Chapter 6 #4
Last month. The words hit like tiny darts. What else has Skyler told his mother about Amanda recently?
I sit perfectly still, my face arranged into what I hope passes for polite interest rather than mounting horror.
“Do you remember that night with the thunderstorm?” Elaine asks Amanda, her eyes twinkling with shared secrets. “When you two got stranded in the boathouse?”
Amanda’s cheeks flush delicately. “Elaine, really. That’s ancient history.”
“But such charming history! The power went out, and you two lit candles and drank that bottle of Bordeaux Richard and I had been saving.” Elaine laughs lightly. “Skyler told us later it was one of the happiest nights of his life.”
“I think we’ve embarrassed Harley,” Amanda says, offering me a sympathetic smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “I’m sure you and Skyler have your own special memories.”
In a flat tone, I say, “We’re making new ones every day.”
“How lovely,” Elaine responds. “Though there’s something to be said for shared history, isn’t there, Amanda? The foundation of truly understanding someone.”
“There is a certain comfort in it,” Amanda agrees, twisting that gold necklace again—Skyler’s gift, I’m certain now. “Knowing someone’s past helps you support their future.”
“Amanda was the only one who ever got Skyler to attend the symphony regularly,” Elaine continues, apparently unable to stop now that she’s on a roll. “They had season tickets.”
Symphony tickets. Boathouse renovations. Saved wine. Each detail is another bullet point on the “Why Amanda Is Perfect For Skyler” presentation Elaine is currently giving.
Amanda catches my eye across the table and offers another sympathetic smile—this one with just a hint of triumph underneath. She knows exactly what Elaine is doing. And she’s not just allowing it; she’s participating.
Team Amanda is fully operational. And here I am, sitting right in their war room, watching them strategize.
Finally, Skyler appears holding his phone.
He’s tall, handsome, and completely oblivious to the matrimonial coup being orchestrated around his family’s antique mahogany.
His eyes find mine immediately, a flash of concern crossing his features.
He can read me well enough to know I’m uncomfortable, but not well enough to understand that his mother and ex-fiancée are essentially planning their reconciliation wedding right in front of me.
“Ladies,” he greets the room, his thumb flying across the screen of his phone as he finishes a message. He doesn’t look up until he’s right next to me.
The device is still glowing in his left hand, the screen cluttered with a long thread of emails, as he places his right hand on my shoulder. The touch is warm, grounding, but the blue light remains a distraction. I need him fully present right now.
“Sorry to interrupt. Just wanted to check how things are going,” he says, though his gaze flickers down to a new notification before returning to my face.
I don’t answer right away. Instead, I tilt my head back, my gaze dropping pointedly to the device in his hand. I catch his eye and hold it, giving a small, sharp nod toward the screen before looking back at him with a flat, expectant stare. Please, Sky, put the phone away and help me.
Skyler’s throat bobs as he swallows, and for a second, he looks like he might actually shove it into his pocket. But that’s before Elaine’s voice cuts through the air.
“Skyler!” Her voice shifts into a register I’ve never heard before. “Perfect timing. Amanda was just telling us about her recent promotion.”
No, she wasn’t. Elaine was.
“Congratulations, Amanda.” Skyler’s smile is polite but distant. Professional. Not the smile of a man pining for his ex. “That’s wonderful news.”
His phone buzzes. He doesn’t check it, but I see the muscle in his jaw tighten as he resists the urge. He’s here, but he isn’t. He’s tethered to the office by an invisible cord that seems to be pulling tighter every day.
Amanda tilts her head, the motion practiced to highlight the elegant line of her neck. “Thank you. Your mother mentioned you’d heard about it.”
A flicker of confusion crosses Skyler’s face. “Oh, right. Dad mentioned it after his lunch with George Davis last week.”
Her father. Of course. The family connections run deep, but at least I now know that Elaine had exaggerated. While Skyler may have known, he also had forgotten.
Skyler squeezes my shoulder, a silent question asking if I’m okay. I nod slightly, though it’s a blatant lie.
“Everything all right?” he asks me quietly, his back partially turned to the table of women pretending not to eavesdrop.
“Just discussing wedding traditions,” I reply, my eyes conveying what my words can’t: Help. Me.
“Speaking of which…” Skyler turns back to the group, his hand still on my shoulder. “Harley and I were just talking about the venue yesterday. We’re thinking something outdoors, maybe that botanical garden downtown.”
The botanical garden. A place we’d casually mentioned once, months ago. Not anything we’d actually decided on. But he’s trying—in his way—to establish our relationship as the current reality.
“The botanical garden?” Elaine repeats, as if Skyler has suggested getting married in a public restroom. “In the city?”
“It’s beautiful in the spring,” I offer, grateful for the redirection, despite its inaccuracy. “All those cherry blossoms.”
Amanda’s eyes narrow slightly. “Weren’t you always set on a traditional ceremony at the lake house, Skyler? Like your parents had?”
The question is a perfect trap. If he agrees, he undermines our supposed botanical garden plans. If he denies it, he contradicts what his mother has been saying about his deeply held traditions.
Skyler shifts his weight, a subtle tell that he’s uncomfortable. “Things change. Harley and I want something that represents both of us.”
It’s the right answer, the supportive partner answer. But something in his hesitation makes me wonder if the lake house still pulls at him, if part of him still imagines saying vows on that shore.
“Well, as long as you’re happy.” Amanda’s smile could cut diamonds. “That’s all any of us want.”
“Exactly,” Skyler agrees, clearly relieved by the apparent ceasefire. He checks his watch. “I should let you all get back to the committee work. I just wanted to make sure everything was going smoothly.”
My heart sinks. He just got here, and he’s leaving already?
“You’re not staying?” The question slips out before I can stop it, making me sound needier than I intended.
“Can’t.” He grimaces apologetically. “Conference call with the Shanghai office in ten minutes. I’ll see you later?”
“Of course. Good luck with your call.”
He presses a quick kiss to my temple—too brief to even register as affection—and then he’s gone, the door closing behind him with a soft click that feels like abandonment.
The room exhales collectively, as if Skyler’s presence had been holding something at bay that is now free to resume.
“Well,” Elaine says after a moment of silence, turning to Amanda. “Speaking of weddings, I was organizing some files last weekend and found your original venue sketches. The ones for the lake house pavilion.”
And we’re back. As if Skyler’s brief appearance was just a commercial break in The Amanda Show. Not to be confused with the Nickelodeon one.
“You kept those?” Amanda asks.
“Of course I did. Your vision was exquisite.” Elaine leans forward, suddenly animated. “Remember how you wanted to drape those Italian silk panels from the trees? And the floating candles on the lake at dusk?”
The wedding fantasy continues unabated, with each woman contributing another detail of Amanda and Skyler’s perfect-but-never-happened nuptials. The flowers—peonies imported from Japan. The music, which was a string quartet that played for actual royalty. The honeymoon on a private island…naturally.
I sit perfectly still, a statue of polite endurance, while my engagement ring grows heavier on my finger with each passing minute.
The emerald that Skyler chose because “it matched my eyes” now feels like a poor substitute for the flawless five-carat diamond that Amanda no doubt had—probably a Thompson family heirloom passed down through generations of appropriate brides.
Finally, I’ve had enough. It’s my day off, and I’m sitting here listening to a fake, never-even-happened wedding.
So I can’t help it when I blurt, “Can we move on?”
Some of the ladies gasp. Literally gasp!
But it works, because even though Elaine mutters, “No decorum,” under her breath, we do indeed move on to actual charity.