“I can do you one better. We own a building in Midtown. There’s an apartment that’s come available. I’ll have the movers arranged, everything will be taken care of. You just go home now and pack a bag for the weekend. Very formal and swanky. Think spa retreat and black tie.”
“What do you mean, sir?” I hurry off the train, trying not to have a heart attack. I don’t know what spa he’s talking about; I’m stuck on the apartment. “Midtown?” I accidentally blurt when I reach the platform, holding my handbag and my phones, stunned. “I can’t afford Midtown, sir. Please don’t worry about this.” I admit defeat internally. “I can have it sorted right away. If the trip is that important, of course I’ll get a friend to hunt for apartments for me. I’m sorry to have been a bother.”
“No, no.” He laughs. “Jenny, you’re doing that Canadian thing again. I’m the one bothering you. These are my orders: Go home. Have a glass of wine. Pack a bag for five days of fancy resort life. Swimsuits and dresses and whatever else you girls need. Get in the car that will be waiting for you in the morning. Give your house key to the driver. I’ll have movers come to your apartment, pack your things, and move everything into the new place, so when you arrive home Sunday, you’ll be all moved in. Take Monday off and unpack your house. I’ll see you Tuesday, all right?”
The train going home arrives, creating noise in the background, leaving me not entirely sure what I just heard, but it has to be wrong.
“Jenny?”
“Sir, I—I can’t accept this. It’s—” My cheeks flush as more sweat bursts from every pore on my body. “I can’t afford it.”
“How do you know? You don’t know what the rent is. What are you paying currently?” He ignores my pleas.
“Uhhh—twelve hundred a month with everything included.” The answer is flat and cold. I’ve never been this discombobulated in my life.
“Okay, well that is the rent on this place too. And I’ll set it up with Accounting that you pay half of that from every paycheck. You’ll pay less income tax this way. It’s good.”
I’m frozen.
How do I get out of this?
Can I say no to my boss?
“Jenny?”
“I’m not sure how to respond, Mr. Levisohn.” Tears well in my eyes but this time it’s shame. I don’t want his pity but I don’t see a way out of it.
“Don’t worry, just say thank you and have fun. Honestly, you’re the lifesaver for doing this. It’s the least I can do. Enjoy that wine, kid. You sound like you need it.” He hangs up and I’ve never been more confused. To top it off—the shit icing on the shit cake—I’ve missed the train home. And now I have to stand here, sweating, half crying, and speechless.
4 Liquid breakfast of would-be champions
Wednesday, June 14
Lori
Waking at the chalet is peaceful. I can’t remember the last time I slept so well. The resort isn’t at all what I expected for Sami and Matt’s wedding. But I think that’s her plan. She’ll have the last laugh at the paparazzi, despite the cost being her sanity. And Matt’s. And everyone else’s. Though when we arrived, Brady, Matt, and I got excited. We genuinely enjoy the outdoorsy location and hope to make the most of the five days here.
Fishing, hiking, paintball—though Sami’s forbidden that—boating, and swimming sounds like a majestic way to spend a wedding week.
Still in my boxers, I take a cup of steaming hot coffee to the deck and sit in the large wooden Adirondack chair that has a fluffy blanket on it. I savor the feel of the fresh woodsy air. It’s already blowing the stink of the city off me. I sip and sigh, loving that there’s nothing but squirrels, birds, and a soft breeze.
Sami and Matt and Nat and Brady are staying in the biggest house here with her parents to help out with Eli.
It’s weird we’re at a resort that plays at farming and camping, all the while catering to the rich with service that’s second to none, including personal chefs.
As a member of the wedding party, Sami wanted me in one of the huge houses next door to them, but this small chalet with one room suits just fine. It almost feels like camping, but more like glamping which secretly I prefer. I’ve never been a sleep-on-the-ground kind of guy.
A foreign sound catches my ears as I’m midway on my coffee. It’s a funny hum that takes a second to recognize as a golf cart gets closer. I brace for the party to start. Guests will be arriving all day, over a hundred people who woke up with no clue they’d be attending a wedding this weekend. People, with plans and appointments and important schedules, all dropping everything as a driver shows up at their house with a secretive invitation to the most anticipated wedding of the decade.
Sami-fucking-Ford is getting married.
It’s a big deal.
Carson waves from the cart as he and Rich drive up, both too dressed and way too designer for the landscape. “Can you believe Sami chose fucking Kentucky?” Carson blasts as he jumps from the cart.
“Tennessee,” I correct him with a laugh.
“Whatever, like where are we though? Honestly?” Carson is already drinking. “This is the middle of nowhere.”
I tilt my head at the flask in his hand. “It’s ten thirty in the morning, buds.”
“It’s a wedding, Lori. If we don’t day drink, we might not make it through the bridezilla antics scheduled for after lunch.”
“He has a point,” Rich agrees quietly as he comes in for a hug. “Also, sorry about the playoffs. That was a rough blow.”
“Thanks, man. It sure was.”
“Oh right.” Carson winces. “That was this week? Anyway, I can’t believe we’re here. And Sami and Matt are finally getting married.”
