Read Online London Is the Best City in America by Laura Dave - Free Book Online

late.
    “Oh, my God, Emmy Everett!” Stacey said. She reached for my arm. She reached for my arm and held on. “Sheila, look! Emmy freaking Everett. I don’t believe it. How are you, girly?”
    “Hey, Stacey,” I said, leaning in and patting her shoulder. It was an awkward move—not quite a hug, not quite not a hug. It was worse than if I hadn’t done anything at all. “Sheila,” I said.
    “What are you doing here?” they said in unison.
    I smiled, taking advantage of the time it gave me to try to mobilize my inner troops. I could get in and out of this conversation unharmed. Of course I could. I just needed to keep moving.
    “Oh, it’s actually a bachelor party for my brother,” I said.
    “Oh, that’s right!” Stacey said. “Josh is getting married this weekend, isn’t he? I knew that. I think my mom told me.” She looked past me, to him, at the table. “You think it’s too late to tell him I had a huge crush on him when he was in high school?”
    “Maybe not,” I said.
    She looked at me, confused, and then—trying to recover for her—Sheila gave me a big smile.
    “Well,” she said, “we were supposed to be on our way to the Hamptons right now, but by the time we got going, traffic was just too awful. So we decided we’ll spend the night in the ’dale and head out early tomorrow . . . we probably should have just taken a jitney right from Midtown instead of coming all the way out here to get the car.”
    “Well hindsight’s twenty-twenty, right?” I said. “At least you’ll have the car out at the beach.”
    “At least we’ll have the car out at the beach,” they echoed.
    I motioned toward the bartender. “Could I get another round of tequila shots when you have a minute?” I asked. “And the rest of the bottle? The rest of the bottle would be great.”
    They waited for him to start rounding up the drinks before they continued, as if he cared what we were talking about, let alone wanted to listen. I didn’t even want to listen, and I had no choice.
    “So,” Stacey said. “Last time we saw you, Miss Emmy, you were about to get married. You early bloomer! I mean, I always thought I wanted to be further along in my career before all of that, but the more crummy I’m-not-going-to-commit-to-you-while-there-is-even-one-model-at-Bungalow- 8 guys I’m meeting in the city, the more I’m thinking I should have just settled early on like you did. Big deal if I’m the number-three girl for the number-two guy at the biggest litigation firm in New York? I want someone to brush my teeth with. What was the name of that television show that was on for two minutes where the blond girl said that? That she wanted someone to brush her teeth with? Anyway . . . I’m ranting. The point is, we want to hear what you’re up to. What’s your husband’s name again? Matthew? He was studying to be an architect, right? You tell us. How is married life? With a fancy architect?”
    Stacey took a deep breath in, which made me realize that I hadn’t taken one either the entire time she’d been talking. I wished more than anything then that I was married to Matt, that I could give them a happy report. Especially because Stacey was beaming again, already smiling again so widely that I understood that even her problems didn’t really bother her. She didn’t really fear she wouldn’t find someone. She didn’t really fear. She was the number-three girl for the number-two guy at the biggest firm in New York City. This was just her opening statement of practiced misery. So I would end up saying something back that would reaffirm for her that she was in the best place she could be in, the only place, and she should feel good about it.
    I pulled my hair tighter behind my ears, bracing myself. “Well, you know,” I said, and shrugged, “you may want to ask someone who’s actually married. That didn’t end up happening for me.”
    “Jeez, Emmy, I’m sorry,” Sheila said, reaching out and touching my