Chapter 17
Anne
My heart hammered as I crossed the sea of blue carpet toward the reception desk, set behind a proscenium and curtained like a stage. Massive chandeliers sparkled from the vaulted ceiling. I expected the candelabra to burst into song. Be our guest…
The desk attendant smiled at my approach, rapidly cataloging and assessing my vintage dress, my gladiator sandals, my cheap suitcase. “Good evening. Are you checking in with us?”
“I wish.” I smiled. “Actually, I was hoping I could leave my bag with you.”
“I’m sorry, are you a guest with the hotel?”
“I’m here for dinner. Harris?” The name came out like a question. “Chris Harris,” I added more firmly.
“Of course. Welcome to the Drake. They’re expecting you?”
“Not really. I mean, maybe? Until two days ago, I wasn’t sure I could come. But he’ll be glad to see me. I’m his girlfriend.”
“Let me just…” She tapped on her computer.
An elegant Black man with a bald head and a tidy goatee appeared magically at her elbow. “Is there a problem, Ms. Jones?”
“Not at all, Mr. Garcia. This”—a flicker of her eyelashes toward me—“guest says she’s here for the Harris party.”
“It’s a surprise,” I said.
Mr. Garcia’s appraisal was both sharper and more subtle than the attendant’s. “Ah. The Harris party is in the French Room this evening. Straight ahead past the elevators and turn right. Let me escort you.”
And throw you out if you don’t belong was unspoken.
I raised my chin. “I can find it.”
“Allow me.” His smile was firm and polite. “It’s on my way.”
“Um. Sure. What about my suitcase?”
“Ms. Jones, please take care of Ms. …?” He glanced at me, raising his eyebrows.
“Gallagher.”
“Ms. Gallagher’s bag while she’s with us.” However short a time that might be.
I surrendered my suitcase to the scornful attendant. Fished the teal maddie’s box from the crumpled paper sack. “I’ll keep the fudge.”
“Of course.”
“It’s a present,” I explained as we crossed the blue and gold lobby and went up the stairs.
“Very thoughtful.”
He led me smoothly and swiftly past mirrored walls and scrolled iron balustrades through a bewildering array of corridors. I checked my reflection as we passed. I looked…fine. Flushed, but presentable.
Pretty, Joe said in my head. I hoped he wasn’t stuck in traffic.
“You have a beautiful hotel,” I said to Mr. Garcia. “Have you worked here long?”
“Twenty-one years. Here we are.” Tall white paneled doors stood open on a pale blue ballroom. A hum of conversation spilled into the hall. I heard a burst of laughter and…was that piano music? “The Harris party,” Mr. Garcia said.
“Thanks.” I grinned. “I’d be lost without you.”
His eyes crinkled in a near smile. “Have a wonderful evening.”
“You bet. I mean, thank you.”
I took a deep breath. This evening wasn’t about me, I reminded myself. This weekend was about Chris. Celebrating the end of his residency, supporting him in the next stage of his career. Acknowledging everything he’d been through and all that we had meant to each other.
Maybe this setting was a little more fancy, a little less private, than I had imagined.
I could deal. My senior prom had been at the Grand Hotel, for heaven’s sake.
I taught the privileged children of entitled parents at a private school.
I was used to waiting on yacht owners, serving the semi-celebrities who sometimes came into the shop.
But I wasn’t expecting the seating plan on an easel by the door, like at a wedding reception.
Not our wedding reception, obviously—Chris’s and mine.
I always pictured us getting married on the island.
Had pictured, I corrected myself. He was moving to Atlanta.
Also…My gaze skimmed the seating chart once. Twice.
My name wasn’t on it.
I swallowed panic. It had to be an oversight, right? A mistake. Except…I’d never told him I was coming tonight. Because I wanted to surprise him.
Because I didn’t think things through.
The room glittered in kaleidoscope shards of color and light. The men were all in crisp collared shirts, the women in diamonds. I scanned the tall tiny tables, the larger round ones, and the circulating guests, searching for a familiar face. Nada.
I was still holding the fudge. Honestly, as long as they were going for a wedding vibe, they could have provided a table for gifts.
A server appeared with a silver tray. “Salmon rillette?”
I glanced from the little cones stuffed with fish to his face. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. “Thanks.”
Now both my hands were full. I popped the salmon thingy into my mouth to get rid of it. Gaah. Okay. Tasty enough, once you got past the texture.
“Anne!” That voice, warm and confident…
I choked. Crunched. Turned. Chris.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
I swallowed. I hadn’t seen him—in person, not on a screen—since before I got sick. His hair looked shorter, sharper. His jaw was sharper, too, scraped clean of his resident’s scruff and framed in a pristine white shirt collar.
I smiled weakly. “Surprise!”
He engulfed me in a hug, his starched shoulder hard against my cheek. Tears pricked my eyes. He felt so good, solid and familiar—something steady to hold on to when my world had fallen apart. He smelled different. Less hospital, more cologne, but underneath, the same Chris. My heart squeezed.
“I wasn’t expecting you,” he said against the side of my head.
“I didn’t know I needed to RSVP,” I mumbled into his shirt.
Probably shouldn’t have said that. I braced for the usual you-always-jump-into-things yada yada.
But when he pulled away, his beautiful hazel eyes were smiling. “It’s great to see you. How did you get here?”
“Um. Well, I got a ride. And then Mr. Garcia…Oh, this is Mr. Garcia.” But he had already vanished.
Chris’s gaze flicked to the hall behind me and back. “You need champagne,” he said finally, kindly. He took a flute from a passing tray. “Come say hi to my parents.”
He herded me across the room, fielding slaps on the back and pecks on the cheek from various adoring colleagues and relatives.
“Mom, you remember Anne.”
“Of course. What a surprise.” Not a nice one, her tone implied.
Or maybe I was being too sensitive. Chris’s mother was a dermatologist. Her face was like a glossy ad—smooth brow, taut lips, jawline like a razor. Impossible to guess her feelings from her expression.
I pulled out my best parent-teacher conference smile. “Hi, Dr. Harris. And Dr. Harris.”
Call me Pamela, she did not say.
Chris’s dad nodded vaguely. “Anne, is it?”
I’d been dating their son for more than two years. “That’s right. Nice to see you again.”
“Ah. Yes. Did you get a drink?”
I waved my glass, sloshing champagne. Oops. “Thank you, yes. And this is for you.” I offered the fudge to Mrs. Dr. Harris.
“How thoughtful.” She took it and stood a moment, awkwardly, before handing it to a passing server.
I felt like Honey dropping a well-chewed tennis ball at the feet of someone who absolutely did not want to play.
“Would you put this someplace safe? Chris, dear, it’s time for us to sit.
They’re going to start serving in a few minutes. ”
“Mom, Anne just got here.”
“So she did.” Her ice-blue gaze rested on me. “Don’t worry. We’ll fit her in somewhere.” She beckoned to a server. “Another place setting at table eight, please. There.” She tucked her hand in Chris’s arm. “All taken care of.”
Chris hesitated.
“Your father would like to say a few words before dinner,” she said.
“You go,” I said. “I’m fine.”
Relief crossed his face. “I’ll find you after.”
“Sure.”
I found table eight in the farthest corner of the room, wedged next to the piano and the service entrance.
I exchanged awkward introductions with my tablemates: an elderly physician from the hospital and his almost silent wife, three residents about my age, who either did not speak or were wisely pretending not to understand English, and a large woman in pink silk—Chris’s aunt—with her adult son, Bill.
I took the only empty chair, next to the chinless cousin.
“Red or white, sir?”
The physician scowled. “Bring me a Scotch.”
“Let’s all have a Scotch,” Cousin Bill said.
“I’ll take a cosmo,” his mother said.
I smiled at the server. “Red. Thanks.”
The large lady—Chris’s aunt—leaned forward. “Don’t be silly. My tight-ass brother paid for an open bar. We might as well take advantage. Two cosmos.”
At the center table, Chris’s father stood to give a…
blessing? Toast? Speech? I couldn’t quite make out the words over the clink of dishes.
Also, he was hidden by a flower arrangement the size of a bush.
But the cosmo was pink and delicious, so I raised my glass and smiled at the residents and checked my phone.
Mom: Stay safe.
Typical Mom. Was she imagining me stranded by the side of the road or warning me about the dangers of the Big City? Or maybe she thought this whole trip was a mistake. Maybe she was right.
But at least she was showing she cared.
Daanis had sent a picture of Rose sleeping tush up and tummy down in her crib. No message. I bit my lip. I should never have made that stupid comment about Daanis giving up her dreams. I’d begged for her forgiveness. But how could she forget?
I responded with a heart emoji. Miss you, I typed and took another sip of cosmo.
There was a photo from Hailey, too, a shot of the wash sink piled high with dirty pots. Wish u were here.
I felt a flash of homesickness for them all. For my people.
“Filet or salmon?” the server asked.
“Filet, please. Oh, doesn’t that look wonderful!” I said as he put the plate in front of me.
“So, how do you know Chris?” his aunt asked, raising her voice.
I’m his girlfriend. I glanced at the center table, where Chris sat with his parents and Very Important Guests. Doctors from his department, I guessed, with their spouses and…Who was that blond girl? “We met his first year of residency.” Good answer, I congratulated myself. Safe answer.
“Great,” the cousin mumbled. “Another doctor.”