SIXTY
"Calm down," said Maggie for the eighteenth time, and leaned close to Rose, who flinched. "If you don't relax, there's no way I'm going to be able to do this." "I can't relax," said Rose. She was wearing a thick white terry-cloth bathrobe. Her hair, thanks to the hourlong ministrations of Michael from Pileggi, was an elaborate updo of curls, bobby pins, and tiny white blossoms. Her foundation was on, her lips were lined. Amy, resplendent in a simple navy sheath that she'd ornamented with a bed-pillow-sized butt bow, was bustling around looking for the caterers, and the platter of sandwiches they'd promised, and Maggie was currently trying, unsuccessfully, to curl her sister's eyelashes. "Hello!" Michael Feller, resplendent in a new tuxedo, with his thin hair artfully arranged over his bald spot, stuck his head in the door. "Everything okay in here?" He recoiled as Maggie maneuvered the eyelash curler into place. "What is that?" he asked, sounding scared. "Eyelash curler," said Maggie. "Rose, I'm not going to hurt you. I promise. Now, just look right at me . . . Don't move your head . . . there! Got 'em!" "Agh," said Rose, cringing as much as she could with her eye 416 Jennifer weiner
lashes trapped between the metal pincers of the curler. "Ow . . . hurts ..." "Don't hurt your sister!" Michael Feller said sternly. "It . . . does . . . not . . . hurt," said Maggie, easing the curler along the length of Rose's lashes. "There! Perfect! Now I just have to do the other one!" "God help me," said Rose, and looked at her feet. They looked very nice, she had to admit; she'd been dubious about the whole notion of a pedicure. "I'm not a pedicure kind of person," she'd said. But Maggie, who'd become extremely bossy in the months since Your Favorite Things had been written up in the Fort Lauderdale Sun-Sentinel, was not taking no for an answer. "Nobody's even going to see my feet," Rose had protested, but Maggie had said that Simon was going to see her feet, wasn't he? And so Rose had given in. Maggie maneuvered the curler toward Eyelash Number Two, curled it carefully, and stepped back to study the effect. "Did you see my date?" she demanded. "I mean, I know this is your special day and all, but ..." And she paused, looking at her sister. "Maggie!" Rose exclaimed. "I do believe you're blushing!" "Am not," said Maggie. "It's just that I know it's a lot of pressure, inviting a guy to a wedding. . . ." "Charles seems very comfortable," said Rose. In fact, Charles seemed just about perfect, the kind of guy she'd always hoped Maggie would find once she'd gotten over her thing for the semi-employed bass-players-slash-bartenders of the world. He was younger than she was, someone she'd met at Princeton, although Maggie had been evasive about the details. "And he's crazy about you." "Do you think so?" Maggie asked. "Definitely," Rose said, just as Amy arrived, brandishing a platter of sandwiches over her head and Maggie ducked through the door. "I found the food!" she announced. "Where?" asked Rose, waving at her father as he left.
In Her Shoes 417
"With Sydelle, where else?" Amy asked, carefully wrapping half of a turkey sandwich in a napkin and handing it to Rose. "She was scraping mayonnaise off the bread. And My Marcia was asking the rabbi whether she could do the Lord's Prayer." "You're kidding, right?" Amy nodded. Rose took a single bite and set the sandwich aside. "Can't eat. Nervous," she said, as Maggie swept back into the room, carrying a large, vaguely dress-shaped bundle wrapped in white plastic. "Ready for your dress, Cinderella?" she asked. Rose swallowed hard and nodded. Inside, she was dying. What if the dress wasn't right? She imagined herself walking down the aisle, thread trailing, half-sewn seams gaping open. Oh, God, she thought. How stupid had she been to let Maggie take this on? "Close your eyes," Maggie said. "No," said Rose. "Please?" Rose sighed and gently closed her eyes. Maggie reached over to the zippered plastic bag, gently tugged down the zipper, and eased Rose's dress off the hanger. "Ta da!" said Maggie, and twirled the dress through the air. At first all Rose saw was the skirt—layers and layers of tulle. Then, as Maggie held the dress up, she could see how beautiful it really was—the creamy satin bodice dotted with tiny seed pearls, the fitted sleeves, the neckline that she saw was just deep enough. True to her word, Maggie had sent pictures and had flown up to Philadelphia to do a fitting. But the finished product was more beautiful than Rose could ever have hoped for. "How long did this take you and Ella?" Rose asked, stepping into the skirt. "Never you mind," said Maggie, fastening the dozens of buttons she'd sewn by hand along the back. -"How much did it cost?" asked Rose. "Never mind that, either. It's our gift to you," said Maggie,
418 Jennifer weiner
straightening the neckline, and turning her sister toward the mirror. "Oh," gasped Rose, looking at herself. "Oh, Maggie!" And then Amy was walking toward them, holding Rose's bouquet of pink roses and white lilies in her hand, and the rabbi was sticking his head around the door, smiling at Rose and telling her that it was time, and Ella hurried in after him, her corsage tilted to one side, a shoe box in her hands. "You look beautiful," said Ella and Maggie at the exact same time, and Rose was staring at herself, knowing that the dress was the exact thing she was supposed to be wearing, knowing she'd never looked prettier, or happier, than she did at this moment, with her sister on her right side and her grandmother on her left. "Here," said Ella, opening the shoe box. "These are for you." "Oh, I've got shoes already. . . ." Rose peeked inside and saw the most perfect pair of shoes—ivory satin, with low heels, and embroidered in the same thread as her dress. "Oh, my God. They're so pretty. Where did you find them?" She stared at Ella and took a guess. "Were they my mom's?" Maggie looked at Ella and held her breath. "No," said Ella. "They were mine." She wiped her eyes with a handkerchief. "I know I should probably lend you earrings or a necklace or something, if you still need something borrowed, but . . ." "They're perfect," said Rose, slipping the shoes on her feet. "And they fit!" she said. Ella shook her head, and her eyes filled with tears. "I know," she whispered back. "Don't start crying yet," said Lewis, poking his head through the door. "We haven't even gotten started." He grinned at Rose. "You look lovely. And I think they're ready when you are." Rose hugged Ella, then reached out for her sister. "Thank you for my dress. It's unbelievable. The most beautiful thing I've ever seen!" "You're welcome," said Ella.
In Her Shoes 419
"Oh, it was nothing," said Maggie. "You guys ready?" asked Rose, and Maggie and Ella nodded. The caterer threw the doors open, and the guests looked at Rose and smiled. Camera bulbs flashed. Mrs. Lefkowitz sniffled. Michael Feller lifted Rose's veil. "You look so beautiful," he whispered in her ear. "I'm so proud of you." "I love you," Rose said. She turned. At the end of the aisle, Simon was smiling at her, his warm blue eyes glowing, the yarmulke perched on top of his carefully cropped curls, his parents beaming beside him. Ella grabbed Maggie's hand and squeezed. "You did it," she whispered, and Maggie nodded happily, and the two of them looked at Rose and caught her eye. We low you, Ella thought, and smiled, sending all of her good wishes through the air ... and, in that instant, Rose looked at them through her veil and smiled back.
"And now," the rabbi intoned, "Maggie Feller, sister of the bride, will read a poem." Maggie could feel the tension as she stepped forward and smoothed her dress (sage green, sleeveless, and without the slit in the skirt or the plunging neckline she knew her big.sister was dreading) and stepped forward. She was certain, she thought, as she cleared her throat, that Sydelle and her father would be e xpecting her to bust out something that began, "There once was a girl from Nantucket." Well, they were in for a surprise. "I'm so happy for my sister right now," said Maggie. "When we were growing up, Rose always took care of me. She always stuck up for me, and wanted what was best for me. And I'm so happy because I know that Simon will do the same things for her, and that we'll always be a part of each other's lives. We'll always love each other, because that's what sisters do. That's what sisters are." She gave Rose a smile. "So, Rose, this is for you." Maggie took a deep breath and, even though she'd practiced the poem a dozen times on the plane, had long since committed it to
420 Jennifer weiner
memory, she felt a tremor of nerves work its way along her spine. Ella raised her chin in the exact expression that Rose and Maggie both wore at times, and Charles smiled at her proudly from his seat in the back. Maggie exhaled, and nodded at her grandmother. Then she fixed her eyes on Rose, wearing the beautiful dress she and Ella had made, and began:
" ' carry your heart with me(i carry it in my heart)i am never without it(anywhere go you go,my dear;and whatever is done by only me is your doing,my darling) fear no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true) and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing is you' "
Maggie's throat closed like a fist. In the front row, Lewis nodded at her, and Ella was smiling through her tears, and her father was pushing up his glasses and taking fast swipes at his eyes, and the assembled guests were staring at her expectantly. Under the chuppah Rose's eyes were wide and her lips trembling. And Maggie could imagine her mother, too, a ghost in the back row, the brightness of her red lipstick and gold earrings, watching over her daughters, knowing that in spite of everything both of them had grown up brave, and smart, and beautiful, that they'd be sisters to each other, and friends, too, and that Rose would always want what was best for Maggie, and Maggie would always want what was best for Rose. Breathe, Maggie thought, and began again:
" 'here is the deepest secret nobody knows (here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
In Her Shoes 42
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide) and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart'
" ' carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)' "
She smiled at the crowd and smiled at her sister, and it was as if she could see the future—the house and the babies that Rose and Simon would have, the vacations where they'd visit her and Ella in Florida, where they'd swim together, Rose and Maggie and Ella and Rose's babies, in a wide blue pool under the sunshine, and where they'd curl up together at night on Ella's bed, side by side by side until they fell asleep. "E.E. Cummings," she said, knowing that she'd done it, that everyone's eyes had been on her and she'd said every word perfectly; she, Maggie Feller, had gotten it just right.
A
acknowledgments
This book would not exist without the help and hard work from three incredible women. My agent, the divine and beneficent Joanna Pulcini, is a tireless advocate and a brilliant reader. Liza Nelligan's passion and commitment (along with her own tales from the Sister Zone) helped me more than I can say. Greer Kessel Hendricks not only took me under her wing and agreed to publish me, but also appointed herself the unofficial queen of my fan club and de facto personal publicist. No writer could hope for more careful readers and more vigorous champions, and I'm blessed and lucky to have them as my colleagues and my friends. Teresa Cavanaugh and Linda Michaels helped Rose and Maggie see the world. Joanna's assistant, Anna deVries, and Greer's assistant, Suzanne O'Neill, dealt swiftly with my telephone calls. Laura Mullen at Atria is a miracle worker and incredibly cool to boot. My thanks to all of them. Thanking all of the writers who've inspired me, encouraged me, and been incredibly generous would constitute a book in itself, so I'll settle for making mention of Susan Isaacs, Anna Maxted, Jennifer Cruise, John Searles, Suzanne Finnamore, and I. D. McClatchy. Thanks to all of the members of my family who give me love,
424 Acknowledgments
support, and material. Special thanks to my sister, Molly Weiner, the quick brown fox, for her grace and good humor. Thanks to my friends, who indulged me, encouraged me, laughed when they heard pieces of this book, tactfully refrained from mentioning the disastrous state of my home and my personal hygiene when I was knee-deep in revisions, and let me borrow pieces of their lives, especially Susan Abrams, Lisa Maslankowski, Ginny Durham, and Sharon Fenick. I want the world to know that Wendell, King of All Dogs, is still my muse; and that my husband, Adam, is still my traveling companion, first reader, and an all-around fabulous guy. Finally, most important, I'm more grateful than I can say to all the readers who came to my readings or wrote to tell me they liked Good in Bed, and to hurry up already with this one! I thank them for their kindness, and their generous support, and for taking the time to tell me that what I'd written hit home in their lives, and I look forward to telling them many more stories in the future. My Web site is www.jenniferweiner.com, and you're all invited to stop by and say hello!
Thanks for reading, —Jen
In Her Shoes
Meet Rose Feller. She's thirty years old and a high-powered attorney with a secret passion for romance novels. She has an exercise regime she's going to start next week, and she dreams of a man who will slide off her glasses, gaze into her eyes, and tell her that she's beautiful. She also dreams of getting her fantastically screwed-up little sister to get her life together.
Meet Rose's sister, Maggie. Twenty-eight years old, drop-dead gorgeous and only occasionally employed, Maggie sings backup in a band called Whiskered Biscuit Although her dreams of big-screen stardom haven't progressed past her left hip's appearance in a Will Smith video, Maggie dreams of fame and fortune—and of getting her dowdy big sister to stick to a skin-care regime.
These two women with-nothing in common but a childhood tragedy, shared DNA, and the same size feet, are about to learn that their family is more different than they ever imagined, and that they're more alike than they'd ever believe. In Her Shoes— Jennifer Weiner's follow-up to her critically acclaimed debut, Good in Bed—observes Rose and Maggie, the brain and the beauty, as they make Journeys of discovery that take them from the streets of Philadelphia to Ivy League libraries to a "retirement community for active seniors" in Boca Raton. Along the way, they'll encounter a wild cast of characters—from a stepmother who's into recreational Botox to a small, disdainful pug with no name. They'll borrow shoes and clothes and boyfriends, and make peace with their most intimate enemies—each other.
