The Lies That Bind(77)
She shows up twenty minutes later, looking especially elegant in a winter-white outfit, a camel coat, and tan boots. After we hug hello, she informs me that she has calls in to St. George’s and several reception venues, including the New York Public Library.
“I think the McGraw Rotunda is available the third Saturday in January. It’s a gorgeous space. Does that date work for your family?”
“Yes. They’re keeping all Saturdays in January and February open,” I say with a smile. “But wouldn’t the library be crazy expensive?”
“Not too bad,” she says. “And Matthew told me not to worry about that.”
I tense up, feeling defensive on behalf of my family. Meanwhile, Amy reaches into a brown leather tote bag and hands me a three-ring binder.
“Ta-da! Your wedding planner,” she says, putting it on my desk. She flips it open, showing me the colored tabs, a table of contents, and glossy photos slid into protective plastic sleeves. “I worked on it all day yesterday after you told me you felt settled on the Vera Wang gown.”
“Wow,” I say. “This is really nice of you. Thank you.”
“Of course,” she says. “It’s my pleasure.”
We chat for a bit longer about the engagement party, before Amy says, “So I was thinking of putting together a little group for dinner on Friday night. My friend from college is in town and a few others are joining….Are you free? Would love for you to come. And Matt, too, of course.”
My first instinct is to decline, but it feels so cold and ungrateful. So I smile and say, “Yeah. We’re free. That sounds great….”
“Fabulous.” Amy beams, putting on her sunglasses. “Will send you deets when I have them.”
* * *
—
On Friday night, Matthew and I arrive at Balthazar—the French brasserie on Spring Street where Amy made us reservations. We get there an hour early so we can have a drink at the bar alone. At an appointment this morning, my doctor actually gave me permission to have an occasional glass of wine now that I’m in my second trimester. But I’m drinking seltzer with lime, still too worried about the drinks I had before I knew I was pregnant.
In any event, it feels really nice to be out with my fiancé as a normal couple. Even as we talk about serious topics—like the wedding and the baby—I stay calm. And Grant doesn’t cross my mind once until I hear Amy’s voice behind us. I turn to see her, a small posse trailing behind her.
“Well, hellllo, you lovebirds!” she trills, sounding buzzed, as she goes on to apologize for being a little late.
We say hello, and she launches into introductions. “Guys, this is Matthew and Cecily,” she says first. “And this is my friend Chad…and this is Rachel…Darcy…and Ethan.”
My heart stops upon the final introduction. Ethan. The same Ethan I met with Grant at the pub in London.
Sure enough, I hear Amy elaborate, saying, “So Ethan and I went to Stanford together…and he went to high school with Rachel and Darcy…but I also know Darcy through work. Phew—that’s a lot!”
I can feel Ethan staring at me, but I keep my eyes fixed on the woman named Darcy as Matthew asks her if she’s a stylist, too.
“No, no. I style myself,” Darcy says, rather obnoxiously and with a toss of her gorgeous hair. “But we have client overlap. I’m in PR.”
As Matthew asks a few follow-up questions, and Darcy seems to bask in his attention, I make myself glance Ethan’s way. The second I do, I know for sure that he recognizes me, too. My face on fire, I brace myself for him to say as much, feeling positive that this will be the moment everything unravels.
But he only holds my gaze a second longer than what is normal, as I feel a silent understanding pass between us that the circumstances of our previous meeting will not be discussed tonight. I tune back in to the group conversation to hear Matthew and Rachel sorting out their own lawyering overlaps. Something about a document review at Skadden Arps. I pretend to be riveted as it crosses my mind to feign some sort of pregnancy-related illness and just leave. Given how nauseous I’m feeling, I may not even need to fake anything.
Instead, I remain paralyzed as Matthew settles up at the bar, Amy checks in with the hostess, and we are all led to a table in the middle of the very loud, open dining area. I can’t decide whether I want to sit near Ethan or as far away from him as possible—but as it turns out, I don’t have a choice, as Amy tells us where to sit, pointing at chairs as she rattles off our names: Matthew, Rachel, Chad, Cecily, Ethan, Darcy. We follow her instructions, and as Amy takes her seat between Matthew and Darcy, she smiles, announcing how happy she is to be here with all of us. Everyone murmurs in agreement, including me, but inside I’m quietly dying, wondering how I will get through the next couple of hours—maybe longer, as these big group dinners tend to take forever. Fortunately, I don’t have to do much talking as Amy and Darcy take over, holding court and telling stories that are amusing but feel a little embellished. Matthew, Chad, and Rachel are the next biggest contributors to the conversation, while Ethan and I mostly listen. Maybe he’s just quiet and shy, but I have the sense that there’s more to it than that. That he’s as uncomfortable as I am.
At one point, about halfway through our entrées, Darcy is telling an endless story about how she routinely searches her boyfriend’s closet for a hidden engagement ring. In the middle of it, Ethan leans toward me and says, “She’s brutal.”