When I get home from work, I call my bridesmaids, one at a time. I stick to the basics: Grady cheated on me; the wedding is off; and I’m headed out of town for the next few weeks with my college friends. We’ll talk more when I get back.

They are all shocked, upset, and very much on my side, but I also sense something else. I can tell they are questioning my judgment and whether, in the words of my oldest friend, Abby, I should be “throwing it all away.”

I tell her that I wasn’t the one who threw anything away—Grady was—and she quickly backtracks. She says she knows I’m right; she’s just so sad. Her husband and Grady are close friends, and she had always pictured our kids growing up together.

“I did, too,” I say, my heart aching. “All I want is a family.”

“You’ll find someone else,” she says.

“I hope so,” I say, blinking back tears as I suddenly picture Berlin in Grady’s bed.

“You will,” she says. “You’re so beautiful.”

“Thank you, Abby,” I say. I know she’s doing her best, but she’s ill-equipped to make me feel better. “I think I just need to get out of here for a while.”

Chapter 8

Tyson

When I get back to D.C. on Sunday night, I head straight into the office. After finishing a few tasks for partners I don’t hate, I clean out my desk, boxing up all my personal belongings. Around two in the morning, I send the last email from my computer—a letter of resignation to the managing partner of the firm. I apologize for my abrupt departure, citing personal reasons.

The next morning, I call my father and ask if he can meet me for dinner. I tell him I have something important to discuss—and that I’d rather do it just the two of us. He knows what this means, of course. That it’s a topic I’m not ready to share with my mother.

At his suggestion, we meet at his private club. I arrive early, which to him is on time, and we are promptly seated by one of the more obsequious staff members. My father takes the fawning in stride—deflecting it graciously—but it all feels so over the top, and I can’t help wondering why he enjoys such a stuffy, snobbish scene. The food is top-notch, but to me, no rib eye is worth the foolery that comes with it.

I wait until he is on his second scotch to break the news: I quit my job; I broke up with Nicole; and I’m taking a few weeks to travel with Hannah and Lainey. Before I can think better of it, I debrief him on their respective situations.

“So let me get this straight,” my dad says, stroking his beard and pausing for what feels like forever.

I brace myself, knowing that the longer the silence, the worse it’s going to be. “Now that you’re unemployed and single, your plan is to waste money and time, road-tripping with two lost souls?”

I stare back at him, debating whether to stick to the big picture or dive into semantics. For some reason, I can’t resist the latter.

“I wouldn’t characterize it as road-tripping,” I say.

“It’s a goddamn boondoggle,” my dad scoffs. “And your friends sound like they belong on The Montel Williams Show.”

“That show was canceled fifteen years ago, Dad.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I don’t, actually.” I shake my head. “Lainey and Hannah aren’t airing their dirty laundry on television.”

“But their problems are so—”

“Real, Dad. They both have legitimate problems.”

“They’ll both be just fine,” he says. “Trust me.”

I sigh, knowing what he’s getting at—that Hannah and Lainey enjoy certain privileges that don’t belong to us.

“Moreover,” he continues, “I’m not concerned about the well-being of your friends. I’m concerned about you. And I just don’t understand why you’d want to get mixed up in all of that drama while turning your back on an esteemed and lucrative job—”

“A job I detest, Dad.”

“A job you have because your mother and I put you through law school and college and fourteen years of private school before that.”

“So you’re including Montessori preschool in the guilt trip here?” I smile, doing my best to diffuse the tension.

It backfires.

“I’m glad you’re amused,” he says, stroking his beard again.

“I’m sorry, Dad.”

He raises his hands, palms out. “You know what? Let’s forget your education. Let’s talk about ours for a second. Let’s talk about your mother and me. Let’s talk about your grandparents—three out of four of whom went to college—”

“I’m aware, Dad—”

“Do you have any idea how rare that is—”

“Yes, I do,” I say. “And I’m proud of them.”

“You don’t need to be proud. You need to be grateful.”

“I’m proud and grateful,” I say. “I’m just not sure what any of that has to do with my life right now—”

“You’re not sure what your grandparents’ blood, sweat, and tears have to do with your ability to nonchalantly walk away from your law firm?”

“I’m not doing anything nonchalantly,” I say. “I’m just asking why their education means I have to be miserable in my job—”

“Why do you think they call it a job, Tyson?”

“You and Mom love your work.”

“Mom does. I’ll give you that. But trust and believe, I’d rather be doing a lot of other things.”

“So why don’t you do them?”

“Look, son. Your mother and I sacrificed for you. We invested in you. And you’re throwing away that investment—”

“I’m not throwing anything away. It’s time for me to make a change. And it happens to coincide with my friends needing me. Hannah’s in a dark place right now—”

“And I feel for her—”

“No, you don’t,” I say. “And that’s fine. There’s no need to sit here and pretend you care about either of them.”

“Fair enough. But I do care about you—”