Chapter Five Natalie
Flying back to NY to get birth certificate. Need it for marriage license. Back tonight. Xoxo.
Natalie stared down at Marigold’s text in dismay. How could this have happened? Marigold had a wedding planner and a lawyer in Maine. Why had they waited so long to get the license? Wouldn’t Jonathan have checked in at some point?
She knew it would all work out in the end, though.
This was how Marigold rolled. Natalie couldn’t count the number of times she had left her passport at home, or arrived forty-five minutes before a flight only to realize she was flying out of Newark, not JFK.
And yet she always managed to salvage the situation.
Or, at least, called someone who salvaged it for her, like when Bill sent a helicopter to take her to the correct airport.
The more immediate issue was that they were supposed to take bridesmaid photos in an hour, and Natalie had spent a ridiculous amount of time coordinating with the photographer’s “team”—his booking agent, his admin assistant, his production coordinator.
Jean-Luc Duchant famously never shot weddings, but he’d made a special exception for his friend Marigold.
However, even his affection for his muse wasn’t enough to overcome his powerful disdain for traditional bridal party photos, so the plan had been for a “day before” photo shoot in the black vintage cocktail dresses they’d found for the occasion.
Or, more accurately, that Natalie had found for the occasion…
Needless to say, Natalie wasn’t particularly keen to let everyone know that the shoot was off.
As she considered what to tell Jean-Luc, she perused the inn’s breakfast menu, torn between lobster benedict and wild Maine blueberry pancakes.
That was one of the many small indignities of singlehood no one ever talked about—without someone to share with, you had to make the impossible choice between savory and sweet that always left you feeling cheated.
As Natalie dithered over the menu, Liesl sauntered over.
She had an exaggerated, almost choreographed way of moving, swinging her hips far more than necessary.
And if you called her name, she’d turn her head and raise a questioning eyebrow before responding, as if she were always auditioning for the femme fatale role in some unknown film.
“We’re taking photos soon, yes?” she said in her usual affected manner that often morphed into a vaguely European accent despite the fact that she’d grown up in Connecticut.
“Marigold actually had to fly back to New York to grab her birth certificate.” Natalie kept her voice breezy, as if this were a normal errand for the bride to complete the day before her wedding. “Turns out she needs it for the marriage paperwork.”
Liesl raised an eyebrow. “Do you think she practices that move in the mirror?” Natalie once whispered to Jonathan during a cocktail party at Marigold’s apartment, causing him to splutter into his beer. “No one else could bring it?”
Natalie shrugged. “Guess she figured it was easier this way.”
A server in a white button-down and a sleek bun approached the table. “Can I get you anything for breakfast?” she asked cheerfully.
Natalie glanced back down at the menu. “I’ll have the pancakes, please.”
“You’re so lucky,” Liesl said as the server bustled off. “I wish I could eat gluten and sugar, but my body just can’t process it.”
“That’s so weird.” Startled, Natalie turned to see Jonathan smiling at them from the table behind her. “The pizza we had delivered last night wasn’t gluten-free. Were you sick after?”
“I only had a few bites.”
“If you had celiac disease, that’d be more than enough to trigger a flare. So great news! You’re not gluten intolerant!”
Liesl smiled tightly. “Jonathan, I’m sure this isn’t your intent, but you’ve been conditioned by the medical establishment to dismiss female pain. I know my body, and I’m not going to let you gaslight me into ignoring my symptoms. You might want to take some time to explore your bias.”
“Noted,” Jonathan said gravely. “I’ll work on that.”
As Liesl strode off, Jonathan raised one eyebrow at Natalie, who covered her mouth to stifle her laughter.
“Poor Liesl,” she said. “Her whole personality is built around her made-up food restrictions.”
“I know, that was a dick move. I wouldn’t have said anything if she hadn’t tried to pancake-shame you.”
“My knight in shining white coat armor. How can I ever repay you?”
“Actually, I could use your help with something. Do you mind taking a look at my vows at some point? I’ve been fiddling with them on my own, but they need your writerly eye.”
“Of course,” Natalie said, ignoring the twinge in her gut at the thought of helping Jonathan write the words that would bond him to Marigold for the rest of her life.
That was a problem for later today, or better yet, tomorrow morning.
“I just heard from Marigold. I assume she told you about her errand?”
“Yeah.” Jonathan laughed and shook his head. “Typical Marigold. I knew something like this would happen. But it seems more like the lawyer’s fault for not filing all the paperwork earlier. She should be back in time for the rehearsal, though.”
“Definitely. You know Marigold always figures it out somehow, no matter the chaos beforehand.”
“Just more material for my vows. So do you want to meet up this afternoon? Maybe around three?” He flashed her a mischievous smile. “I believe you know how to find my room.”
By the time her pancakes arrived, Natalie had lost interest in eating.
The prospect of hanging out one-on-one with Jonathan always made her too anxious and excited to focus on anything else.
She knew he was in love with Marigold. That was never going to change, and she’d already pulled back on their friendship.
She hadn’t hung out with him alone in more than a year.
But surely there’d be no harm in helping him with his vows.
She headed back into the reception area and was just waffling about calling off the photo shoot when an elegant older woman caught her eye. “Do you work at Horatio Street Press?” she asked, gesturing at Natalie’s tote bag.
“Oh no.” Natalie blushed, feeling like a tourist in a Harvard sweatshirt.
“I interned there one summer, a long time ago.” It’d been one of the best things that’d ever happened to her.
She’d loved everything about Horatio Street Press—the nerdy-glam editors who’d made Natalie feel so welcome; the quirky, literary books they published; the beautiful West Village town house that served as their office.
They’d even offered to bring her on full-time, and for weeks, an elated Natalie was walking on air…
until she realized that it was mathematically impossible for her to live in New York on an editorial assistant salary, not when the company didn’t offer health insurance.
And so she’d turned down her dream job, moved back home to Arizona after college, and spent five years in the communications department of a hospital until she’d managed to claw her way back to New York, this time to ghostwrite college essays for the 1 percent.
“I wonder if we overlapped.” The woman had short silver hair, thick red glasses, and wore a loose, slightly asymmetrical black dress that probably came from one of those oddly sterile boutiques that never had more than four items on display, none of which cost less than eight hundred dollars.
“I worked there for decades before moving over to a bigger house a few years ago.”
“Oh!” Natalie said, recognition dawning.
“Are you Susan Denver?” Susan had been a legendary editor at Horatio Street Press.
It’d caused quite a stir when she’d left to run her own imprint at a big-five competitor.
Natalie made a point to stay on top of the publishing news, even though it seemed unlikely she’d ever be a part of that world again.
She doubted she’d ever get an agent for her manuscript, let alone an actual book deal.
“That’s me,” she said. “Are you here for the wedding? I think I saw you at the welcome drinks last night.”
“I am. I’m the maid of honor.”
“How wonderful! I’ve been friends with Lulu and Bill for ages, and I’ve known Marigold since she was a little girl. I didn’t realize she had any close friends in publishing.”
“Oh, I’m not in the book world anymore, unfortunately. I work as a private tutor, mostly on the Upper East Side.”
Susan raised a knowing eyebrow. “I’ve heard some wild stories about working with those children. Did you read that New York magazine article about the family who paid for the tutor to join them on safari in Botswana?”
“Yes! I was so jealous. I shouldn’t complain, though—one family brought me down to Florida for a few days.” Natalie paused for dramatic effect. “Though I did need to fly with the horse.”
“I’m sorry, what? With the horse?”
“Yup. The family was already down there, but they needed to transport the daughter’s horse for an equestrian competition.
I guess they figured since they were already chartering a plane, I might as well tag along.
But it wasn’t exactly the private plane experience I’d imagined.
It was just the pilot, a groom, the horse, and me.
I sat in a tiny jump seat next to a pile of hay. ”
“You poor thing,” Susan said with a laugh. “That’s quite an image. It’d make a great scene in a novel. I’ve always wanted to read a book set in that world—sort of a Nanny Diaries for private tutors.”
Natalie’s heart lurched. That was exactly how she’d been describing her novel, a fictionalized account of her tutoring misadventures.
Tell her! an urgent voice shouted inside her head. This is your big chance!
But wasn’t it bad form to pitch an editor on her personal time—when she was on vacation, no less?
And what if Susan thought Natalie had manufactured this run-in like some kind of stalker?
Worse still, what if she agreed to read the manuscript as a favor only to decide that Natalie was a delusional hack?
The thought of someone like Susan Denver laughing at Natalie’s writing was enough to make her physically ill.
“I’d better get a move on,” Susan said. “They stop serving breakfast in five minutes. It was nice to meet you.”
“You too.” It was only when the older woman walked off that Natalie realized she’d never even told Susan her name. Typical, she thought. She was the queen of missed opportunities; it was the story of her life.