Read Online Wedding in Great Neck (9781101607701) by Yona Zeldis McDonough - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Yona Zeldis McDonough
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was a tent, of course; two tents, in fact—one for the ceremony, the other for the dinner. Justine had heard all about them, with their laminate flooring, chandeliers, and cathedral-style “windows,” several times. But she got the feeling that, even with the tents, Angelica would consider it a personal affront from God if the sky opened and it poured on her wedding day.
Neatly skirting the activity, Justine continued up the stairs to the second floor. The hallway was wide and long, and the floor covered in a deep, plush carpet that did feel nice on her bare toes. The carpet, chosen by her grandmother, Betsy, no doubt, made her feel guilty. Grandma B. was not a bad person; she was amazingly generous to Justine, Portia, and plenty of other people besides. Justine was fully aware that what she planned to do today was going to hurt Grandma Betsy. But knowing this did not change anything; she was going to do it anyway. Collateral damage, isn’t that what they called it?
The way Justine saw it, she was rescuing Angelica from marriage to a man who was an oppressor, a colonizer, and even a murderer. Angelica was too blinded—by love, by lust—to see him for what he was, but Justine was not. So it was up to her to unmask him and show Angelica—along with everyone else—just what kind of a person he really was. No one would thank her for it—not immediately, anyway. But years from now Angelica—and everyone else—would see that Justine had been a hero, the only one in the family with the vision to see the truth and the courage to do something about it.
Once in the hallway Justine was faced with a number of doors, all of them closed. Now, this was a problem. She knew her mother was sleeping up here, along with Angelica, her grandmother, her uncles and their various partners, and Great-grandma Lenore, with her constant talk of boobs and whose bra did or did not fit correctly. But Justine didn’t know who was in which room, and it was essential that she find out; could she hang around and wait to see who emerged?
Ohad, Aunt Angelica’s fiancé, wasn’t even staying in the house; he and his large, noisy Israeli family—the dark-skinned, black-haired mother, siblings, aunts, uncles, and cousins—were all checked in at a nearby hotel. So it wasn’t even clear to Justine what she was doing; she wanted to find Ohad, and she wanted him to be alone. It wasn’t likely that either of those aims were about to be accomplished by prowling around up here.
Still she crept along like the inept spy that she was, staring at the doors. There were voices coming from behind one of them; she pressed her ear to the wooden panel to listen. The words were not clear, but she thought she could hear her uncle Teddy. Major douche bag. Also pompous, status obsessed, and self-important. Last night at the rehearsal dinner, he must have asked her three times where she planned to go to college.
“I’ve just finished my sophomore year; I have a little while to decide,” she had answered.
“Not all that much,” he shot back. “You’d be amazed at how the time flies.”
“Would I?” she said. She raised her left eyebrow, the one with the piercing in it. She could tell that this piercing, even more than the stud in her nostril, offended him deeply, and from this she derived a rich and enveloping sense of satisfaction. “I’m not so sure.”
“Well, you should be,” he said. “Getting into college is the whole point of high school. And not just any college—the
right
college.”
“Really?” she asked with feigned innocence. “I thought the point of high school was to get an education.” In fact Justine was quietly obsessed with the topic of college in general, and the
right college
in particular. She was maniacal in her quest for good grades and spent most of her allowance on scoring Adderall—the cheery yellow 30-milligram capsules were the most coveted of the lot—which enabled her to study with a magnificent and
Neatly skirting the activity, Justine continued up the stairs to the second floor. The hallway was wide and long, and the floor covered in a deep, plush carpet that did feel nice on her bare toes. The carpet, chosen by her grandmother, Betsy, no doubt, made her feel guilty. Grandma B. was not a bad person; she was amazingly generous to Justine, Portia, and plenty of other people besides. Justine was fully aware that what she planned to do today was going to hurt Grandma Betsy. But knowing this did not change anything; she was going to do it anyway. Collateral damage, isn’t that what they called it?
The way Justine saw it, she was rescuing Angelica from marriage to a man who was an oppressor, a colonizer, and even a murderer. Angelica was too blinded—by love, by lust—to see him for what he was, but Justine was not. So it was up to her to unmask him and show Angelica—along with everyone else—just what kind of a person he really was. No one would thank her for it—not immediately, anyway. But years from now Angelica—and everyone else—would see that Justine had been a hero, the only one in the family with the vision to see the truth and the courage to do something about it.
Once in the hallway Justine was faced with a number of doors, all of them closed. Now, this was a problem. She knew her mother was sleeping up here, along with Angelica, her grandmother, her uncles and their various partners, and Great-grandma Lenore, with her constant talk of boobs and whose bra did or did not fit correctly. But Justine didn’t know who was in which room, and it was essential that she find out; could she hang around and wait to see who emerged?
Ohad, Aunt Angelica’s fiancé, wasn’t even staying in the house; he and his large, noisy Israeli family—the dark-skinned, black-haired mother, siblings, aunts, uncles, and cousins—were all checked in at a nearby hotel. So it wasn’t even clear to Justine what she was doing; she wanted to find Ohad, and she wanted him to be alone. It wasn’t likely that either of those aims were about to be accomplished by prowling around up here.
Still she crept along like the inept spy that she was, staring at the doors. There were voices coming from behind one of them; she pressed her ear to the wooden panel to listen. The words were not clear, but she thought she could hear her uncle Teddy. Major douche bag. Also pompous, status obsessed, and self-important. Last night at the rehearsal dinner, he must have asked her three times where she planned to go to college.
“I’ve just finished my sophomore year; I have a little while to decide,” she had answered.
“Not all that much,” he shot back. “You’d be amazed at how the time flies.”
“Would I?” she said. She raised her left eyebrow, the one with the piercing in it. She could tell that this piercing, even more than the stud in her nostril, offended him deeply, and from this she derived a rich and enveloping sense of satisfaction. “I’m not so sure.”
“Well, you should be,” he said. “Getting into college is the whole point of high school. And not just any college—the
right
college.”
“Really?” she asked with feigned innocence. “I thought the point of high school was to get an education.” In fact Justine was quietly obsessed with the topic of college in general, and the
right college
in particular. She was maniacal in her quest for good grades and spent most of her allowance on scoring Adderall—the cheery yellow 30-milligram capsules were the most coveted of the lot—which enabled her to study with a magnificent and
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