So here I was, ready to do what I was best at: looking on the bright side. And the bright side of this weekend was that we were going to get Keith help. That I might also have the chance to pump Jonathan for a little information about Bates would just be a side benefit.
Jonathan had introduced us. He’d met Bates back at Horace Mann, which meant that I had Jonathan to thank for both my boyfriend and my very, very good job in public relations at the Cheung Charitable Foundation, an offshoot of his father’s hedge fund.
I think my friends were convinced that I was with Bates because of his money. That I was trying to claw back the life of luxury I’d lost when I severed ties with my parents. But Bates had given up Goldman Sachs to work at the Robin Hood foundation. He volunteered at the Boys & Girls Club. I’d even signed up myself, thanks to him. Being with Bates had already made me a better person, and he hadn’t judged me for the stories I told him about the brutality of my childhood. Because he was a kind, nonjudgmental person. For the first time in my life, I thought maybe I could really be myself with someone. I wasn’t all the way there yet, but I was working on it.
I pressed the button in the center console to slide the passenger window down and breathed in the Hudson Valley air, which smelled of distant fireplaces and dried leaves.
“I can’t believe you’re getting married,” I said, looking over at Jonathan. His intense brown eyes were fixed on the road, lips pressed together. Oh, that had come out wrong. Negative almost. I reached over and put a hand on his. “I mean, I’m happy for you.”
That was true— I was happy for Jonathan. He deserved to finally be with someone worthy of his generosity. Because Jonathan could be too generous, even with us. I’d warned him countless times: giving people too much all but guarantees they’ll never really love you.
Jonathan smiled, but it seemed a little forced. “I’m happy for me, too.”
“When is the actual wedding, anyway, and where?” I asked, digging for my phone in my oversize Hammitt bag— nice but not too flashy.
Flashy was tactless when you worked at a foundation. Bates was right about that. I typed out a quick text— Miss you already— and hit send. Bates had been working so hard this past week. It made complete sense that he hadn’t invited me back to his place after dinner last night. Still, it was hard to shake the queasy feeling I’d woken up with. Especially now that I hadn’t heard from him all day. It didn’t help that I was already on edge. I still couldn’t shake that anonymous email. I just needed to stop fixating— it was the only solution.
“We haven’t set an exact date. In May or June, I think.” Jonathan waved a hand. “And in the city probably. You know my parents: God forbid they leave Manhattan.”
“You think May or June?” Stephanie asked from the back seat, finally off the conference call that had kept us largely silenced up front for nearly an hour. “You’d better get the details nailed down, Jonathan, or the New York City wedding machine will eat you alive.”
I was a tiny bit jealous at the thought of Jonathan planning a wedding. Bates and I had only been together four months— way too early to be thinking about a proposal, obviously. But maybe I was hoping for a little forward momentum. That was the problem with getting so much of what you wanted— you just ended up wanting more.
“Peter and I like to be spontaneous,” Jonathan said.
“That makes sense,” I said, though I wasn’t sure it exactly did.
“How much farther is your house anyway?” Stephanie asked. “Because no offense, but it’s like a submarine back here. Did you know you were paying more to get your passengers extra carsick?”
Stephanie had been razzing Jonathan ever since he pulled up in the brand-new Tesla. The expensive car was somewhat out of character. Jonathan didn’t usually advertise his wealth, which even by Vassar’s privileged standards was eye-popping. Jonathan’s father believed that earning money was far more important than letting people know you had it. Which I think was his real issue with Jonathan: he wasn’t ambitious enough, especially compared to his completely lovely, but thoroughly hard-charging older sisters.
“We’re less than fifteen minutes away.” Jonathan adjusted his hands slightly on the wheel. He was definitely worried— about the weekend, about Keith. We all were.
“Okay, but I’m warning you, I haven’t eaten all day.” Stephanie’s low blood sugar had a way of turning her prickly but always funny observations into barbs that actually drew blood.