brown suede pants and a sweater of her mother's. And Wim was dismissively casual, wearing a UCB sweatshirt and jeans. It was all he had brought with him, and he found himself hoping they'd throw him out of the dining room, but they didn't. Their father and a very attractive young woman were already waiting for them at a large round table, and two little towheaded boys were squirming in their seats. And Meg noticed as soon as they got there that Rachel looked like a taller, younger, sexier version of their mother. The resemblance was striking. It was as though her father had turned back the clock and cheated time, with a woman who was a younger version of his soon-to-be-ex-wife. It was a compliment of sorts, but the irony of it somehow made it all seem that much worse. Why couldn't he have just resigned himself to getting older with their mother, and left things as they had been? And Wim realized as he looked at her, that Rachel was the girl his father had introduced him to casually in his office months before. Seeing her again now made Wim curious about how and when she had come into his father's life, and if they had already been involved back then.
Peter introduced both of his children to Rachel, and to Jason and Tommy. And Rachel made a considerable effort with both Meg and Wim. And finally at the end of breakfast, she looked at both of them and spoke cautiously to them about the wedding. She had disagreed violently with Peter about telling them so late, and was well aware of how hard it was going to be on them. But she wasn't willing to postpone it either. As far as she was concerned, she had waited long enough. She just thought Peter should have told them a lot sooner than he did. His idea about letting the dust settle after he left their mother seemed more than foolish to her. The one thing she had done before the fateful breakfast was to warn Jason and Tommy not to say that Peter was living with them, and they had agreed.
“I know it must be hard for both of you to know that we're getting married,” she said slowly. “I know this has been a big change for you, and probably comes as a shock. But I really love your father, and I want to make him happy. And I want you both to know that you're welcome in our home anytime. I want you to feel it's your home too.” He had bought a beautiful co-op on Fifth Avenue, with a splendid view of the park, and two guest rooms for them. And there were three rooms for the boys and a nanny. Rachel had said that if they had a baby, which she hoped they would, the boys could share a room.
“Thank you,” Meg said in a choked voice after Rachel's little speech. After that they talked about the wedding. And at eleven-thirty, after never speaking once during the entire breakfast, Wim looked at his sister and said they had to catch the train.
They both hugged their father before they left, and they seemed in a great hurry to leave. Peter reminded Wim that the wedding was black tie, and he nodded, and with rapid strides, they were out of the hotel and into a cab after a hasty good-bye to Rachel and the boys. Wim didn't say a word to his sister, he just stared out the window, and she held his hand. New Year's Eve was going to be a killer, they both knew, not only for them, but for their mother too. And they still had to break the news. But Meg wanted to do it, she didn't want her father upsetting her again. She'd been through enough.
“How do you think it went?” Peter asked Rachel as he paid the check, and she helped the boys put on their coats. They'd been very well behaved, although neither of Peter's children had said a word to them until they left.
“I think they both look like they're in shock. That's a big bite for them to swallow all at once. Me, the boys, the wedding. I'd be pretty shocked too.” And she had been when her own father had done the same thing. He had married one of her classmates from Stanford the year she'd gotten out of school. And she hadn't spoken to him for three years, and very little since. It had created a permanent rift between them, particularly when her mother died five years later, officially of cancer, but presumably of grief. It was a familiar story to her, but hadn't dissuaded her from what she was doing with Peter. She was desperately in love with him. “When are you going to tell Paris?” she asked, as they walked out onto the street and hailed a cab, to go back to the apartment on Fifth Avenue.
“I'm not. Meg said she would. I think that's best,” he said, succumbing to cowardice, but nonetheless grateful he didn't have to do it himself.
“So do I,” Rachel said, as he gave the driver the address, and they sped uptown. Peter put an arm around her, tousled the boys' hair, and looked relieved. It had been a tough morning for him. And all he could do now was force Paris out of his mind. He had no other choice. He told himself, as he had for six months now, that what he was doing was right, for all of them. It was an illusion he would have to cling to now, for better or worse, for the rest of his life.