Page 5 of The Marriage Pact
“I haven’t heard anything from him, either,” Kaitlyn replied.
They’d tried, of course. Kaitlyn had written to him. She liked writing letters, but Alex was more of a hasty text kind of guy. Weeks would go by without a word, then a message would ping in: “Hey, how are you? I miss you xx.” Eventually, the “xx” disappeared, and the texts dried up. Alex never came back to Cedarhurst for vacations or summer breaks. He was far too busy at Harvard, or so his mom had said. Kaitlyn hadtried, but there’d only been so much she could do. Eventually, she’d stopped writing, and he’d stopped texting. It hadn’t been deliberate. There was no falling out or animosity, just a drifting apart. What had mattered once now seemed not to matter at all, except as a memory. But that was life, and Kaitlyn had been under no illusion that it wouldn’t happen. She’d told Alex as much on the day they’d parted, even as he’d promisedthey’dbe different.
“It’s not that far to Harvard. We can do video calls,” he’d said. It hadn’t worked.
Rachel’s voice brought her back to the present. “He’s rich. I saw him on the cover ofMomenta few months back. Illinois’ first multibillionaire, or something like that. I’m hoping he’ll buy us a good cutlery set. Do you know how expensive a decent set can be?” Rachel said, shaking her head.
Kaitlyn replied that she couldn’t imagine. But her thoughts were elsewhere. The last time she’d heard anything of Alex was a picture her mom had shown her in the local newspaper,The Cedarhurst Star.
Local Businessman Buys Florida Resort,the headline had said.
Kaitlyn had been pleased for Alex. He’d grown up with nothing, and his mom had worked three jobs to put him through college. He’d been successful — some kind of startup on the internet, just as the industry was taking off. He’d sold his first company for a million dollars at age twenty-one, while still studying at Harvard.
“I wonder what he’s like now?” Kaitlyn said as Rachel started cutting the names out to place on the table template.
“You were sweet on him once, weren’t you?” she said.
Kaitlyn blushed. “We were friends in high school, weren’t we? We went to the prom together. It doesn’t mean I was sweet on him. We were friends; we hung out. He was in the mathletes and on the debating team. It never went anywhere.”
“Because you didn’t let it,” Rachel replied. “You could be married to a billionaire now.”
Kaitlyn rolled her eyes. Money didn’t impress her. It was nice to have, of course, but if she’d wanted to make real money, she wouldn’t have followed her dreams.
“There’s no money in art unless you painted a tin of soup and got lucky. Or put a shark in formaldehyde,” someone had once told her.
They’d been right, of course. Kaitlyn was respected for her art, but she wasn’t a “name” that anyone knew. She created what she wanted and was proud of her work, but, with the cost of the gallery and life in San Francisco, there were some months she barely broke even.
“I don’t think so. He probably hasn’t thought of me since the last time I wrote to him. That’s ages ago now. Besides, he’s probably married,” Kaitlyn replied.
But Rachel shook her head. “I asked the executive assistant if there was a plus-one. She said Mr. Lancaster would come alone. That means you’re still in the running.”
“I don’t want to bein the running! We’re different people now. It never happened,” Kaitlyn said, feeling a slight sense of frustration at Rachel’s insistence over the possibility.
“I’m putting him next to you. He’ll have to remember you then,” she said.
Kaitlyn glared at her, but Rachel’s mind was made up, and there could be no persuading her otherwise. The seating plan was sacrosanct, and Kaitlyn had to admit she was at least a little curious to know what Alex had been doing for the past eleven years — twelve since they’d actually seen one another.
“I don’t know what I’ll say to him,” Kaitlyn said, looking down at the name placed next to hers.
“Just talk about old times,” Rachel replied, shrugging her shoulders.
Kaitlyn knew it wouldn’t be as easy as that. In truth, she’d been upset at her drifting apart from Alex. She knew it wasn’t anyone’s fault. At least, that’s what she’d told herself at the time. But his lack of contact had left her wondering if she’d done something to offend him. At the prom, he’d talked about them being serious, and she’d been the one to dismiss him. What if she’d said yes?
It doesn’t matter now. We’ll sit next to one another, and we’ll talk about high school. He’ll probably tell me about how rich he is, and he’ll look sympathetic when I tell him my mom just died and that I don’t know when, or if, I’ll ever get back to my art. Then we’ll go our separate ways.
Kaitlyn had left Rachel to it at the store. She’d been able to offer very little help when it came to the seating plan, though Rachel had seemed grateful for her presence. Back at her mom’s house — Kaitlyn was trying not to call ithomeanymore — she took out the old albums. There was one labeled “Prom Night,” which showed the aftermath of the evening, when Kaitlyn’s mom had waited outside for the return of Betsy.
“You didn’t wait long enough for me to take any proper photos earlier on,” she’d said, and Kaitlyn and Alex had stood dutifully by the car as Kaitlyn’s mom had taken endless photos on her old reel camera.
Nowadays, everything was snapped on a phone and no one kept albums. But Kaitlyn’s mom had been meticulous about it, and Kaitlyn was grateful for the memories. There she was, in the blue, ankle-length gown, looking somewhat disheveled after the night. Alex was still in his tux, though the bow tie had been loosened. They looked happy, their arms around one another, smiling at the camera as they leaned on Betsy’s bonnet. Those had been such carefree days. It seemed extraordinary to think how much time had passed since then — how much had changed.
He will have changed. I bet he got rid of Betsy.
Kaitlyn smiled to herself, remembering how she’d seen Alex’s mom recently in a pink convertible, presumably the result of the resort deal in Florida. She deserved it, of course. And so did Alex. He’d worked hard for what he had and had been successful. With a sigh, Kaitlyn closed the album and put it away, returning to the kitchen countertop and the half-finished ceramics. She was painting an abstract underwater scene on a bowl, in blues and greens, trying to create the effect of light shimmering on the surface. Usually, such things came naturally to her, but she was struggling, her concentration elsewhere, not helped by thoughts of Alex.
What’s he going to be like? Will he even remember me? I wish I’d never agreed to sit next to him.
Putting down her brush, Kaitlyn pushed the pot away, knowing she’d never manage anything creative with so many other thoughts circling her mind.
