“Lovely,” Debbie said admiringly. When Jonathan had first introduced Marigold to his family, she’d felt like an exotic creature who’d strayed from its natural habitat. His parents had always been warm and welcoming, but couldn’t quite hide their surprise at how different she was from Jonathan’s studious, serious ex-girlfriends. Carol seemed at a loss for how to talk to Marigold, and spent an uncomfortable amount of time exclaiming over her beauty. And whenever Marigold mentioned a TV show she liked, or new restaurant she’d been to, Carol would say, “I’ll have to look it up!” in the same tone the old Marigold usedwhenever someone recommended a book that wasn’t onPeople’s list of hottest beach reads.
But now that people were interested in her opinions about things other than luxury bedding and Botox, Marigold had leaned into the opportunity to rebrand, dropping tidbits about Jonathan’s research in conversation, and forcing herself to read the buzziest novels, even if she did sometimes rely on Natalie to give her the right talking points.
“Debbie, what did you think of the new Sally Rooney?” Marigold asked. “I gather Carol wasn’t a fan.”
Debbie sniffed. “Overrated, navel-gazing solipsism. But you know who makes her look like a genius? That man who wrote thatawfulbook set at Smith. He can’t write an authentic female voice to save his life.”
“Marigold’s reading that one,” Jonathan said, turning to her. “What do you think so far?”
Oh, shit.The book had been on her nightstand for weeks, but she’d gotten bored and abandoned it after a few pages. Yet she’d kept moving her bookmark farther along so Jonathan would think she was making progress. “I agree,” she said smoothly. “The female voices are completely inauthentic.”
“And what did you think of that ridiculous twist in the middle?” Debbie asked. “It’s insulting to the reader, isn’t it?”
“Totally.” Marigold nodded.
“What’s the twist?” Jonathan asked.
“Oh, I couldn’t spoil it for you,” Marigold said.
“It’s okay. I’m never going to read it.”
“Well…” Marigold stalled for time, cursing herself for bingeing the new season ofLove Is Blindwhen she should’ve been reading. “I suppose it’s up to interpretation, but I guess—”
“Mare!” Someone grabbed her hand. It was Natalie, thank god. “Sorry, I need to steal you. Urgent wedding business,” Natalie said, nearly dragging Marigold away from Carol and Debbie. Natalie lowered her voice. “Don’t worry, everything’s fine. You just looked like you needed an out.”
“Thank you,” Marigold said, grateful but not surprised. Natalie had been coming to her rescue since their single-girl days back in Brooklyn, teaching her how to do laundry in the grimy, damp basement of their apartment building, or disposing of the horrifyingly effective mousetraps laid by the gruff superintendent. Of course, after eight months of this, Marigold had grown tired of trying to make it on her own and had allowed Bill to buy her a two-bedroom in a prewar doorman building in the West Village. But she and Natalie had stayed friends, becoming even closer as the years went on. She’d given Natalie a key so she could sleep over whenever a bad date left her too weary to trek back to Bushwick, and so they could spend the next morning giggling over bagels and mimosas as Natalie recounted the previous night’s horrors.
“You have to give me something smart to say about that book set at Smith.” Marigold paused to wave at another group of far-too-early arrivals. “Jonathan thinks I’ve read it.”
“No way. You know I hate that guy—he was in my creative writing class in college. The one who spent all year transcribingInfinite Jestby hand so he could ‘understand what genius felt like.’?”
“Oh my god, yes, didn’t we run into him at a bar once? And he was wearing a black armband?”
Natalie nodded. “He was mourning the death of Philip Roth. According to Instagram, he wore it for a whole year. I’m not reading that douchebag’s book.”
“Okay,fine. I’ll find a summary online.”
“Come on, Mare. You don’t need to try this hard. Jonathan loves you.”
“I’m not trying hard!” Marigold insisted. “It’s agoodthing that Jonathan makes me want to expand my horizons.”
Natalie pursed her lips and fixed her with Marigold’s least-favorite look, the one that basically amounted to,I have so many things to say, I don’t even know where to begin, so I’m just going to stay silent.
Eager to change the subject, Marigold asked, “How was your trip? Everything okay at the inn?”
“Great!” Natalie said a bit too enthusiastically.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, nothing…” She looked around, then lowered her voice. “I just had a little… run-in with Olivia, and now I’m pretty sure she thinks I’m an even bigger idiot than before.”
“Olivia thinkseveryoneis an idiot. You know that.”
“No, I know, it’s just that there was a little mix-up at check-in and then—”
“There she is! The gorgeous bride!” Someone Marigold couldn’t see pulled her into a hug. Probably her uncle Barry, given the distinctive scent of his hair growth serum. Natalie disappeared behind the throng of guests that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, swarming her like well-meaning locusts.
As soon as she freed herself from one conversation, she was pulled into another; she couldn’t take more than three steps without having someone call her name, grab her arm, or pull her into a hug. Two of her bridesmaids, her childhood friends Liesl and Bri, managed to extricate her from Bill’s cousins, but then immediately asked to be introduced to Richie. “I mean, of course we’vemet,” Liesl said. “But not as fellow bridesmaids.” As if that were all it’d take to make the recent Best Supporting Actress nominee take an interest in Liesl. Not that Marigold had any special appeal herself—it was pure chance that she and Richie had the same dermatologist and the same psychic, and kept running into each other in the waiting rooms.
