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Jessica’s Easy Recipe for Key West Lemonade
1 oz. vodka
½ oz. Triple Sec or Grand Marnier
1 oz. lemonade
1 oz. cranberry juice
Pour over ice. Shake.
Garnish with lemon wedge, lime, or strawberry.
Optional:
Sweet/Sour mix instead of Triple Sec/Grand Marnier.
Add generous splash of lemon-lime soda.
Caution: this drink causes intoxication.
I find Nicole sitting at the huge wooden table in the atrium kitchen. She’s slumped next to her gift, sobbing, her head dropped onto her folded arms.
“Nicole,” I say, going to stand next to her. “Come on, it’s okay. I didn’t mean it. It’s not that bad.”
This is a lie. I did mean it, and it is that bad.
But I realize we’re going to be part of the same family soon, so I’d better figure out a way to get along with her, or holiday dinners with the Cartwrights are going to be impossibly awkward.
Nicole doesn’t reply. She simply continues to weep.
“Come on, Nicole,” I repeat. “I’m angry, but not that angry.”
“You are angry,” Nicole sobs into her arms. “I’ve ruined everything. And now you aren’t going to marry C-Cooper and become a C-Cartwright.”
“Well, I was never going to become a Cartwright in the first place, but I’m still going to marry Cooper.”
Nicole’s head jerks up. She regards me with wide, tear-filled eyes.
“You’re not taking Cooper’s last name?” she asks in horror.
“Of course not,” I say. “I’m Heather Wells, not Heather Cartwright.”
“But—” Nicole sniffles noisily. There are no boxes of tissues in the kitchen, so I reach for a roll of paper towels and hand it to her. She tears a sheet from the roll, then noisily blows her nose. “But you realize Wells is your father’s last name. You’ll still be keeping some man’s last name, only your father’s instead of mine.”
“Yes, I am aware of that.” My feelings about Cooper’s father are similar to my feelings about my mom, only maybe slightly less volatile. Only one of them is related to me, but both of them ripped me off. Cooper’s dad did it by owning the record company for which I used to work, that’s all. All record companies rip off their artists.
“But.” Nicole blinks rapidly. “Why would you do that? Less than ten percent of women in this country keep their own names when they get married. And I thought you loved Cooper.”
“I do,” I say, pulling out a chair from beneath the table and sitting down beside her. “But I don’t see why loving him means I should have to change my last name to his when we get married. I have a choice, and I choose not to. I like my name. Heather Wells is who I am. Maybe if we had kids, it would be different—”
I think, fleetingly, about the perfectly behaved ghost children I used to imagine Cooper and I would have one day: Jack, Charlotte, and Emily Wells-Cartwright, in their navy-blue-and-red-plaid school uniforms. Or maybe Cartwright-Wells. I’m not sure which sounds better. Since they’re only ghost children, I have the luxury of never having to decide. That’s the comforting thing about ghost children: they aren’t real, so you never have to make the hard decisions, as opposed to real children, like the one growing in Lisa’s belly.
“But we don’t have kids,” I finish with a shrug, “and I doubt we will anytime soon. So until we get to that road and have to cross it, I prefer to stay Heather Wells, and let the burden of carrying on the Cartwright name fall on Jordan and you and Jessica.”
“That’s my name, bitch,” Jessica says affably, drifting into the kitchen like an overly tanned, raven-haired wraith. “Don’t wear it out. Where do you keep your glasses?”
“Cupboard above the sink,” I say, curious as to why she wants to know.
Jessica opens the cupboard. “Bingo. Ice in trays or ice maker?”
“Ice maker is in the bottom drawer of the fridge. There’s a scoop. And please do make yourself at home, Jessica.”
“Don’t mind if I do.” Now that she’s relieved herself and reapplied her ink-black eyeliner—which had become a bit smeared in the heat outdoors—nothing seems to be bothering Jessica. Well, almost nothing. “What’s with the waterworks over there, Baby Huey?” Jessica is addressing her twin sister, Nicole.
“I’ve told you not to call me that.” Nicole looks even more upset.
“Well, stop wearing rompers so you look like a baby duck in a gigantic diaper, and I will.”
“My therapist says you’re responsible for my low self-esteem,” Nicole accuses her.
“Has your therapist ever seen the outfit you have on right now? Because it seriously explains a lot.”
“Girls.” I check my cell phone. Still no response from Cooper, which isn’t like him. Unless he’s driving or in a meeting with a client, he usually calls back within a half hour. “Remember when I mentioned outside that I have a personal life? Well, you two are seriously infringing on it right now.”
“I’m sorry, Heather, but you have to let me apologize about the extra invitations I sent out,” Nicole says. “Especially the one to your mom. Jessica, did you know Heather isn’t even taking our last name after she and Cooper get married?”
Jessica lets out a whoop of sarcastic laughter as she scoops hefty amounts of ice into three tall drinking glasses. “Why would she? I’d rather be Jessica Wells than Jessica Cartwright. Why would anyone want to be related to us? Have you even seen the promos for Jordan Loves Tania? Jordan looks like the world’s biggest douche bag in those white jeans. More like Jordan Cartwrong than Jordan Cartwright.”
Nicole looks scandalized. “Mom’s going to be really upset when she hears Heather’s not taking our last name,” she declares. “There’ve been Cartwrights dating all the way back to the Mayflower.”
“Too bad it didn’t sink,” Jessica mutters, then asks in a louder voice, “How’s Mom even going to know Heather isn’t taking our last name? Unless some Baby Huey quacks about it.”
Nicole looks prim. “She might notice at the wedding reception when the DJ says, ‘Announcing Mr. Cooper Cartwright and Mrs. Heather Wells for their first dance as a married couple’ instead of ‘Mr. and Mrs. Cooper Cartwright.’ ”