“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.

I don’t know, Dr. K. All I’m saying is whatever I’ve been doing feels right, and things haven’t felt right in so long.

Anyway, last Wednesday evening I caught the express train from New Haven to Grand Central. I told Heather it was an informational interview with an ex-colleague and was relieved when she didn’t ask any questions.

I got to the restaurant at seven-thirty a little tired, but I jolted awake when Skye entered. I’d sort of forgotten what she looked like. I mean, I knew she was gorgeous, but what I remembered most was a feeling, a vibration in her presence that put me at ease.

But as she strolled toward me, I remembered—Skye Starling has one of those faces that stops wars. Or starts them. What is it that they say? A face that launched a thousand ships, that’s it. In a word, she’s stunning. Smooth skin, high cheekbones as round as apples, and giant, light brown eyes that brightened when she saw me.

Right off the bat Skye ordered a beer. When I told the waiter I’d stick with water, disappointment crossed her face, and I knew I had to tell her.

“You’re going to think I’m a big weirdo, but I lied to you in Montauk. I don’t drink. There was no vodka in those greyhounds.”

She looked at me curiously. “Why did you lie?”

“In truth, I panicked. I’m not used to … walking up to girls I’m interested in. I didn’t want to sound sober and lame. Even though that’s what I am.” I let myself smile.

“I don’t care if you’re sober, Burke.” Skye looked at me intently. “But no more lying. Deal?”

“Deal.” Oh, well.

Our food arrived and I loved watching her eat, slurping ramen greedily and washing each bite down with a sip of Sapporo, her face flushed pink from the steam. So many women—my wife included—are afraid of food. Since having kids, Heather has wrestled against her body—racing the treadmill and sprinting up hills to keep herself whittled down to nothing.

Skye told me about her work as a book editor, which fascinated me because I’ve always loved to read. When I was growing up, English was my favorite subject. Sometimes I think I should’ve pursued a more creative field, but Heather convinced me I was good with numbers. She thought I’d get rich working in finance, but that was forever ago, and we were wrong about so much.

I went into investment banking with high hopes, guns blazing. I put in the work. I got into the analyst program at Credit Suisse and was a year and a half in when I fucked it up. And do you know what happens when you fuck it up on the I-banker track? Nothing good. To say I was lucky to get my data-entry job at PK Adamson, one of New Haven’s shittiest wealth management firms, would be an understatement. A job that—let me remind you—I no longer have.

When Skye turned the conversation toward my professional life, I told her I worked for myself as an independent financial consultant. When Skye asked where I lived, I heard myself say Crown Heights, which surprised me, because I don’t think I’ve ever set foot in Crown Heights. But she nodded and said she didn’t venture to Brooklyn much, and I felt myself relax. Of course a girl like Skye Starling doesn’t venture to Brooklyn.

I waited for Skye outside the restaurant while she used the bathroom, the ramen heavy in my stomach. A light rain was falling, and when Skye appeared, I watched her open up a red umbrella, smiling as she offered me shelter. This look of hope was in her eyes and I should’ve felt guilty, for having a wife and kids and being on a date with this nice pretty girl to whom I’d just promised not to lie.