Page 87 of My Ex-Best Friend's Wedding

“I do.”

“To a traditional publisher.”

“Yes.”

We sip our coffee in silence while rain beats against the windows and headlights flash in the darkness. Umbrellas bob by on the sidewalks below.

“In that case I don’t think I hate being forty anymore,” Bree says. “Forty’s not too late to be published for the first time, is it?”

“Given how slowly publishing moves you could be forty-one or even forty-two by the time it hits the shelves. But I believe it’s highly possible. And from what I’ve read and seen, a lot of writers are just getting started at forty. People change fields, decide it’s time to follow a new dream. Some think you have to live for a while first to have something to write about.”

“Do you think it’s too old to be single?” she asks quietly. “If it comes to that?”

“Clearly not. As I and millions of others have proven.”

She glances down into her coffee then back at me. “I was thinking about Clay giving you my manuscript. That was really considerate of him. It shows love. It makes me wonder if maybe we have enough love for each other to save our marriage. If we both try.”

I know what she wants to hear. “Are you looking for the truth or for reassurance?”

“I forgot just how direct you can be,” Bree says. “I don’t suppose you’d lie if I needed you to?”

“I think it would be great if you guys could turn things around, but I think you need to be careful to let him prove himself first,” I say as gently as I can.

The intercom squawks, announcing a delivery. A few minutes later there’s a knock on the door. I retrieve our egg, cheese, and bacon sandwiches and pass them to Bree. Then I fetch us both another cup of coffee.

“I’m glad it didn’t rain yesterday,” Bree says when I settle back on the couch and unwrap my sandwich. “I might not have seen Central Park and Strawberry Fields or eaten on the patio at Tavern on the Green or discovered that there’s such a thing as ice cream pizza.” Her gaze is pinned outside, but we’re both focused inward.

She gives a long, questioning sigh. “How could I have let myself miss all this?” Her gesture encompasses all of New York. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

We take a bite of our sandwiches, which I have been madly in love with since I first discovered them.

She groans. “I missed breakfast sandwiches.”

We eat and sip coffee for a few minutes. I’m licking the last bit of cheese from my fingers when a text dings in on Bree’s phone.

“Oh man. It’s from Delta. Two-hour weather delay.” She thumbs through her apps and reads something. “Hey, can you put on the Weather Channel?”

On the TV we see a map of the eastern half of the United States. The area from north Georgia up to New York is outlined in a menacing electric green. I turn up the volume and we hear the meteorologist, who is using a pointer to show the nor’easter that’s hunkered down over the East Coast. “Severe thunderstorms with damaging winds and torrential rain are currently drenching cities up and down the Atlantic coast. Hundreds of flights have been delayed or canceled. We’ll be bringing you more as this storm develops.”

Bree

We’re still watching the Weather Channel when my phone rings. It’s Clay, whom I haven’t spoken to since I left on Tuesday. He doesn’t say anything when I tell him about the delay. “Is the weather as bad as it looks on television?”

“Yeah.” There’s a pause. “Did you ever speak to Lily?”

“No. She didn’t even respond to the photos from Kleinfeld’s. I’m going to have to have a talk with her about not picking up when I get home. That’s not acceptable.” I’m careful not to look at Lauren as I say this.

“So, you never heard from her at all?” There’s something too tentative in the question.

“Clay, what’s going on?”

The silence that follows causes the small hairs on the back of my neck to rise.

“I’m, uh, not exactly sure where she is.”

“What... what does that mean?” I sit up and clutch the phone tighter to my ear.

More silence and then, “We had an argument Friday morning before she left for school. I asked her to pick up the mess she left in the kitchen and she went off on me. I lost my temper. She got in my face and... I... well... it got ugly. She yelled at me, told me that she hated me. And then she just stormed out.”

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