“I know this is weird, but my neighbor’s on the phone and she wants to talk to you?”
“Your neighbor?” Natalie repeated. Had word of her treachery already spread so far that strangers wanted to scream at her? She imagined trying to walk down the street in New York while people lined the sidewalks shouting,Shame! Shame!
“Jen Friedlander? You tutor her daughter, Esme? She knew I was at the same wedding as you, and she said you aren’t returning her messages.” The woman shrugged sheepishly and held up her phone. “She said you wouldn’t mind talking to her for five minutes.”
“Mrs. Friedlander called you. And asked you to find me. At the wedding,” Natalie said, struggling to properly process this information. Her brain had reached its maximum storage capacity, like Marigold’s perpetually full voicemail.
“Should I tell her you’re busy?”
“Yes!” Natalie said shrilly. “Tell her I’m the maid of honor and we’re about to…” She trailed off, then paused. “Actually, I’ll talk to her.”
“Are you sure?”
Natalie nodded, watched the woman unmute her phone, then took it from her. “This is Natalie!” she said in a voice that sound cheerfully deranged, even to her.
“Oh, good,” Mrs. Friedlander said. “I told Laura you wouldn’t mind talking for a minute. Listen, Esme had another idea for her essay, and I wanted her to talk to you first before she spent too much time on it.”
“Right, of course. God forbid Esme waste an hour of her precious time.”
“Exactly. So we decided that the whole volunteering-in-Mexico thing was overdone. These days, you need to focus on overcoming adversity. So Esme thought she’d write about the struggles of having ADHD.”
“I didn’t realize Esme had ADHD.”
“She’s being tested for it now, so she can get extra time on the SAT.” There was a long pause. “Natalie, are you there?”
“Let me just get this straight,” Natalie said tightly. “You’re paying some quack doctor to diagnose her with a condition she probably doesn’t have, to cheat on the SATs, and then you want her to write aboutovercoming adversity.”
“Excuse me,” Mrs. Friedlander snipped. “The doctor thinks shedoeshave ADHD. It’s hard to diagnose in girls.”
“No,” Natalie said.
“It’s a very common phenomenon. You should do your own research.”
“I mean,no, I won’t do it.”
“You think it’s a bad idea? Fine, that’s fine. You come up with something else, then. Whatever. Esme won’t mind.”
“No, I’m done. Find someone else.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re the most entitled person I’ve ever met, which isreallysaying something given my line of work, and your vapid daughter doesn’t deserve to go to college, let alone one of the places you’re probably bribing at the moment.”
“What the hell?” Mrs. Friedlander spat. “Do you know who you’re talking to? I’ll make sure you never tutor in this town again!”
“And I’ll contact the admissions offices at all Esme’s top choices to explain that I wrote all her essays for her. I’m so glad you called, Mrs. Friedlander. It was great catching up. Take care, now.”
Natalie handed the phone back to the stunned guest. A few other people were also staring, but, buoyed by the high of telling the truth for the first time in her life, she found that she didn’t care. That is, until she spotted Tess darting through the crowd, muttering manically into her headset. She’d already called six times to ask for an ETA on Marigold, and each time Natalie had said, “She’s on her way!” but she wasn’t sure she could keep up the ruse much longer.
When Tess’s back was turned, Natalie slipped into the yacht club and headed to the wood-paneled office that’d been designated as Marigold’s dressing room for that day—the one place Natalie was certain she wouldn’t run into either Jonathan or Marigold. But just as Natalie began to pace around the room to decide on her next move, the door opened and Marigold stepped in. Her hair was slightly disheveled, yet other than that, there wasno sign that she’d gone from an international flight to vaulting over fences and dashing into the woods. She wasn’t wearing her wedding dress, nor were her hair and makeup done. But that didn’t mean anything. It’d take her five minutes to transform from a weary international traveler into a radiant bride—if that’s what she still wanted—as long as no one looked too closely at the exhaustion in her eyes. Natalie felt a surge of tender affection for her friend. Marigold hadn’t done anything to deserve this, let alone on herweddingday: walking in on her fiancé kissing her best friend, learning that her mom was dying.
“Hey, I was looking for you.” Marigold’s voice was tired but calm.
“I’m really sorry,” Natalie said. She meant it—she felt more guilt and shame than she’d ever experienced in her life. Yet at the same time, she would’ve been hard-pressed to explain exactly what she was apologizing for. Was it for kissing Jonathan? Or for the betrayal that had started years earlier? The moment Natalie had first started betraying herself, sabotaging her own chance of happiness along with everyone else’s.
“I’m sorry too.”
“What doyouhave to apologize for?”
