Iz and Kendall are deep in conversation at the table while Lexy tries to coerce Andie into taking a selfie, no doubt for her Instagram stories. I watch Andie feign annoyance, but I know she secretly loves to pose, the way she pouts her pink lips to further sharpen her cheekbones.
“Eeeeee!” Isabel squeals, and stands when she sees me. “The bride is here!”
“Hi, ladies!” I make my way around the table to give each of them a hug.
Andie looks vaguely uncomfortable; it’s the first time we four childhood friends have all been together since my engagement, and I can tell it bothers her that she’s the only one of us without a ring. Kendall isn’t married or engaged either, but she isn’t in our group of four, so it’s different.
Someone has ordered a bottle of champagne, and once it arrives at the table, we get down to business.
“The first thing I think we should discuss is the hashtag,” Lexy says, flipping her dark hair, which she’s recently cut to her shoulders. “Do you have one, S?”
I can feel Andie rolling her eyes.
“Umm––”
“Because I was thinking #burkeisskyehigh. Clever, right?”
“Sure.”
“Great. Now for your bachelorette, we’re a little crunched on time since there are only five months till the wedding, but I think that’s still enough to plan something cool. I was thinking the Azores. Maybe Tulum.” Lexy looks at me. Her eyelashes are almost comically long––she’s religious about her biweekly extensions––but she pulls it off.
“Lex, I don’t know.” I take a sip of champagne. “I was maybe thinking of forgoing the whole bachelorette thing.”
“What!” Lexy looks incredulous. “You can’t do that. The bachelorette is the best. Every bride needs one.”
For hers, Lexy took twenty girls to a rental house on Harbour Island in the Bahamas, where she also chartered a full-service catamaran. In total the three-day weekend cost over two thousand dollars a head, and even though the money wasn’t an issue for me personally, I knew several others—particularly Andie—were hit hard by the price tag.
“A Nantucket wedding in September is already an expensive ask.” I make a point not to look at Andie. “I really don’t want everyone spending too much, especially on short notice.”
Lexy sighs. “Skye, fine, we can discuss this later. Next on the agenda is the band. Do you have one?”
“Hey, Mussolini,” Isabel interjects. Because Lexy’s Italian, Mussolini is what we call her when she’s being particularly overbearing. “You do realize as a bridesmaid your job is not to coordinate Skye’s entire wedding? Besides, Andie is the maid of honor and she’s supposed to plan the bachelorette.”
“I’m just trying to be helpful, Isabel.” Lexy scowls. “Do you know how far in advance people reserve the band these days? Her wedding is only five months aw—”
“Guys!” I raise both hands. “Stop. I have a wedding planner and we’re in the process of booking the band. And, Lex, you’re right that the timeline is tight. I get it.”
“I think it’s romantic,” Isabel hums. “Like the olden days when couples fell in love and got married quickly because the man was going off to war.”
“Right, but there is no war at the moment,” Andie murmurs, her voice thick with sarcasm.
“That’s not entirely true,” Kendall points out, and everyone turns toward her in surprise. A global history PhD candidate at Columbia, Kendall is by far the most intellectual of my five bridesmaids, and I watch the others nod in silence as Kendall explains that the United States is currently involved in wars in Afghanistan, Pakistan, Somalia, Syria, Libya, and Yemen.
The waitress comes by, and Lexy orders another bottle of champagne. I watch Kendall twist a lock of strawberry-blond hair around her pointer finger and worry that she thinks my oldest friends are superbasic. I shoot her an appreciative grin. I’ve always valued her sharp intellect—the two of us can talk about politics and books together to a degree that I can’t with my other friends. At the same time, I worry that my friends from home think Kendall is a pretentious know-it-all. I worry that Andie probably wishes she were anywhere else but here, celebrating an engagement she doesn’t support. Maybe I should’ve made Lexy maid of honor. At least she clearly cares. Also, maybe I worry about my friendship dynamics too much.
I slip my phone out of my bag underneath the table and text Burke: Bridesmaid drama [[rolling-eye emoji]].
He texts back a minute later: Haha. Isn’t that inevitable? Don’t worry, whatever the drama is I’m sure they’re all coming from places of love. Then: And remember, all that matters is you and me.
My heart swells with love for Burke, for his ability to always know exactly what to say to make me feel better.
When I look up, my four best friends in the world are staring at me.
“What on your phone could possibly make you smile that big?” Isabel teases. “Can’t go one dinner without texting your husband?”
“Fiancé,” Andie corrects, and I make the mistake of meeting her gaze. She doesn’t finish the thought out loud, but I can hear the rest inside her head, behind the hardness in her eyes:
He’s not your husband yet.
Chapter Fourteen
Burke Michaels’s Diary
DECEMBER 20, 2018
Dear Dr. K,
Merry Christmas, doc. I know it’s been a minute since my last entry—sorry about that. But I’ve been busy. I’m jolly as an elf this year, and I’ll tell you why. That plan of mine? It’s working.
Skye Starling is sweet and beautiful and not a hard girl to pretend to love. She’s more or less perfect, actually, aside from her peculiar OCD compulsions.
As planned, two months ago I told Heather that with Oliver’s help I’d gotten a tempting job offer in Dubai. I explained it was an eighteen-month contract for a position that, after a two-month training period, would pay six times what I could ever expect to make in the United States, given my unfortunate record.
I’d known Heather would be floored by the prospect of us living on different continents, but I wasn’t surprised when her eyes filled with tears and she told me to take the job. She agreed it was the right financial decision for our family, and that some space might not be the worst thing for our marriage. I promised to come back every few months to see her and the kids.
So off I went to Dubai—aka Crown Heights, Brooklyn. I found a decent sublet near Prospect Park for just $750 a month. It was the cheapest place I could find that was not an actual dump; I figured if Skye ever decided she wanted to see my place in Brooklyn, I couldn’t be found living in squalor. My roommate is a guy named Ethan in his mid-thirties who does Big Law in midtown and is almost never home.
But I only have ten more days in Crown Heights, Dr. K, because the plan is right on schedule. On January 3, the day after Skye and I get back from spending New Year’s with her family in Palm Beach, I move into Skye’s spacious one-bedroom in the West Village. It wasn’t hard to convince her; in fact, no convincing was needed. Earlier this month, I simply suggested we move in together. I told her that even though we’d only known each other three months, I’d never been so sure of anything in my life. I told her I was in love with her.