“Marigold actually had to fly back to New York to grab her birth certificate.” Natalie kept her voice breezy, as if this were a normal errand for the bride to complete the day before her wedding. “Turns out she needs it for the marriage paperwork.”
Liesl raised an eyebrow.“Do you think she practices that move in the mirror?”Natalie once whispered to Jonathan during acocktail party at Marigold’s apartment, causing him to splutter into his beer. “No one else could bring it?”
Natalie shrugged. “Guess she figured it was easier this way.”
A server in a white button-down and a sleek bun approached the table. “Can I get you anything for breakfast?” she asked cheerfully.
Natalie glanced back down at the menu. “I’ll have the pancakes, please.”
“You’resolucky,” Liesl said as the server bustled off. “I wish I could eat gluten and sugar, but my body just can’t process it.”
“That’s so weird.” Startled, Natalie turned to see Jonathan smiling at them from the table behind her. “The pizza we had delivered last night wasn’t gluten-free. Were you sick after?”
“I only had a few bites.”
“If you had celiac disease, that’d be more than enough to trigger a flare. So great news! You’re not gluten intolerant!”
Liesl smiled tightly. “Jonathan, I’m sure this isn’t your intent, but you’ve been conditioned by the medical establishment to dismiss female pain. I know my body, and I’m not going to let you gaslight me into ignoring my symptoms. You might want to take some time to explore your bias.”
“Noted,” Jonathan said gravely. “I’ll work on that.”
As Liesl strode off, Jonathan raised one eyebrow at Natalie, who covered her mouth to stifle her laughter.
“Poor Liesl,” she said. “Her whole personality is built around her made-up food restrictions.”
“I know, that was a dick move. I wouldn’t have said anything if she hadn’t tried to pancake-shame you.”
“My knight in shining white coat armor. How can I ever repay you?”
“Actually, I could use your help with something. Do you mind taking a look at my vows at some point? I’ve been fiddling with them on my own, but they need your writerly eye.”
“Of course,” Natalie said, ignoring the twinge in her gut at the thought of helping Jonathan write the words that would bond him to Marigold for the rest of her life. That was a problem for later today, or better yet, tomorrow morning. “I just heard from Marigold. I assume she told you about her errand?”
“Yeah.” Jonathan laughed and shook his head. “Typical Marigold. I knew something like this would happen. But it seems more like the lawyer’s fault for not filing all the paperwork earlier. She should be back in time for the rehearsal, though.”
“Definitely. You know Marigold always figures it out somehow, no matter the chaos beforehand.”
“Just more material for my vows. So do you want to meet up this afternoon? Maybe around three?” He flashed her a mischievous smile. “I believe you know how to find my room.”
By the time her pancakes arrived, Natalie had lost interest in eating. The prospect of hanging out one-on-one with Jonathan always made her too anxious and excited to focus on anything else. She knew he was in love with Marigold. That was never going to change, and she’d already pulled back on their friendship. She hadn’t hung out with him alone in more than a year. But surely there’d be no harm in helping him with his vows.
She headed back into the reception area and was just waffling about calling off the photo shoot when an elegant older woman caught her eye. “Do you work at Horatio Street Press?” she asked, gesturing at Natalie’s tote bag.
“Oh no.” Natalie blushed, feeling like a tourist in a Harvard sweatshirt. “I interned there one summer, a long time ago.” It’d been one of the best things that’d ever happened to her. She’d loved everything about Horatio Street Press—the nerdy-glam editors who’d made Natalie feel so welcome; the quirky, literary books they published; the beautiful West Village town house that served as their office. They’d even offered to bring her on full-time, and for weeks, an elated Natalie was walking on air… until she realized that it was mathematically impossible for her to live in New York on an editorial assistant salary, not when the company didn’t offer health insurance. And so she’d turned down her dream job, moved back home to Arizona after college, and spent five years in the communications department of a hospital until she’d managed to claw her way back to New York, this time to ghostwrite college essays for the 1 percent.
“I wonder if we overlapped.” The woman had short silver hair, thick red glasses, and wore a loose, slightly asymmetrical black dress that probably came from one of those oddly sterile boutiques that never had more than four items on display, none of which cost less than eight hundred dollars. “I worked there for decades before moving over to a bigger house a few years ago.”
“Oh!” Natalie said, recognition dawning. “Are you Susan Denver?” Susan had been a legendary editor at Horatio Street Press. It’d caused quite a stir when she’d left to run her own imprint at a big-five competitor. Natalie made a point to stay on top of the publishing news, even though it seemed unlikely she’d ever be a part of that world again. She doubted she’d ever get an agent for her manuscript, let alone an actual book deal.
“That’s me,” she said. “Are you here for the wedding? I think I saw you at the welcome drinks last night.”
“I am. I’m the maid of honor.”
“How wonderful! I’ve been friends with Lulu and Bill for ages, and I’ve known Marigold since she was a little girl. I didn’t realize she had any close friends in publishing.”
“Oh, I’m not in the book world anymore, unfortunately. I work as a private tutor, mostly on the Upper East Side.”
Susan raised a knowing eyebrow. “I’ve heard some wild stories about working with those children. Did you read thatNew Yorkmagazine article about the family who paid for the tutor to join them on safari in Botswana?”
