Chapter 6 Lainey
The following morning, I awaken to the sound of Hannah crying. I reach across the bed and drape my arm around her.
“It’s going to be okay,” I whisper.
“No, it’s not,” she sobs. “Grady called my mother. Before I could talk to her. He’s already turned her against me.”
“How can that be?” I ask. “Did he tell her what he did?”
“Of course not,” she says. “He’s blaming everything on me. I’m the bad guy. He’s the victim. So my mother is livid. With me.”
“Oh my God, Hannah. That’s awful. I’m so sorry…. And could Grady be any sleazier?”
“He’s the worst!”
As Hannah continues to vent, reading aloud Grady’s latest text rant, I discreetly check my own phone. I am delighted to discover that I have not one but two responses to the messages I sent last night to Grady and Munich. Even better, it appears that they have failed to compare notes. Rookies.
As Hannah gets out of bed, I nonchalantly ask if I can borrow her car to run a quick errand.
“Sure. What do you need? I might have it here.”
“I feel like I’m getting a UTI,” I improvise. “I just want to get some cranberry juice and knock it out. Do you need anything?”
“I don’t think so,” she says. “But I can go with you—”
“That’s okay,” I quickly say. “You stay here with Tyson. I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
About twenty minutes later, I’m sitting in a maroon vinyl booth in the corner of Goldbergs, a strip-mall diner not far from Hannah’s place. I have my back to the wall and my eyes on the door, mobster-style, as I nurse a cup of black coffee.
Across from me is a very disheveled Grady, sucking down a Coke as he waits for his order of biscuits and gravy—a telltale sign of a hangover.
“So how are you holding up?” I ask, feigning sympathy that is in keeping with the text I sent him last night.
“Terrible,” he says.
“I know,” I say, shaking my head and practically making a tsking sound. “The whole thing is shocking.”
“So she didn’t tell you what she was going to do?”
“No. It was totally out of the blue,” I say, putting my acting chops to the test. “Tyson and I were floored. You two have always seemed so happy.”
“I thought we were,” he says. “But Hannah seems to think I cheated on her.”
“I know,” I say with a sigh.
“Why in the world does she think that?”
He is clearly trying to figure out what she knows. It’s a solid strategy, but this isn’t my first rodeo. “I have no clue,” I say. “I guess it’s a hunch?”
Grady nods, looking relieved. “Damn. I’m really worried about her. It’s not like her to be so paranoid.”
“Hmm,” I say, sipping my coffee, keeping the concerned look on my face.
As he rambles on, I spot Munich walking through the door in a ridiculous frilly getup. Her blond hair is freshly curled, and even from a distance, I can tell she’s wearing way too much makeup.
“Will you excuse me for one second, Grady?” I say as nonchalantly as I can.
“No problem,” he replies, immediately pulling out his phone.
I slide out of the booth and trot over to the door, smiling. Munich beams back at me, exposing a row of oversize snow-white veneers. They are all the same rectangular length, giving her a horsey smile.
“Hello!” I say. “Thank you for coming!”
“Oh, it’s my pleasure and honor. I’m such a big fan!” she gushes, pressing her left hand to the right side of her chest, where her heart isn’t.
“Thank you,” I say. “Would you like to come sit down? I have a table in the back.”
“I’d love to,” she says.
As I lead her back to the corner booth, I tell her I’ve heard great things about her “influencing” from our mutual friend, Liz.
“Oh, I’m so excited to help in any way I can,” she says, clearly oblivious to my connection with Hannah.
A second later, we reach the booth, where Grady is scarfing down his biscuits. He looks up midbite, sees us together, and knows in an instant that he’s been played. Again. His face falls, his lips covered with crumbs.
“Grady! Heeey,” Munich says, looking surprised. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh my God! No way!” I say, slapping my thigh. “You two know each other? What a small world!”
I look at Grady, who has yet to utter a word, and say, “Don’t be shy. Scoot over and make room for Munich!”
“Oh. My name is Berlin,” she says, as Grady slides the whole way over to the wall with a look of sheer panic.
“My bad!” I say.
“It’s totally okay,” she says as we sit across from each other. “I can see how that could happen! They’re both cities in Germany, after all!”
I smile and nod, relishing every second of her idiocy. “So, now that we’re all here together, should we get down to business?” I say, resting both my forearms on the table, leaning into my killer instinct.
“Sure!” Munich says, pulling a day planner out of her white Birkin bag. “Should I be taking notes?”
“Up to you!” I say. “I’ll let Grady kick things off. Would you like to start by telling Berlin how you and I know each other?” I ask him. “Or should I?”
He stares back at me, mouth agape.
“Okay, then! I will!” I say, shifting my gaze to Munich. “So. Crazily enough, I went to college with Grady’s fiancée, Hannah. Oops. Ex-fiancée!”
Munich’s smile instantly evaporates. She freezes, a deer in headlights.
“Ex?” she says, her face turning red.
“Oh. I’m sorry. You didn’t hear the sad news?”
“No…I didn’t know,” she stammers. “I’m so sorry.”
“That’s funny. Because you didn’t look very sorry on Friday afternoon,” I say, dropping the mic.
“Friday afternoon?” she says.
“Think back, hon,” I say. “Try real, real hard to recall what you were doing at around four or five o’clock, day before yesterday?”
“I don’t remember,” she whispers.
“Hmm. Well, might I refresh your recollection?” I say, using one of Tyson’s favorite legal phrases. “You were with him on Friday afternoon, weren’t you?” I point at Grady without looking his way.
Munich stares at me, furiously blinking back tears.
“Yes. We were together,” Grady cuts in. “But nothing happened. Berlin just came over to help me with something.”
“Oh. I see,” I say, nodding. “What was she helping you with?”
“She was consulting on a gift. For Hannah. Berlin is very good at that stuff.”
“Hmm,” I say, holding his gaze a beat before pulling out my phone and staring down at it. “Well, from the looks of this little video, she seems to be pretty good at some other things, too.”
“Video?” Munich says. “What video?”
“The video of you in Grady’s bed. Would you like to see it? The videography is ah-maz-ing,” I say with a chef’s kiss.
“Fuck,” Grady says under his breath as Munich sobs that she didn’t “mean to do it.”
“You didn’t mean to do it? How does that work, exactly? Were you air-dropped into his bedroom? Right onto his dick?”
“I’m sorry,” Munich sobs, mascara pooling under her eyes and streaming down her face. “I’m so sorry.”
“So you knew he had a fiancée?” I ask her, not letting up.
“I did, but he said things weren’t going well,” she sobs.
“I didn’t say that—” Grady says, turning on his co-defendant.
“Yes, you did, Grady!” she says.
“Well, the good news is—he’s all yours now! Hannah doesn’t want him anymore.”
They both stare at me.
“So now that that’s settled, let’s get down to some more business, shall we?” I roll up my sleeves for effect.
Grady nods, savvy enough to understand that the jig is up, while Munich continues to cry. I ignore her, staring into Grady’s cowardly eyes.
“So. Here’s what I’m thinking,” I say, rubbing my palms together. “Grady, I want you to go home, look around, and calculate the value of everything Hannah has either purchased or contributed to. Obviously, the big stuff, like furniture and rugs. But the little stuff, too. I don’t care if it’s a pot or a pan or a stick of deodorant. Add it allll up. Got it?”
“Got it,” he says through clenched teeth.
“Great! Feel free to add an idiot tax to that. And a commission for Hannah’s interior design services. Twenty percent. Maybe thirty?”
He nods as I shift my gaze to Munich.
“As for you,” I say, my voice dripping with disdain, “I want you off Instagram. And all social media.”
She stares at me, horror-stricken. It’s clearly a punishment worse than death.
“I don’t want Hannah—or anyone in Hannah’s orbit—to have to see your sorry face. Are we clear?”
She nods, then wipes her nose with her napkin.
“What about the video?” Grady asks.
“What about it?” I say, putting my phone back into my purse.
“Who else has it?”
“Oh. Don’t worry about that,” I say. “You two act right, and it will be deleted.”
“Act right?” he asks with a flash of anger in his eyes. “Are you threatening us? Because that sure sounds like a threat—”
“Of course not. I’d never threaten anyone,” I say with a smile. “I’m simply giving you a small incentive to do the right thing.”
“How long do I have to stay off of social media?” Munich asks.
“Hmm. How about forever? Does forever work?”
“But social media is my livelihood—”
I resist the urge to tell her she should have thought about that before she fucked my best friend’s fiancé. Instead, I say, “That’s for you to decide. A week? A month? It’s entirely up to you. Use your judgment. Your fantastic judgment.”
She nods and whispers okay, her tears still flowing.
I slide out of the booth, then pause at the head of the table. “All righty, then,” I say, looking straight at Grady. “I gotta run. Do you mind paying for my coffee?”
“No problem.”
“Why, thank you, Grady,” I say. “You’re such a gentleman!”
When I arrive back at Hannah’s place, I find her and Tyson sitting together on the sofa.
“What’s the latest?” I ask, settling into the chair across from them.
“I was just telling him about my mother,” Hannah says, giving me a suspicious look. “What about you? Did you get that cranberry juice?”
I smile and say, “Would you believe that my symptoms cleared up?”
“Okay, Lainey,” Hannah says, crossing her arms across her chest. “What did you do?”
I shrug, then say, “Nothing, really. I just had a brief meeting.”
“A brief meeting with whom?” she asks.
“A brief meeting with Grady.” I pause. “And Munich.”
Hannah’s eyes grow huge. Then she shakes her head and smiles. “You’re too much.”
“Thank you,” I say.
“So spill it. What happened?” she asks, looking some combination of appalled and impressed and grateful.
“Well. The three of us met at Goldbergs…and had a nice little chat.” I pause. “I may have also mentioned that we have an incriminating video—”
“Lainey!” Hannah groans. “You told them that I took a video?”
“Not at all. I just sort of implied that one was obtained,” I say. “Needless to say, you’ll be getting your money back for all that furniture.”
“Lainey! You blackmailed them?” Hannah says. “You could get in so much trouble!”
“I’m sure she didn’t put anything in writing,” Tyson says, raising his brow, studying my face.
“Of course not,” I say.
“Good,” Tyson says, then turns back to Hannah. “How about we just put Grady and Berlin on the back burner for now? We need to deal with your mother. I know you’re exhausted, but you really need to go over there and set the record straight.”
“I don’t know if I’m up to that,” Hannah says, looking utterly defeated.
“Yes, you are,” I say. “And I’m going with you.”
The house Hannah grew up in is a large white colonial with black shutters that has always reminded me of the Father of the Bride house, which is funny because Hannah’s dad is a dead ringer for Steve Martin. Like Mr. Banks, the character he plays in the movie, Mr. Davis dotes on his daughter. Adores her. But unlike Mr. Banks, Hannah’s father is painfully passive, unwilling to intervene when his wife treats their daughter like shit.
As Hannah parks her car under the vine-covered porte cochere, she lets out a long sigh.
“It’s going to be okay,” I say. “We got this.”
“I don’t know, Lainey. She’s so impossible,” Hannah says. “Every time I think I’ve ‘got this,’ she gaslights me…and finds a way to spin things around.”
“Yes, but it’s two against one today,” I say. “Now, c’mon. Let’s roll.”
A few seconds later, we walk through the side door, directly into the kitchen, where Mrs. Davis is sitting at the counter, reading a magazine. As she hops off her stool, I notice that she has on kitten heels with bows. I can’t think of a shoe style I dislike more.
“Hannah! You should have called first! The place is a mess!” she says, tidying an already neat pile of mail. Clearly, she is rattled, but she quickly recovers. “Lainey—it’s so nice to see you, dear! What a wonderful surprise!”
“It’s great to see you, too, Mrs. Davis,” I say. “And your home looks beautiful. As always.”
“Thank you, but I would have straightened up more if I’d known…” She gives Hannah a pointed look as Mr. Davis rounds the corner in a pink polo, khaki shorts, and loafers with tassels.
“Why, hello there, kiddo!” he says, giving me a big hug. “Great to see you in person! Congrats on all your amazing success!”
“Aw. Thanks, Mr. Davis,” I say. “I appreciate that.”
“Would you like some coffee? Have you eaten?” Hannah’s mother asks me, completely ignoring her heartbroken daughter.
“Oh, I’m good, thank you.” I pause, then say, “I just had coffee with Grady, actually.”
She swallows, then takes a deep breath through her nose. “Oh?”
I nod, then say, “Maybe we should all sit down?”
“Well…of course. Let’s do that,” she says, leading us over to a sunroom off the kitchen. Hannah and I sit next to each other on a love seat while her parents opt for chairs across from us.
“So,” Mrs. Davis says, staring at me. “How is Grady holding up?”
“Not so good, Mrs. Davis,” I say. “Not so good.”
“Yes. He sounded awful when I spoke to him, too. He just cannot understand why Hannah would make such terrible accusations—” She shoots her daughter a look.
“Hmm,” I say, nodding. “Well, you may want to check back in with him. I think his story may have changed since you and he spoke.”
“Oh? And why would that be?” Mrs. Davis asks.
“Because he knows that I know the truth about what he did. That’s why.”
Hannah’s father stares at me, slack-jawed, clearly trying—and failing—to keep up.
“Did he tell you what he did to Hannah, Mrs. Davis?” I ask.
“No. But he told me that Hannah has a male visitor in town this weekend,” she says, making a sour face.
“What?” Hannah says. “Is that what Grady told you? That I had a ‘male visitor’?”
“Well? Is he wrong? Isn’t Tyson a male?”
“C’mon, Mom! You know he’s my friend. Lainey and Tyson are my best friends.”
“Nobody’s worried about Lainey,” Mrs. Davis says.
“Nobody should be worried about either of them!” Hannah says, getting more upset by the second. “We’re all just friends, Mom, and you know it. Grady knows it, too! This is absurd!”
“Well, you have to admit that the optics aren’t great.”
“Optics? What are you talking about?”
“Your male friend just happens to be in town—and at dinner with you—when you break off your engagement, completely out of the blue? You have to admit that doesn’t look good, Hannah.”
“Mom! I came over here to tell you that Grady cheated on me! My two best friends came to town because he cheated on me. You have the order wrong! You have everything wrong!” Hannah says, bursting into tears.
I wait for Mrs. Davis to have an “aha” moment. Realize that Grady manipulated her and she jumped to the wrong conclusion. At the very least, find it within her heart to comfort her clearly distraught daughter.
Instead, she gives Hannah a steely look, then says, “Grady denies any wrongdoing. He seems to think you’re the one manipulating the truth.”
“Mom!” Hannah says with the most anguished expression. “How can you believe him over me?” She lets out a loud sob.
Mrs. Davis stiffens, then blinks. “Hannah, please. Calm down. Pull yourself together.”
“I can’t, Mom. Not if you’re on his side—”
“I’m not on his side,” she says. “I’m only trying to understand. That’s all. I just have some questions….”
I reach over and rest my hand on Hannah’s leg as she wipes her face with her sleeve and takes a gulp of air.
“Okay, Mom. What’s your question?” she asks.
Mrs. Davis pauses, then says, “Where is your friend staying while he’s in town?”
I know what she’s getting at, and the question is unbelievable—even for her.
“What do you mean?” Hannah asks.
“Did Tyson get a hotel room?” Mrs. Davis asks. “Or is he staying with you?”
“Mom! Are you seriously asking me that? I can’t even believe you—”
I cut in, enraged. “I can answer that for you, Mrs. Davis,” I say, my voice low and measured. “Tyson slept on Hannah’s couch. I slept in her bed with her. As Hannah explained, this weekend wasn’t planned in advance. It was a last-minute emergency visit after Grady cheated on Hannah. He’s blatantly twisting the facts—lying—and it’s very surprising that you’d believe him over Hannah.”
Mrs. Davis nods, bites her lip, and says, “Be that as it may, the optics—”
“With all due respect, Mrs. Davis,” I say, though she deserves zero respect, “if you truly cared about your daughter, I’m not sure you’d be focused on optics right now. But if you insist—what about the optics of Grady being in bed with another woman? The bed that Hannah just bought for their new house, which was supposed to be their marital home?”
Mr. Davis makes a groaning sound—his first contribution to the entire conversation, but I don’t take my eyes off Hannah’s mother. A staring contest ensues—one that I win.
“So,” she says in an ice-cold voice, turning to Hannah. “You’re not willing to forgive him?”
“Ruth,” Mr. Davis says under his breath. “Some things aren’t forgivable.”
“Our pastor would beg to differ,” she snaps back at her husband. “Forgive our debtors. That’s what it means to be Christian.”
It is all I can do not to tell her what she can do with her faux Christianity.
“I know, Mom. You’re right. God does want us to forgive,” Hannah says, looking numb and drained. “And I will do my best to forgive Grady. One day maybe I can. But that doesn’t mean I should marry him.”
“And it doesn’t mean you shouldn’t—” she says.
“Seriously, Mom? You’d want me to marry a man who would do this to me?”
“He hasn’t taken his vows yet.”
“Right. And neither has Hannah,” I say. “She’s not his wife. She’s under no ‘for better or worse’ obligation.”
“I believe in forgiveness,” Mrs. Davis says, her face pinched and her voice prim.
“Really? You’d have forgiven Dad if he had done this to you?” Hannah asks.
“Well, I wouldn’t have just thrown in the towel. I would at least go for counseling—”
“Mom, Grady had sex with another woman—”
“Hannah Davis!” she says in an appalled tone, as if saying the word sex is worse than Grady actually having it.
“Sorry, Mom. But that’s what happened. And I know none of us is perfect. But I’m not a liar. And I’m not a cheater. And I’m not going to marry one. Period.”
I feel a burst of pride in my best friend. She is finally standing up for herself.
“Very well,” Mrs. Davis says, now pouting. “How do you plan to notify our guests? The ‘save the dates’ already went out—”
“So you’d like me to send out ‘release the date’ announcements?” Hannah asks.
“Well, I think people need to be informed—”
“I’m pretty sure word will get around,” Hannah says. “Bad news travels fast in this town.”
“And what should I tell people? When they ask? Which they will.”
Hannah shrugs. “Tell them the truth. Tell them that Grady cheated on me, and I broke up with him. Or tell them that it’s none of their business. Frankly, I really don’t care what you tell them!”
“But if they ask how Hannah’s doing,” I interject, “please tell them she’s doing fine, under the circumstances. She’s sad, but she’s keeping her head up. And she’s leaving town to travel with her two best friends.”
“Travel?” Mrs. Davis says, looking at Hannah again.
“Yes, Mom,” Hannah says. “Lainey, Tyson, and I are taking a trip.”
“Tyson’s going?”
“Yes, Mom,” she says again. “The three of us are going together.”
Mrs. Davis purses her lips and shakes her head. I stare at her, enraged. I may not be able to save Hannah in this moment, but I can punish her mother. My mind races for the perfect burn.
“Best friends for now!” I finally say. “But maybe Grady is on to something. Hannah and Tyson really would make a cute couple. And you really can’t do better than a Yale-educated attorney, now, can you?”
Mrs. Davis gives me a horrified look as I jump up from my seat. “Anyhoo! We’d really love to stay and chat more. But we have travel plans to make! Right, Han?”
“Right, Lainey,” she says, getting to her feet. “We certainly do.”