Gracie was talented, creative, and hard-working, but she was convinced that the world was out to get her. In a way, it was. She created her own self-fulfilling prophecy with her complaints and accusations.
At least I learned a valuable lesson from her, that tearing down another person’s building wasn’t the way to make my own look better by comparison.
I also graduated first in the class, which came with plenty of prestige, almost no envy, and an attractive crystal paperweight.
At that point Trip and I had to make some decisions about the future. We needed to find jobs in an architecture firm, where we could start earning credit in the Intern Development Program and study for our licensing exams. We both wanted to move to a bigger city, but Christy still had another year before she finished her master’s degree, and Wren was enjoying her job with the fledgling restaurant group.
So we decided to stay in Knoxville. Trip and I interviewed with several companies, including the one with the female architect from the boarding house renovation a few years earlier.
Her name was Diana Lamberton, and she’d been one of Professor Joska’s students at MIT. She was still fairly young, but she was already a full associate at the company. They were a small firm that had taken on several new jobs, and they needed all the help they could get.
“So, you’re the one Laszlo told me about?” Ms. Lamberton said.
I’d started calling Professor Joska by his first name too, but only in private. It was a courtesy he’d insisted on sometime in my fifth year.
“He said you’re almost as good as I was,” she continued.
I cocked an eyebrow at the implicit challenge but kept my ego in check.
“Well, that was school,” I said. “This is the real world.” Then my pride got the better of me. “But I was first in my class.”
“Mmm. So was I.” She gestured at the credenza behind her. MIT gave out plaques instead of paperweights.
“So… I’d have my work cut out for me,” I said.
“Yes.”
“And I’d probably learn a lot.”
“Do you think you can handle it? The IDP isn’t like school. Architecture’s a serious business—”
“—for serious people. Yes, ma’am.”
“Call me Diana.”
“Thank you, Diana.”
“I mean it about the program,” she added. “It isn’t like school at all.”
“I know. But school was easy. I need something new, a challenge.”
“So you’re cocky, too?”
“Let’s say I’m confident. But I also know how much I don’t know.”
She nodded. “And you think you’ll learn it here?”
“I do.”
“I’m not like Laszlo,” she warned. “I don’t have favorites.”
“You will if you hire me.”
She grinned in spite of herself. “When can you start?”
* * *
Freddie and Rosemary were married in a modest ceremony about a month after we graduated. He asked me to be his best man, and I was proud to stand with him. His New York relatives descended on Knoxville and increased the volume level for the entire state. They were a fun bunch, though, and very friendly.
Rosemary’s family didn’t know what to make of them at first, especially since normal New York conversations took place at a volume that sounded like an argument to southerners. That changed once they started drinking and dancing at the reception. The two families were good friends by the time the happy couple retired for the night.
Being married suited Freddie, and Rosemary blossomed in her new life. They were good for each other. He went to work for a large architecture and engineering company, while she returned to UT for her Master of Architecture in Conservation and Stewardship.
These days, they live in Knoxville and are still married. Rosemary quit working for nearly a decade to raise their children, two sons, but she recently joined the Tennessee Historical Commission as a consultant. Freddie is a successful architect, one of the principals in his company. He and I occasionally catch up over the phone or in email, and we always visit when we’re in town.
* * *
We sold the Victorian house in July 1987, less than a week after we put it on the market. Wren’s father gave the money to her and Trip as an early wedding present, and they in turn used it to buy a new condo in a development in Alpharetta, just up the road from where she and I had grown up.
I only had enough money for a down payment, but Christy hated to lose, even when it wasn’t a competition. She called her nana and asked for her own early wedding present. We received an eye-popping wire transfer the next day. It was enough to buy the condo and a new car, a little red Honda CRX for Christy.
“Exactly how much money does your nana have?” I asked her one night.
Christy shrugged. “I don’t know. Like, a lot.”
“‘A lot’ like Bill Gates or ‘a lot’ like… I dunno… Marianne’s family.”
“Oh, way more than Marianne. I don’t know how much, though. I’ve never asked.” She shrugged again and finished her lotions and potions. Then she turned and grinned at me, although she quickly grew thoughtful.
“What?”
“Oh, nothing. Only, I was just wondering…”
“About…?” I prompted.
“If she has more money than all the little sperms in semen.”
“Ha! Okay.”
“I don’t think I’d like to swallow that much money,” she continued, still thoughtful. Then her eyes flashed. “Semen, on the other hand…”
I chuckled. “Never thought I’d meet a girl as horny as I am.”
“And don’t you forget it, mister! Now, about the semen you promised me…”
* * *
Christy had started planning our own wedding back in December. She wanted to have it in San Diego, and I knew better than to argue. Our families were spread out anyway, and most of them would have to travel to wherever we held it. Besides, the weather in San Diego was perfect almost year-round.
Wren was the matron of honor and shared the duties with Brooke as the maid of honor. They worked surprisingly well together, probably because they each cared about different things. Wren focused on menus and venues, while Brooke helped pick out dresses and flowers. I suspected that Christy’s mother kept the peace as well. She’d raised five competitive sons, after all, plus one Christy. She didn’t put up with any bickering or fights.
Christy went a little bit overboard with the wedding party at first. She wanted all her sisters-in-law as bridesmaids and her brothers as groomsmen, plus Erin and several of our couple friends. She wanted all her nieces and nephews in the ceremony as well, as flower girls and ring bearers. The whole party would have been a crowd, more than twenty people, but Marianne and her mother convinced her that fewer was better.
She eventually pared down the bridesmaids to Wren and Brooke, plus Erin, Leah, and Sabrina. Trip was my best man, of course, with Mark, Rich, and Danny as groomsmen. Christy’s oldest brothers and several cousins served as ushers. Her three youngest nieces were flower girls, and Harry’s three-year-old son was our ring bearer.
We were married on a beautiful day in October. The weather was sunny and mild, with a gentle breeze from the Pacific. The wedding itself was a cozy little affair in a local parish church—except that in this case the “local parish church” was the Immaculata, the main chapel for the University of San Diego, and “cozy” meant several hundred people.
So the church was gorgeous and the crowd was impressive. Christy’s extended family occupied five pews. My relatively small one took up two. We’d sent invitations to all of our friends as well, from Carter and Kim to Sara and Tasha. Christy’s parents had invited so many of their own friends that the ushers didn’t bother with a bride’s side and a groom’s side—hers would’ve been full and mine nearly empty. Instead, they simply invited people to sit wherever they wanted.