Chapter 7 Hannah
Just as Lainey and I return from my parents’ house, a new message comes in from Grady. He is singing a different tune now, and I read his text aloud to Lainey and Tyson:
Hannah, I’m so sorry for my terrible mistake. I was at a work lunch at Chops and had too much to drink. Berlin happened to be there. She offered to give me a ride home. It was innocent. She dropped me off and went home, then realized that I left my sunglasses in her car. She was going for a walk so came by to give them to me. When I answered the door, she barged in, wanting to see the paint color you’d chosen for the dining room. She admires your decorating. We ended up having another drink and one thing led to another. It meant nothing. It will never happen again. I’m so sorry, Hannah. Please, PLEASE give me one more chance. I will never let you down again. We are so good together. I love you.
I finish reading, then look up.
“Tell me that bullshit changes nothing,” Lainey says.
“It changes nothing,” I say.
“Can you say it with a bit more conviction, please?” she says, looking worried.
I repeat the statement with a little more chutzpah.
“Okay. Good. Now write him back.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“Tell him to fuck off. Tell him he’s the worst person ever. Tell him to never contact you again or that video—”
“No!” Tyson says. “Don’t mention the video in writing.”
“What should I say?” I ask him.
“Say nothing. Silence is powerful. He’s not worth your breath,” Tyson says.
Lainey sighs, then nods in reluctant agreement. “Okay. Fine. Don’t reply. And block him.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” Tyson says.
“You think? I mean—I’m not going to get sucked back in or take him back. Don’t worry about that…. But won’t there be logistics we have to cover? Like, I have stuff at his house.”
“He can email you. And you can get to the logistics later. For now, he shouldn’t have access to you,” Tyson says. “More important, how did it go with your mother?”
“You don’t want to know,” I mumble.
“Oh, yes, he does!” Lainey says. “It involves him.”
“Me?” Tyson says.
I give Lainey a look not to go there, but she can’t be stopped. “Apparently, Grady told Mrs. Davis that you’re banging Hannah.”
“What?” Tyson says, looking horrified. “Seriously?” He shifts his gaze to me.
“Well, she didn’t say banging—but yes,” I say.
“Wow,” Tyson says, shaking his head. “Does she actually believe that?”
“Who knows?” I say with a sigh.
“Oh, well. I guess it’s not that surprising,” Tyson says. “Your mom has never liked me.”
“She doesn’t even know you,” I say. “She doesn’t really know Lainey, either. She just pretends she does now that Lainey’s famous.”
“I’m not famous,” Lainey says.
“Yes, you are. And she likes being associated with you,” I say, as it occurs to me that in a weird way, the same was true for Summer. My mother couldn’t have been any less interested in Summer before she died, but in the aftermath of the tragedy, she had the gall to put up a Facebook tribute.
“What’s her beef with me, anyway?” Tyson asks. “Or is it just…the obvious?” He looks down at the back of his hand.
I know what he’s getting at, and he’s not entirely wrong. But I dodge his question, feeling ashamed.
“Honestly, her main issue has always been the Greek stuff,” I say. “She blamed y’all for my not joining a sorority.”
“She’s not over that yet?” Lainey asks.
“She’ll never be over that,” I say, remembering how she didn’t speak to me for a month after I told her I wasn’t going to rush. That I was happy in a smaller friend group.
“But everyone will think you just didn’t get a bid,” she said to me at one point.
God forbid.
Another more recent memory pops into my head. Right after Grady and I got engaged, she took me out to lunch, just the two of us. One of her first questions was about the wedding party. Who was I selecting? I told her I had already asked Lainey to be my maid of honor—and was planning to ask my three closest high school friends to be bridesmaids. Of course, I got a sharp pang thinking about Summer, knowing that she would have been my maid of honor.
My mother got a wistful look on her face, and for one second, I foolishly believed that she sensed how I was feeling. I felt certain that she was going to say something comforting about Summer.
Instead, she pursed her lips and shook her head. “Only four bridesmaids?”
“Yes, Mom. Only four.”
She sighed, taking a sip of her Arnold Palmer. “It’s such a shame you don’t have more friends from college.”
I stared at her, gutted. “Yes, Mom,” I managed to say. “It’s a real shame Summer died.”
I didn’t expect an apology—my mother is incapable of saying she’s sorry—but I thought she’d at least change the subject. Instead, she kept right on talking about her own wedding and bridesmaids, all of whom were her sorority sisters. I was so close to telling her off, but I didn’t want to ruin our lunch. No matter how often she proved me wrong, I couldn’t help hoping that someday she’d show me the warmth I craved from her. So I let it go. The way I always did.
As I tune back into Lainey and Tyson, I hear Lainey say, “So back to our trip…Where are we going? Who wants to go first?”
“I will,” Tyson says.
Lainey rubs her hands together and says, “Well? Don’t leave us in suspense!”
He smiles and says, “So Burundi will have to wait for now. I choose Capri.”
Lainey’s face lights up. “Even though it’s a beach? And, you know, Mussolini?” she says, clearly forgetting that it had been Summer’s pick. I gently remind her, and she nods, looking chagrined.
We sit in somber silence for a few seconds before I say, “I love that, Tyson. It’s the perfect choice.”
“Yes. It is,” Lainey says. “It’s a great idea.”
Tyson exhales, then says, “So who’s going next?”
“I will,” I say. I have a pit in my stomach, knowing that Lainey is going to kill me. I look at her and take a deep breath. “Okay. So I know this is an odd choice, but just hear me out—”
“Oh, Christ,” Lainey says. “Are you taking us somewhere cold and remote?”
I smile nervously and say, “No. It’s neither cold nor remote. In fact, it’s quite hot there. And there are easy direct flights.”
She brightens a bit. “Is it near water?”
“Well…there are some springs….”
“Springs? Oh! Like a geyser? Is it New Zealand?”
I brace myself, then spit it out. “No. It’s Dripping Springs. Texas.”
She stares at me and says, “Is this a joke?”
“No, but we’re also going to Dallas. Which has a lot of very nice hotels.”
“What the actual fuck,” she says. “Veto!”
“No vetoes,” Tyson says. “Your rule.”
“Well, I’m not going to freaking Texas.”
“Lainey, I know you’ve always wondered about your sisters,” I say. “And that this secret has weighed on you. We just thought it would be cathartic to finally—”
“We?” Lainey glares at Tyson. “You were in on this?”
“It was my idea,” I say.
“Well, it’s a shitty idea,” Lainey says.
“But what if you meet them and love them?” I ask her. “Isn’t it worth a shot? Just think, you’d have family—”
“They won’t love me,” Lainey says, shaking her head.
“Listen. You aren’t responsible for your father’s decisions any more than they are,” I say. “Maybe you can give them a chance and see if they can rise to the occasion. It’s a big hole in your life, Lainey.”
“I don’t have any holes in my life. I’m fine,” she says. “I’m great.”
I glance at Tyson, my expression pleading.
“We know you’re great, Lainey,” he says. “But I think Hannah’s right about this—and I know you’ve toyed with the idea over the years.”
“Not really,” Lainey says. “Not that much.”
I nod, then press on. “It must be hard, though—especially since losing your mother. But just imagine if you meet your sisters and end up being close to them.”
She rolls her eyes, but I can tell she’s giving the idea some consideration.
“Ugh,” she finally says. “This is the lamest pick of all time. Seriously. You have the whole globe to choose from, and you pick Texas?”
“We don’t have to stay there long,” I say. “Just long enough to tell them the truth—”
“Because the truth will somehow set me free?” Lainey rolls her eyes.
“Something like that, yes,” Tyson says. “Even if you don’t end up having an ongoing relationship with your sisters, I bet you’ll feel a tremendous sense of relief to let go of this secret. And you deserve that. For yourself.”
Lainey lets out a long sigh, then says, “Fine. Whatever. I’ll do it. But it’s not going to go well. Mark my words.”
“It might not,” I say, knowing that part of what she’s doing is protecting her pride, putting on her armor of indifference. “But if it doesn’t, you’ll be no worse off than you are now.”
She gives me a reluctant nod.
I smile and remind her that we’ll be there with her every step of the way.
Then, before she can change her mind, Tyson tells Lainey that it’s her turn. He smiles, adding, “What tropical beach are you gonna make me go melt on?”
“Well, smart-ass,” she says, her face brightening a bit. “I’m actually not going to pick a beach at all.” She pauses, keeping us in suspense. “As it turns out, you two aren’t the only martyrs around here,” she says.
Tyson smiles and says, “How are we martyrs?”
“Because you picked for Summer. And Hannah picked for me. So I choose Paris. For Hannah.”
“Oh, Lainey,” I say, feeling so touched.
“If you don’t think Paris will make you too sad?” she asks.
I smile, welling up. “I’d love to go to Paris.”
“Good,” Lainey says, smiling back at me. “Fuck Grady. And romance. Your first trip to Paris is going to be with two people who love you unconditionally.”
“Thank you,” I say. “It’s a wonderful idea.”
Later that night, I drive Tyson and Lainey to the airport, dropping them off in front of Delta departures. I get out of the car, and we embrace in a group hug. I start to cry, but Lainey reminds me that this isn’t goodbye. We’ll be seeing one another in Texas in less than a week. It was her idea to get that leg over with first, and Tyson and I agreed.
In the meantime, we all had work to do. Lainey was responsible for choosing our hotel in Dallas and confirming her sisters’ addresses; Tyson had a letter of resignation to send in and a big conversation to have with his parents; and I had a wedding to unravel and a boss to disappoint.
The following morning, twenty thousand dollars appears in my checking account directly from Grady’s. It feels like a fair assessment of what I’ve contributed to his home, but it’s a surreal and very upsetting feeling to know that our entire relationship has been reduced to a bank transfer. Not to mention one motivated by a tacit threat from my best friend.
What hurts even more, though, is how my mother continues to treat me. Since our face-to-face conversation, she’s only communicated with me via a few brisk, businesslike emails, including one filled with bullet points of all the wedding vendors with whom we’ve signed contracts. She gives me a line-item list of all of our nonrefundable deposits.
I write back that I’m so sorry.
“It is what it is,” she replies. “I just wanted you to know.”
Against Lainey’s advice to tell her to “fuck right off,” I send my mother a long note of apology, saying, “I know how disappointed you are. We both are. I wish this weren’t happening, and I’m so sorry for how much money you and Dad have spent. I will pay you back once I sell my engagement ring. I love you.”
Her response is deafening silence. Although I should be accustomed to my mother’s silent treatments, this one hurts more than usual.
Honestly, I don’t know what I’d do if I weren’t getting the hell out of Dodge. Maybe I’m running away from my problems—I guess that’s exactly what I’m doing—but it’s better than wallowing in misery. Meanwhile, my mind keeps returning to Summer and the hopelessness she must have felt in her final hours. I know that her pain has a lot to do with why Tyson and Lainey are now rescuing me, and although I am grateful, I also feel guilty that we couldn’t support Summer in the same way. I decide I owe it to her to focus on my gratitude and make this time with my friends count. Tyson is right, it’s what she would have wanted for us—and the thought keeps me afloat as I temporarily shut down my life in Atlanta.
The following day, I attack my to-do list. It’s a helpful distraction. I pay my bills, clean out my refrigerator, and cancel appointments. From there, I start packing for our trip. So far, we’ve only bought one-way tickets to Dallas, but we’ve agreed that we won’t return home between the three legs of our journey, so I do my best to keep things simple, packing a few versatile pieces. It’s a far cry from the elegant wardrobe I’d envisioned for my honeymoon, but I tell myself the contents of my suitcase are the least of my worries.
Once all my logistics are tackled, I know it’s time to face the hard part: telling people. I consider sending a mass email, but I hate the idea that it could get screenshotted or forwarded. It’s not that I think my life is so consequential, or that anyone would want to intentionally hurt me, but lesser scandals have become fodder for gossip, and adding a famous actress and an Instagram influencer into the mix would only cause more temptation.
Ultimately, I decide that the only people I owe a conversation are my boss and my bridesmaids.
I start with Jada. As one of the most renowned interior designers in the Southeast, she can be a bit of a diva, but she’s also been very good to me for nearly seven years—longer than I’ve been with Grady. I’ve been good to her, too, and I’m by far her most reliable employee. So when I walk into her office and tell her I need to take a few weeks off, effective immediately, she is more than a little taken aback.
“Hannah, there’s no way. The Petersons’ installation and photo shoot is next week,” she says, as if I could possibly forget about the clients who send me dozens of emails a day.
“I know. And I’m sorry. But I really have to get out of town for a while….” My voice trails off.
She gives me a quizzical look, then says, “Are you okay? Is this health-related?”
“Grady cheated on me,” I blurt out. “The wedding is off.”
“Oh, Hannah,” she says, her face falling. “I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you,” I say, bursting into tears. “You know I’d never want to leave you in the lurch—”
“I know. I get it,” she says, pulling two tissues out of the fabric-covered box on her desk and handing me one. She dabs her own eyes with the other. “We’ll be fine here. Don’t worry about work at all.”
“Thank you,” I say again. “I really, really appreciate this. You have no idea.”
She stares at me for a few seconds, then says, “Unfortunately, I do.” She smiles, but her eyes look pained. “I was left at the altar.”
“At the actual altar?”
“Pretty much. I was the consummate jilted bride.”
“Jada. I had no idea.”
“Well, it’s not something I make a point of bringing up.” She forces a smile.
I hesitate, then say, “He just…never showed up?”
“Correct,” she says. “I was in the bridal room in the church basement. The organ was playing, and the guests were all seated.” She takes a deep breath. “Then, just as my father came to walk me down the aisle, one of the groomsmen appeared and asked if he could ‘have a word.’ I knew right away that it was bad…. Like—car accident bad. Or cold feet bad. I wasn’t sure which would be worse.” She laughs, as if it’s a joke, but on some level, I can tell she means it. “Anyway. It wasn’t a car accident.”
“Was it…someone else?”
“No. As it turned out, he was gay. Is gay. He’s been happily married to a wonderful man for ten years.”
The soft look on her face surprises me. She’s clearly forgiven him. “Are you still friends?” I ask.
“I wouldn’t say friends, but we speak every blue moon. He’s been very sweet about my career. Always congratulates me when I win an award. That sort of thing. It took some time, but I came to feel a lot of compassion for him. He’s from a very traditional Southern family, and the pain of hiding—and trying to be something he wasn’t—must have been excruciating. But I still felt betrayed and lied to. And of course, on that day, I didn’t know any of this. I was just a humiliated, heartbroken bride.”
“God,” I say, shaking my head. “I can’t imagine how horrible that must have been.”
She takes a deep breath that is more like a shudder. “It really was. But you know what?” She pauses and smiles. “I got through it. And you will, too.”
Her words comfort me. Until I remember that Jada is in her mid-forties and still single. I always assumed this was her choice—that she was just one of those women with different priorities. Like Lainey. Now I wonder if it has more to do with trust issues. I almost ask the question, but stop myself, afraid of what her answer mightbe.
When I get home from work, I call my bridesmaids, one at a time. I stick to the basics: Grady cheated on me; the wedding is off; and I’m headed out of town for the next few weeks with my college friends. We’ll talk more when I get back.
They are all shocked, upset, and very much on my side, but I also sense something else. I can tell they are questioning my judgment and whether, in the words of my oldest friend, Abby, I should be “throwing it all away.”
I tell her that I wasn’t the one who threw anything away—Grady was—and she quickly backtracks. She says she knows I’m right; she’s just so sad. Her husband and Grady are close friends, and she had always pictured our kids growing up together.
“I did, too,” I say, my heart aching. “All I want is a family.”
“You’ll find someone else,” she says.
“I hope so,” I say, blinking back tears as I suddenly picture Berlin in Grady’s bed.
“You will,” she says. “You’re so beautiful.”
“Thank you, Abby,” I say. I know she’s doing her best, but she’s ill-equipped to make me feel better. “I think I just need to get out of here for a while.”