“You were always so moody. I see nothing has changed.”
I reached for the water. “Is this what you want?”
“Just give me the fucking water,” he rasped. I did. He didn’t say thank you. “I thought you were coming here to apologize.”
“You thought I was coming here to apologize?” I took a step closer to him. “I’m not sure where you got that impression. But I sure as hell have no intention of saying I’m sorry for a damn thing. You are the one who should be sorry. I thought I was coming here for an apology from you. Not the other way around.” My mother had set us up. She’d duped each of us into believing the other one felt remorseful, perhaps in an attempt to assuage her own guilt.
“Well, I guess it’s your unlucky day, then.”
“Any day that you’re a part of is unlucky.”
“You’re the one who left. You ran out on your family.”
“You gave me no choice. You ruined my childhood, and I wasn’t going to let you ruin my entire life.”
“You were an ingrate,” he barked.
“You were an animal. An abusive husband. An abusive father. And a sorry excuse for a man.”
“You think you’re better than me?”
“Oh, I know I’m better than you are.” I smiled. “Do you know where I live now? In a ten-million-dollar apartment on Park Avenue.” I puffed my chest, because money signifies independence. He knows that and I know that. “I own a company, did you know that? I’m a success. I’m living the fucking dream. Unlike you ever did.”
“Snooty bitch.” He tried to raise his voice but he couldn’t. That incensed him even more.
“I’ve waited two decades to say these things to you. To tell you that you repulse me. And that you treated me and Mom like the piece of shit you were.” I took a breath. I didn’t want to let him rile me any further. He didn’t deserve that. But I couldn’t help myself. “How did it feel to be in a wheelchair all these years? To not be able to walk or run or loom over Mom before you punched her in the face? To have to look up at everyone you spoke to? How did that feel? Huh? Tell me. I want to hear you say ‘I’m a sorry excuse for a man.’ Once and for all. So I can stroll—yes, stroll—out of here and never look back. Say it. Say ‘I’m a sorry fucking excuse for a man.’ Now!”
His eyes widened with rage just as one of the machines he was hooked up to began beeping. Faster and louder until it was pulsing inside my head. Within seconds a nurse was at his side frantically jabbing at buttons and adjusting dials.
She turned to me, her face alarmed and apologetic at the same time. She was under the mistaken impression that I cared about him. “I’m sorry, sweetie, but you need to leave.”
“What’s happening?” I moved a little closer to get a better look.
“You need to leave right now.” Somehow he managed to grab my arm with what little strength he had left in him, but I squirmed free, and then I did exactly what I said I was going to.
I strolled right out of the room and never looked back.
An hour later, he suffered a massive heart attack. There were multiple attempts to resuscitate him, but they were in vain. My father died that day. No, my mistake. A stranger died that day. He died angry. And sour. He died knowing that I’d held him accountable for his sins. That I hadn’t apologized or forgiven him, and I certainly hadn’t forgotten.
That is what I call closure.
31 KERRIE
“Yes, that’s correct. Size ten, black leather wing tips. The bow tie with the pinstripe. No cummerbund. No vest. Plain white shirt. Thank you, Daphne. Grey will be in next Monday to try everything on. Five o’clock. Excellent.” I hung up and took a bottomless breath as I shuffled through a stack of papers Jordana had left on my desk with a sticky note that read: TOP PRIORITY in all caps. Despite our hyper focus on the Doonan-Blunt wedding, our other weddings still need some attention. And with Jordana out of town, it’s my job to concierge the shit out of them.
She called this afternoon to say that she’d be on her way home in a few hours and that she’ll be in first thing tomorrow morning. She also said that we’re going to be taking on two more major weddings (two more than the three she already told me about) and that she’ll be giving me much more responsibility due to the fact that I’ve proven myself over the last couple of months. She even promised me a promotion, which I couldn’t believe would happen so soon, despite the fact that I think I’ve earned it.
In the meantime, I’ve been keeping tabs on everything, fielding maniacal calls from Caroline, and I have an appointment at Harry Winston with William in forty-five minutes to finally select a wedding band.
I’m also supposed to meet Sara for dinner tonight.
And on top of all that, I’m making regular trips to the bathroom with an upset stomach. Fine, it’s diarrhea. Is this what they call stress?
Just as I was about to grab my purse and head out to meet William, my cell phone blared Sara’s number on the screen.
“Hey, what’s up?”
“You ready for some sushi and sake?”
“Not yet.”
“I’m starving already. This kid sucks the life out of me and all I want to do is shove some rice in my face.” I heard Dante wailing in the background, which would typically make me feel grateful for my single, childless existence. But lately I’ve been thinking about what it would be like to have a real family of my own. I’ve never had that. Not in the traditional sense.
Once my nana was gone, I figured I’d be shipped off to Florida to live with my father’s sister Ronna. She was my only living relative, and it never occurred to me that there would be another option. Ronna lived in Palm Beach with the “fancy folks,” as my nana called them. We visited her every now and then, marinating in the luxury of her waterfront condominium with its hand-painted pink Pelicans on the kitchen wall and its white and black lacquer furniture positioned around her sweeping, sunlit living room.
Ronna let me soak in her whirlpool tub for hours and scoop peanut butter out of the jar with my fingers. She called herself a tough cookie, which I admired. Her teeth were tarnished beyond bleaching, thanks to twenty-five years of smoking a pack or two a day, and she wore frosted peach lip gloss that coagulated at the corners of her mouth, but I didn’t care. Ronna had no husband or children of her own, though she was a natural at the art of nurturing. I wondered why Ronna didn’t take me in when my parents died, since she was much younger, but never asked.
While the time in my life surrounding Nana’s death is foggy, due to the trauma and the overwhelming guilt that I was to blame, I do recall feeling relieved to leave everything behind and start fresh. I remember thinking Florida is sunny, which was a metaphor for what I believed my future would hold. Brightness.
Only that’s not what happened. Instead, it was decided by someone—I’m not sure whom—that I would be taken in by the assistant principal and his wife, who were already certified foster parents. I was told it would be better for me not to have my life upended again. I needed continuity. I needed to stay where all of my friends were. Except, what they didn’t understand was that I didn’t have any friends. In fact, there wasn’t one person who’d miss me if I never came back.
But I kept my mouth shut, even though I was raging inside, and I spent the next four years with my head down.
There was nothing wrong with Martin and Jean Splain. They were kind to me. They provided for me as best they could. They wanted so badly to be the parents I never had, which—to their disappointment—pushed me further and further away. Jean bought me pretty pink dresses. She’d leave them on my bed and ask me why I never wore them. She tried to re-create my nana’s chicken pot pie.
Some might say they were saints; they just weren’t my saints. And they certainly weren’t real family.
“We’re still on though, right?” Sara asked, drawing me back to our conversation.
“The thing is, I’m really swamped. Jordana is out of town, so everything is falling on me. And I still have to mee
t a client. I’m not sure I’m going to be the life of the party after that.”
“I don’t need you to be the life of the party. We need to strategize. The clock is ticking.”
“I hear you. It’s just—”
“It’s just what? This comes ahead of everything else, right?”
“Yes, yes, but—” I thought about William.
“But nothing,” Sara cut me off. “I already have a babysitter lined up, so you have no choice.”
“Okay, okay.”
“I’m not hanging up until you say yes.”
“Fine, yes.”
“Great. See you at seven o’clock. With any luck, I’ll have some news on Arthur by then.”
32 KERRIE
By the time I’d made my way across Central Park, William was already waiting for me outside Harry Winston. He rushed to open the door of my cab and offered me his hand as I stepped onto the street. What a gentleman.
“Hey there.” He smiled, as a construction worker whistled at me. Not only have I gotten used to this sort of reaction from strange men, I’ve come to expect it. Believe me, I never thought I’d see the day. “Ignore him.” He positioned a protective palm on my back.
“So, are you ready?” I smiled at him too.
“Actually, no. I’m not.” He scratched his head as we stood facing each other on the sidewalk, with pedestrians zipping past us.
“What do you mean?” Jordana made me swear not to leave the store without a wedding band.
“We’re not shopping today.” His eyes met mine. And for the first time I noticed an aching that I’d never seen before. An almost imperceptible splinter of pain. “I need to talk again.”
“Okay, but what about our appointment?” He’d made it himself, which I found strange. We never let our brides and grooms do that sort of menial work.
“There’s no appointment.”
“I’m not sure I’m following.”
“Come with me. There’s a little bar about seven blocks away. Nothing fancy, but we definitely won’t run into anyone we know.” Clearly, that was not a risk for me. “You okay to walk?” He looked down at my four-inch heels.
“Oh yeah, I’ll be fine.”
* * *
Ten minutes later, William and I were seated across from each other, beers in hand, in an establishment that can best be described as a dive, which is what I love about Manhattan. Gazillions of dollars of jewels within a hop, skip, and a jump from a bar that reminds me of home—where your feet stick to the floor and white wine spritzers are not on the menu. Jordana would sooner be caught buying flatware at Target than spotted here.
“So what’s going on?” The music was a little too loud for a heart to heart—and it was country, which was pretty unforgiveable in and of itself—but I certainly wasn’t going to complain. “You don’t seem like your usual happy self.”
“Am I making a mistake?”
Yes. “You know I can’t answer that.”
“We’re friends, right?” He finished his beer in three swigs and motioned to the waiter for a shot of tequila. “You want one?”
“Oh, no thank you.” If I started downing shots, I’d never make it to dinner with Sara. Also, I still have to maintain a degree of professionalism with William if I want to keep my job. Which I do. Until all of this is over, and I’ve ruined his life. Or saved his life. It’s amazing how fine the line might be between those two.
“So, as I was saying, we’re friends, right?”
“Yes, we are friends.” I savored that thought, even though, in my heart, I wished we were so much more.
“Then tell me. Should I marry Tatiana? I just need someone—anyone—to tell me honestly.” He kicked back the tequila and politely requested another.
“Do you want to maybe slow down on those?”
“No.” Got it.
“Why don’t you give me a sense of why you’re asking this? What exactly is on your mind?”
“It’s all just too much.” He shook his head.
“Okay, so I remember you saying that Tatiana is different than she used to be and that she’s been extra irritable lately.” I started to walk him through it. “And I know you’ve had some doubt, but—again—I want to assure you that it’s completely natural to have jitters this close to your wedding day. I know Jordana’s seen it with plenty of our brides and grooms. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.” I hated myself for sounding like a PSA. This is your brain. This is your brain on marital bliss.
“It’s more than that.” Another shot down the hatchet. “It’s become very clear to me that we’re not headed in the same direction. We want different things in life.”
“Are you sure?” I asked. “You both enjoy spending time at the country club.” It was the only thing I could come up with.
“I hate it there.”
“Come on, that’s not true.”
“No, it is. I hate the country club. And everyone who belongs there.” He was slurring now, as the waiter brought another shot. “What am I doing, Olivia? How did I get to this place?” I’ve wondered the same thing about myself.
“You got here because you love Tatiana. You said you did.”
“It feels like another lifetime.”
“But you didn’t propose in another lifetime. That was only a few months ago.”
“That’s not exactly what happened.”
“I don’t understand.”
“The proposal wasn’t really my choice.”
“Don’t tell me she asked you to marry her? No way.”
“No. But she did ask me to ask her to marry me. She said all of her friends were getting engaged and that it would be humiliating for her to be the last one married. Caroline was really pushing for it too. We’d been together for so long. It was almost like if I didn’t do it, I’d embarrass myself and everyone else.” He shrugged, defeated. “It just seemed like what was supposed to happen. Like it was the next natural step and there was no sense in delaying it. Isn’t that a great reason to commit your life to someone?”
“And, again, I’m just playing devil’s advocate here. You’ve had months to change your mind. You could have backed out at any point.”
“Ha!” He laughed cynically. “Once Tatiana and her mother started planning the wedding, it was all over. I was either on the train going full speed or I was stranded at the station.” Another shot.
“Okay, you really need to stop drinking. For one, you can’t think lucidly. And beyond that, I’m not strong enough to throw you over my shoulder.” I smiled and placed my hand on top of his.
“Tatiana doesn’t want children,” he blurted, and then looked at me with sad eyes.
“What?” I was stung on his behalf. On my own behalf. “How do you know?”
“She said it last night. She’d spent the day with her brother’s kid. Nico. He’s two. She said it was a total fucking nightmare—those were her exact words—like she’d had a bad bout of food poisoning.” I thought about Dante and how difficult he can be. Still, even on his worst day, Sara adores him within an inch of her life.
“Ouch.”
“Yup. So there’s that.”
“And you definitely do want kids?” I imagined William cradling a baby in his arms. I envisioned him encouraging his son to take his first steps. Or watching his little girl twirl around in a pink tutu. There’s no doubt in my mind that he’ll make an amazing father.
“Of course I want kids. And she knows that.”
“I’m sure she’ll come around.”
“Are you? What if she doesn’t? And what other bombs is she going to drop after we get married?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, neither do I. And I’m afraid to find out. What am I doing?”
“Okay, listen. Calm down. This is all going to be fine. You need to go home and tell Tatiana how you feel. You need to explain to her how important it is for you to be a father and that one tough day with a child doesn’t mean anything. She’ll hear you. I’m sure of it.”
I wasn’t sure of it. And there was a part of me that didn’t want him to say any of it. Tatiana doesn’t deserve him.
“You really are amazing, Olivia,” he said, but I knew it was the booze talking. “Maybe you’re right.”
“Okay, let me ask you this. Are you in love with Tatiana?” Please say no.
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“I’m so confused.” He folded his arms on the table and slumped his head on top.
“Oh, William.” I wasn’t sure what else to say. “Let’s get you home so you can sleep it off. I bet things will look clearer in the morning.”
“I don’t think so.” He shook his head as I helped him to his feet. And then he held on to my hand as we made our way out of the bar and into the light of day. I checked my watch. There was no way I was going to make it in time to meet Sara for dinner. With any luck, she’ll cut me some slack.
“Let’s get you a cab.” He followed me onto the street, as I held my arm up and a taxi pulled right in front of us.
“Thank you.” He stumbled.
“I’m coming with you.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“Yeah, I do.”
“I don’t know what I’d do without you, Olivia.”
“You’d be just fine.” We both got in, and I gave the driver William’s address.
Once we’d rolled to a stop outside of William’s apartment building, I watched him fumble to find his wallet in his jacket pocket, to no avail.
“I’ve got it, don’t worry.” He didn’t put up a fight this time. He didn’t have it in him.
“You’re such a good person.” He leaned toward me until I could feel his breath on my skin. I should have backed away. But I didn’t. I couldn’t.
Instead, I did something icky. Only because I knew he wouldn’t remember it the next day.
I said, “Hey, you never did tell me where Camp David is.”
His expression was bewildered, eyes half-closed, but he didn’t hesitate. “Private island, not far off Grand Cayman.”
“Are you going to be okay?” I whispered, as the moonlight streamed through the window, casting its sultry glow on us.
Pretty Revenge Page 19
