The Lies That Bind(88)

He sighs and nods. “Okay,” he says.

“The bottom line, as I sit here right now, is that I truly believe I only loved the idea of Grant. Not the person.”

“And what idea was that?” Matthew asks, taking a sip of his bourbon.

“The idea of a passionate love—”

“Ugh,” he says, wincing as he cuts me off. “You thought you had that with him?”

I force myself to keep telling the whole truth. “At first I did. But I know now that love like that isn’t real….It’s just…infatuation. It’s a fantasy. I wanted that fantasy when I moved to New York. I wanted to fall hopelessly and utterly in love with the city…and my career…and a guy.”

    “And?”

“And it doesn’t work like that. Not in the way I imagined.”

“Thanks a lot,” he says.

“You know what I mean….You know what I’m trying to say….That wasn’t our story. It was at first, maybe, but that feeling of being head over heels can’t sustain itself. And it certainly can’t last when someone is being so practical.” I give him a look.

“Someone has to be practical,” he says.

“Maybe. But when I was ready to take another step with you, and you wouldn’t even talk about any of that…it made me feel like I wasn’t good enough.”

Matthew shakes his head and says, “That’s crazy—of course you’re ‘good enough.’?”

“Well, that’s how I felt….And it didn’t help that you move so effortlessly in this Manhattan and Hamptons world of lawyers and banker types and trust funds…and…have an ex-girlfriend who works at Sotheby’s.”

“Sotheby’s isn’t a big deal, Cecily. I’ve told you that so many times.”

“It’s a bigger deal than some third-rate tabloid paper,” I say.

“I don’t love you for your résumé. I love you for who you are,” he says.

“I know that now,” I say, looking down at my ring. “I just questioned it then. I always worried that I wasn’t the girl you or your family wanted you to marry.”

“Look, Cecily. I can’t speak for my family,” Matthew says. “And we both know my mom can be a snob…and maybe you aren’t exactly who I pictured marrying when I was in high school or college or whatever. You’re definitely not like the other girls I’ve dated….But that was always a good thing in my eyes. I liked that you were different.”

    “Really?” I say.

“Yes, really,” he says. “How could you question that?”

“Because it didn’t seem like you’d have been keeping me at arm’s length if you knew I was the one.”

“Well, I’m here now. Look. Here we are,” he says, motioning between us. “And as much as I fucking despise this Grant guy, he’s part of our story, like it or not,” Matthew says, staring into my eyes.

It’s the most healing thing I’ve ever heard, and for one second, I start to believe that everything will be okay. Until he looks at me and says, very slowly and unmistakably, “But I do think we should put the wedding on hold.”

My heart sinks, but I nod. “Okay. Why do you think that?”

“I just…I just want to know who the father is….You know…for sure,” he says.

I nod, and with a huge lump in my throat, I say, “So you want a paternity test?”

“Yes.” He swallows, pointing to his computer screen. “I actually just looked that up. It’s an easy, quick, inexpensive test.”

“Wow. You got a lot done tonight. You tracked down an indictment and looked up paternity testing. That’s some solid work,” I say, now getting a little punchy.

He rolls his eyes and says, “Seriously? You’re mad at me now? Don’t you think I have a right to know whether this baby is mine?”

“Well, yeah. Sure. Of course you do,” I say, regretting my sarcasm. “I want to know, too. But this is really turning into a Jerry Springer episode here.”

“Jerry Springer?” Matthew says. “What?”

“Well, that’s what a paternity test feels like,” I say, crossing my arms. “And I guess I just don’t understand why you need that test before we get married. Unless, of course, you’re saying you don’t want to marry me if you’re not the baby’s biological father?”

I know I’m not being fair, but feelings aren’t fair.

    He lets out a long sigh, then says, “I just want to know. I want to know if this guy is going to be in our lives forever.”

“I understand,” I say again, trying to see things from his point of view. “But trust me. He’s not going to be in our lives.”

“Can you promise me that?” he says.

“I’m promising myself that. So yeah.”

“But what about the baby?” he says. “What if it turns out to be his—would you keep that information from your child?”

I stare at him, hearing “your child,” not “our child.” But I slowly realize that he’s right. That I actually can’t make him such a promise. That of course I’d tell my child the truth. If I’ve learned anything, it’s that secrets always turn into lies when they’re kept from the people we love.