Page 76 of Parker
“You look beautiful, Nicky,” she says with a soft smile. “But there’s something different about you. I can’t quite put my finger on it.” Nerves dance in my chest. She’s not worked out my secret yet, and the longer the deception goes on, the harder it’s getting to tell her. “The style,” she says, interrupting my thoughts, “it’s different for you.”
“Well, it’s a garden party,” I mumble as a way of explanation. “Not every outfit has to cling to you.”
Ignoring my tone, she asks, “Are you ready to see Joel?” I shrug. She walks over and places her hands on my shoulders. “You look incredible. He’s going to be cursing himself for letting you go.”
***
The dark barriers of Parker Fashion are thrown wide open. Instead of the locked gates, four men in black suits stand, allowing people entry to the premises who pass them an invitation. A huge white marquee has been erected on the front lawn. Dressed in florals and bright colors, a crowd gathers around the driveway fountain. A dozen servers weave amongst them, handing out glasses of champagne. A pianist sits at the entrance to the marquee playing classical music.
The crowd parts, and someone waves our driver through, allowing us to be dropped off at the front steps.
My ex-mother-in-law appears, opens my door, and takes my hand as I exit the car. “Nicky,” she enthuses. “I’m so glad you came. You look incredible.” Her son appears at her shoulder. He smiles softly in greeting, and my blood heats.
A piece of you is inside me, I want to blurt out. I want to throw myself into his arms and never let him go. Fearful of silently revealing my pregnancy, I avert my gaze.
Imelda takes my hand and leads me toward the marquee. I scan the crowd for her, Ebony, with the dark, sleek hair.
Inside, more than one hundred tables are set for our meal. Each one has an enormous vase of fresh pink and white flowers at its center. A catwalk extends from the back of the marquee and runs through the middle for three-quarters of its length.
“You’re at our table,” Imelda tells me. “As a designer with garments in the show, you need to sit with us all.” She pulls out a golden chair, and I sit, then she settles herself next to me. Joel disappeared somewhere between the house and the marquee. People are entering and taking their seats. A familiar face approaches me, and Ebony sits down directly opposite.
“Hello, Nicky,” she says, not meeting my eye.
“Hi,” I murmur, the word clipped.
Imelda’s voice breaks the awkwardness. “Ebony, I believe you have something to say to Nicky. We agreed you would do this,”she reminds her, gently but firmly. The way a parent nudges a child into an apology.
Ebony takes a breath. For a moment, I wonder if she’s nervous.
“Nicky, I apologize for what I did to you,” she says, looking me straight in the eye. “The lies I constructed. I was in a bad place.”
That’s it. She implodes my life, and that’s all she’s offering. After ruining my marriage, manipulating my husband. Lying to his face and mine. And now she gets to sit here and pretend to seek redemption? There’s so much I could say.
But I don’t. Because this isn’t the place. And I will not ruin my day for her. She won’t take one more happy moment from me. I could list the damage she did, but what would be the point? She’s not sorry. She’s rehearsed.
“Well, I hope you’re in a better place now,” I reply, voice flat. And she flinches, just a little. Then looks away.
And that feels like winning.
My eyes scan the tables for Joel. All the seats here are filled. Sophie sits next to me, reading the auction prizes with exaggerated interest.
Then I see him at a table packed with men in sharp suits and expensive watches. He’s standing, filling each man’s glass with champagne, then fills his own flute with water. He says something, and the table bursts into a round of applause. My stomach twists.
“Excuse me a moment,” I say, rising quickly. I’d taken note of where the toilets were when we arrived. My sickness comes at all times of the day, not only in the mornings.
Walking as fast as I can without looking odd, I head for the bathroom, getting there just in time to puke up my breakfast from this morning into the toilet bowl.
“For fuck’s sake,” I whisper to my stomach, “could you please make me sick at a more convenient time?”
I flush, then open the stall door and walk straight into Sophie, standing on the other side, her eyes wide in shock. “When are you due?” she whispers. “And who’s the father?”
I wave her away. She doesn’t move.
“Nicky?” she shrieks. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?”
“Keep your voice down.” I glance around. “This isn’t the place or the time. I’m due in September.”
“It’s him, isn’t it?” I look down at my toes. “Tell me.”
