Page 69 of My Ex-Best Friend's Wedding

I flinch. I keep thinking about flying to New York and just showing up and ringing my daughter’s doorbell. Only, while Bree has just proven how brave she is, I don’t have that same courage. Because of what I keep picturing when I get there: Me on the sidewalk because Lauren’s left orders not to allow me in the building. Or sneaking in somehow only to sit helplessly outside the apartment door she refuses to open.

“Youaregoing to find a way to talk to Lauren, aren’t you?” Bree asks, her eyes on my face. I’m touched that in the middle of her own crisis she’s thinking about me and mine.

“Yes. Of course.” I wish I were anywhere near as certain as I sound; that I had the nerve to do it today. This minute. “I just don’t think she’s ready to hear what I have to say yet.”

“I really don’t think it’s about timing, Kendra. I waited way too long and I still took Clay by surprise.” Bree’s smile is sad. “He didn’t think I’d ever speak up. I hate that I’ve let him treat me and our marriage the way he has. I told myself I was protecting the kids, but they already knew.”

She swipes away the last of her tears and takes a deep breath. This is followed by a first real look around the kitchen and at me. “Oh my gosh. I came at a bad time and didn’t even ask if I could come in. You’re going out on a date, aren’t you?” She focuses on the bodice of my dress. “And I’ve cried all over your beautiful new sundress.”

“Oh, this old thing?” I say. I’m ready to lay it on thick about how this is just something I pulled on and that I’m not dressed for a date at all, when she reaches over and lifts the price tag that’s apparently dangling from the back of the bodice.

My cheeks heat. I try to cover by retrieving the scissors I keep in the knife drawer. I hand them to her and turn so she can cut off the tag.

“So where are you wearing this old ‘rag’ tonight?” She dangles the tag between her fingers.

“Nowhere. I’m not even going out. Jake’s just coming over to cook out. It’s completely casual.”

“Whatever you say.” She smiles and deposits the tag in the garbage can. “But there’s no reason why you shouldn’t go out with each other on a date, is there?”

“No. But we’re not. Going out, I mean. We’re just grilling some food and catching up. And talking about how to handle things with Lauren.”

“While not dating.”

“Exactly.” I say this with every ounce of certainty I can manage. But I can tell from the way Brianna is smiling and so eager now to get out of the way that she’s not convinced.

And neither, it turns out much later that night, am I.

Thirty-one

Kendra

Jake arrives with a bottle of wine in one hand and a bouquet of sunflowers in the other. When he places a friendly kiss on my cheek then follows me into the kitchen, my past and present collide in ways I’m not at all prepared for.

He was my first kiss, my first date, the first person who made love to me, the man I should have married. He’s not the first man I’ve invited for dinner, but he’s the first one who feels as if he belongs here.

While I pour glasses of prosecco and arrange the sunflowers in a vase, he tells me about the loss of a manager at one of their properties in Virginia and a difference of opinion with one of his partners over whether to purchase a family camp near Saratoga. Even when describing difficulties, it’s clear that he loves what he does.

“How did you end up in the hospitality field?” I ask as we shed our shoes and take the crossover to the beach. “Did you start with B and Bs?”

I listen as he explains his progression from financing boutique properties to being forced to repossess one when the owner couldn’t continue to make payments.

“When I went in to try to figure out whether the business could be salvaged, I discovered the property was making money—lots of it—only the owner was too hands-off. His manager was doctoring the books and stealing him blind.”

Our feet sink into the wet sand. Our bodies brush occasionally. Mine prickles with awareness each time this happens. I remind myself that this is not a date and there’s no reason to be nervous. Yet I can’t quite banish the excitement that simmers just beneath my skin.

By the time we get back to the house my hair’s tangled, and I can feel the salt spray drying on my skin, but it doesn’t seem to matter. I pour the last of the prosecco and we clink our glasses in toast. Without asking he opens the bottle of red wine he brought and leaves it to breathe.

“Shall I go ahead and fire up the grill?”

“That would be great.” An undoubtedly loopy smile fixes itself on my face. When it refuses to go away, I turn and open the refrigerator in an attempt to hide it. The smile proves stubborn and so I lean into the refrigerator as if that might cool it off my skin. An idea so ridiculous it makes me laugh.

I don’t hear Jake come back inside (no doubt due to having my head stuck in a refrigerator) but I feel him step up behind me. His body brackets mine. His breath is warm against my chilled ear as he whispers, “I feel the need to point out that you’re laughing into a refrigerator. Is there something in there I need to know about?”

I laugh even harder as he turns me around and gently pulls me out of the cold. Then he kisses me. I can’t remember ever laughing and kissing at the same time before, but it’s heavenly. I highly recommend it.

When the kiss ends his hands remain on my waist. His smile looks every bit as loopy as mine feels; as if it’s been transferred from my lips to his.

“I guess I should check the fire.”

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