Luke balanced the bulk of evidence in his lap. “This is going to make you happy, isn’t it?”
I needed tears again, but just enough to make my eyes gleam. No track marks on my cheeks—that would be overkill. “This will make me really happy,” I croaked.
Luke dropped his head to his chest and sighed. “Then we have to do it.”
I flung my arms around his neck. “I want a cheeseburger now.”
It was just the right cute, quirky Ani thing to say because Luke laughed.
“You are ridiculous,” Nell said when I walked into Sally Hershberger Downtown. “Fucking eat something already.”
I chose to take it as a joke and went to do a little spin for her, but Nell seized a crumpled magazine from the pile on the coffee table and glared at Blake Lively on the cover. I sat down next to her in reception, stung. The prepubescent model behind the front desk asked if we wanted coffee. “A latte,” I said.
“Skim?” she asked.
“Whole milk.”
“Still doesn’t count as food,” Nell muttered.
My hairstylist appeared before us. “Oh my Godddd.” Ruben pressed his hands to his face like Macaulay Culkin in Home Alone. “You have cheekbones.”
“Don’t encourage it.” Nell flipped a page in W with so much force she tore it half out of the magazine. Nell and I just weren’t talking about it. Any of it.
“Oh, please.” Ruben shooed her away. “It’s her wedding. We can’t have fucking Shamu walking down the aisle.” He offered me his hand. “Come on back, gorgeous.”
Ruben said I should do big Brigitte Bardot hair now that my face was so slender. “You can’t do that on porkers.” He twisted my hair into wet knots all over my head. “Just makes them look bigger.” Ruben had never suggested Brigitte Bardot hair for me before I’d gotten down to 104 pounds.
Mom said she didn’t even know why I was bothering to get my hair done in New York when the second I got to Nantucket the humidity would undo it all. I told Ruben that, and he pshawed. “Your mama doesn’t know anything about anything.”
Luke had left for Nantucket earlier in the week, but I didn’t have the same liberty at The Women’s Magazine. When I requested Friday off in addition to the two weeks I needed for my honeymoon, the managing editor balked. But LoLo stepped in and made it happen. She approved of my honeymoon choice—eight days in the Maldives and three in Paris. I still hadn’t talked to her about London, even though Luke had given his answer to the partners, and it was a go.
“Fabulous,” she said. “And the Maldives are sinking, you know. So run, run, before it’s too late.”
Ruben had a tan bald head and glasses that sloped on the end of his elegant nose. He never pushed them up, the way Arthur used to. Just squinted over their tortoiseshell ledge as he fed sections of my hair through a round brush, twisting and turning at the bottom until the ends coiled like peppy ribbons securing a Christmas present.
Nell glanced at her watch. She had wandered over with my latte twenty minutes ago, handing it off to me with a slight, apologetic smile. I guess she figured I was going through with it and there was no point in continuing to punish me. “It’s almost eleven,” she said. Our flight was out of JFK at 2:00, and we still had to get back down to my apartment to collect my luggage.
Ruben worked some product into my hair, whipped off the black robe, and planted a loud kiss on the top of my head. “I want pictures,” he said. “You are going to make the most gorgeous bride.” He held his hand over his heart, and I watched him tear up in the mirror. “Ugh!” he cried. “Just the most gorgeous bride.”
Nell and I tore into my apartment, shimmying the wet off our coats and umbrellas. It had started to rain on our way downtown, and getting a cab was going to be difficult now.
“Seriously,” Nell said. “We have to go.”
I was going through the fridge, tossing anything that would spoil over the next two weeks.
“I know,” I said. “I have to trash this stuff though. I can’t come back to a smelly apartment. Drives me crazy.”
“Where’s your trash room?” Nell grabbed the garbage bag out of my hands. “I got it. Just get everything together.”
The door slammed behind Nell, and then I was alone. I dropped to my knees, pushing through the cleaning supplies we keep in the cabinet beneath the sink. I found a box of clean garbage bags and wedged it loose. A row of bottles shifted, and something fell, rattling as it spun. The object was a seafoam green blur only until it sputtered, ran out of gas, and went silent on its side. I pinched it between my fingers and studied it, wondering how long I had before Nell returned to the apartment and caught me on the ground, shaking like a wet dog.
“The first time I ever heard of Ani was in an e-mail my brother sent me on November sixth, 2011.” The speech in Garret’s hand fluttered as he brought it closer to his face to make out the words.
“‘I’m bringing a girl home for Thanksgiving,’ he said. ‘Her name is Ani and it’s pronounced “Ah-nee.” Not “Annie.” If you screw it up, I’ll kill you.’”
The room vibrated with pleasant laughter. Oh, those Harrison boys.
Garret glanced up from the paper in his hands. “I think you know when two people are meant for each other when you see that they’re better people together than they are when they’re apart.”
A hum of agreement.
“Ani is one of the sweetest girls I’ve ever met, but let’s just say it, she’s a little kooky.” There was robust laughter at that, which shouldn’t have surprised me as much as it did. Wasn’t that the personality I’d meticulously crafted for Luke? Adorably quirky? The razor-sharp spokes that sliced through every now and then, the thing that kept him on his toes, the extra little bonus? “And I know that’s what my brother loves about her. It’s what we all love about her.”
I looked at Nell. She mouthed “Sweetest girl he’s ever met?” and rolled her eyes. I looked back at my soon to be brother-in-law and hoped no one else had noticed.
“And my brother.” Garret laughed, and the crowd did too. They knew he was gearing up for something good. “Well, not many people can keep up with my brother. He’s the last one at the bar and the first one on the surfboard in the morning. You get out there, and he’s been riding the waves for an hour and he’ll want to stay out an hour longer than you do and you’re like, dude, you made me take a Jameson shot at three in the morning, I can’t.” Garret covered his forehead, like he had a headache. “God bless you for putting up with that, Ani (Annie), excuse me, Ani (Ah-nee).” The laugh track was at full volume now, and, with Herculean effort, I joined in.
Garret waited patiently for the room to quiet down. A smile ate up half his face as he continued. This was going well. “But that’s what’s so great about Luke and Ani. They don’t ‘put up’ with each other. They love each other unconditionally, inhuman amounts of energy and all.”
Luke’s hand found my own, gnarled into a claw, as though a paralysis had settled into the bones. My whole body creaked as he pulled my hand into his lap. With my other, I churned the discovery I’d made in our kitchen. I’d kept it close since I left New York, considering what to do with it, how to play it. Nell had badgered me the entire flight. “Jesus. What’s wrong?” “You know how much I hate flying,” I’d said to the window.
“My brother needed someone like Ani. Someone to show him what it’s really all about, this life. Family, kids, stability.” He smiled right at me. “She’s it.”
I rubbed my cheek on my shoulder, against a nonexistent itch.
“And to that point, Ani needed someone like my brother. Someone to be her rock. Someone to calm her down when she starts to spin”—there was a strong, almost hostile emphasis on that word, and a knowing wink at Luke—“out of control.” When she starts to spin. I felt like I was standing outside of my body as I understood, with piercing clarity, that Luke made fun of me, of my rabid terror, of my silly, hard-earned phobias, over beers with his brother and friends. “She’s ridiculous,�
�� I realized I could hear him say, and everything in me ached with that raw, ruthless exposure.
“I’m so excited to see where these two go in life,” Garret said, the joy inflected in his voice jarring against my sudden decision, final and terrifying. “Well, and, to crash at their amazing London flat.” Everyone laughed. “And, Ani, when it’s time for a new little Harrison, at least we know Luke is no stranger to that three A.M. thirst”—more laughter and bile bubbled in my throat. I cleared it out and raised my glass with Garret and everyone else. “To being better together, than you are alone.”
“To being better together, than you are alone.” My voice was a part of this chorus too. Glasses clinked, the sound a delicate bell—no! no! no! I drained my champagne, all of it, even the angry curdles at the top.
Luke leaned in and kissed me. “You make me so happy, babe.” I held on to my smile with all my might.
Someone tapped Luke on the shoulder, and he turned, began to chat about the honeymoon. I put my hand on his knee—funny, that would be the last time I could ever touch him like that—said, “I’m just going to use the bathroom.”
I waded through the room, the perky pleasantries. “Hello, hello, hi.” “You look stunning!” “Thank you!” “Congratulations!” “Thank you!” “Hi, hello, hi.” “Lovely to see you.” Lovely. When did I start saying that terrible word?
The wedding coordinator had pointed out the one-stall bathroom in the back of Topper’s, the restaurant charging us thirty thousand dollars for the rehearsal dinner. “Usually just for staff,” she’d said. “But you and Luke should feel free to use it tonight if you need some privacy.” She’d winked, and I’d stared at her, horrified.
I locked the door behind me. There was no overhead light, just a white porcelain lamp on the counter, the light fuzzing through the shade golden and dreamy, like I was playing a part in an old movie. I lowered the toilet seat, carefully and quietly as a bench in church. I sat, the skirt of my size zero Milly dress collecting the DNA of all the brides who had sat here before me. I’d never be thin enough to wear it again.
My Bottega Veneta clutch made a smacky, kissy noise as I snapped it open. I dug around until I found the green seashell, ribbed and faded between my fingers.
It was some time before there was a knock on the door. I sighed and stood—Showtime, ready?—cracking it open just wide enough to reveal the eyes, nose, and lips of Nell. It was an entirely different light out there.
She smiled, and the corners of her mouth disappeared from the narrow frame. “Whatcha doing?”
I didn’t say anything. Nell reached through the door and thumbed away a black tear.
“What was that, anyway?” she said. “You’re the sweetest girl Garret’s ever met? Has anyone here ever met you?”
I laughed. One of those horrible cry-laughs that juggles all the phlegm in your chest.
“What do you want to do?” Nell asked.
She listened patiently while I told her, then whistled low. “What a shit show this is going to be.”
Nantucket suffers from a temperature inversion, which occurs when cold air is trapped under hot. This is what creates the ever-present fog, the Gray Lady, that cloaks the island, even on a clear day when there’s not a cloud in the sky.
Of course, you realize it’s a clear day only once the ferry barrels through the thick of it. You look forward and see the blue hanging over the land, crisp and bright as a screen saver on a projection screen, then glance over your shoulder and there’s only a wall of groggy mist. It was all behind me when Nell appeared at my side and pushed a cold beer into my hands.
“I think the car rental place is within walking distance from the ferry,” she said.
Beer gurgled in the bottle’s neck. “It is.” I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. “It’s right there.”
“And you’re sure you don’t want to fly?”
“I couldn’t stand to be in an airplane right now,” I said.
Nell pressed her back against the ship’s rail. “So when are you going to ask?”
I shielded my eyes with my hand and studied her. “Ask what?”
“If you can move in, while you get back on your feet.” She smiled. Out of the gray, her teeth were so bright they seemed the closest thing to invisible. “It’s like 2007, redux. Only this time we won’t have rats.”
I warmed my shoulder against hers. “You don’t know how much I appreciate this.”
Nell had done what I asked her to do at the entrance to the bathroom, and, a few minutes later, Luke had nudged the door open with the toe of his Prada loafer. “Ani? You okay? I can’t find Kimberly and the music on the slide show isn’t—”
Everything on his face went dark and different when he saw the seashell pinched between my fingers. I didn’t even wait for him to lock us in before I asked, “What did you do with that picture of Arthur and his dad?”
Luke turned and shut the door behind him, slowly, like he would do anything to delay what was going to happen next. “I didn’t want to upset you more than you already were.”
“Luke, tell me now or I’m going to—”
“Okay.” He pushed his hands at me. “Okay.”
“John bought coke while he was in New York that weekend. I told him it was stupid. You know how I feel about that stuff.” Luke gave me a meaningful look, like his hard line on drugs would somehow absolve him of whatever he had done.
“His fiancée wanted it too. When we got back to the apartment, he needed a picture to do it on. I don’t know how that stuff works, but he said they always do it on a mirror or a picture frame.”
“And you gave him the picture of Arthur and his dad?”
“I didn’t want to give him a picture of us!” Luke said, like he’d had only two choices, like we didn’t have a million pictures all over the apartment of our annoyingly photogenic friends.
“What happened to it?”
“Someone knocked it over.” Luke mimed the crime, flicking his hand in the air. “It broke. I threw it away.”
I searched his face for any sign of remorse. “Even the picture?”
“If you saw the picture without that stupid frame you would have known something had happened. You’re . . . you’re so sensitive about that kind of stuff. You get so mad.” Luke brought his hands to his chest, like he needed protection from me. “I just thought it was better. And better for you. To move on. Why would you want to hold on to something like that anyway?” He shuddered. “It’s creepy, Ani.”
I cupped the seashell in my lap, gingerly as you would an injured baby bird. “I can’t believe you.”
Luke got on his knees in front of me, just like he did the day he proposed, the day I was so sure was the happiest of my life. I pulled back when he tried to brush away the mascara tracks on my cheeks. “I’m sorry, Ani”—even with this, he managed to make himself sound like the victim, St. Luke who has to put up with me, with my spins, my kookiness, my morbid neurosis—“but please. Let’s not let this ruin the night.”
Outside, one of Luke’s friends shouted at another friend that he was a fucking pussy. I held on to the shell as if it was a stress ball. Squeezed so hard I heard the crack in its armor. “This isn’t what’s going to ruin the night.” I let him wipe away a tear, the last time he’d ever touch me. Then I told him what would.
CHAPTER 17
* * *
Oh, it was a mess. The Harrisons, my parents, Nell, Luke, all knotted into a clot of varying alliances, fighting for individual best interests. Ultimately it was decided that Nell would call a cab, take me back to the Harrison estate, where I would gather my things before the rest of the family returned home, and we would get a hotel room, leave first thing in the morning. Mrs. Harrison’s face was an odd mix of anger and sympathy as she discussed these arrangements with me, her tone very matter-of-fact, much to her credit.
Mom couldn’t even look at me.
It would be Thanksgivings and Christmases at the FaNelli household from here on out. T
he same fake frosted tree Mom propped against the wall every year, strung with bubble-gum-colored lights and nothing else. The only thing to drink some acidic bottle of Yellow Tail Shiraz. I was prepared for this, I was.
I don’t remember the car ride to the Harrisons’. The packing. Checking in at the three-star hotel by the ferry. One of Nell’s pills wiped it all away.
It was well past midnight by the time we pushed open the door to our king-size room. My stomach arched into an impressive back bend, and I found the phone. Woozily dialed room service. “Good evening,” the answering machine taunted. “Room service is available from eight A.M. until eleven P.M. A complimentary breakfast will be served in the—”
“It’s closed.” I tried to slam the handset into the receiver but missed. It crashed to the floor, unflinching and hard as a dead body. “I’m so hungry!” I wailed.
“Okay, kooky.” Nell seemed to move as though she were on wheels. Smooth and graceful and determined. She was on the phone with the front desk, making a dignified request. Then she was ordering grilled cheese, chicken fingers, fries, ice cream sandwiches. I ate it all. I think I was still chewing through a French fry as I dozed off. The sleep was a liquid I kept poking my head out of in the night, gasping for air until Nell’s pill pushed me back under. But I slept. I slept.
I’d gone and messed up my story line in the documentary too. A month or so after I made the decision that I would “regret for the rest of my natural-born life” (that was Mom), I met Aaron and his cameraman in a small sound studio a few avenues east of Rockefeller Center.
I had a new job too. I was now the features director at Glow magazine. It was a big title, but the brand didn’t have nearly the same clout as The Women’s Magazine. It certainly didn’t have the prestige of The New York Times Magazine, which LoLo reminded me we were close to, couldn’t believe I would give up now.
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