White Ivy(69)

“Not yet. Uh—”

“I’m really sorry about the small guest list,” Marybeth said to Ivy.

“Why?” said Ivy.

Marybeth blinked at Gideon, but before he could respond, she said, “Since we decided on the new venue, we had to limit our guest list to married couples.”

“Oh!” said Ivy, a beat too late as the implication hit her. “I totally understand.” And to overcompensate for the warmth flaming her cheeks, she began to justify Marybeth’s actions, on Marybeth’s behalf, to the entire group. “You both have such large families,” she said, nodding at Tom to include him in her overreaching benevolence, “and so many old friends. And small weddings are so much better than inviting randos.” A ripple of invisible winces went across Marybeth’s and Gideon’s faces.

“I was going to tell you, but it totally slipped my mind,” Gideon said quietly.

“It’s not a big deal.” Ivy laughed again, picking up her sangria.

Tom smiled. “Don’t be mean, sweetheart,” he addressed Marybeth. “Now that they’re engaged, it’s not too late to add Ivy to the guest list, is it?”

Marybeth hesitated. Ivy could tell she was embarrassed to be outed as the decision maker. Ivy felt a pain deep in her heart. She’d thought that she and Marybeth were friends. That Tom was the bad guy.

“It’s not necessary,” she said, truly sweating now through her thin cotton dress. “Really.”

“This is dragging on,” said Gideon in a clipped way. “Why don’t you two go home and think—”

“No, Tom’s right,” said Marybeth. “We’d be thrilled to have you there, Ivy. I’ll get your address from Gideon later.”

Ivy considered protesting but felt drained by the effort.

“The banana flowers in Kauai are beautiful in March,” Tom said to Ivy. “Or so Marybeth keeps insisting. They sound like something you smoke. And they’re not even yellow, they’re a neon pink. Me, I say—who gives a shit about banana flowers?”

“I do,” said Marybeth, clearly still resentful that Tom had thrown her under the bus.

“My mom has her heart set on Cattahasset,” said Gideon as the waiter set their tapas around the table. “Or Martha’s Vineyard. Remember the summer before college, Tom?”

“Do I! Your Finn Oaks is a dinosaur compared to the setup we had going on.” Again, he addressed Ivy alone. “We had a heated pool, the living room converted with futons, Ted’s oldest bottle of whiskey—to this day, he thinks a raccoon came in the middle of the night and knocked it over. We had Blake Whitney pee around the glass. For some reason, only his piss resembled that exact shade of expensive-ass scotch.”

Ivy laughed gratefully, letting herself sink into the oblivion of being carried along with the conversation. So Tom could be considerate, she thought.

She was mistaken.

Tom picked up his glass. “I gotta admit—I underestimated you.”

“What do you mean,” she said, smiling gamely in preparation for one of his jokes.

“You sure work fast. Got Gideon locked down. Good for you.”

“What?”

“You’re one to talk,” said Gideon, pointing his fork in Tom’s direction. “Marybeth has you tied by the—” but Tom was still talking to Ivy, his tone growing increasingly merry.

“I remember you now. From the eighth-grade yearbook. Ivy Lin. It jogged my memory. You used to follow Gideon around back in the day. Real quiet and mousy. Now look at you. Grabbing the bull by the horns, eh? Hustled your way up like—who’s that Asian lady married to old Murdoch? Anyway, I bet you couldn’t wait to get knocked up—”

Gideon stood up. “Watch your mouth,” he said, enunciating every syllable with no trace of a stutter, though he was pale with emotion. The waiter hurried over to ask if they needed something.

Ivy tugged Gideon’s arm. Gideon remained standing.

Tom wiped his face with his soiled linen napkin, smeared yellow with a bit of horseradish from the smoked anchovies.

“Come on. You know I’m joking. I’m happy for you two. No hard feelings, right, Ivy?” He held up his hand in midair.

Ivy realized he was waiting for her to high-five him. She did it, despising herself, but despising Tom more.

“See, Gideon? Ivy and I are best friends. Sit down, sit down… I’m just thrilled… Isn’t it wonderful to be alive?” He brought his fist to his eyes and, to Ivy’s shock and disgust, began to cry.



* * *




“I’M SORRY ABOUT Tom,” Gideon said on the drive home. “He wasn’t always this way.”

Yes he was, thought Ivy. “It’s fine,” she said, immediately changing the subject. If Gideon spoke about the matter even a second longer, she would start crying.

“Do you remember Henry Fitzgerald, from Grove?” said Gideon. “He was on the lacrosse team with me and Tom?”

“No.”

“Henry’s dad was the CEO for Biogene Pharmaceuticals.”

“… Okay.”

“Some years back, when Dad was still senator, he uncovered some suspicious practices at Biogene, so he called in the FTC to investigate them for antitrust violations. Long story short, Mr. Fitzgerald was not only fired but sentenced to serve a few years for restricting drug distribution to jack up the prices. Henry’s family lost everything. Henry began acting out. He quit the team, skipped school. He was caught smoking marijuana in the bathroom at senior prom. Most teachers look the other way, but Henry was already in deep shit so they expelled him. Columbia rescinded its admission offer. A week before graduation, Henry and some other guys tried to jump me outside the parking lot. Tom had heard them talking about it in the locker room, and he showed up with his family’s lawyer. He drew up a restraining order for Henry and the others. If they came within ten feet of me, I’d press charges. It would have been a felony because Henry and the others were holding their lacrosse sticks and Tom’s lawyer said that would constitute a deadly weapon.”