THE INTERCOM BUZZER RANG loudly in the apartment, announcing that Angie and Sophie had arrived in the cab. “Coming!” I called into the receiver. I turned to Martin, who had driven to my place—the closest to his Capitol Hill home— and would be joining us in the taxi. He was standing uneasily by the door, looking handsome in a black suit and white shirt, open at the neck. (I would have invited him into the living room, but Kendra was lying on the sofa watching 13 Going on 30, and I thought it best not to interrupt her.) “Ready?” I asked him.

“Yeah. You?”

“I guess.” My stomach churned violently, contradicting my outward confidence. I had taken a large dose of Pepto-Bismol just prior to Martin’s arrival, which would hopefully eliminate the need for any urgent trips to the toilet.

“Shall we?” He held out his arm for me.

I took it, grateful for the support. As we made our way to the elevator, I was feeling a little shaky in my high heels and fitted black sheath dress. Of course, the two glasses of wine I’d surreptitiously guzzled in my bedroom, away from Kendra’s judgmental stares, had done nothing to help my stability.

Angie greeted us on the sidewalk. “You look great!”she cried.

“So do you,” I said, gripping her hand nervously. She did, of course, in a strapless black cocktail dress with a white satin band across the bodice. Tottering to the cab, I slid into the back seat next to a stunning Sophie. Angie sat beside me and Martin took a seat in the front.

“How are you?” Sophie asked me in a pitying tone, as the taxi sped off toward the downtown hotel.

“Okay,” I said, taking a deep, belaboured breath. Unfortunately, it felt like someone about Kendra’s size was sitting on my chest. Uh-oh. This was a common precursor to a panic attack.

Angie said, “This is just the rehearsal dinner, so there’s no need to get stressed out. No one is expecting perfection from us tonight.”

No, they were only expecting perfection from us the day after tomorrow. Somehow, I was not relieved.

“You’ll be great,” Martin said over his shoulder.

“You will,” Sophie agreed. “Not that anyone will really be paying that much attention. They’ll be too busy drinking and mingling.”

“True,” Angie said. “They’re all nervous about the big event, too. Probably half the people there will be hammered by the time we do our reading.”

Great. I’d probably get some drunk heckler making cracks about soft baby’s-breath touches. Despite my friends’ continued words of encouragement, I was feeling no more relaxed when we turned onto University Street and into the historic hotel’s U-shaped drive.

A liveried doorman opened the back door of the taxi and helped each of the ladies scoot out of the back seat in our dresses and heels. Assembled on the sidewalk, we stood for a moment in front of the fountain and manicured garden, filled with spring tulips and exotic-looking foliage. “This is so exciting!” Angie said gleefully. “We’re finally going to meet all of Nicola’s friends and family … And Neil!”

“Aching and yearning Neil,” Martin said.

“Patient Neil,” Sophie added.

“I just hate this so much,” I said breathlessly, the familiar panic feelings taking over.

Angie put a supportive arm around me. “Let’s get you inside and get you a glass of champagne.”

Sophie squeezed my upper arm. “You’ll be fine. It’s like, two minutes out of your life, and then it will be over.”

“Yeah, but then on Saturday we have to do it all over again!” I cried.

“Okay, it’s four minutes out of your life,” Martin granted.

Sophie said, “Do it for Nicola. It means so much to her.”

“Okay,” I managed weakly, trying to breathe through the St. Bernard that had settled on my chest. Martin took my arm and we made our way through the elegant and spacious lobby toward The Garden Room. Yes, I would do it for Nicola, I convinced myself as I leaned on my friend for support. It would all be fine. What was the worst that could happen? A fainting spell or an explosive attack of diarrhea, which, thanks to the Pepto-Bismol, was highly unlikely. So yes, there was potential for embarrassment, but it’s not like anyone’s life depended on my perfect delivery. And on the bright side, if I did happen to pass out or poop my pants tonight, it would probably get me out of having to do the reading at the wedding.

When we reached the entrance to The Garden Room the four of us paused on the threshold. Inside, a throng of well-dressed guests milled about, cocktails in hand, chatting amiably with one another. While I had continually found solace in the fact that we would be performing in front of a group of strangers, I suddenly felt like a complete imposter. While I had grown to love Nicola over the past four months, I suddenly realized how little I knew about her life outside of the stitch ’n bitch club. She had school friends and work friends, cousins, aunts, and uncles. She had a history with the one hundred and twenty people mingling inside, a history that we were not a part of.

Angie put an end to the hesitation. “Shall we?” she said brightly. Linking her arms with mine and Sophie’s, she led us into the party.

The Garden Room, befitting its name, was filled with lush ferns, exotic palms, and tall fig trees. Festive lights decorated the trees, and floor to ceiling Palladian windows let the dusky night sky into the vast space. It was spectacular, everything Nicola had wished for. But for me, the opulence increased my intimidation. I didn’t belong here, in this sumptuous room with Nicola’s fancy friends and hoity-toity relatives. They would undoubtedly snicker cruelly at my nervous delivery. And if, god forbid, I did pass out or had to run to the toilet, I was sure they would all laugh uproariously.

A waiter approached with a tray full of champagne flutes, a dark red liqueur floating up from the bottom of each glass. “Mmm …kir royale,” Angie said. I grabbed one, rather greedily, and took a long sip. Okay … maybe I could do it? As the champagne bubbles fizzed in my head, I had a surge of confidence. Yes, I definitely could! I could do it for Nicola. A quick scan of the crowd revealed no familiar faces. Really, there was nothing to worry about. I had a drink in hand and a belly full of stomach-coating pink liquid. It would be fine.

“There she is!” Sophie cried excitedly, having spotted Nicola.

“She looks gorgeous,” Angie added in a hushed tone.

As though she heard us from where she stood several yards away, Nicola turned her head in our direction. Her eyes alighted on our group and a delighted smile split her features.

“She’s coming over!” gushed Sophie.

Nicola was indeed making her way through the crowd toward us. She looked breathtakingly pretty in a navy taffeta knee-length dress with a deep V neckline.

“Wow,” Martin said, almost to himself.

“I know,” I agreed, feeling a swell of emotion as our friend, literally glowing with happiness, descended upon us. I downed the remains of my drink.

Nicola held her arms out in welcome, embracing first Sophie, Angie, Martin, and then me.

“You look so beautiful,” I said, as we held each other for a moment.

“So do you. I’m so happy you’re here.”

“Me, too,” I croaked, through the lump in my throat. And I was—despite the physical manifestation of my public-speaking phobia, I was happy to be there, and to be a part of Nicola’s special night.

Nicola released me and addressed our group. “I’m just dying to introduce you to everyone! Let’s see …” She looked around her to check who was in the vicinity. “Susan! Anita! Jenn! Come over here.” Three attractive blondes who looked remarkably alike approached. “These are three of my bridesmaids,” Nicola explained, doing the introductions. We all shook hands and murmured nice to meet yous. “And there are two more around here somewhere.” Nicola scanned the room.

I took the opportunity to grab another glass of kir royale from the passing server. It wouldn’t be wise to drink too much, but holding a glass was kind of like a security blanket.

“We’re looking forward to meeting Neil,” Angie said.

“Of course!” Nicola cried. “He’s simply dying to meet all of you. Where is he?” She stood on her tiptoes as she searched for her fiancé. We all peered around the room as well, although it was obviously pointless. Other than the posed photo in Nicola’s apartment, none of us had ever seen Neil before. Suddenly, Nicola began to wave her hand vigorously. “Neil! Neil!”

The crowd seemed to part to let Nicola’s intended through. I first caught sight of his suit, a dark charcoal grey, and then my eyes travelled up to his face. Neil was at least six foot two, with a classically handsome, but rather pale, face and neat strawberry blond hair. “Neil,” Nicola gushed, taking his arm and cuddling in to him, “this is the stitch ’n bitch club! They’re going to read ‘Eternal Love’ for us.”

“Ah, we finally meet,” Neil said, extending his hand to me. “You must be … Beth.”

“Right,” I said, already charmed by his attentiveness.

“And … Sophie?” He turned to her.

“It’s such a pleasure to meet you,” Sophie said delightedly.

“Martin, of course …” Neil shook Martin’s hand heartily and then … “This has to be Angie.”

“Yes … well, you may have seen me on TV,” Angie said modestly, extending her hand. Neil smiled but gave no indication that he had. Angie continued, “We are just so thrilled to be a part of this special occasion.”

“It means so much to us that you’re going to read ‘Eternal Love.’” Neil stepped back and put his arm around Nicola. “Every verse in that poem really epitomizes an aspect of our relationship.” He turned to his fiancée and they shared an intimate gaze. I could almost read their thoughts: Only twenty-eight more hours before we can get down to business. I drained the rest of my beverage.

“I know you haven’t been a part of Nicola’s life for very long,” Neil said, “but you’ve all become so important to her. She says the stitch ’n bitch club has saved her thousands in therapy.”

“It’s true!” Nicola cried delightedly. “I say that!”

“I think we all feel the same way,” Sophie added sincerely.

“We do,” I seconded.

“We’re honoured that you’ve included us,” Martin said.

Nicola leaned in. “So … Judith, our wedding planner, has scheduled you in to read the poem after the meal when everyone is having coffee. She’s around here somewhere.” Nicola briefly craned her neck to see if the organizational guru was nearby, but she was probably off yelling at the wait staff or something. “She’ll come get you ten minutes prior to your reading and escort you out through the kitchen door. When she gives you your cue, you can make your entrance.”

Cue? Entrance? It sounded like we were presenting at the Academy Awards or something! My stomach did an uncomfortable turn and I took a laboured breath. I needed another drink. Where was that waiter?

“There are your parents, Nic,” I heard Neil say. “Why don’t you introduce them?”

“Mom! Daddy!” she cried, turning away from us into the crowd.

Spying the waiter, I tried to subtly wave him over. I didn’t want to make a spectacle of myself—the alcohol-guzzling sex-poem reader—but I really needed another drink. One more glass and I would be ready for the performance, I was sure of it. I waved a little more prominently and caught his eye. When he approached, I lifted another glass off the tray as I heard Nicola presenting her parents. “This is my mother, Eileen, and my father, James.”

“Nice to meet you,” Martin said, stepping forward to shake hands with Nicola’s dad, obscuring him from my view. I turned and saw her mother, a slim, angular blonde in a cream-coloured skirt and jacket who bore a striking resemblance to her daughter. Martin swivelled to shake her hand as well and then moved back into his place in line. And that’s when I saw him.

The glass of kir royale I had been coveting dropped from my hand, bouncing silently on the carpeted floor. I stared down at it in stunned silence, watching the spreading liquid darken the carpet. It couldn’t be … it just couldn’t be. But it was.

“Oopsie!” Sophie said on my behalf. Martin bent down to retrieve the glass.

“Uh …” I began, but no words would come. Hold it together, I commanded myself. Don’t ruin this evening for everyone. Nicola’s mother was staring at me, a look of concern etched on her features. Take her hand and introduce yourself, I silently ordered. You’ve got to play along. But I couldn’t ignore my most primal instinct: to flee. Turning on my heel, I rushed toward the door.

“Nervous stomach,” I heard Angie explaining in my wake. “She really doesn’t like public speaking.”

In the vast lobby, I searched for the washroom sign through the tears now clouding my vision. Sighting it, I scurried in my heels and fitted dress toward its solace. The huge glass and marble bathroom was thankfully vacant, but I secured myself in a toilet stall just in case. It was also a good idea since I felt on the verge of vomiting. Were it not for the earlier dose of nausea-controlling Pepto-Bismol, I would definitely have been puking up my champagne cocktail. I sank down onto the toilet seat, dropping my face into my hands.

It’s hard to relay the mix of emotions I was experiencing as I sat there: anger, humiliation, grief, and confusion. How could I not have known? Was I really that stupid? And what was I going to do now? Could I really stand up there and read that suggestive verse after my recent revelation? But if I didn’t carry on as normal, Nicola would be disappointed and, quite possibly, suspicious. Oh god! She could never find out!

That’s when I heard it—a voice from the doorway, tentative at first, and then louder. “Beth? Beth?”

I couldn’t believe he’d followed me into the ladies’ room. “Go away!” I called. “My friends will be here any minute to check on me.”

“Please … Can we go somewhere and talk?”

“Talk?” I was suddenly consumed by rage. Opening the door, I stormed across the marble floor to confront him. “Talk about what, Jim? Or should I say, James. Shall we talk about the fact that I’ve just discovered that my boyfriend is the father of the bride? That he’s married to the mother of the bride? That he lied to me about everything?”

Jim looked nervous. “If we could just go somewhere more private, I could explain …”

“Explain?” I shrieked, tears streaming unchecked down my face. “How can you explain this to me? You tricked me into believing we had a future together!”

“Beth …” Jim pleaded again, “please come with me. We can’t let them find us here.”

He was right. Nicola would kill me. Nicola’s mom would kill me. They would both want to kill Jim. I couldn’t let them find out. I couldn’t ruin Nicola’s rehearsal dinner, or her wedding, or her life … “Fine,” I said.

I followed Jim out of the ladies’ room and around a corner to the emergency exit. As he pushed open the heavy door, I prayed it wouldn’t set off an alarm. Mercifully, it didn’t, and I followed him into the deserted grey concrete stairwell.

“Oh god,” Jim said, holding a hand to his forehead as if he were in pain, “I had no idea you were Nicola’s friend.”

“I had no idea you were Nicola’s dad!” I shrieked. “How could you do this to me? How could you do this to your family?”

“I didn’t mean for it to happen, Beth. You’ve got to believe me. But that day when I met you at the interview … I suddenly realized what had been missing in my life.”

“What? A young chickie on the side?” I spat back at him. “You act like you’re so high and mighty and … environmentally friendly. But you’re nothing but a dirty old man.”

“It’s not like that, Beth, really, it’s not! Eileen and I have been living separate lives for years. We only stayed together for Nicola and to keep up appearances. I’ve wanted to leave for ages and when I met you … well, I knew my marriage was over. You’ve got to understand,” he pleaded, reaching for my hand. I snatched it from his grasp. “I want us to be together, but I had to wait for the right time. I couldn’t ruin Nicola’s wedding.”

“Oh, right. Well, good job. I’m sure the wedding will go off without a hitch once she finds out you’ve been cheating on her mother with a member of her knitting circle.”

“Oh god. Why didn’t you tell me you were in a knitting circle?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you had a twenty-eight-year-old daughter in a knitting circle?” I screeched.

“I would have told you … everything, when the time was right.”

“It’ll never be right now.”

His voice was quiet. “I know.” Jim stared at the floor for a long moment before his eyes rose to meet mine. He suddenly looked far older than the vivacious forty-eight year old I’d been dating. “She can’t find out, Beth. Please …”

“Don’t worry,” I growled. “I don’t want her to find out any more than you do.”

“We’d better get back, then. Can we talk about this later? I can come to your apartment?”

“There’s nothing more to say,” I said, stalking past him, but he grabbed my arm and stopped me.

“Beth …?”

Our bodies were close together now and I could smell his familiar scent. I wanted to hate him. I did hate him—but I suddenly realized it wasn’t going to be so easy to turn off all the feelings I’d had for him. “What?” I croaked, my voice hoarse.

He reached in the breast pocket of his suit jacket and handed me a tissue. “You might want to fix yourself up a bit. You’ve got mascara running down your face.”

Maybe it wouldn’t be that hard?