This is a low point, definitely a low point, thought Jillian as she gingerly tried to pick herself up from the patch of briars she had stumbled into. She wouldn’t have fallen if she hadn’t been running from Harold’s flock of black sheep, which she had mistaken for bears. And she wouldn’t have done that if she had gotten any sleep the night before, and remembered to grab her contacts from the bathroom… and also that there are no bears in the suburbs of Somerset. Now she remembered the contacts on the counter, next to the maid of honor, Candace’s elbow. Candace had been cemented to that very spot for the better part of an hour due to the copious amounts of alcohol that had been consumed the previous night. Jillian could honestly say it had been the most awkward bachelorette party she’d ever been to.
To escape the unsavory tension in the house and remembering the promise of among other things, yoga in the country, Jillian had mumbled something about exercise and fled to see if she could locate Harold’s nephew, Andy. She told herself it was only because he was a fitness trainer and she wanted some tips, and not because she had cyber stalked him and wanted to see if his pictures did him justice. He was nowhere to be found. Now she slowly put her hand out to steady herself, feeling nothing but sheep around her.
I should have just lied and said that I didn’t have a passport, she thought. One of the sheep baaed in agreement. Jillian started to trudge back towards the guesthouse on what was presumably a beautiful estate. If only she could see clearly. The wedding on the moors had been Candace’s idea- she was going through a Bronte phase. Jillian for her part, had remained tight-lipped about the whole affair, but now that the day was upon them, she suspected and secretly hoped that someone would crack before she did. Her money was on her mother.
…
“If that Svengali hadn’t bought my ticket, I would have just as soon stayed in New York,” which is what Jillian had said when she’d unenthusiastically asked for the time off. Of course she was encouraged to go to her brother’s wedding and get to know her new sister-in-law. But what of the leery benefactor funding this whole smarmy misadventure? What of the questionable manner in which her brother, Daniel, was acquiring two children?
Jillian had tried continuously to get ahold of her mother to convince her to intervene in the Greek tragedy that was unfolding in their family, but she had taken to conveniently missing her calls. Lacking the wherewithal or desire to broach the subject with Daniel herself, Jillian proceeded to buy new luggage, Google a few local pubs, and buy a book of British slang before hailing a cab to JFK.
…
Nearly back at the manor, Jillian’s phone rang. This was the first sign of life from the thing in days. She made a mental note to send Sprint a letter replete with caps when she got home before answering.
“Hello, Mum.”
“Where are you? You need to get in your dress.”
“I can’t believe you’re letting him go through with this.”
“I can’t do anything. Your brother is an adult.”
“Mom!”
“He’ll learn. Besides, there’s no way this will last.”
“Tell him that! There are children involved!”
“Look I tried to talk to him and his mind is made up.” Jillian started to fidget, a childhood habit triggered by confrontations with her mother. As she squirmed she happened to shove her hand in her other pocket, coming across her backup glasses. She pushed them onto her face, after shaming herself for the avoidable mishap that had just transpired.
“But this is so weir-“ Jillian abruptly stopped speaking. About twenty feet away from her in the middle of a quintessential English garden, stood, or more accurately crouched Andy in what appeared to be a loincloth. His eyes were closed and he was in one of the more perfect crow positions that Jillian had ever seen. Yoga in the country indeed.
