“Yes, I did.”
“It was very well put together, I think. They could have made their names slightly larger, but overall, it was a good card.”
“It was,” I say.
She hears the reluctance in my voice, of course. I haven’t kept my dislike of my brother’s fiancée particularly well hidden, but then again, my moods have lived right beneath my skin ever since the diagnosis.
“You are coming to the wedding, Anthony,” my mother says. It’s not a question. “I know Isaac hasn’t spoken to you about the best man position, but I—”
“He’ll give it to one of his friends. I’m aware.”
A pause. “Well, I know he thinks… as do we all, Anthony, that we’re not quite sure where you are at the moment.”
It’s a delicate way of phrasing my mood swings. My hand tightens around my coffee cup like a drowning man’s around a rope. I know I’m not treating any of them the way they deserve. Not my brother, not my parents. Perhaps not even myself.
“You know I’ll be there, Mom.”
“At the wedding?” Her voice lightens. “Oh, I never doubted you would.”
The well-meaning lie almost makes me smile. As if that isn’t the reason both she and my brother have been contacting me about the wedding.
“That reminds me, Anthony. I saw the Winthorpe girl the other day. Shelby.”
My hand spasms around the coffee cup. “Yeah.”
“She’s engaged now, I heard. To one of Farnham’s boys.”
Ah, yes. It doesn’t surprise me. The lack of pain in my chest at the words does, however. Good for her. She deserves someone who is whole and has a full life ahead of him.
“Wasn’t she lovely? I’m not sure I understand why you let her go.”
She’d been the one to break it off, a month after we learned about my eyesight. And this, right here, is why elite matchmaking is all about prestige. People like my parents, or Shelby’s parents or Cordelia’s or the Farnhams, expect a certain caliber in their children’s partners. The plans are dynastic, the breeding stock carefully vetted.
“We weren’t right for each other,” I say. “Look, I have to go, Mom.”
“Okay. Whatever you need.” She pauses, like she’s not sure she should say what comes next. “We’re having dinner with Isaac and Cordelia tonight at the Montauk house. Would you like to come? You can make it if you drive up now.”
So I’d stopped being invited, too. Once, I’d been included in that sort of thing in the family text group. They probably have a new text group now. One without me.
“Thank you,” I say. “But I have plans tonight.”
For once, it’s not a lie.
“All right, Anthony. Take care.”
“You too. Say hello to Dad for me.”
The brief pause betrays her surprise. “Okay, I will.”
We click off and I push the phone away from me on the table, just like I push away the confusing guilt and anger I feel about distancing myself from my family. It’s become second nature these days.
The guilt grows into frustration as I shower and dress, putting on the suit for tonight’s date. Summer’s text had been cordial and curt. Informed me who I was to meet and where. Thegood luckshe’d added had lacked an exclamation point, and by now, I’m familiar enough with Summer’s way of speaking to know that it really was lacking.
It’s a Friday afternoon. Is she getting ready for her own date with the delivery guy? Despite my own words in her office, of course he’s not good enough for her. Not with her optimism and humor. Not with the rosy-colored way she sees the world. Nobody could be.
The needles crawling beneath my skin intensify when my driver drops me off outside the restaurant for the evening. I’m there first, like I always am. Lean against the building and cross my arm across my chest.
Soon enough, a smooth voice speaks from my left. “Anthony Winter?”