Greenery wound down the staircase and lined the hallway. Liv felt like a fairy queen as she floated through the first floor of the house.
The backyard took her breath away. It was full of flowers. Hundreds of clear bottles with one or two colorful stems hung suspended along the back and side fences. More blooms wove around a wooden arbor, which was loosely wrapped with a swathe of ivory silk. The assembled crowd, brightly attired in the dress code of summer chic, fell silent. In her clear, pretty voice, Darlene Mitchell started “Here Comes the Sun.” Her boyfriend, Zach, accompanied her on acoustic guitar. “ ‘Little darling, it’s been a long, cold, lonely winter. Little darling, it feels like years since it’s been here.’ ” The duo had planned the East Coast tour for their debut album, Dark Secret, around the wedding. Their band was blowing up, but they weren’t missing this for the world. Sam and Liv were part of their love story, too.
Ben and Dottie, angelic in all white, scattered wildflowers down the aisle. A wave of laughter rippled through the gathering when Dottie ran out of flowers and started throwing them from Ben’s basket. Liv’s heart swelled at the gracious way Ben let his almost-stepsister steal the spotlight.
Gorman walked Liv through the center of their assembled guests. All eyes were on her, but she was only looking at Sam. His kind eyes and broad shoulders and big hands. Big enough to catch her if—when—she fell. But she felt strong enough to catch him, too. She only took her eyes off him when it was time to read her vows.
“Sam Woods,” she began. “I love you. Tenderly. Wildly, and with my whole heart. Because you are so easy to love.”
Zach was already teary. Darlene grinned and pulled him closer.
“On the day we met, I thought you were an intruding sex pest, so I brandished a banana at you and threatened to throw you in jail.”
Everyone laughed.
“And you handled that like you handle all aspects of your life. With flawless grace, generous humor, and boundless empathy.”
Sam brushed away a tear.
“Gosh, you never cry,” Liv murmured. “Guess I’m doing a good job.”
He gave her a thumbs-up.
Standing at the side, Savannah laughed out loud. It was already going so well.
Liv continued. “We’re not spring chickens, you and I. We’re adults, with big, messy lives and big, messy hearts. I don’t promise a perfect marriage: I don’t believe in perfect marriages. But I believe in us. As partners. As parents. As human beings, trying to make sense of this big, messy world. Today, I choose you as my husband because you make me happy. I promise to love and trust you. I promise not to work too much or drink too much or make you eat my terrible cooking.”
Zia nudged Clay, who smiled and kissed his wife’s cheek. They’d gotten married last year in Hawaii, a three-day blowout with a salsa band, piles of Italian food, and two hundred of their friends and family. They honeymooned on a private beach. To remember the happy occasion, they took Polaroids.
“Sam Woods,” Liv continued, “you’re the one for me. Whenever I recall the first time we kissed, on the front steps of this very brownstone, one word keeps coming back to me. That word is home. You are my home. I cannot wait to continue our great love story, as your wife, always by your side.”
The crowd broke into applause.
Gorman was weeping. Henry handed him a tissue. “You big softie.”
His husband wiped his eyes. “You love it.”
Henry squeezed his hand. They’d just had their final home visit from a social worker. They were ready to adopt. Gorman had painted the nursery himself. “I do,” Henry said.
After the cocktail hour, dinner was served. Sam had indeed made a long table out of Liv and Eliot’s willow tree, around which they’d enjoyed countless outdoor dinners and afternoon coloring sessions. Savannah rented a few more tables to fit their guests, all decorated with tall white candles, vintage crockery, and more jars of bright flowers. The feast was summer staples: watermelon and feta salad, grilled corn slathered in salted butter, roasted new potatoes. Maine lobsters and sticky ribs were served family style. Kids chased each other under the tables. Everyone was drinking Aperol spritz and rosé and champagne. A lot of it.
Darlene and Zach were seated next to Clay and Zia. After being nominated for (but not winning) an Academy Award for Best Actor in The Jungle of Us, Clay had solidified his place in the A-list as a dramatic actor. But at Liv and Sam’s wedding, he was just Zia’s husband, and Zach and Darlene’s friend, watching proudly as his wife announced her latest news to her friends.
“Director of volunteer services for Southeast Asia,” Zia told Darlene and Zach. She felt lit up from the inside. “I’ll be overseeing all of the teams there.” Zia had gone back to school to get a master’s in public health. When her boss’s job at Global Care came up, she went through four rounds of interviews to get it. “I’m going to be based in Bangkok for the next five months, starting in the fall. I get to expand the current programs in the region and start new ones in Laos and Myanmar. I’m psyched!”
“Bangkok.” Zach addressed Clay. “Long way from LA.”
“I’m going with her,” Clay said, adding that Layla and her kids would be housesitting the LA condo while they were away: Zia’s sister had groveled for a year for their forgiveness, donating all the money from the photograph to Global Care. “It’s time Zia’s career came first.”
Zia and Clay exchanged a smile of understanding, their fingers evenly intertwined.
“Do you miss having a home base?” Zia asked Zach and Darlene, sampling the fresh lobster. “You guys seem to be constantly on tour these days. South by Southwest, LA, Portland.”
Zach and Darlene looked at each other and shrugged, smiling. “I’m just happy people want to hear our music.” Zach squeezed Darlene’s thigh. Even after all this time, it sent a deliciously lazy spark up her spine. His shirt was still a little rumpled, but he wore his hair swept back off his face these days. It made him look more mature, but no less cute.
“It’s like Liv said in her vows,” Darlene added. “Wherever we are, as long as we’re together: that’s home.”
Later, the tables were cleared away, and Sam and Liv cut a three-tiered vanilla cake slathered with honey-and-lavender buttercream frosting. Ben and Dottie had two pieces each and were taken up to bed before they gobbled a third. Liv was apprehensive about a DJ—her days of drunkenly thrashing to “Party in the USA” were definitely behind her. But then Darlene and Zach started a sweet, jazzy version of “It Had to Be You,” and she realized it was going to be a different kind of dance floor. As the sun sank over the fence, Liv slipped off her heels and let Sam sway her around, full and tipsy and entirely happy.
“ ‘It had to be you,’ ” Darlene sang, making the old words sound inevitable and romantic, classic and entirely fresh. “ ‘It had to be you.’ ”
Liv and Sam were surrounded by couples in love in New York. Gorman and Henry; Darlene and Zach; Clay and Zia; Savannah and Sophie (the quirky English fashion student she’d been dating); and a couple dozen other friends and family, all twirling around the backyard, which had been strung with little white lights.
“ ‘For nobody else, gave me a thrill,’ ” Darlene’s eyes were on Zach, as they sang together, not bothering to hide grins. “ ‘With all your faults, I love you still.’ ” And Liv thought about how love meant showing someone everything—every awkward, shameful, hidden part of yourself—and the sublime grace and freedom in having those parts accepted, and cherished. How that was, ultimately, the secret to being loved, and loving others. Seeing, and being seen.
“ ‘It had to be you, wonderful you, it had to be you.’ ”
“How’d I do?” Savannah whispered, as Sam was saying goodbye to some friends with sleepy kids.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Liv said. “But I’m really glad you had an affair with my husband.”
Savannah blushed. “I’m glad it brought us together.”
; She locked eyes with Sophie, unable to stop smiling. They’d met online a few months ago. Sophie was goofy and sweet and made Savannah laugh more than anyone else in the world. Liv and Sam had dinner with the couple, and Savannah’s mom and dad, when they were in town a few weeks ago. The six of them ate at a new spot in Bushwick, co-run by a good friend of Savannah’s and Sam’s. They were lucky to get a table: Honey’s Fried Chicken was currently the hottest fried chicken spot in New York City. At the end of an indulgent dinner that even the Kentuckians deemed fantastic, Honey came by the table. The light in her eyes was explained by the fact she was in love. A food writer, Natasha, who, it turned out, fell for more than just the Southern comfort food. They’d recently gotten engaged.
“Guess it all worked out for the best,” Honey said to Savannah, and Liv thought, Ahhh, putting the pieces together.
“You changed my life,” said Savannah to her now.
Liv smiled back broadly. “You changed mine, too.”
The two women hugged, holding each other close. Then Liv squeezed Savannah’s arms. “All right. Go back to your lady.”
Savannah’s lips curved up. It took Liv a moment to realize why she looked so pretty. Savannah Shipley wasn’t wearing a scrap of makeup.
Sam stepped in. “May I have this dance?”
“Hello, husband,” she said, accepting his hand.
“Hello, wife,” he replied. “Ooh. I like the sound of that.”
“Me too.” She settled into his arms. “Well, we did it. We got married.”
“And it’s the first day of the rest of our lives.”
“I don’t know about that,” Liv said with a smile. “I think we’re already living our lives. We just get to do it together.”
“That sounds pretty good to me.” He spun her around slowly, her bare feet twisting in the soft grass. “Wanna know the best part?”
“What’s that?”
Sam kissed her. He tasted like whiskey and buttercream. “We’re already home.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
If you’re reading this, you’ve either finished this story and are feeling all the feels, or you’re skimming these words in a bookstore, because the acknowledgments are a window into a writer’s inner world, and you’re curious. Either way, hello!
This novel was truly a team effort. It felt akin to planning my own wedding, which I was actually doing over a fair portion of the writing of this book. Both required orchestrating an ambitious, exciting event that was a meaningful celebration of true love, and a lot of drinking.
There are very few people for whom I would throw out a year’s work and start again, but my agent, Allison Hunter, is one of those people. On her advice, I deleted the twenty-five-thousand-word sample we sold this novel off, and started from scratch. I’m so glad I did. Allison, thank you for pushing me to do what it takes and for your belief in me: it truly means the world.
Sarah Cypher of the Threepenny Editor, you’re so much more than my freelance editor, you’re my writing teacher. I’ve worked with Sarah on four novels now: her insights are transformational and, honestly, astounding. Sarah, I’m getting my MFA by working with you, and I couldn’t be more grateful.
Emily Bestler, my editor at Simon & Schuster and an all-around publishing legend, thank you for your unwavering support of my work. I’m so thrilled to have had three novels published by the fabulous Emily Bestler Books. Thanks to Lara Jones, Megan Rudloff, Isabel DaSilva, Sonja Singleton, and everyone at Simon & Schuster.
Cheers to my enthusiastic screen agents at UTA, Addison Duffy and Jason Richman. I am positively visualizing a kickass film or show based on this book: let’s make it happen!
I engaged the hearts and minds of a lot more early readers than I usually work with in an effort to create a collective vision of modern love and romance. It was nerve-racking to share the raw, first draft with so many readers (some I didn’t even know, who responded to a callout in my newsletter), but their honest feedback was invaluable. Thank you to Danielle Brennan, Lisa Daniels, Natalie Edwards, Melissa Epifano, Emily Klein, Melissa Kravitz Hoeffner, Jen McManus, Kari Schouveller, and my old Showtime pal, Adam Waring. Extra-special thanks to the vivacious Megan Reid.
I love learning things from my friends and people I cold-email. This novel was brought to you by:
Amy Shack Egan, and her team at New York wedding planners, Modern Rebel: Amy answered all my questions about wedding planning and even let me moonlight as an assistant for one of their events, to get a behind-the-scenes peek. Wedding planners Meredith Falk, Emily Love, and Madison Sanders also provided crucial insight in the manuscript’s early stages, all of whom I was connected to by wedding photographer Alea Lovely, who I met in an Uber Pool and let me take her out for lunch.
Keisha Zollar, Clare Mao, and Hala Maroc helped me illuminate the stories of young women of color. I truly could not have brought Darlene and Zia to life without you three; thank you for being such generous guides.
Jill Lamoureux, my wife’s college roommate and lead singer of the band Scavenger Hunt: thank you for helping me make Darlene and Zach real musicians. You are very cool.
The fantastic Mr. Dan Fox, one of my best friends in the whole world: cheers for giving this book the Jew Thumbs-Up. And for always being one of my biggest fans (the feeling is mutual).
My lawyer, Sam Mazzeo, gave counsel on legal aspects. Jocelyn Brewer advised on mental health. Richard Cooke helped with Awful Charles. Neil Collier, my good friend Ally’s dad, does all the medical stuff. I’ve sent this man some pretty weird emails, and he never flinches.
I worked on this novel at the peaceful Spruceton Inn Artist Residency in 2018 and the outrageously enjoyable Rowland Writers Retreat in 2019. Drafting happened, in part, at The Writers Room in New York, where I finished in early 2020. Thanks to those who give writers places to dream.
Shout-out to my friends, near and far: my Brooklyn gang, Sydney crew, and LA pals.
Hello to the New York Author Salon fam (especially cohost Amy Poeppel). Thanks for the chats, cheer, and cheese plates.
The Generation Women and Funny Over Fifty communities are so special to me (join us! Generationwomen.us and funnyoverfifty.com). Thanks Jessica Lore for being the ultimate collaborator.
Big love to my family, the Clarks and the Ratowskys, especially my wonderful Mum and Dad, and Will. It means a lot to make you proud and to be a part of a loving and vibrant family.
Finally, my wife, Lindsay Ratowsky, to whom this novel is dedicated. I am writing these acknowledgments in May 2020, and we are (still) quarantining at home in Brooklyn. There’s no one I’d rather self-isolate with than you, baby. Our wedding was part of the inspiration for this novel, and so this story is shared with you, as is everything I do. I love you endlessly.
It was a joy to create this story with everyone who read it before it got into the hands of you, dear reader (and if you are still in a bookstore reading this, that’s your cue to go buy this book).
More from the Author
The Bucket List
The Regulars
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
GEORGIA CLARK is the author of The Regulars and The Bucket List, among others. She’s the host/founder of the popular storytelling night Generation Women. A native Aussie, she lives in Brooklyn with her hot wife. Connect with her on Instagram, @georgialouclark, and at georgiaclark.com.
SimonandSchuster.com
EMILYBESTLERBOOKS.COM
www.SimonandSchuster.com/Authors/Georgia-Clark
@EmilyBestler @EmilyBestler
ALSO BY GEORGIA CLARK
The Bucket List
The Regulars
Parched
She’s with the Band
We hope you enjoyed reading this Simon & Schuster ebook.
Get a FREE ebook when you join our mailing list. Plus, get updates on new releases, deals, recommended reads, and more from Simon & Schuster. Click below to sign up and see terms and conditions.
CLICK HERE TO SIGN UP
A
lready a subscriber? Provide your email again so we can register this ebook and send you more of what you like to read. You will continue to receive exclusive offers in your inbox.
An Imprint of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
1230 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020
www.SimonandSchuster.com
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2021 by Georgia Clark, Inc.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information, address Atria Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.
First Emily Bestler Books/Atria Paperback edition May 2021
and colophon are trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
For information about special discounts for bulk purchases, please contact Simon & Schuster Special Sales at 1-866-506-1949 or [email protected].
The Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau can bring authors to your live event. For more information or to book an event, contact the Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau at 1-866-248-3049 or visit our website at www.simonspeakers.com.
Interior design by Jill Putorti
Cover illustration by Vikki Chu
Author photograph © Lindsay Ratowsky
ISBN 978-1-9821-3319-1
ISBN 978-1-9821-3321-4 (ebook)
It Had to Be You Page 36