Chapter Fourteen
fourteen
Lanie
■ 27-SEP ■ Trans-Continental Airways ■ Flight: 988 ■
JFK-John F. Kennedy Int’l Airport ? LHR-London, Heathrow
Seat Assignment: 18C
The late-afternoon sun was setting in a grayish haze behind the Gothic Revival spires of the Royal Court as Lanie waited inside a small café across the street. Jonah tapped lightly on the window next to her shoulder as she sat leaning against it, responding to work emails on her cell. She startled, both at the unexpected disruption and at the sight of him in his suit. He gestured for her to come out rather than coming in.
She checked the time. They were running late.
“Hey! Look at you, suited and booted. You look great!”
In a slim-fit, European-cut gray suit with a checked black tie and a stylish brown leather satchel slung over one shoulder, he was more rakish and quite frankly sharper than she’d ever seen him. Lanie had always known Jonah was brilliant but she’d never believed he had the temperament to duke it out in a courtroom. He was the diffident and studious type, better suited to a solicitor’s life seated behind a desk, buried in legal paperwork. But this suit with his hair swept back in midnight waves told a different story. Like he was a shark that prowled a courthouse.
“Yeah, thanks,” he said bashfully, giving her an odd, one-armed hug that Lanie wondered at.
She’d realized only after she’d been asked to join him today that all their recent interactions had been filtered through Gemma. In fact, they hadn’t really spoken alone since he and Gemma announced their engagement.
“Sorry I’m late, we were in chambers. It ran long.”
“No worries.” She tagged him awkwardly on the arm. “Let’s hit it. Your appointment starts in twenty.”
Thirty minutes later, they stood inside Neville and Co., a high-end menswear shop just off Savile Row in Mayfair. Walking in, Lanie gasped, taking in the celebrated clothing store that still occupied the same town house it had for the last hundred and twenty years. Even the spiced-vanilla-and-tanned-leather scent that filled the air felt rarified. Lanie was always out of her depth in luxury stores. There was no way she would’ve ever dared set foot inside a place like this without the appointment scheduled by Gemma or the credit card supplied by Jonah.
The whole store exuded money but the upstairs atelier—where their personal tailor, Richard, stood waiting patiently to begin taking Jonah’s measurements for his morning suit—was especially sumptuous. The walls were indigo blue, inlaid with picture frame moldings and decorated with vintage game animal illustrations. Edison bulbs highlighted massive built-ins that held racks of clothing, artfully arranged by color with suits, jackets, ties and pants of all kinds. Dark reclaimed wood side tables and navy club chairs dotted the space. It was as if the place was suffused top to bottom with testosterone of the aged, white and male variety.
“So, how’s work?” Lanie asked as Jonah undressed in an adjoining dressing room. She drummed her fingers along the supple arm of the brown leather nailhead chair she sat in, waiting.
“Stressful.” Jonah sighed. “New promotion, and then this wedding stuff?”
“Can I get you and your fiancé something to drink?” Richard leaned forward to ask.
Lanie’s stomach made a quick revolution. It wasn’t by any means the first time that someone had confused them for a couple over the years. But it was the first time since she knew definitively that that was never to be. Air whooshed out of her lungs, making her voice thin and reedy.
“H-he’s not my—I mean, we’re not a—” Lanie shook her head. “I’m the best man.”
Her words were idiotic, spoken to Richard’s befuddled face. “My apologies, Ms. Turner.”
“Um, a Tom Collins for him, and you wouldn’t happen to have any wine?” She cleared her throat, whispering.
“White.” He nodded. “Riesling?”
Lanie forced a smile and nodded, taking a moment to gather herself. Richard walked away with their order.
“Mel?” Jonah called.
“I’ll bet it’s been tough,” she commiserated then, wondering exactly what “stressful” wedding stuff Jonah was referring to. She and Les planned to go to Deptford to possibly hire a DJ friend of his. She and Fatou were frantically calling around for still-available June venues. She and Gran were the ones vetting prospective caterers, proofreading the save-the-dates and choosing invitations. It seemed to be all-hands-on-deck so far, except for Jonah’s and Gemma’s.
“These accelerated Pre-Cana classes are doing my head in,” Jonah continued.
“Oh. Who knew there would be so many rules to deciding to share the rest of your whole life with someone? Am I right?”
“You’re a real barrel of laughs today, Mel,” Jonah said drolly.
“I certainly try,” she snarked. “Um, have you given the rings any thought yet?”
“I have,” Jonah answered from behind the door. “They’re on order.”
Lanie dared to put her feet up on one of the ottomans but immediately dropped them as Richard reentered the room.
“Already?” Lanie took the two glasses from Richard’s tray and set Jonah’s aside before taking a sip from her own. “And?”
“Gem wants a carat, channel-set in platinum.”
“Oh, of course she does.” Lanie rolled her eyes before remembering the tailor was standing right there watching. She cringed theatrically, hiding behind her wineglass, but Richard only smiled.
“I’ll be getting something in titanium. It’s sturdier.”
Lanie sighed. And cheaper.
Jonah made a very good living—Syreeta and his aachchi , Leela, made sure everyone on Merton Road knew that. And, as Gran had always said, Jonah never spent a bad penny. Ever since they were kids, while Lanie would come home from excursions broke, Jonah returned with most of his allowance intact. He’d always been frugal but, where Gemma was concerned, it seemed to Lanie he was hemorrhaging pound notes. Lanie hoped he knew he didn’t, or shouldn’t, need to buy Gemma’s affection.
“I only hope you can keep track of ’em better than our Drake ‘Assassination Vacation’ tickets,” she said instead.
“When are you gonna let that go?” He laughed.
“Never!” she groused, melodramatically. “All I know is I saved up for 100-block tickets at O2 and had to settle for scalped 400-block seats.”
“How many times must I apologize for that? Oh, that’s right, ‘The rest of my worthless life.’”
“Ahem, wutless .” Lanie deployed her only bit of patois. “Yuh wutless life.”
Jonah finally emerged from the dressing room in a slightly oversized deep royal blue morning coat over a baby blue waistcoat. He’d kept on his gray suit pants, original shirt and tie. “I don’t know. What do you think?”
“You headed to the Royal Ascot after the wedding or something?”
Jonah groaned, immediately retreating to the dressing room.
“Where’s the top hat?” she heckled. “I must go fetch my fascinator.”
Richard snickered, trying his best not to. Lanie smirked.
“I hope one of those drinks is for me?” Jonah called over the door. “I sense that I’m going to need it messing about with you.”
“It’s sitting next to me as we speak.”
“Give it here.”
They both giggled as she got up and passed it, sloshing messily, over the door to him.
Jonah was pretty sozzled by the time he stood emulating The Vitruvian Man , arms and legs outstretched as Richard circled him with a measuring tape. Lanie wandered the room, sipping from her third glass of wine, letting her fingertips run along all the sumptuous and exorbitantly priced clothing. The liquor had finally unwound the tight knots that being in this store wound up in her belly.
“I don’t believe you.”
“Yeah, well, you wouldn’t,” Jonah mocked. “You’re the one sitting alone at the airport three hours early, still convinced somehow that the plane’s gonna leave you behind.”
Lanie’s face fell. “It’s a legitimate fear. I worry I’ll fall asleep at the gate and miss the boarding call.”
Jonah giggled.
“Don’t make fun! It’s a real source of anxiety for me.”
Jonah knew enough about her anxiety that his hearty laughter petered out somewhat, but she knew it was a joke.
“I think the pants need to be taken up just a little,” she stated to Richard, changing directions.
“What kind of break do you want?” Lanie walked up to Jonah, reaching for his pant leg to adjust how the hem sat over his shoe.
He twisted away, stepping back and nearly toppling off the fitting platform.
“Sir!” Richard startled, as Jonah almost tumbled backward over his crouched form.
Lanie recoiled immediately at Jonah’s reaction. She’d barely touched his knee with her two fingers.
“I—I was just trying to show him.” Lanie’s cheeks flamed, her whole chest feeling like it might cave in.
“S-sorry,” Jonah stammered. “You just surprised me.”
“I surprised you?” Lanie frowned. “What the hell?” She was mortified.
“Mel,” he said, reaching for her arm.
“Don’t you touch me !” It was her turn to flinch.
She threw his hand off, slapping it away. Abandoning her wineglass on a nearby table, Lanie grabbed her coat and purse and hurried down the staircase.
“Lanie, I’m sorry!” Jonah called out.
Lanie made for the front door, winding through the elaborate clothing racks, holding back tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks. When exactly had their relationship eroded so much that he cringed when she was near him? She’d thought it was her imagination that he’d become distant, stiffening when she hugged him.
“Lanie! What the hell?” Jonah said, barreling into the street behind her. He caught up just outside the store, still wearing the sample morning suit. “Don’t you think this is a slight overreaction?”
“ I’m overreacting?” She spun on him, shouting and making air quotes with her fingers. Then she quieted, remembering the tony neighborhood they were in. “What are you talking about, Jonah, huh? And what was that? Acting like I was trying to maul you?”
“I’m sorry,” he repeated ineffectually.
It was like her Jonah had gotten brain-napped by Gemma. He never used to dress like David Beckham, he didn’t spend like King Midas and he definitely didn’t cringe at her touch.
“Look, Lanie...” he started and she rolled her eyes.
“Look, Lanie” was something of an alliterative catchphrase her paramours used as they let her down in variations of the word easy .
There was the guy from the dating app who’d said, Look, Lanie, no offense but you’re a lot bigger from the waist down than in your profile pic. And I don’t think it’s fair to me that you misrepresented yourself.
And the guy she dated from the university library who’d said, Look, Lanie, I’m not going to apologize for having needs. When she refused to give him a blow job on their lunch break.
And even four years later, her chest still burned, thinking of her most recent ex and his excuse: Look, Lanie, it’s for the best. You didn’t seem all that interested in getting serious anyway . He’d been right but that was after informing her of his engagement to a woman he’d been dating for four of the six months they’d been together.
Hearing “Look, Lanie” from Jonah’s lips felt like a betrayal.
“I think it makes Gem uncomfortable that we’re—”
Lanie held up a hand. He very pointedly didn’t edge away this time, closing his mouth. “She said what ?”
“Well, no, I mean that, she didn’t say it, but...”
So, what? This is preemptive?
She forced a smile up from the recesses of her emotional stores. “ Look, Jonah , you don’t need to worry. I wasn’t trying to feel you up—”
“I know that, I’m sorry,” he interrupted.
“And I wouldn’t ever do anything to make you uncomfortable,” she continued calmly. “I honestly don’t get why you think I would.”
“I didn’t. I just, I don’t know... I just don’t think you realize how often you touch me.”
Lanie was stunned. “If I’ve been overstepping, invading your personal space...”
“No, no, it’s not that. We’re mates. I love you.”
Lanie’s face heated at that.
“But it’s different now. And, I—I just think we need to act like it.”
“It’s not like I want to jump your bones.” At least not entirely. “You and Gemma are a couple now. I get it. And I respect it.” Lanie huffed out an exasperated breath. “What are you thinking?”
“I don’t know!” A gust of wind pushed a lock of his ridiculously gelled hair and flopped it over his forehead, like a South Asian Clark Kent. Lanie balled her hand into a fist to stop herself from pushing it back for him. “I just don’t want it to be weird between us.”
“Ugh, Jonah! Then why’d you have to make it weird?” Lanie shook her head, disgusted with herself and him. “I’m supposed to be helping you with the suit but now I just want to go home.” She could feel the effects of the wine beginning to dissipate, her previous buoyancy abandoning her.
“C’mon, Lanie, I said I’m sorry. I panicked. I thought—”
“That I was going to grab the crotch of my cousin’s fiancé in public?”
He frowned at that. “I swear, it was just a flinch, Lanie. That’s all.”
They had always been them. Jonah and Lanie. Two peas in a pod. She’d never thought about how much they touched each other or talked to each other or knew about each other. Ever since they were kids, their relationship had always felt appropriate for them. Now she didn’t know. Was this what their friendship had to become? Was this their new normal? If so, she’d better start getting used to it.
“Well, I can’t believe I have to say this out loud.” She counterfeited a believable fa?ade of calm. She hoped Narcisa would be proud of her. “But I respect your autonomy and I’m happy for you guys.”
“Really?”
“A hundred, thousand percent,” she said, trying to convince them both. “I’m helping you two, aren’t I?”
And that was it. If this wasn’t enough, what would be?
He shrugged. “This is difficult for me too, Mel. Everything’s so new, so different now. Between us, with Gem.” He sighed. “I think I’m still figuring it all out. Trying to be mindful of Gem’s feelings...and yours.”
“Me too, Stupid.” Lanie took a cleansing breath, not quite believing he gave a shit how she felt.
“Can we go back in now?” he asked hopefully, shivering. “Gem will kill me if I mess this fitting up.”
“Yeah, I bet. Since she’s apparently dressing you now.”
He paused, holding the door open for her. His shoulders drooped. “Lanie.”
“What? I’m kidding!” She threw up her hands defensively. “Geez.”
“No, you’re not,” he said but smiled, following her back inside.