by Emily Giffin
I say it aloud, and then say, “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be silly,” she says. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”
“But we were having such a nice time….I don’t know what happened there,” I say.
She hands me the Coke and tells me to take another sip. I do as I’m told, then slide the can between my thighs, taking a deep breath.
“Oh my God,” she suddenly gasps, reaching out to squeeze my leg. “Is there any way…you could be pregnant?”
Panicking, I look away—out my window—pretending not to have heard the question. Which of course is a terrible strategy because she only asks it again, more excited this time and shaking my leg.
Still gazing out my window, I clear my throat, the reply on the tip of my tongue. What’s one more lie in a sea of much bigger lies? And it’s a perfectly acceptable fib—more like safeguarding my secret for a little longer, in anticipation of our plan to surprise everyone at the party. I just don’t want to tell Amy, of all people, ahead of my own family.
But for some reason, probably having to do with exhaustion, I can’t muster the energy to tell her anything but the truth. So I look at her and nod, shocked to discover that the admission feels right, even though she’s the last person I should be confiding in.
“Oh my God!” she says in a loud whisper, her eyes big and shining. “No way!”
“I’m afraid there is a way,” I say in a quiet voice.
“Afraid?” she says. “Cecily! This is awesome news! Congratulations! Wow!”
“Thank you…It wasn’t planned, obviously,” I say, deciding to practice my talk for our parents. “But Matthew proposed before we knew.”
“What’s your wedding date again?”
“October nineteenth. We’re keeping the date. Having the baby, then getting married,” I say, just as we’re pulling up to Matthew’s building. “But nobody really knows yet.”
“Got it,” she says, putting a finger to her lips just as I spot Matthew on the sidewalk, talking to his doorman. Amy sees him, too, winding down her window and calling out, “Hey, stranger! Got the patient here!”
“Hey, Amy,” he says, looking upset.
I know he’s worried about me, but overriding that, he has to also be thinking about Amy’s loss. In any event, it’s an awkward moment as Matthew circles the cab to my side, opens my door, and peers inside. “You okay?” he says.
“Yeah. I’m fine,” I say. “You know…it’s probably just…” I motion to my stomach.
He nods as he takes my hand and helps me out of the taxi. Meanwhile, Amy pays our fare and also gets out of the cab.
“Fabulous news on your engagement, Matt,” she says, circling around to him. “Such a small world, huh?”
He thanks her and says yes, and she gives him a kiss on the cheek followed by a long hug.
When they part, Matthew shoves his hands in his pockets, shuffles his feet, and says, “I’m so sorry to hear about your husband. I hope you got my note?”
“I did. Thank you,” she says.
“How are you doing?”
“I’m hanging in there. Trying to stay busy…and your fiancée here has been such a wonderful breath of fresh air.” She looks at me and smiles, then offers to come up with us, to get me settled, make sure everything is okay.
I start to refuse, but can tell she wants to come, and have the sudden sense that she’s lonely. “That would be great, Amy,” I say. “Thank you.”
“Yes, thank you,” Matthew says, as the three of us turn and walk into the building.
As we ride the elevator up to his apartment, Amy and Matthew make small talk, mostly about his sister and their parents, while I try to keep my mind as blank as possible. When we get inside, Matthew tells me to go sit down, gesturing toward the living room, announcing that he’ll bring us both water. I nod and walk to his sofa, curling up in the corner of it.
Amy follows me, sitting at my feet. “How do you feel?” she says.
“Much better,” I tell her. “Thank you.”
She casts a furtive glance toward the kitchen and then whispers, “Are you going to tell him I know? About the baby? Or should I play dumb?”
I shrug, knowing that I shouldn’t unnecessarily add to the web of deception. So a moment later, as Matthew brings us each a glass of ice water, then sits in the chair closest to me, I clear my throat and say, “So…Amy knows that I’m pregnant….”
He glances at her as she gives him a playful shrug. “Sorry. I asked her point-blank.”
“It’s fine,” he says, reaching out to squeeze my shoulder. “Everyone will know soon enough. Right, hon?”
“That’s the plan,” I say.
“Well, it’s thrilling news,” Amy says with a high-wattage smile, looking first at Matthew, then at me. “I’m really happy for you both.”
He thanks her, looking proud but nervous. I feel the same, at least the nervous part, and hope that the subject ends here. But it doesn’t. Instead Amy says, “Anyway, Cecily told me you’re keeping your wedding date…but if you wanted to fast-track things, I could help.”
“Fast-track?” Matthew says, looking intrigued.
“Yeah. I have a lot of contacts in the city—I’m sure you both do, too, but in my business, I know people…vendors and wedding planners, and of course, designers. I had a friend in this same situation and she put together the most exquisite wedding in three months.”
“That’s not a bad idea, actually,” Matthew says, nodding.
“It would be fun,” Amy says. “Really fun.”
Matthew shifts his gaze from Amy to me, raising his eyebrows, waiting for my reaction. When I don’t speak, he says, “What do you think, Cecily?”
“Well…I think that’s an incredibly sweet offer,” I say, dodging the question and hoping he realizes that I don’t want to commit to anything.
He doesn’t get the hint, though, saying, “But I mean what do you think about pushing the date up?”
“Um, well, it’s definitely a thought. But I really don’t want to show in my dress,” I say, then quickly clarify. “I mean—I’m not trying to keep it a secret, obviously. But I also don’t want to wear a maternity gown.”
“I get that. But with a first pregnancy, you won’t show for months,” Amy says, which now makes two people who aren’t getting the hint. “And we could pick a style that works for you….For example—and not to talk dresses in front of Matthew—I just saw the most gorgeous empire waist gown at Vera Wang….Something like that would be so incredible on you.”
“Don’t worry,” Matthew says. “I have no idea what an empire waist is.”
Amy continues to stare at me, clearly awaiting some kind of an answer.
“Maybe,” I say, my smile now so stiff that I feel as if my face might break. “But my friend Scottie would kill me if I went wedding dress shopping without him.”
“But isn’t Scottie coming in for the party?” Matthew says.
I nod, then shoot him a look to stop.
He misses it, continuing, “And so’s your mother. You could all go together.”
I nod, my face frozen, and say, “We sure could.”
“And I don’t have to go with you,” Amy says, finally seeming to pick up on some kind of vibe. “I didn’t mean to be presumptuous.”
“No, no, it’s not that,” I say, feeling bad now. “I’d love for you to go with us. Today was a lot of fun.” I turn to Matthew and explain. “Amy and I went dress shopping for a little bit after brunch…for the party….You know she’s a stylist.”
Matthew nods and smiles.
“She’s amazing,” I add.
Amy shakes her head. “No. She’s just easy to shop for. You should have seen the dress she tried on. It was perfect.”
“Perfect except for the price,” I say.
“She really should. Or maybe her fiancé should buy it for her.” She winks at him and says, “Might as well get in practice now.”
“That’s not necessary,” I say. I know she’s trying to be helpful, but I don’t like the way they’re talking about me as if I’m not there, and I can’t help feeling sensitive to the differences in our finances and any insinuation that I will be a kept woman.
“I’d be happy to get her the dress,” Matthew says, still looking at Amy.
“Yoo-hoo, I’m right here, guys!” I say, my voice firmer and louder this time, as I do an exaggerated wave in front of Matthew’s face. “And you’re not buying me that dress.”
“Okay, okay,” Matthew says, but a second later I catch him exchanging a knowing glance with Amy before returning to the subject of wedding venues, half of which I’ve never heard of.
Feeling overwhelmed and exhausted, I announce that I’m going to go lie down in Matthew’s room.
“Oh, I should go now, too,” Amy says, but doesn’t move.
“No, no, stay,” I say, suddenly just wanting to be alone.
“Okay,” she says with a light shrug. “We’ll just do a little more wedding planning then.”
“Sounds great,” I say, forcing a smile. “Thank you again, Amy. For everything.”
I’m not sure how long Amy stays, but the next thing I know, Matthew is standing over me, asking if I’m hungry.
“What time is it?” I say, squinting up at him.
“Almost seven. You’ve been out cold. How are you feeling?”
I tell him I feel fine, and that I’ll probably just head home and get something to eat there. “I have some work I have to finish,” I add.
“Are you upset with me?”
“No. Why would I be upset with you?”
“I don’t know…you just seem…terse. You did with Amy, too. Was she getting on your nerves?”
“No. Not really,” I say, now sitting up and stretching. “I just…It was a lot, to start talking about the wedding and the dress and all of that.”
“I get that,” he says. “I think she’s just trying to be nice.”
“I know,” I say. “And I appreciate it. But I just…I can’t do it right now.”
He furrows his brow and stares at me for a few seconds before saying, “Can’t do what?”
“I don’t know. All the wedding talk…It was just starting to feel…a little frivolous or something.”
He stares at me, nodding.
“And doesn’t it strike you as a little odd that Amy just lost her husband, yet can be so excited about planning our wedding?”
Matthew shrugs and says, “Yeah. Maybe a little.”
“I think I’d be curled up in a fetal position sobbing,” I say, part of me suddenly resenting her—while another part of me hates only myself for judging her kindness toward us.
“I don’t know, Cecily,” he says. “I think people react to grief in different ways.”
“I know…but still. Just seems odd.”
He nods. “I’ve known her forever, but I really don’t know her that well….She’s a nice girl—but maybe not the sharpest tool in the shed.”
“She went to Stanford,” I say.
“Yeah. But as a legacy. Her dad went there. And he’s loaded. I’m pretty sure he donated a few million dollars to the school….And anyway, I’m not really talking about her IQ or book smarts…or even her street smarts…because she clearly runs a great business.”
“What are you talking about, then?”
“I mean—not everyone is as complicated as you are,” he says with a funny look.
“Complicated?” I say. “That doesn’t sound like a compliment.”
“Okay. How about…deep?”
“I’m deep?” I say.
“Hell yeah, you’re deep,” he says with a laugh. “Sometimes too deep.”
“What does that mean?”
He pauses. “Well, for example, I think you’d like your job more if you just embraced the bullshit stories. Chase them down, get the juice, write the piece, play the game.”
I nod, as Jasmine has told me this before, too.
“And,” he says with a hint of a smile. “I think you’d like me more, too.”
I feel myself tense up, even as I tell him not to be ridiculous.
“I’m serious,” he says. “Sometimes I worry that I’m not enough for you…or that you just don’t seem completely happy about getting married.”
“Stop it,” I say. “I’m very happy to be marrying you.”
It’s the truth, but somehow my words sound flat. He stares at me, looking sad, like he hears that something seems off, too.
“It’s all just a lot to digest,” I say. “Our breakup. Then September eleventh…Then getting back together…and getting engaged right away…and now this. This human inside me.” I put both my hands on my stomach, one on top of the other.
“So…do you want to slow down?” he says.
“We can’t slow down.”
“Not with the baby. But we can with the wedding.”
“That’s just it, Matthew. The wedding is really beside the point when you’re talking about this…life,” I say.
Life and death, I think to myself, now picturing Grant and fighting back sudden tears.
“Oh, Cess,” Matthew says, his arms around me. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“You didn’t,” I say. “It’s not your fault. You’re wonderful. The best. It’s all just…a little overwhelming.”
“I know, baby,” he says, something he’s never, ever called me. He’s used honey and sweetie and so many other terms of endearment. But not baby. Not what Grant called me.
I pull away from him, wipe the tears from my face, and tell myself to get it together. That I need to stop being so self-indulgent. After all, the only baby that matters now is the one I’m carrying.
“Oh, jeez. I need to get a grip here,” I say. “And just embrace it. All of it. It’s not what we planned—at least it’s not how we planned it—but that’s okay.”
He nods, looking hopeful. “Exactly.”
“And one day we’ll look back on all of this fondly…wondering what we were so worried about.”
“Exactly,” he says again. “It will all work out.”
I nod.
“So, seriously, what do you think of Amy’s idea? We just get this show on the road and get married in January?”
I hesitate, then shrug and say, “Sure. If that’s what you want to do.”
“I think our parents would be happier this way,” he says.
“I can’t disagree with that.”
“So we let Amy help us? And get married in the city?”
“A winter wedding would be beautiful,” I say with a forced smile.
“So that’s a yes?” he says.
I nod, as my fake smile turns into a real one. “That’s a yes,” I say.
Matthew laughs and says, “And we’ll kick it all off with an engagement party, where you’ll look so beautiful in your new dress.” He winks at me.
“What new dress?” I say.
“Don’t get mad…but while you were napping, Amy called the store. I gave them my card, and she went to pick it up. The dress is yours.”
Still smiling, I thank him, then give him a big hug. “You really shouldn’t have done that…but I can’t wait to wear it. I’ve never had a dress this nice,” I say, thinking that I’ve never been with a guy this nice, either.
The two weeks leading up to our engagement party are relatively calm, both in the news and in my personal life, thank goodness.
I report on the New York City Marathon; the release of Britney S
pears’s new album; the opening of a 3,500-square-foot Swiss Army flagship store in SoHo; Michael Bloomberg’s mayoral upset over Democrat Mark Green; and the New York Lottery paying Barenaked Ladies eighty thousand dollars for the rights to use their song “If I Had a Million Dollars” in ads.
Meanwhile, Matthew and I give Amy the green light to start looking at venues for a January or February wedding in the city, offering very little guidance, other than to remind her that our budget is not unlimited. I also put in a request for an Episcopal church—my favorite being St. George’s on Stuyvesant Square—as it feels like a nice compromise between Matthew’s Methodist upbringing and my Catholic one. I know my parents won’t be thrilled with the decision, but there really isn’t time to go the Catholic route, nor does that seem fair to Matthew.
More privately and importantly, Matthew and I focus on my pregnancy. As we approach our first ultrasound, we debate whether to find out the gender. My preference is to know, if only from a practical standpoint, but Matthew really wants to be surprised. So I relent, and we start brainstorming baby names. Fortunately, we mostly agree there, both of us drawn to traditional names that aren’t overplayed—names such as Frances and Louise, Henry and Gus.
I give notice to my landlord that I’ll be moving out in mid-December, when my lease is up, and convince Matthew to renew his for one more year rather than trying to buy a place now. His apartment is technically only a one-bedroom, but it’s a very large one-bedroom, and I find the cutest room divider at ABC Carpet & Home that doubles as a bookcase. Eventually, we will get a two-bedroom—or move out of the city altogether—but for now this feels right, and certainly much simpler and more affordable.
