Michael’s face fell at the evasion, but he got to his feet immediately, bringing his jacket with him. He didn’t need to ask about the not-sitting-on-the-ground thing, and that gave Griffin a guilty pang.
His only friend, his friend who knew him best, his friend he never had to make explanations to.
And what good am I to him?Griff thought.I didn’t even get hernumber.
They fell into silent step with each other, crossing toward a bench. When they got close, it looked like a couple was on their way to the same one, so Griffin stared, a stare that felt perfectly natural to him, and they diverted themselves.
That was a satisfying thing, at least. About forgetting his sunglasses. About his fucked-up face.
When they sat, Michael went, as always, to Griff’s right.
“What did she say?” Michael asked, before Griffin could even fully arrange himself. He hated this stupid French bench. The back on it cut him in exactly the wrong spot.
“She said she doesn’t remember.”
Michael sagged, and Griffin tightened his middle.
“Not anything?” Michael said.
“Not anything unusual.”
Recounting this conversation to Michael was somehow worse than actuallyhavingthe conversation. It only reminded Griffin of how badly he’d done it from the beginning: storming down to Layla Bailey’s room without a plan, sitting across from her and bullying her into making a promise that he didn’t even know the plan for.
“She did say she never mentioned her divorce,” he added, as though that was a profound piece of intelligence.
Michael shook his head. “Well, she wouldn’t, probably. I’m pretty sure that situation was—”
Griffin faked a cough, drowning out whatever word Michael said next. If it was “amicable,” he probably would have destroyed this park with the blast radius of his annoyance. He’d watched Layla Bailey’s face in that elevator mirror when she first said the word, and he didn’t buy it for a second.
“Anyway, she said she’ll fix it,” Griffin said. “The thing tonight, it’ll happen.”
He could feel Michael’s eyes on him. An anticipatory gaze.Whyhadn’t he gone back for his sunglasses?
“How?” Michael finally asked.
Griff swallowed. He could not bring himself to say the truth:I don’t know. I didn’t ask. I ran.
This time, when Michael shook his head, he swiped a hand down his face.
“I’m supposed to—what, wait for Emily to call me? I’m trying to give her the day; she said she wanted the day to think, but we’re meant to be on a boat with her family in like ten hours, man. Andthen what about everything else? My parents get here tomorrow. What am I—”
“It’s going to be all right,” Griff interrupted. Before he could stop himself, he added, “Brides get nervous.”
Jesus Christ. Borrowingthatfrom Layla Bailey, of all things.
“You didn’t see her last night. She’sneverasked me for space. She really means it with this…” He trailed off, shuffling one of his shoes against the fine-grained, chalky surface beneath their feet. Even the dirt here was sophisticated.
“Questioning,” Michael finished glumly.
“She’s young,” Griffin said, which was better than saying something empty and dishonest likeBrides get nervous, but not by much. If anything, it was too full, too honest: an insight into Griffin’s own doubts about Michael and Emily, which he’d kept to himself ever since Michael had called him with the news he’d met someone, was serious with someone. The years between them probably would’ve felt pretty substantial to Griffin no matter who it was, but in the case of Michael specifically…well.
Well, Griffin didn’t know a lot about Emily MacKenzie’s life, he supposed. But he knew about his best friend’s, and Michael hadn’t had an easy thirty-four years. Griffin himself felt like an old thirty-four, and certainly when it came to some things—loss, heartbreak, grief—Michael had cause to feel even older.
“Don’t do that,” said Michael. “Don’t dismiss her like that. She’s a grown woman. Smart and mature. She’s notyoung. Not the way you mean.”
Griffin didn’t bother protesting. He set his jaw and looked out over the park, waiting out the response that hovered right on the tip of his tongue.
It’s not mature, he wanted to say,to do this at the eleventh hour. It’s not smart to do it when we are in a different fucking country forthis, when there’s a boat rented and a restaurant booked and a half dozen other spaces and events bought and paid for for the next seven days. It’s bratty and thoughtless and if she leaves you over some forgotten conversation with a woman she’s not even related to anymore, then maybe you’re dodging a bullet.
