Chapter 4
Hannah
Tyson once likened Lainey to the next-door neighbor on a sitcom. The friend who pops over, providing a dose of comedic relief in every episode. I think of this description now as she sails into my apartment and says, “So I’ve been thinking about ways to kill Grady, and I think poisoning is the way to go.”
She then bursts into the refrain of “Goodbye Earl.”
I manage a smile, then tell her that Grady probably isn’t worth a prison sentence.
“That’s debatable,” she says, dropping her tote bag on the floor and wrapping her long arms around me. Lainey’s hugs are the best, and I lean into her, inhaling her no-nonsense perfume, which smells more like aftershave. “What a piece of shit.”
“It hurts so bad, Lainey,” I say, fighting back tears as I cling to her.
“Don’t worry,” she says, finally releasing me. “We will make him pay for this.” Her brown eyes are piercing.
I nod, less concerned with revenge than with my broken heart, but at least she’s distracting me. “How are we going to do that?” I ask.
“I have some ideas. But first—what do you have to drink?”
“Just vodka and some cheap chardonnay,” I say, knowing her standards are higher than mine. They didn’t used to be—she was a Boone’s Farm girl in college—but a lot has changed in Lainey’s life since then. She’s still as down to earth as ever, but her tastes have become more expensive.
“Cheap chardonnay fits the mood, I think.” She smiles.
We make our way to the kitchen, and I open my fridge, pulling out a screw-top bottle, then pouring two glasses.
“Go ahead and top mine off,” she says with another smile.
I nod and fill both glasses to the top. We each take one, then head over to my sofa.
Lainey kicks off her boho-chic boots that seem so out of season but I’m sure are cool in New York and L.A. She curls her legs up under her while I put my feet on my coffee table.
“So I’ve been doing some digging,” she says, taking a gulp of her wine. “And this Munich chick is absolutely pathetic.”
For a second, I’m confused. Then I smile and say, “You mean Berlin.”
“Munich, Berlin, Frankfurt, whatever. It’s a stupid name. And don’t get me started on her pathetic Instagram,” she says, then immediately launches into a rant. “She photoshops the fuck out of everything. Does she think people can’t see what she’s doing?”
I know Lainey is trying to comfort me, but she seems to be forgetting that I just saw the woman in real life. Unretouched, naked, and flawless.
“And seriously—what’s with those floral dresses? Good God. Those bows and puffy sleeves? She’s a walking antebellum costume.”
“I think she’s going for wholesome,” I say.
“Wholesome? She doesn’t get to monetize a prim and proper Southern belle image, then fuck someone’s fiancé. She needs to be held accountable. Outed.”
“Outed how?” I ask, picturing something crazy that only happens in urban myths—like a billboard on Peachtree Street or an ad in The Atlanta Journal-Constitution.
“Funny you should say that,” she says, looking proud of herself. “So on my flight, I made a list of all her brand partnerships…. I also found a mutual friend of ours in the PR world. I reached out and told her I needed a tastemaker in Atlanta to help with a project. Guess who she suggested?”
“Lainey! No! Stop! Berlin’s family is as connected as Grady’s—”
“And? So?”
“So I don’t have the stomach for this kind of conflict.”
“Well, I do.” She blinks her long jet-black eyelashes. They look like extensions, but they’re natural—like everything else about her.
I sigh, part of me wanting to unleash Lainey’s wrath on both of them. As powerful as Berlin and Grady might be in Atlanta, Lainey has more cachet and a much bigger platform.
“I just don’t want you to do something crazy,” I say.
“It’s not crazy to hold someone accountable. She knows Grady has a fiancée, right?”
I nod. The social circles we move in aren’t that big—everyone knows everything. “I just don’t get it,” I say. “Why would he propose? And then do this?”
“Because he’s a man. He wants to have his cake and eat it, too.”
I get a nauseatingly graphic image and groan. “Do you think she’s the only one? Or do you think there have been others?” I ask, as the possibility of sexually transmitted diseases crosses my mind for the first time.
“Who knows? Who cares? One is too many.”
“I know, but I’d feel a lot better if this was the only time. Like a fluke…”
“A fluke?”
“You know what I mean—”
“No, I don’t. And you need to stop it right now.”
“Stop what?”
“Searching for ways to somehow excuse this—”
“I’m not doing that—”
“Swear to me. Swear you’ll never take him back.”
“I swear,” I say.
It’s mostly true, but a very, very narrow path to forgiveness has crossed my mind—one that would also involve a ton of groveling and therapy.
“So how do you want to confront him?” Lainey asks.
“Can’t I just call him?”
She shakes her head. “No. It has to be face-to-face. And you need to look hot when you do it,” she says, giving me the once-over. “No sweats.”
“You want me to get dressed up?”
“Yes. And put on makeup. And do your hair.”
“Jeez, Lainey. That’s a really tall order.”
“No, it’s not. You can pull it together. And the good news is—your skin is glowing and you’re in the best shape of your life—”
“Yep. The silver lining to getting cheated on while you’re engaged.”
“There are a lot of other silver linings here.”
“Such as?”
“Such as—you found out now. Before you married him. It’s a blessing in disguise. You dodged a bullet.”
“Then why does it feel like I took a bullet to the heart?”
Lainey nods, giving me a look of pure sympathy. “I know it hurts. There is nothing worse than betrayal. Nothing. But this is who he is. This is his character. He’s a dick.”
“He can be difficult,” I say. “But I didn’t think he was a cheater—”
“It all goes hand in hand. The rules don’t apply to him.”
I sigh and nod, thinking of all the white lies I’ve heard him tell and all the lines and corners I’ve seen him try to cut, often getting away with it.
She looks at me, frowning, then says, “Were you really in love with him?”
I give her a confused look. Is she asking whether I was actually in love with Grady or whether I was very in love with him? Either way, it seems like a strange question. “Aren’t most people in love with their fiancés?”
“I’d say seventy–thirty…. Maybe eighty–twenty at best.”
I wait for her to laugh, but she stares at me, stone-faced. It’s such an absurdly cynical Lainey statement that I just roll my eyes.
“I’m serious, Han. Marriage seems like a game of musical chairs. It’s all fun and games until the music stops, then everyone’s in a mad, frantic scramble to squeeze their butt cheeks onto a seat. Any seat.”
“Grady wasn’t just any seat, Lainey. I loved him.” I hesitate, then say, “I still do.”
She gives me a horrified look. “How could you still love him?”
“Because love isn’t something you can just turn off like a switch.”
“Okay. Well. Tell me what you love about him,” she demands.
“Lots of things.”
“Name them. Seriously. I want to know.”
I take a deep breath and picture Grady at his best. “He’s charming and funny, and he makes everything feel like an adventure. Just going to the grocery store…He made life interesting. And let’s face it…I’m a little boring.”
“You’re not boring. You’re just not an attention whore,” she says.
I smile. “Okay. He can be a bit of an attention seeker. But we balanced each other out. Everyone loves Grady.”
“Fine. But what I hear you saying is that you love how much other people love him.” Lainey hesitates, giving me a knowing look. “And I bet I can guess who’s at the top of that list.”
“Who?” I ask.
“Oh, c’mon, Hannah. Don’t play dumb at a time like this.”
I sigh. “Okay. But just because my mother thought he was a great catch doesn’t mean he wasn’t a great catch.”
“Yes. But again, listen to your word choice. ‘Great catch’?” She makes air quotes. “What does that even mean? That he checks a lot of boxes? He’s not even smart—”
“Maybe not book-smart. But he’s very street-smart.”
“He ain’t that street-smart,” Lainey says. “He got busted in bed with another woman.”
“True,” I say.
“Look, the bottom line is he may be seen as a ‘catch’ and he may check a lot of boxes and you might even think you love him—”
“I do love him—”
“Fine. But do you know what?” she says, staring into my eyes.
“What?”
“I never believed he was your person.”
“I thought you didn’t even believe in that soul-mate stuff—”
“I don’t. But you do,” she says. “And I never got that ‘I can’t live without him’ vibe from you.”
“You didn’t?” I ask hopefully.
“No. I didn’t. And for what it’s worth, Tyson couldn’t stand him.”
“Seriously?”
“C’mon. You had to know that. Remember what an ass Grady was about Serena Williams? Honestly, Hannah, that whole thing was low-key racist and sexist—”
“I know it was,” I say with a sigh, thinking that low-key was probably generous.
I always made excuses for Grady, rationalizing that he never said anything overtly racist or sexist. That his attitudes were more the results of an ingrained, unconscious bias. But deep down, I knew that was a distinction without a difference, and I was wrong to look the other way for so long.
“I know this is brutal, Hannah. And if you say you love him, I believe you do. But in the words of Tina Turner: What’s love got to do with it?”
“At this point, I guess nothing,” I say.
“Exactly. You can’t marry a cheater. You just can’t. It has to be over.”
“I know,” I say, nodding.
Part of me feels relieved that the situation is so clear-cut. There is no gray area to navigate, and there is peace in that. But another part of me knows that I’ve built the vision for my entire future around Grady. Without him, I don’t know where I’m going or even who I am. The thought of figuring all that out is nothing short of terrifying, and it doesn’t help to know that my new reality is going to shatter my mother’s very conditional approval of me.
Lainey and I sit in silence for a few seconds before she suddenly jumps off the sofa. “Come on,” she says, grabbing my hand and pulling me to my feet.
“Where are we going?”
“To your closet,” she says, walking down the hallway toward my bedroom. “To pick out your revenge outfit.”
I laugh and reluctantly trail behind her. In some ways, Lainey is the female version of Grady. Never a dull moment. The difference is that she would never in a million years stab me in the back.
A few seconds later, we are standing before my closet, my clothes neatly arranged by color. She points to a navy and white striped cardigan with nautical buttons. “You still have this thing?”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“It’s ancient. You’ve had it since college.”
“So what? It’s a perfectly good sweater. Just a few pills,” I say, reaching out and picking several off.
“It’s out of style.”
“How can a simple cardigan be out of style?”
“The same way anything can be out of style. It’s all about the cut and proportion and stuff like that. Didn’t you see The Devil Wears Prada?”
I smile because I’ve always identified with Anne Hathaway’s character.
“When did you wear it last?” Lainey says.
“I can’t remember.”
“Well, if you can’t remember, it’s time to say buh-bye,” she says, yanking it off the hanger. “Out with the old. In with the new.”
She tosses it on the floor, declaring it the start of our “donate pile.”
She continues over the next several minutes, ruthlessly discarding three pairs of skinny jeans, two innocuous button-down blouses, and an emerald-green top. I fight back on the top, declaring it sentimental.
“Because of Grady?”
I shrug, knowing full well that I wore it on our second date.
She shakes her head, then rips it off the hanger and tosses it on the floor.
She works her way through the rainbow, ending with a white Brandon Maxwell minidress I recently ordered from Net-a-Porter. A splurge for me.
“Oh, wow. I love this,” Lainey says, running her hands over the heavy silk. “It’s gorgeous.”
“Thanks. But it’s going back,” I say, grateful that I’m still in the thirty-day window for returns. “It was supposed to be my rehearsal dinner dress.”
“And now it’s your revenge dress.” She gives me a diabolical smile.
“Meaning?”
“Meaning you’re wearing this when you dump Grady.”
“You want me to wear a dress over to his house?”
“No. I want you to wear it out. To dinner.”
I stare at her. “You want me to break up with him at a restaurant?”
“Yes. A nice restaurant.”
“Lainey, no! This isn’t a television show.”
“I know that,” she says. “It’s your life. That’s why it’s so important to do this in a strong way. You don’t want to have any regrets.”
“But I can’t do it in public, Lainey. I’ll fall apart.”
“No, you won’t. I’ll be there with you.”
“How would that even work?”
“You tell Grady that I came to town to see you. Last-minute visit. Maid of honor type stuff. And that I want to take you both to dinner. We get to the restaurant and order the most expensive bottle of wine on the menu, apps galore, pricey entrées…. Then, once everything is brought to the table, you dump his ass. Then we throw some wine in his face and stick him with the bill.”
“We are not throwing wine!”
Lainey laughs. “I was kidding about that—but we will definitely stick him with the bill.”
I give her a tiny smile, knowing how cheap Grady is. “That does sound pretty satisfying,” I say. “But can I at least return the dress? I have no need for an expensive white dress.”
“Yes, you do.” She smiles. “You’re going to need it for our trip.”
“What trip?”
“The fabulous trip that we’re going to take to get you over this whole ordeal,” she says. “The trip where you’ll have sex on a moonlit beach with a tall, dark, handsome stranger and regain your mojo.How Hannah Got Her Groove Back!”
I laugh, as Lainey stares at me, stone-faced. “You think I’m kidding?” she asks.
“Oh, I know you’re not,” I say. “But sex with a stranger isn’t going to fix this.”
“It might not fix it…. But it’ll be a damn good start,” she says, then smiles. “And it’s way more fun than musical chairs.”
That night as we get settled into bed, I try to distract myself from my heartbreak by asking Lainey about her life.
“There’s not much to tell,” she says, punching her pillow and turning on her side to face me. She is wearing one of my T-shirts as a nightgown, since her bag didn’t make the flight and has yet to be delivered.
“Stop it. You have the most exciting life of anyone I know.”
“People always think that. But it’s like anything else. It’s just work.”
“Any new A-list interactions?”
“Um, let’s see…. Does Debra Messing count?”
“Definitely. I love her.”
“Same. She’s a badass.”
“Did you work with her?”
“No, she was at a party. At Donny Deutsch’s townhouse. Oh—and I also met Matthew McConaughey at Soho House. He was with his wife, Camila. They were so cute together.”
“You do realize that regular people don’t just forget to tell their friends they met Matthew McConaughey?”
“I thought I told you.”
“No, ma’am, you did not.”
She shrugs and says, “At the end of the day, they’re just people.”
“What about your love life?” I say. “Are you still seeing your neighbor?”
“Seeing is a stretch. But yeah, we’re still hooking up,” she says with a laugh. “Though he is kind of old.”
“How old?”
“In his fifties. Oh! Get this. He told me this crazy story about getting his ex pregnant with twins who were then adopted by another guy. They’re, like, twenty now.”
“So he doesn’t see them?”
She shakes her head.
I nod and say, “When’s the last time you really liked someone?”
“I really like Neighbor Guy.”
“No, you don’t. You’d call him by his real name if you did,” I say.
“Well, then I really like Marcus,” she says with a shrug.
Lainey’s use of nicknames started as a joke—a takeoff on the “Ugly Naked Guy” Friends episode. But she took it to another level, largely skipping names altogether. There had been Pilates Guy, Chess Guy, Unicycle Guy, Mafia Guy, Hockey Guy. Occasionally, she had to assign Roman numerals—as in: Firefighter Guy I and II.
In the past, I always felt a little sorry for her, believing that no matter how much fun she was having, she had to be a little lonely. Now she seems like the lucky one. No strings. No worries.
“Tell me more about Matthew McConaughey,” I say, forcing a smile.
“He has the best bod,” she says. “Arms. Chest. Ass. Holy. Shit.”
I smile again, this time for real.
“If he weren’t married…” Her voice trails off.
“You’ve never been with a married man?”
“No. Never. After watching my mother live her life as the other woman? No chance.”
I nod, feeling a wave of guilt that I’ve only been thinking of myself, and that I haven’t once thought of the parallels to Lainey’s mother’s affair. “Have you had any contact with your father?”
“Nope. Not since he didn’t show up for my mom’s funeral,” she says.
I nod, feeling another stab of guilt that I wasn’t there, either. But it was May 2020—the height of the pandemic. Only four guests were allowed in the chapel—Lainey and her mother’s three closest friends. I watched the livestream of the service and did everything else I could think of, checking in with calls and texts, sending her flowers and cards and food. I still wish I could have done more, though. After all, that was Lainey’s rock bottom.
“What about your sisters?” I ask. “Have you given any more thought to reaching out to them?”
She shakes her head, but I sense hesitation.
“Are you sure about that?” I ask gently.
She sighs and says, “I recently looked them up. Just to see.”
“And?”
“And they’re both still in Texas.” She rolls her eyes. “Ever notice the way people from Texas never seem to leave Texas? They act like it’s the damn Garden of Eden.”
I can tell she’s downplaying something, so I press her a bit. “What are they doing right now?”
“They’re both private on Facebook and Insta—but I can see a bit. Ashley’s definitely married, and Olivia’s still playing tennis.”
“Professionally?”
“Yeah. I think so. I didn’t delve too deeply.”
“Maybe you should. Wouldn’t it be nice to have family in your life?” I say softly, thinking how unfair it is that Lainey’s mother was an only child on top of everything else.
“It’s crossed my mind. But it would just cause problems. I mean—there’s no way they’d be happy to hear from me.”
“Maybe not at first. But then they’d have you.”
She laughs. “The ultimate prize, right?”
“I think you are,” I say.
“Thanks, Han.”
She gives me a smile, but I can tell she’s sad now, too.
The following morning, I open my eyes and see Lainey’s long brown hair spilling over her pillow. For one second, I’m only happy to see her. Then it all comes rushing back to me—the reason she’s here—and the pain is even more acute than it was yesterday.
It was that way when Summer died, too. As horrific as that first day was, my heartbreak only grew as our new reality set in. Obviously, there’s no comparison between the two situations; they aren’t in the same universe. But losing Grady in this abrupt way really does feel like a death. He was there one second and gone the next.
My phone vibrates. It’s him. I freeze, panic, then make myself answer. Somewhere, deep in my soul, I hope that he’ll confess. It would be his only way to salvation.
“Hi,” I say, barely getting the word out.
“Morning, babe!” he says, his voice chipper and loud. “How’re you feeling?”
“Better,” I say as Lainey rolls over and looks at me.
I flash her my phone screen, showing her Grady’s name.
“Put it on speaker,” she whispers.
I do as I’m told, laying the phone on the bed between us.
“So what are you up to today?” he asks.
“Lainey’s here,” I say.
“Oh, cool. I didn’t know she was coming. Is she filming something?”
“No. She just flew down to see me.”
Lainey points down at her left ring finger, reminding me of her plan.
“She wants to take us to dinner,” I say. “To celebrate our engagement.”
Lainey gives me an encouraging smile and a thumbs-up.
“That’s so nice of her! I’m in! Do you have a rez?”
“Not yet.”
“Should I make one?”
“Sure,” I say.
“Okay. I’ll try Le Bilboquet. It’s short notice, but I’ll text the manager. I bet they can slide us in.”
“Sounds good,” I say, biting my lip so hard that it hurts, thinking that he’s certainly mastered the art of sliding in.
The hours tick by. It feels like I’m treading water and on the brink of drowning. Lainey forces me to eat, but I can only manage a few bites of buttered toast. At some point, I notice that Lainey has taken down all the framed photos of Grady. It’s a relief not to see his face, but I hope she hasn’t gotten rid of them. I’m not ready to throw pictures away. I don’t know that I ever will be.
Around three o’clock, Delta finally delivers Lainey’s bag, and she goes to take a shower. As I curl up on my sofa, I hear a knock at my door. My heart starts to race, as I wonder if it could be Grady. Or my mother, whom I’ve been avoiding like the plague.
I nervously walk to the door and stare out the peephole. I can see a man’s chest and shoulders but can tell it’s not Grady.
“Who is it?” I ask, always a little paranoid.
“It’s me,” I hear a familiar voice say.
I quickly open the door and throw my arms around Tyson.
“Oh my God. You came!” I say, my eyes welling up. I’ve never been so grateful to see him.
He hugs me back and says, “Yep. Of course I did.”
I finally let go of him, wiping away tears and telling him to come in.
He smiles, then walks into my foyer. “How are you holding up?” His voice is calm and soothing.
“Better now that you’re here,” I say.
“Good.” He nods, putting his leather duffel bag on the floor.
“Did Lainey know you were coming?” I ask.
“No,” he says, glancing around. “Where is your girl, anyway?”
“She’s in the shower,” I say. “And let me just warn you, she’s in rare form.”
“I figured. Why I came. I knew you’d need a little adult supervision.”
“Wait till you hear her ‘revenge plan.’ ”
“Oh, Lord. Do I even want to know?”
I lead him over to the sofa, explaining as I go. “Grady thinks she’s here to celebrate our engagement. He’s making a dinner reservation,” I say, both of us sitting down. “She wants to ambush him.”
Tyson shakes his head.
“It’s a bad idea, isn’t it?”
“Not necessarily. I guess it depends on how you feel about it?”
“Well, I like the idea of having her there with me. Even better if you’re there, too. I really don’t think I can do it alone.”
He nods.
“But she wants me to get all dolled up. It seems a bit—I don’t know—”
“Needlessly cinematic?”
“Yes. Exactly,” I say.
“What does your gut say?”
I sigh, thinking. “My gut tells me to let Lainey do her thing. Burn him,” I say, a little shocked by my answer. I’m even more shocked that the last two words give me a small rush.
“Well, then,” Tyson says. “Let’s do it.”
I nod, hoping I can go through with it.
“I’m so sorry this is happening to you, Hannah.”
I feel a but coming on just as he says it.
“But I never liked that guy.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because that always backfires. And ultimately you are the only one who can decide what’s right for you. I’m just glad you saw his true colors. The circumstances suck, but better late than never.”
“Yeah,” I say. “That’s probably true.”
“It is true. You’re a really good person, Hannah. You deserve so much better.”
I feel myself getting teary again just as Lainey rounds the corner in a short red robe. Her wet hair is wrapped in a towel, turban-style. She stops in her tracks when she sees Tyson.
“What the hell?” she says, grinning. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”
“I know how much you love surprises,” he says. “Speaking of surprises, I heard about your ambush plan.”
“It’s good, isn’t it?”
“I don’t hate it…and it is probably easier to extricate Hannah from a restaurant than his house.”
“Exactly,” Lainey says. “And I also want to stick him with the big, fat bill.”
“That’s so petty,” Tyson says.
“Yep.” Lainey grins proudly.
“What happened to ‘when they go low’?” Tyson says.
“When they go low, I go lower.” Lainey laughs.
“Okay. But remember, I don’t want to make a scene,” I say.
“No scene,” Lainey says. “Soft voices. All smiles.”
“So what are we going to do, exactly?” Tyson asks Lainey. “We sit down, toast the happy couple. And then—BAM. Hannah drops the bomb that she knows he cheated?”
“Something like that,” Lainey replies. “You can refine the script. Maybe infuse it with some sort of cross-examination technique leading up to a gotcha moment.”
Tyson nods, then looks at me. “What if—and I’m just spitballing here—you break off the engagement without telling him why?”
“So I wouldn’t tell him what I saw?”
“Correct. You’d just tell him that it’s over, and that you have your reasons.”
“What’s the point of that?” I ask.
“It’s always an advantage to hold your cards close,” Tyson says. “Knowledge is power.”
I mull this over as Lainey shakes her head. “I don’t like that plan. She has to bust him. It’ll be so satisfying.”
“In the moment, sure. She’d have instant gratification,” Tyson says. “But long term, the wondering what happened will wreck him.”
“He’ll want a reason,” I say.
“Tough. Tell him you had a change of heart…. That you just aren’t ‘feeling it’ anymore,” Tyson says. “Be vague.”
“He won’t buy that.”
“He won’t have a choice if that’s all you give him.”
“But won’t he know that I know?”
“He might suspect it, yes. But he won’t know for sure. And he can’t very well ask you if it’s because he cheated, now, can he?”
“Oh. Wow. True,” I say.
“And the sense of rejection will feel exponentially greater if you don’t provide a concrete reason.”
“Okay. So when would I do this? In the middle of dinner? With y’all at the table? Or would I ask for a moment alone?”
“That’s up to you,” Tyson says.
“I think it’s better to have an exact plan,” Lainey says. “Or else you might not go through with it.”
“Oh, she’ll go through with it,” Tyson says. “She has to.”
He gives me a stern but compassionate look just as my phone buzzes and a text comes in from Grady, telling me that we have a reservation for seven o’clock at Le Bilboquet.
OK, I text back. But do you think you could change it to four people? Tyson just arrived.
Tyson? he says.
He’s annoyed. He’s always been jealous of my friendship with Tyson. It has stressed me out in the past, but now I relish it.
Yes, I type back. Such a wonderful surprise, isn’t it?
I don’t think I’ve ever been as nervous as I am getting out of our Uber at the valet stand in front of the restaurant. It doesn’t help that I feel way overdressed. When we check in with the hostess ten minutes ahead of our reservation, I tell myself that it’s better than looking as wan and sad as I feel.
She asks if we’d like to be seated before the last member of our party arrives.
“Yes. Absolutely,” Lainey replies.
On the way to our table, I see two people I know, including one of Grady’s co-workers. I smile and say hello but obviously don’t stop to chat, reminding myself that whatever happens tonight, we cannot make a scene. When we get to our table, Lainey whispers instructions. Grady goes in the corner. You sit across from him. We’ll flank you.
I nod, taking my assigned seat, my back to the main dining area, as one of the waitstaff arrives at our table, asking if we prefer still or sparkling water.
“Tap water is fine,” I quickly say, feeling queasy and sweaty.
“And two bottles of Perrier, please,” Lainey says.
The second my glass is filled, I down it, then whisper that I might throw up.
“No, you won’t,” Lainey says, shaking her head. “Just breathe and smile.”
“She doesn’t have to smile,” Tyson says.
“It’ll help relax her. It’s a thing. It signals to the brain that everything is okay,” Lainey says.
“Everything isn’t okay,” I say, feeling myself start to panic.
“Do you want to leave?” Tyson asks me. “We can still bail—”
“We can’t bail,” Lainey says, her eyes darting over to the entrance. “We’re on a mission.”
“It’s her decision,” Tyson says.
“Too late,” Lainey says, glancing over at the door. “He’s here.”
“Oh, shit,” I say under my breath, my mind going blank. “I forget what I’m supposed to say!”
“Say whatever you want,” Tyson says, his voice low and reassuring. “If you want to tell him to fuck off the second you see him, do that. Otherwise, just follow our lead.”
I nod and look at Lainey, watching her flip a switch and begin performing. She gets to her feet, turns on her biggest smile, and waves across the room at Grady.
A second later, he is standing beside me. I want to die.
“The groom has arrived!” Lainey says, kissing one of his cheeks, then the other. “Congratulations once again.”
“Thank you so much!” Grady says as I feel the warm weight of his hand on my shoulder. “Hi, sweetheart.”
I say hello without looking up, my heart in my throat.
He gives my shoulder a little rub, then reaches across me to bump fists with Tyson. “Hey, man! Good to see you! It’s been a minute!”
“Yeah, it has,” Tyson says with a tight smile as Grady circles the table and takes his seat. He looks as handsome as ever in a navy sport coat and a light blue button-down.
I force myself to make eye contact with him.
He smiles, then says, “You look gorgeous. Love the dress.”
“Thank you.”
“And I love your hair like that,” he says.
“Thanks,” I say again. “Lainey curled it.”
“Well, she did a great job,” he says, grinning at me like we’re the only two people at the table.
I search his face for any sign of guilt or regret or remorse. But there isn’t a trace. He is as confident and relaxed as ever.
“So. How was your day?” Grady asks, glancing around the table. “Did y’all do any wedding planning?”
I look at Lainey, unable to answer. She clears her throat and says, “We made a few decisions, yes.”
Grady smiles and nods. “Such as?”
“That’s top secret!” Lainey says with a wink as our server arrives to give us her welcome spiel, then ask if we’d like a cocktail.
“Tyson?” Lainey says, giving him a knowing look. “Didn’t you want to order some wine?”
“Yeah. Sure. What does everyone like? Red? White?” Tyson asks, scanning the wine list.
“I prefer red,” Grady says. “But white’s fine, too. I trust you, man!”
“Trust is very important!” Lainey says, nodding effusively.
I give her a look to tone it down.
“How about this one?” Tyson points to a cabernet.
“Unless you have something even better? Something more special?” Lainey chimes in, looking up at our server. “We’re celebrating—and really want to splurge!”
She tells Lainey she’ll check with the sommelier.
“Perfect. And please also bring us your best champagne! We’ll open both right away!” Lainey says, making a ridiculous double-fisted drinking gesture.
“I’ll also take a Jack and Coke,” Grady says.
“Oh, c’mon, Grady, you can do better than Jack Daniel’s!” Lainey says. “We’re celebrating here! My treat!”
Grady smiles, nods, then looks up at our waitress. “Make that a double of your best bourbon. Neat.”
“Attaboy,” Lainey says, leaning over to give his arm a playful punch.
As our waitress departs, Grady turns to Lainey and says, “So how’s showbiz?”
“Great! Never been better! Having the time of my life.”
“That’s awesome. I’m sure Hannah’s told you—we binged your series. It’s so good—and you’re hilarious.”
“That’s very kind,” she says. “Thank you.”
“So I gotta ask. What’s Emma like in real life?” he says, referring to Riley Evans, the hottest girl on the show.
“Riley’s a sweet girl, but very self-absorbed.” Lainey glances at me with a glint in her eye. “Her Instagram is one big brag fest. Like—‘look at me and all my designer shit.’ ”
Grady laughs and says, “Yeah. I know the type.”
“I’m sure you do,” Lainey says.
I give her a horrified look, but there is no stopping her.
“Who’s that influencer you follow here in Atlanta?” she asks me. “I think her name is Munich?”
“Munich?” Grady laughs as my heart stops. “What kind of name is Munich?”
“I think she’s talking about Berlin Beverly,” I say as nonchalantly as I can.
For one second, he looks stunned. But he quickly recovers. “So. What looks good to everyone?” he asks, glancing down at the menu.
“Everything looks amazing!” Lainey says. “I’m thinking about the lobster. Is it good here?” She turns to Grady, wide-eyed and innocent.
“I’m sure it’s great,” he says. “But I’m allergic to shellfish.”
“Oh, my,” Lainey says. “What would happen if you ate it? Would you die?”
“I could, yes.” Grady nods somberly.
“What if I ordered the lobster?” she says. “Would that pose a threat to you?”
“Nah,” he says. “As long as I don’t eat it….”
I tune their conversation out and feel relieved when our drinks arrive. I numbly watch as Tyson does the wine tasting and Lainey samples the champagne, both nodding their approval. After our glasses are poured, the server asks if we have any questions about the menu.
“No, I think we’re ready!” Lainey says.
We give her our order, then Lainey asks for “all the sides,” announcing that she wants the meal to be lavish and festive. She then lifts her champagne glass.
“How about a toast? Tyson—will you do the honors?”
“I think you should do it, Lainey,” he says.
“Okay! My pleasure.” She smiles, then pauses dramatically. “Here’s to my best friend, Hannah. I don’t know a kinder, more loyal, more amazing woman in the entire world. Grady—you’re a lucky man. Don’t screw this up or I’ll have to kill you! With lobster—”
“Okay! Hear, hear!” Tyson says, cutting her off and raising his glass.
Grady does the same, making eye contact with everyone before sipping his bourbon. I take a hurried taste of champagne, then decide I can’t take it another second.
“Lainey. Tyson,” I mumble. “Could y’all excuse us for a moment?”
“Sure thing,” Tyson says, immediately leaping up from his chair. “Let’s go check out the bar, Lainey.”
Lainey stands, picking up her glass. She gives me a final nod of encouragement, then turns to follow Tyson.
“What’s up? Are you okay?” Grady asks as I meet his gaze. He’s smiling, but I can tell he’s at least a little worried.
“Not really,” I say, shaking my head.
“What’s wrong? Did I say something?”
“No. I just need to talk to you.”
“About?”
I take a deep breath, then cut right to the chase. “I can’t marry you.”
Grady stares back at me with a bewildered expression. He chuckles uneasily and says, “Ha! Good one!”
“I’m not joking,” I say.
He glances at my ring, as if checking to see if it’s still there. I look down at it, too, then take it off and move it to my right hand.
“Okay, Hannah. Knock it off. This isn’t funny—”
“I know it’s not funny,” I say. “It’s very, very sad. I thought you were the one. But I was wrong.”
“Hannah. Stop. What are you talking about? What’s going on here?” he says with a tremor in his voice.
“I think you know,” I say, fighting back tears. I tell myself I can’t cry. It’s game over if I let even one tear drop.
“I have no clue,” Grady says in a frantic whisper. He leans across the table, close enough for me to see the stubble of his blond beard. “What is this about?”
When I don’t answer, he looks past me, toward the bar. “Do your friends have something to do with this?”
I shake my head.
His eyes narrow as he shifts in his seat. “Are you sure about that?”
“Positive.”
“You’re sure nothing happened with you and Tyson?”
I stare at him, incredulous. Pissed. How dare he try to flip the script on me.
“No, Grady. Nothing happened with Tyson,” I say, determined to stay calm. “That’s ridiculous, and you know it.”
He makes a scoffing sound, then says, “So I’m supposed to believe that it’s purely coincidental that we’re having this conversation right after he gets to town?”
I reach for my water glass, then choose my champagne flute instead, downing it.
“Well?” he demands.
I put my glass back down on the table and say, “They know nothing about this.”
“I don’t believe you,” he says. “I think Tyson has a lot to do with this.”
I bite my tongue, reminding myself that it no longer matters what Grady thinks or believes. I know the truth. I have the knowledge and the power.
“That guy has always had a thing for you.” Grady doubles down, his fists landing on the table.
I blink, then clear my throat. “Are you projecting, Grady?”
“No, I’m not projecting!”
“Are you sure? Because they say the biggest cheaters always accuse their partners of infidelity.”
“That’s a stupid theory,” he scoffs.
“So you’ve been faithful to me?” I say, daring him to lie to my face.
“Yes!” he says. “One thousand percent!”
I take a deep breath. “Okay, Grady,” I say. “You have two choices. You can either confess to me what you’ve done or lose me forever—”
“Hannah! I have never cheated on you,” he says, looking so wounded, so deeply offended that for a nanosecond, I stupidly doubt what I saw with my own eyes.
“Okay, Grady. If you say so.”
He gives me a look of relief, unclenching his jaw and dropping his shoulders. I pick up my clutch and slowly get to my feet.
“Where’re you going?” he asks, looking frantic.
“You made your choice,” I say, staring down at him.
“What choice?”
“The choice to lie to my face.”
“Hannah! I’m not lying. I would never, ever—”
“Stop talking, Grady. I’m leaving.”
“What do you mean you’re leaving?” he asks, looking more panicked than I’ve ever seen him.
“I mean—I’m leaving this restaurant. I’m leaving this relationship. I’m leaving you.”
“Hannah! Wait. Please, please don’t do this,” he says, his hands in prayer formation. “Please, Hannah. I love you.”
I stare into his eyes, and for one fleeting second, I feel sorry for him. Then I remember the way he looked in bed with Berlin.
“Sorry, Grady. We’re done,” I say, shaking my head. “Have a nice life.”