Page 93 of All These Beautiful Strangers

“Tea?” she asked again.

“No, thanks,” I said.

Get it together, I told myself. I just had to say it, straight and simple, and get it over with: Grace and I were married.

We had married at a courthouse outside New Haven on Friday. The judge and his secretary were the only witnesses to our vows. Grace wore a pale yellow sundress and flip-flops, her hair loose around her shoulders.

Afterward, we sat on the empty, moonlit beach and went swimming in the ocean in the clothes we had on. Back in our hotel room, we laid our wet clothes on the heater to dry and climbed under the bedsheets to get warm. I tented the covers over us and kissed my wife. Grace’s hair was still wet and it clung to her forehead and the sides of her face, but as she stared up at me through her lashes, I thought she had never looked more beautiful. I knew I would remember that moment until the day I died.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Margot said as she came out of the kitchen with her mug of tea. She sat at the table. “These seating charts are giving me a migraine.”

Now, I had to do it now.

I sat down next to her.

“Margot,” I said, “I need to tell you something.”

She blew on her tea to cool it and took a sip. “What’s up?” she asked.

“For the past few weeks, I’ve been seeing someone else,” I said.

“You’ve been seeing someone else?” Margot repeated slowly, as if she wasn’t sure she had heard me right.

“Yes.”

“Does this person have a name?” Margot asked.

I sighed and didn’t answer.

“Do I know her?” Margot asked. “Please tell me you’re not cliché enough to be fucking your secretary.”

“It’s Grace Fairchild,” I said reluctantly.

“Who?” Margot asked.

Margot’s mind was like a steel trap—she remembered dates and names easily, when she felt they were important enough to remember. But Grace clearly had not made an impression.

“You’ve met her several times,” I said. “She used to date Teddy.”

“You’re fucking your brother’s ex-girlfriend?” Margot laughed.

I didn’t respond.

“That little Virgin Mary?” Margot asked. “Well, I guess she was a little more Mary Magdalene than I gave her credit for.”

“I ran into Grace at this gallery I attended a couple months ago,” I said. “Neither of us meant for this to happen, but it did.”

I didn’t mention that Grace was pregnant. I didn’t know whether that would infuriate Margot more, or if it would help her see how impossible it was for us to be together.

“So do you feel better now?” Margot asked.

“Feel better?” I asked.

“Now that you’ve gotten your little indiscretion off your conscience?” she said. “Can we move on?” She took a sip of her tea. “Don’t expect me to be so cavalier about future infidelities,” she said. “But I get it. You’re under a lot of pressure with the wedding coming up, and you needed to let off some steam. Okay, fine. But you won’t always get a free pass.”

She looked down at the seating arrangements spread out on the table in front of her.

“I could really use your help with some of this,” she said. “Was it your aunt Veronica who isn’t speaking to your second cousin Harold? Your mother mentioned there was some bad blood on that side of the family. So, I was thinking about putting Cousin Harold at table eight with your family from Cambridge, and sticking Aunt Veronica at table eleven with the Bridgeport cousins.”