When We're Thirty Casey Dembowski (the chimp paradox .TXT) 📖

just about convenience for him.” Kate paused and put a hand on Hannah’s arm. “Just something to consider.”

Was she suggesting that Will was in love with her? Hannah tried to pick a memory and reframe it with that information, but it didn’t compute. Will had never looked at her as more than a friend. She would’ve noticed.

“Did he ever tell you anything about his life in New York?” Kate asked. “About his family?”

“Just that his mom died, and it really messed him up. And that his dad was kind of overbearing.” She thought of everything she knew about Will. He had two brothers and a difficult relationship with his dad, both then and now. “Nothing out of the ordinary. Is that not the truth?”

“But you know about Wellington Thorne, right? He told you?” Kate asked.

Hannah only nodded, unsure where the conversation was going. “Yes. I saw it on his social media, and he mentioned that he works for his family, and obviously, Wellington Thorne is a huge luxury-hotel developer. But I don’t see why it matters.”

“Wealth changes people. I just... I know you didn’t know about it back in college. He never spoke about his family like that, but he’s a socialite, and there are expectations—”

“He’s still Will. He had money in college. He has money now. It doesn’t change anything.” Hannah took another small sip of wine. She meant what she said. The social media roundup had been more for her curiosity than to check him out. She didn’t require the specifics beyond what she had asked and what he had willingly provided, because he was Will Thorne, the last boy she’d truly trusted.

“I know that. It’s part of why I love you.” Kate motioned for Hannah to follow her to the bedroom. Once there, Kate started pulling dresses out of her closet. “I’m not going to lie to you and say I’m completely on board, but I know when you’ve made up your mind. If you’d wanted to be talked out of this, you would’ve forced your way into my apartment sooner instead of letting me be a bitch about the Oh Timmy.”

“I am sorry,” Hannah said, sitting down on the bed.

“As you should be,” Kate said, but a smile played across her lips. “I’ll give you the details another time. All I’m going to say about this marriage of yours is that it’s going to make an amazing episode of Bitching about Boyfriends. It might even get its own arc.”

“You can’t, Kate,” Hannah said slowly. Her explanation had made it clear that the pact could not be mentioned again. “It’s a secret. In no way, shape, or form can you put me and Will in your podcast.”

Kate held up the cornflower-blue A-line dress she’d worn to Stephanie’s wedding against herself and frowned at Hannah through the mirror. “Fine, but you owe me. I have one more question.”

“Go on,” Hannah said, preparing herself for the worst.

Kate put down the A-line and picked up an eggplant high-low gown. “Have you even thought about what you are wearing?”

“Probably just one of my sundresses. Something with a hint of white?” She knew there were at least two options in her closet that should fit, though neither was appropriate bridal attire.

“That’s what I thought.” Kate pulled an off-white fit-and-flare from her closet. It was not a wedding dress but the kind of dress every bride-to-be donned at smaller events. It had lived in Kate’s closet for years—for her own eventual engagement.

Hannah shook her head. She couldn’t. But Kate only smiled and pressed the soft material into her hand with a nod.

Chapter 12Hannah

Hannah slid the folded piece of paper out of her notebook again. The letter had been harder to write than expected. Still, she felt good about the decision, Will or not. Brian hadn’t texted, and enough time had passed that any texts would feel awkward and delayed. He’d said his piece and owned it. Something like pride swelled in her chest. He’d grown a lot from the young barista she’d known and fell for, but not enough—never enough. After their argument, Hannah couldn’t help but acknowledge that he’d probably felt the same way about her for the same amount of time. Neither of them was quite good enough for the other, their edges always jabbing each other instead of smoothly sliding together. She knew what he would think when he heard she was married—what she would assume in the reverse situation. No one deserved to think they’d been cheated on.

She raised her hand to knock but dropped it to her side for the second time, acutely aware that she was making herself late for her own wedding. She still needed to get uptown in heels and a dress. Brian wasn’t home—at least, there was no reason he would be home. On Tuesdays, he went to the gym after work and then spent an inordinate number of hours playing Call of Duty or one of those other inane shooter games with his buddies. As ridiculous as she found it, Hannah had enjoyed the predictability. Finally, she knocked. She’d wait ten seconds, tape up the note, and be done with it. Eight... nine...

A stirring behind the door, a rattle of a doorknob, and then Brian stood in front of her in his standard uniform of jeans and a graphic T-shirt, this one reading The cake is a lie. His eyes narrowed at the sight of her, but he didn’t close the door in her face.

“You weren’t kidding,” he said, his voice unusually gruff and his eyes taking in the white dress. “I always imagined you with a subtler engagement ring.”

She tucked her hand against her side. Words escaped her. No version of this scenario had involved Brian being home. Had she even considered it, she wouldn’t have worn the ring and might have tried to cover the dress. “I wasn’t expecting you to be home.”

Could she have said something more banal? What was wrong with her? At least her voice