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Separated by two flights, they’d been the perfect couple. It was only when May had started spending all her days with Dan that she’d begun to recognize what a profound gulf separated them, and how tiring it was to be responsible for bridging it.
Ben nudged her shoulder and held out the wineglass. She took it and held the phone a few inches away from her ear. Anya was talking too loud, which she did when she was drunk, and far too much, which she did most of the time. You could probably hear it in the bathroom. Ben had to be catching every word.
He lifted his wineglass in her direction and mouthed, Cheers.
May gave him a faint smile and knocked back half the glass in one go.
Meant to be together, Anya had said.
She’d heard that before. From her mother. From Dan up on that stage, when he was telling his version of their love story to three hundred strangers and she was realizing with horror that Dan’s version of their love story sucked. That the woman he was describing wasn’t her—not deep down—and she’d suffocate if she married him.
She hadn’t forked him on purpose. Not with malice aforethought. The fork itself had been an accident, a bit of flotsam she’d nervously clutched in her hand when she’d been sitting at a table in the audience and had realized that he was talking about her instead of giving the speech she’d come to watch him deliver.
She’d carried the fork to the stage accidentally, and it wasn’t until she got halfway up the steps that she’d seen it glinting in her hand and thought, May, you idiot.
Then he’d said all those things. Given that speech that was supposed to be wonderful but instead had pierced right through her shield of illusion and deflated the bubble of her romantic hopes.
Dan had dropped to one knee and pried open the lid of the jewelry box, inside of which was a very big diamond. “I’ve known for a long time that we’d end up here, May,” he’d said. “You keep me centered, and you make me a better man than I’d ever be without you. Coach was right—you’re the kind of woman I need in my life. Will you let me do the right thing and make an honest woman out of you?”
May had glanced at Dan’s hand, joined with hers.
She’d looked at the diamond, winking under the lights.
And she’d finally gotten angry. So angry.
If Dan was a Viking god, in that moment May had become a Valkyrie: the tallest woman in the room, dressed to the nines, her shoulders rounded and her biceps toned from endless stress-relieving laps in the pool.
“You dick,” she’d hissed.
And then without thinking—without weighing the consequences—without even hesitating, she’d gone for him. Sweet, polite, innocent May Fredericks had stabbed her boyfriend in the meat of his thumb with a shrimp fork, and it had felt great.
She finished her wine. Ben sauntered over and poured her another glass. Anya was still talking.
“—so romantic, when you two are together. And you look good together, too, with all that blond hair, and so tall. I always thought you’d have the most beautiful children, and—”
“Sweetie?” May said, interrupting. “It’s all right.”
“You’re so brave.”
May put the wineglass between her eyes and rolled it back and forth. The cool, smooth pressure felt good. “Can we leave the subject of Dan for the moment and talk about why I called?”
“Of course! What do you need? You know we’re here for you.”
“If I could borrow a credit card number, that would be great. Just in case. I have a room for tonight, but I’m not sure what it’s going to take to get home … I’ll pay you back, I promise.”
“I know you’re good for it. Hold on, let me go get my purse. I left it with Beth.”
The background noise got louder again, and then after a few moments Anya said, “Have you got a pen?”
“Wait a sec.”
Ben was already up, rummaging through a kitchen drawer. He returned with a take-out menu and a Bic.
“I’m ready,” she said.
“Okay, here goes.” Anya rattled off the numbers, and May wro
te them down. It took a few more minutes for her to assure her friend that everything was fine, and then another few to get her off the phone.
