“I don’t want to do this.” Andie averts her eyes. “Not here.”
“You think I do?”
“I didn’t say Burke wasn’t a catch, Skye,” she says coolly.
“Then what’s the problem?” I drum my fingers on the polished wood table, and I wish so badly that I didn’t care what Andie thought. “You think he’s too old for me?”
Andie sighs. “I mean, maybe. Then again, we’re getting old, aren’t we?” One corner of her mouth curls.
“Pushing thirty.”
Andie and I were born two weeks apart in July. We used to have joint birthday parties every summer.
“I can’t believe that.” Andie twists the stem of her glass. “Then again, age is just a number. And our generation isn’t in a rush. It’s not like it was for our parents, where everyone was married with kids by twenty-five.”
“True.”
“Look, I’m sorry, S.” Andie exhales, and her face looks genuinely pained. “I’m sorry I’m not being one hundred percent receptive to this. I’m just … it’s a lot to process. But I want to hear about the engagement. Tell me exactly how it happened.”
I let the story spill from me, grateful to finally be telling Andie every detail of the day that’s left me floating on a cloud. I let myself gush, and it feels so incredibly good to be happy like this, to be normal like this, to talk to my oldest friend about the man who wants to spend the rest of his life with me. I can’t help but intermittently glance down at my ring, checking to make sure it’s still there, that this isn’t all a dream.
Andie sees me, and I know she knows what I’m feeling, in the perceptive way she can, because she reaches over and squeezes my hand.
“You deserve this,” she whispers.
The waitress reappears and asks if we’re ready to order.
Andie orders the healthiest salad on the menu, and I opt for the carbonara and another negroni. Fuck it. I have someone who loves me completely.
“I guess I’ll do another one, too.” Andie gestures to her empty glass and shrugs guiltily, as if having two drinks on a Tuesday is criminal.
Andie didn’t used to be such a teetotaler. Before she became obsessed with yoga and quit her job in PR to become a registered dietitian, she used to get wasted on cheap vodka and eat cheeseburgers and stay out till dawn. And even though she’s swapped bagels for hempseed smoothies, even though she’s almost religious about her daily consumption of celery juice, her body doesn’t look all that different from how it did before. Andie was always a stick.
“So, have you told Lexy or Iz?” She leans back in her chair and slumps her thin shoulders. Now that she has a drink in her she’s not quite so wound up.
“Not yet. Just my family knows. And now you. But I’ll call Lex and Iz this week.”
The waitress places our food on the table—I love that the service at Rosemary’s is so speedy. My plate of oily pasta towers over Andie’s little salad, and sometimes I hate going to meals with the new Andie.
“So”—I pick up my fork—“I wanted to talk to you about the wedding.”
“What about it?” Andie reaches for her water.
“Well, first of all it’s September twenty-first. So save the date.”
Andie spits water back into her glass. “This September?”
“Yes.”
“Skye, that’s—that’s in six months. It’s too—”
“It’s not too fast, Andie.” I’m annoyed now. “People have these insanely long engagements nowadays, and it’s too much pressure. I can’t even imagine what that would do to my OCD. Plus, look at my parents. They got engaged in April, they were married in September.”
“That was a completely different time. I know if your mom were here, she’d be telling you the same—”
“Don’t play that card.” I shake my head, and Andie is silent. “Look, Burke and I have talked about it. We want a September wedding—that’s when my parents got married, and you know I’ve always wanted that—and we don’t want to wait a year and a half. That’s how we feel.”
Andie shoves a forkful of kale into her mouth and chews indignantly. Only a watery sip is left in her second drink, and I can tell by the slight sway of her shoulders that she’s tipsy. It’s now or never.
“Andie.”
She jerks her head up and swallows. “Yeah?”
“Look, I need you.” It’s the truth. “I need you to be my maid of honor.”
Andie’s gaze widens, and she puts down her fork. “Oh, Skye.” I watch her eyes fill with tears. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“Maybe not, but you know it has to be you.”
“I know, but, Skye—what if we fight? What if we don’t agree on anything and it all goes wrong? Maybe you should ask Lex or Iz. Or Kendall.”
“God, no. Lexy would try to turn my wedding into an actual music festival, and Iz … Iz is just not good with planning. And I love Kendall, but … it has to be you. You’re my person.”
This is something Andie and I started saying to each other back in the prime of Grey’s Anatomy, copying best friends Meredith and Cristina on the show. But neither of us have said it in at least a year, and a tear slides down Andie’s cheek.
“Of course, Skye.” I watch her remember that there is no other answer, that this is who we are to each other, for better or for worse. “Of course I’ll be your maid of honor.”
Suddenly my phone buzzes on the table, interrupting our moment. I glance at it, expecting a text from Burke, but it’s an email, and the address on the screen makes my stomach drop: [email protected].
Max LaPointe.
I haven’t seen that name on my phone in over a year. There’s a chill at the base of my spine, and I shield the screen from Andie as I open the email. The words freeze my blood.
A little birdie tells me you’re engaged. That poor, poor guy.
Chapter Five
Burke Michaels’s Diary
SEPTEMBER 13, 2018
Dear Dr. K,
Last night I took Skye Starling （the girl I met in Montauk） for ramen at Ippudo, this hot spot in the East Village. Years ago, when the neighborhood was seedier, Heather and I lived here and ramen was one of our favorite meals out, because it was cheap and filling.
Ippudo is an ideal date spot, according to Todd, because even though it won’t break the bank, it’s still considered a legitimate culinary experience, and it’s casual enough to take the pressure off. And let’s be real—I’m not in the financial position to be taking women out on dates to Michelin-starred restaurants.
The extent to which Todd cheated on his ex-wife is unclear, but he obviously did. He seems to have all the answers I’m looking for, and he doesn’t judge. All he said to me when I mentioned I’d gotten this girl’s phone number in Montauk was Your wife is stupid hot, man, but I get it. Then he gave me the ramen suggestion.
Yes, Heather is hot, especially for her age. Maybe even stupid hot if you’re a spectator. But after two and half decades of marriage, that stuff doesn’t matter as much as you think it will when you’re younger.