Chapter Eleven We Were Thirty
Chapter Eleven
We Were Thirty
Seven Months Ago
My mother and I decorated the table with boughs of cedar and pine, silver candlesticks, and the lace tablecloth we saved for Christmas Day.
Moby was outside with Birdie, playing in the snow, while Anh, Darwin, and Dad drank eggnog by the fireplace in the living room.
Nate was spending the holiday with his mother.
I had slipped on my ring before Mimi and George arrived. We’d taken our first bites of turkey when I clinked my knife against my wineglass. I smiled, but I could feel my lips resisting.
“I have some news.”
George looked at me from across the table, his brows drawn.
We’d both arrived home yesterday, and I’d planned to tell him last night when it was just the two of us.
We were on opposite ends of the couch in the Big House family room, watching Little Women, a holiday tradition.
All I had to do was reach for the remote, press pause, and open my mouth. But I couldn’t do it.
With his travel schedule, George had only met Nate twice.
The first time, he treated Nate with a dismissiveness I doubt anyone else but me would have picked up on.
It was clear that he thought Nate was like the guys who preceded him—a fly-by boyfriend and not to be taken seriously.
The second time, I’d invited George to a dinner party at Nate’s.
He’d brought the woman he was seeing, but I could feel his judgment of my relationship the entire time.
When we were alone in the kitchen, he made a comment about me playing house.
As we watched the movie, I grew more nervous.
Laurie and Jo danced. Meg lost her glove.
Amy burned Jo’s manuscript. Jo cut off her hair.
By the time Beth died, I had convinced myself that George was going to react badly.
His opinion mattered more to me than anyone else’s, and I didn’t want to hear it.
I told myself it would be better for him to get the news at the same time as everyone else, but the truth was, I’d hoped an audience would ensure his good behavior.
Now, eight pairs of eyes looked at me, waiting.
“Nate and I are engaged,” I announced, setting down the knife and wiping my palms on my jeans.
No one said a word. George stared at me, his mouth a straight line.
“I’m going to move into his place after the holiday, and we’ll have the wedding in May,” I said, willing myself to smile. “We don’t want a long engagement.”
Three more seconds of silence ticked by, and then suddenly a flurry of comments were bandied about the room.
Mom: “That’s wonderful, honey.”
Dad: “Isn’t this a bit fast?”
Moby, stiffly: “Uh, congratulations.”
Birdie: “Mama, what’s enraged?”
Anh: “Engaged, Bird. Aunt Frankie’s getting married.”
Mimi: “Merde.”
Darwin: “Could someone pass the stuffing?”
“Aren’t you going to say something?” I asked George, the only person who hadn’t spoken.
The room fell silent once more.
He was completely still, frozen like the creek. Maybe I shouldn’t have pushed him, but I was desperate for his approval.
My smile fell. “George?”
“Congratulations.” His voice was flat.
“That’s it?”
“Frankie,” my mom said gently. “Let him be.”
I ignored her. “Your oldest friend in the world is getting married, and there’s nothing more you want to say?”
George stared at me for a long moment and then said under his breath, “I don’t think you want to hear what I have to say.”
I raised my chin, blood heating. “I think I do.”
George stood from the table so suddenly that Birdie covered her ears at the loud scrape of chair legs against the floor.
“Thank you for dinner, Rebecca,” he said to my mom.
“George,” Mimi said. “Sit down.”
He ignored her. “Moby, could you walk my grandmother home after dinner?” My brother stammered out a yes.
“Why are you being such an asshole?” I said, getting to my feet.
“Frankie!” Mom and Anh said, in unison.
My niece looked at me, her mouth the shape of a capital O. I winced. “I’m sorry, Birdie.”
George walked out, and I followed him to the mudroom. “You’re supposed to be happy for me. You’re supposed to be supportive. I was going to ask you to be my best man.”
He scoffed, saying nothing as he pulled on his boots and zipped up his parka.
“Don’t you dare walk away from me,” I said, hurrying to dress for the cold. “This isn’t over.”
George was out into the night before I’d had a chance to grab a hat and gloves.
I chased him through the field. The snow was bright beneath the moon, the sky decked in stars. It was a clear night, the coldest of the year. I should have been frozen—my jacket undone, no scarf around my throat—but I was too upset to feel the bite.
“George, stop. Talk to me.”
He spun around, halfway to the hedge.
“I already told you that you don’t want to hear it.”
“And I already told you that I do.”
“Fine,” he said. “You want me to talk? I’ll talk. I think you’re making a huge mistake. I think you’ll see that one day and be too stubborn to admit it. I think you’re marrying someone who doesn’t know the first thing about you.”
“Nate knows me,” I said, but the truth of what he said stung. I’d only let Nate see a highly contained version of me. He didn’t yet know how headstrong I could be. He hadn’t seen me get angry and say things I didn’t mean in the heat of the moment.
“I’ve seen you together,” George said. “You behave like a domesticated animal. He doesn’t know the real you.”
“And the real me is so horrible, right?” I raised my voice, fighting the sting of tears. “How could anyone possibly want to spend their life with me?”
He held out his arms. “The real you isn’t a lapdog. The real you has fire and a sharp tongue and strong opinions.”
“That have always gotten me in trouble,” I argued. “I’m trying to be better than that. I’m trying to be a good girlfriend.”
“You shouldn’t have to try so hard, Frankie. Who you are should be more than enough.”
I brushed away the tears as soon as they fell.
“And what about your apartment?” George said, his voice softening.
“I’m giving my notice.”
“But you love your apartment.”
I did. It was the first place where I’d lived on my own.
“I know, but it doesn’t make sense to pay rent when Nate owns. And you saw his house—it’s a thousand times nicer than my place.”
“Your apartment is perfect. It’s you. Keep it, Frankie. Sublet it so if things don’t work out, you can move back in.”
“George. I get that you’re concerned, but right now I need you to be happy for me.”
His jaw flexed. “I can’t be happy for you. Not this time. Not when you’re choosing to be with someone who makes you smaller. Quieter. Dull.”
I felt like I’d been slapped. No one had the power to wound me like George did.
“I didn’t realize how little you think of me.”
George closed his eyes, his breath billowing like smoke from a chimney. “I think the world of you.”
“Then what’s the problem? You barely know Nate.”
“You barely know Nate.” His eyes met mine. “I know you, Frankie.”
A sharp wind ripped across the field, sending my hair whipping around my face. I stared into my best friend’s eyes and felt my heart breaking. I didn’t want to lose him, but I didn’t know how to fix this chasm between us.
“Nate is a good person,” I defended. “He’s kind and steady and easy to be around.”
His lip curled in revulsion. “Easy? That’s what you’re looking for in a partner?”
“What’s so wrong with that?”
He said nothing, and I threw up my hands. “What do you want from me? Do you want me to be alone forever?”
“Of course not. But you never wanted to get married. You never wanted to lose yourself to someone else.” His voice was low and steady. “I don’t want to lose you, either.”
“You won’t. We’ll always be us.”
But even as I said it, I knew it wasn’t true. Things had been changing between George and me for the last few years, since he returned from covering the fires. Suddenly I was terrified there was no going back. And I could see that George felt it, too.
“Okay.” He sounded flattened.
“George.” I reached for him, but he stepped back. “Don’t go. Stay and fight this out with me.”
He shook his head. “I need space, Frankie. Otherwise, I’m going to say something I’ll regret.”
I stood in the middle of the field, watching him walk away, until I could no longer see him beyond the hedge.
JANUARY 10, 2026
To: George Saint James
From: Frankie Gardiner
Subject: Best man?
George,
It’s been two weeks since you asked for space. You know I’m not a patient person, and I’m sorry if you need more distance from me. If that’s the case, you can wait to read this until you’re ready. (But please don’t wait too long.)
Because these days I feel like all we have is space, and I hate it. If you get to know Nate, you might feel differently about him. I hope you’d feel differently about who I am with him. Your opinion matters more than anyone’s.
Is part of the reason you were (are?) upset is that you found out along with everyone else? I wanted to tell you when we were alone, but I was worried about how you’d react. That’s on me. I’m sorry for that, and I’m sorry I called you an asshole.
I think what bothers you most is the idea that I’ve picked the wrong partner. I understand that. I’d feel the same if our situations were reversed. But I don’t know what to say or do to convince you otherwise. I don’t think I’m making a mistake. I hope that can be enough for you.
Please be my best man. I need you by my side, where you belong. I don’t want to do this without you.
Happy New Year.
Frankie
JANUARY 12, 2026
To: Frankie Gardiner
From: George Saint James
Subject: Re: Best man?
I should be the one apologizing.
I once promised to be your best friend, no matter what, and I intend to keep that promise.
I’d be honored to be your best man.
—G